#5-Days Workweek

[masakienalamnainternational]

5-Days Workweek: The Pros and Cons of a 5-day Working Culture

The traditional system of a five-day workweek has been the basis for the human workplace for several decades; however, it’s of utmost importance to observe its pros and cons both optimistically and pessimistically as we shift into a new era where people work. A large number of countries worldwide keep the regular 5-day work week. On this list, the United States is joined by Canada, the United Kingdom, and Australia operating for the most part under the said model.

[rohirric-hunter]

Having a 4-day workweek has honestly improved my mental health so much.

[deus-ex-mona]

when you’re trying to sleep but the 2 morons living rent free in your mind be like

[mac-lilly]

Tomorrow is finally Friday

[inga-don-studio]

Well my body sure did take the adage “if you don’t schedule time for rest then your body will do it for you whether it’s convenient or not” to heart with a vengeance. (I’m sure I butchered the saying but whatever)

[goldenhour-s]

THANK GOD IT’S WEEKEND NOW AAAAAA

[ardri-na-bpiteog]

I know I don't shut up about this but frankly not enough people are angry about the 5-day/40 hour workweek (and I am AWARE a lot of people work even more than that). I feel like a lot more people should be absolutely furious that we only really have two days a week and some occasional hours in the evening to socialise, run errands, do chores, or relax.

It's no wonder so many people are profoundly lonely and disconnected from their communities when maintaining a social life in what little free time we have is incredibly difficult. If you have kids, a second job, a very long commute, or other responsibilities, it's nearly impossible.

We literally aren't meant to live like this and I'll never stop being shocked how many people just take it as the natural state of things and don't want to throw a brick through a billionaire's window every time they think of it.

[reasonsforhope]

"A group of 200 UK businesses and charities have signed a pledge that company work weeks will be shortened to 4 days without a loss in pay

Including marketing and advertisement; tech, it, and software; and charity groups as well, the companies employ more than 5,000 people.

Organized by the 4 Day Week Foundation, it follows something less than a trend but more than a fad in which a mixture of employees and executives believe that a happier, more balanced workforce is key to driving productivity.

That balance, they would argue, can be achieved by far more people through the reduction of the 5-day work week to a 4-day one.

“[With] 50% more free time, a four-day week gives people the freedom to live happier, more fulfilling lives,” Joe Royle, the foundation’s campaign director, told the Guardian.

“As hundreds of British companies and one local council have already shown, a four-day week with no loss of pay can be a win-win for both workers and employers.”

This sentiment isn’t shared by all workplaces, but market competition should demonstrate over time whether or not firms that implement unorthodox work hours are in fact as productive or more so than traditional ones.

Economics says that with all else being equal, if enjoying more free time leads to greater employee retention and motivation, then these 4-day work week firms will begin to out-complete the old ones, which in turn will be forced to adapt or risk losing market share.

London firms have been the most enthusiastic, with 59% of the 200 workplaces being located in the capital. With so many firms for talented workers to choose from, it’s no wonder that some are looking to seek advantage in attracting this talent through more desirable working terms.

Last year, GNN reported extensively on a report that was released by a county government in Washington called San Juan, detailing their one-year experiment with a 32-hour, or 4-day work week. In the report, quitting and retiring decreased by 48%, while 55% of employees said their workflow wasn’t interrupted even though they lost an entire working day’s worth of time to complete it.

Even in the famously hard-working nation of Japan, a 4-day workweek seems to strengthen productivity."

-via Good News Network, January 28, 2025

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (3)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Office au, Mini Series, Smut, Romance

Word Count: 3.7K

🐙 a/n: contains a flashback to jungkook's first day/week

🐙 Masterlist / AskMeeeee!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Whoever invented a five-day workweek deserves severe punishment.

You mean it.  

Even though you did absolutely nothing over the weekend—just slept, rewatched Love, Death & Robots, and rotted in bed—it was perfect.

How on earth that yesterday you were just eating ice cream straight from the tub, slouching on the couch, and now you're analyzing graphs?

You shake your head, letting out a sigh as you resign yourself to the fate of selling your soul to the corporation.

You’ve been typing and clicking away all morning, your laser focus burning holes in your screen. A new project for a VIP client needs to be completed by the end of the week, and if you win them over, it could open doors to even bigger opportunities.

You pinch your temples, feeling the pressure. This is huge. This week is going to be hectic.

Hours of drafting a detailed report have left a strain in your shoulders, a reminder that you're due for a quick stretch. You straighten your back and, out of the corner of your eye, catch a familiar figure strolling past your desk at an unhurried pace, colorful tattoos standing out like quiet acts of defiance against the pristine, orderly office walls.

The faint scent of clean laundry and vanilla lingers in the air, and you close your eyes momentarily, trying to savor whatever trace of it remains.

Jungkook likes vanilla. Noted.

Your heart starts cartwheels at the sudden realization of your thoughts. As memories of last Friday flood your mind—thoughts you had tried to drown over the weekend—it hits you.

Are you... crushing on Jungkook?

You groan at the thought distracting you, though you're not complaining—you need a distraction. This project is already draining you. There's still so much to do, and you feel like you're on borrowed time. Your eyes start to water, and you seriously need a break.

Deciding to take a quick coffee break, you head to the pantry. As you wait for your coffee to brew, you notice that all the mugs are stored neatly on the top shelf of the cabinet.

Perfect. Of course, they’re all the way up there.

You try tiptoeing to reach it, but it's too far back, and your right arm starts to strain. Wouldn't it be funny if Jungkook walked in right now to help? It would perfectly complete your cliché K-drama fantasies.

You waver, giggling softly to yourself, when suddenly, you feel a warm, firm presence behind you. An inked arm reaches past yours for the same cup you've been struggling to grab.

A familiar scent envelops you, and your body jerks slightly when the back of your head brushes against his chest.

And just like that, with such ease, he offered you the mug. But neither of you moved, both still rooted in place.

You stayed like that for a good four seconds, though it felt like forever.

You glance to both sides, hesitantly searching for an exit as your heart does a herkie. Before you know it, he steps aside, allowing a large space for you to turn around and face him.

"Uh… thanks!” you say quickly, hiding your nerves behind a smile, but your ears betray you. You feel them warm up as Jungkook tucks both hands into his pockets. But before he does, you catch a glimpse of the growing bulge in his gray slacks.

Lord, grant this child of yours with mercy, strength, and grace, for the journey they face is no small feat.

Thankfully, you hear the coffee machine finish brewing, and you quickly turn to pour your coffee. Jungkook heads to the water dispenser, and the two of you move in silence.

Except it’s not quiet. It is loud.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, after a while, his voice low, but soft as he waited for the water to fill.

You turned your head toward him, stirring your coffee. “I’m good! Thank you.”

“Hmmm." He nodded. “How was your weekend?”

“It was good! Just rested and stuff. You?” You smiled, while your heart was doing somersaults.

He smiled back—that smile, the one that made his tiny dimples pop. “Yeah, good. Nothing too crazy, just… chores, stuff.” He said, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and the floor.

Cute.

As if on cue, you both started walking back to your desks. The walk was quiet, but you could feel his shoulders brush against yours every now and then. Before you could even form a whole cheerleading routine inside your heart, you reached your desk and gave him a polite nod before sitting down.

You typed bdhjhfjjketwrjnkngkngn on your computer all the while watching his back in your peripherals.

You see you phone lights up. You swipe to open your group chat.

Jimin: break? Tae: let me circle back to you Jimin: stfu Allie: lets goooo! I need to pee! You: cant! i have a deadline! 😩 Jimin: ☹️ Tae: u suck Tae: we'll get u snacks You: yaaayyyy Yoongi: Seen

Tae was true to his word. They really did bring you snacks. It made you feel better, fueling you with the energy you needed to type away like a maniac until 6 pm. It’s a little later than usual, but you hadn’t even noticed the time.

Spent and drained, you closed your laptop and gathered your things. There’s still a lot to do, but at least you managed to finish 20% of it today. That’s a good start, right?

The floor is quiet. Most people, except for a few chasing deadlines, have already gone home. You can’t wait to join them.

You make your way to the elevator, your brain starting to shut down, with your one last remaining brain cell holding it together, doing its hardest to get you home safely.

You don’t normally bring your car to work unless you’re in the mood to walk. The parking lot assigned to you is too far from the building—very inconvenient, but the spots are randomly assigned. So, you usually take a cab to be dropped off right at the entrance.

You press your manicured nails to your temples, trying to massage away the stress of the day.

When you see an empty elevator, you quickly hop in. But as the doors begin to close, a hand slips between them, halting their motion. You widen your eyes, not expecting to see Jungkook here this late.

"Sorry. Thanks!" he says, catching his breath. He obviously ran to catch this elevator—but why would he, when there are six in the building?

"Hey. It’s late,” you say, stating the obvious, trying to fill the silence in the small space. “Overtime?” After all, 45 floors could take a little while.

“You could say that,” he replies, a small smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes meet yours. You feel your skin warm up. “You? Overtime?” he asks back, turning his gaze back to the elevator buttons.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You smile as you lean against the elevator rail.

He chuckles—a low, amused sound—while absentmindedly playing with his lip ring.

You focus your gaze on the numbers ahead as they light up with each floor you pass.

On the 20th floor, a usually busy one since it’s an event space, the elevator opens to the sound of commotion. You see uniformed kitchen staff and waiters scrambling about. The elevator quickly fills with them, and others try to squeeze in, stepping out only when the elevator beeps with the overload warning.

You begin to panic.

You attempt to move to the corner, but bump into someone. Trying to adjust, you move to the other side—only to bump into Jungkook. You glance at each other, his face is unreadable, but his brows are slightly furrowed. The chatter grows louder, and you can feel the frantic energy in the air.

Your heartbeat quickens, and the voices around you fill your ears like a huge swell of waves.

No please, not here. Not now.

You close your eyes, attempting to minimize your overwhelming senses. Then, as if the universe heard your silent plea, you feel a warm, gentle hand on your back, softly patting you. You sigh in relief, as the space around you slowly seems to expand, your focus shifting entirely to the touch.

Jungkook seems to take your response as permission, his hand resting more securely now as he moves it in a steady, soothing rhythm. You focus on the gentle motion, counting down from 10 to 1, drawing in slow breaths through your nose and releasing them softly through your mouth.

When you hear the ding, you feel the nerves finally release as people begin spilling out of the enclosed space.

Jungkook’s hand lingers on your back, it stops moving, but it remains firm and comforting.

With a wave of relief and gratitude, you tug on his shirt and lean into his chest. There is a slight space between you, but your forehead rests against him, seeking refuge.

And slowly, his arms wrap around your shaky frame, and you breathe in his warmth. Then, you let out a deep sigh, releasing the tension that could’ve spiraled into something worse.

You stay like that for what feels like four seconds, but it seems to stretch into forever, before stepping off the lift.

"Are you driving?" he asked as you both walked towards the exit of the huge building.

You shake your head. "I usually take a cab instead."

“Let me drive you home," he offered softly, but his voice is firm.

You take a small step back and lift your head to him, though your hand still clings to the hem of his shirt. "No, you’ve already done so much. I don’t even know how you always manage to find me in these… situations. I’m sorry. And thank you,” you say as you pull away.

"It’s okay. I want to,” he speaks gently, his gaze shifting to your hand still holding onto his shirt.

You realize what you're doing and quickly drop your hand, letting go of his shirt, feeling embarrassed. "Sorry," is all you can whisper.

You hate feeling like a burden. You take pride in having your shit together, and the thought of others feeling sorry for you only makes it worse. Right now, you feel small and helpless. The attacks have been happening more frequently, and you can’t help but connect them to the mounting stress at work.

Jungkook sighs, looking at you while nibbling the bottom of his lip, as if he's trying to hold back the words he wants to say, but doesn't.

"YN, I don't want to overstep, and I have a feeling that you might feel like you're burdening me, but you're not. I want to help you, right now, by driving you home. Please, just… let me. It’s just driving you home. It's no big deal."

You blink.

Wow, that was the longest sentence you’ve ever heard from Jungkook. You looked at him, and you couldn’t help it. A burst of laughter escaped from you.

He looked at you with amusement, cocking his head, eyebrows furrowed. "You laughing?"

“No,” you tried to say, choking on another laugh. “It’s just… that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you say to me.”

His smile turns into a grin, and you catch him biting his bottom lip, like he’s trying to suppress a bigger smile. "You’re enjoying this, huh?"

"So much," you say between bursts of laughter, your stomach starting to ache. "You should talk to me more. This is gold.”

He raises an eyebrow, a lopsided grin at his lips. “So you could laugh?”

"Well, yeah." you reply, catching your breathe.

"You can’t handle me chatty." He shakes his head, not leaving his gaze on you

"Are you kidding? You'd be cute!” you say while wiping your teary eyes.

“Cute, huh” he said, his eyes still locked on yours, nibbling the silver ring on his lip.

You tilt your head, trying to read his face. There is mischief in his eyes, yet his lips remain pressed, guarding whatever thoughts lie behind them... What is he thinking right now?

"Let's drive you home. I know you’ve been tired," he interrupts your thoughts, sensing your visible curiosity. His voice is soft, but why does it feels like there’s no room for you to argue?

You followed him to his car, parked conveniently close to the building.

It feels oddly familiar now, as if you’ve been doing this for a long time. As if you’ve sat in this car together before, and he knows the way to your house like the back of his hand. As if each turn as natural to him as breathing. The car ride is calm—the hum of the engine, the distant noise of the world outside, the soft song on the radio…

“Take my heaven 'Cause you ain't inside it If that's your delight Come ruin my vibe…”

“Here’s your desk,” Yoongi said, motioning toward the chaotic workstation. “The guy you’re replacing was a huge Marvel fan—thus, the Wanda and Black Widow posters. You can take it down unless, of course, you fuck with it.”

Jungkook leaned in, tilting his head like he was analyzing priceless art. “I mean… Black Widow does have a chokehold on me.”

Yoongi snorted. “Of course. I already toured you around, pointed out the important stuff—and oh, you still need your logins. I’ll handle that,” Yoongi said, talking more to himself, like he was ticking boxes off a mental checklist.

It was Jungkook’s first day, and the only reason he even applied was because Yoongi casually dangled the words "better pay" and "more vacation days" in front of him, making him hand in his two-week notice without a second thought. Yoongi and Jin had been friends with Jungkook’s older brother since college, so as the youngest, he’d been dragged into their chaos since he was a kid. Fishing trips, sleepovers, summer vacations...

“Oh yeah,” Yoongi added. “I also need to give you the passcode to the server room. Can’t have you locked out.”

Jungkook nodded solemnly. “Got it. Server room. Sacred ground. No funny business. Unless…” He leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s snacks in there?”

Yoongi blinked. “Did you lie on your resume? Those are racks, not vending machines. So no, no snacks in the server room.”

“Missed opportunity,” Jungkook said, sighing. “But hey, so far, I like it here. Cool place, cool people, chill boss—wait. Do I call you boss now?”

“Try daddy and buy me lunch every day,” Yoongi replied, his signature lopsided grin making an appearance.

Jungkook dramatically furrowed his brows. “You have a daddy kink?!”

“Depends on the lunch,” Yoongi deadpanned, not even glancing up.

“Creep. I’m telling Joon.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Yoongi shrugged, picking up a ringing phone. “Your brother has a daddy kink too.”

Jungkook choked on air. “What the fuck, hyung?! I’m traumatized!”

Yoongi ignored him, calmly taking the call and nodding a few times before hanging up. He turned back to Jungkook, completely unfazed. “Now, for your first ticket— a jammed printer.”

“A printer? A jammed printer?” Jungkook groaned, swirling on the chair. “Wow. I’m really living the IT dream here.”

Yoongi stared at him for a long moment. “Was that your big ‘I can’t wait to be an asset to the company’ speech from the interview?”

Jungkook snickered, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Relax, hyung. I’m here to work hard and make you proud.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Hard? You’ve been here twenty minutes, and your biggest accomplishment is discovering the chair spins.”

“It spins really well, though,” Jungkook said, giving it another whirl.

"Printer. Fix. Now..." Yoongi muttered, still unfazed, typing away on his computer.

“Okay, time to turn it off and on,” Jungkook said, standing up with a mock sigh. “I swear, you just hired me to boss around.”

Yoongi smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned back. “Welcome to the team, kid.”

Black stiletto heels and stockings—that was the first thing Jungkook noticed when he saw you while fixing that damn printer.

The way they clung to your legs… Jesus. His thoughts immediately derailed.

You were wearing a blue-striped collared shirt, a couple of buttons undone, paired with a high-waisted black mini skirt that seemed to look better on his bed.

He just stood there, staring like an idiot, mouth agape, helpless.

You were lost in your own world, typing away on your laptop, and it was strange how captivating it was—the way your brow furrowed in concentration, how you nibbled on your lips like your thoughts were more important than anything else.

Every now and then, he caught a faint hum escaping your lips, like a quiet melody only you knew, a way to soothe yourself while the world spun around you.

The world could be burning around you—people spilling coffee, slamming their desks in frustration—but you were completely untouched, locked in your own zone. Your eyes were fixed on your laptop, brows furrowed in concentration, as if the entire universe revolved around whatever you were typing.

You looked so beautiful.

And the men? Yeah, he saw them too.

The glances they exchanged when you passed. Jungkook could spot them—those quiet, knowing looks shared between them. Their gazes lingering a little too long when you passed, the subtle shifts in their posture. Jungkook knew exactly what those looks meant.

But you were oblivious. You walked like you owned the place. Or like you had somewhere important to be.

Or maybe you knew. You just didn’t care to entertain any of them.

You carried yourself with calm confidence. The space around you was always yours, and everyone knew it. It made people hesitate to cross, like they knew better than to fuck around, because they’d already found out.

Then, in one of those hectic days, a few minutes after work, he saw you through the glass door, standing in front of the elevator. Every time it opened, you'd check inside, but never step in. Instead, you lingered there, taking your time, waiting…

But for what? Or who?

Jungkook couldn’t help but watch, curious. What was it?

Did you not want to be around anyone? Are you avoiding people?

Either way, he watched you for a solid 20 minutes, trying to figure you out.

The next day, he found himself next to you again while fixing some cables.

And there you were—black turtleneck, gray A-line skirt…black stockings and stilettos—of course.

And dark red lipstick—fuck.

God, those fingers. Those delicate, red nails gliding over the keys…

Shut up, Jungkook. You should focus on…you should focus on...

But he couldn’t focus, could he? How could he, when you were right beside him, completely lost in your own world, while he was fighting for his dear life?

Lord... just lead me to temptation, I’m halfway there anyway.

For more than a week now, you’ve been doing this to him.

Every time he closes his eyes, you’re there—on your knees, your delicate hands wrapped firmly around his cock, your lips smudged and slick as they stretch around him.

Your mascara runs in streaks down your cheeks, your eyes watering but still locked on his with that same sharp focus that drives him insane.

Or it’s his face between your legs, your wet folds clenching around his tongue, clawing for him, writhing helplessly, utterly drunk on lust. He’d give you the world and more.

Every time, the same thought crosses his mind: How do you sound when you moan?

Are you loud and unabashed, or do you bite back your cries, leaving him desperate to drag them out of you? The thought alone makes him groan like a tortured man.

Because torture—that’s it. That’s the word. That’s exactly what the past week has felt like.

Torture to contain the thirst, the hunger, the need. And every night, he finds himself completely at your mercy—with his eyes closed and fist around his cock.

That’s been his hell for over a week now.

Then, without warning, you—the object of his desire and the reason for his torment—appear right in front of him, asking for his help with those piercing eyes. He doesn’t know what to do. His brain short-circuits.

As he takes your laptop from you, his gaze briefly flickers to the poster of Black Widow on his wall, his silent, nonjudgmental protector.

Black Widow, patroness of the weak and frail, deliver me from this powerful force—for the adversary is beyond my strength to overcome.

He’s already figured out what’s wrong with your laptop, but your presence fills his senses, muddling his thoughts.

He can’t stand you watching him, observing his every move. It’s unbearable, as if you’re silently chastising him.

“I’ll try my best. You can come back later before you head home,” he tried to sound calm, keeping his back turned to you.

For the next few hours, he drowns himself in distractions—in prayers and IT tickets.

But it seems he cannot escape hell unless he seeks absolution.

Yet, there is no absolution without confession. So, he searches for a place of penance but finds only the cold, dark depths of the server room.

Amid the hum of machines and the sterile air, he calls out in a silent, desperate plea:

“Please, please, please…”

His heart slams against his chest, each beat resounding louder as your name falls from his lips, over and over. Each syllable becomes a tremor, each word a prayer offered from a soul teetering on the edge of redemption.

Sweat rolls down his forehead, falling like droplets of guilt onto his sinful fist and punishing hand.

Just as he’s on the verge of liberation, his eyes catch the sight of your black stockings clinging to your legs, stiletto heels gleaming like unholy beacons in the dim light. It’s as though you’re waiting for him to hear his confession only so he can sin again.

Like a demon lurking in the shadows, waiting to feast upon him again.

With a shaking breath and furrowed brows, he finally breaks, spilling out every ounce of the sin within him.

Yet he remains in hell.

🐙 a/n: sooo...how are we? 🫠 thank you so much for being here, i appreciate all of you 😘 please let me know whatchuthink of the story so far. i love each and every interactions with you 🥹 thanks again for reading and i love you aaaaaalllll ❤️

🐙 if you have questions or asks, let me know in the comments or send me an ask!

Taglist: @taekritimin123, @vantelover1306, @random-musingsss @likewtaf @jeonmaleficent @almatiarau, @kxthx-b, @lively-potter, @jk-190811, @ilovejungkook9999, @goldietigers294, @dreamyluna18, @va1-erie, @snow-strawberry, @lovieku, @daskewl @jksusawife @daskewl @pp0810

🐙 Let me know in the comments if you want to be added! 😘

[vigilantekisser]

dex vs. the emoji industrial complex

masterlist | ao3 mirror

summary: dex has zero social media literacy and doesn't know wtf you're talking about. (1.1k, gn reader, crack, fluff, office friendship, dirty joke, minions, dex tries to understand what memes are; honestly idk why this was so long i just want to have more of dex ig)

It’s just a stupid meme, so you don’t think much of it when you send it to Dex—a low quality, atrociously Photoshopped picture of a puppy with its brain getting poked with an injection, Ritalin pills and a 5G tower in the background: 

     theyre doing this to me at work tomorrow btw [Sent 9:06 AM]

Dex doesn’t reply, not even with his usual stilted “Thanks”.

You’re fine with that, totally; you already know Dex is, well, himself—man of few words and composure and too-sharp jawline… So. You assume he’s just ignoring you as usual, which makes you a little bit pleased knowing you’ve probably stupefied your poor coworker into bewilderment once again.

What you don’t know is that you’re exactly right. Twenty feet away, in a sterile cubicle surrounded by discarded tactical gear and stacks of paperwork, Dex is staring at his screen like it personally offended him.

Dex blinks once, finally, slow like a cat watching a ceiling fan.

“…The fuck.”

 The badly edited puppy has a syringe full of mercury pointed into its brain and someone’s holding an orange bottle of ADHD pills behind it. He rereads the sentence, just in case it holds a secret meaning. 

     theyre doing this to me at work tomorrow btw

He leans back in his chair like a man confronting the unknowable void.

“Is this funny?” he mutters. “Do I say something?”

He opens Google.

     “dog on ADHD medication??”

No luck. It sends him to some Instagram pages with dogs he doesn’t care about, and he closes the tab after seeing a bunch of drama on the PetMD forum. Symbolism perhaps? Puppy = you; mercury = brain damage; the cell tower = some kind of conspiracy… at work… the Bureau...? 

Oh fuck it. He gives up.

     Are you ok?      [Sent 10:40 AM]

Aha, so the man responds. You send back four emojis: 💻💀😭🙏

A few minutes later, your phone pings.

     I hope they don’t inject anything into your head.      [Sent 10:45 AM]

You snort, trying to stifle your snicker. You can hear this guy’s voice in your head. thank u king that’s so thoughtful, you send back.

By lunchtime Dex is three articles deep into “Millennial vs Gen Z Humor: A Brief History of Nihilistic Absurdism.” He doesn’t mean to care, really. You’ve probably forgotten about it entirely but he hasn’t. He’s finally gotten the point of the picture you sent, to his satisfaction, but why is the skull emoticon thing everywhere now? 

     skull emoji meaning      Result: “Used to express laughing so hard you’re dead.”

He shakes his head. That doesn’t make any fucking sense.

The next day, you wake up to multiple messages from Dex.

     Thank you for your dog Meme, it’s very funny.      Work is like that sometimes.      Haha      ☠️      [sent 5:10 AM]

You stare at the screen for a long time.

     ☠️

Actually, you think your hands are shaking now. You message back:

     wtf u know how to use emojis????????????

He replies immediately:

     Yes.      I think

Then:

     🔥

Why is there fire now. What does the fire mean. Is he okay. Your face’s gone hot and you screenshot it for maybe nothing in particular but, well, to look back at later on and laugh harder.

It’s Friday, which is a vacation enough in itself but unfortunately that still means you should be working and processing the latest field report Mockta dropped on your desk. But instead, you’re doing something far more dangerous. You’re messing with Dex again. You send him a photo of someone furiously petting a cat’s head.

     Me rubbing the workweek’s pussy so it finishes faster      [Sent 9:48 AM]

Dex is drinking his coffee—straight black, very sad—when he sees the notification. He reads your caption and almost spits into his sleeve.

What did you just send him.

He stares and reads it again.

“Me rubbing the workweek’s… Oh God…” He trails off, rubbing his brow in anguish. He lowers the phone slowly, looking around the bullpen, the hallway, the exit. Then he turns to his laptop and opens Google. God help him.

     pussy rubbing work week 

He hits Enter and immediately regrets it. A new tab opens. A very not-safe-for-work one accessed through the Bureau Wi-Fi. There’s moaning and a lot of exposed skin. One of the women is holding a calendar. He slams his laptop shut so hard the desk rattles, mind racing.

He didn’t read about this shit in any of the articles he read last Tuesday! Staring into the abyss of his screen, Dex messages back:

     ?

     omg dex it’s a joke      i hopeyou did NOT google that      are u okay

There’s a long pause, an eternity really. You sip your coffee, wipe at your eyes. Then, finally:

     Understood.      Thanks for the explanation     I did but i won’t Google anything ever again.      [Sent 10:21 AM]

The mental image of him in a mortified fugue state, recoiling from his screen, is almost too much—but you manage to swallow your laughter as Ray walks past your desk, shooting you a wary look.

The rest of the day is uneventful. You manage to make a small dent in the field reports. Dex doesn’t message you again and you assume you’ve broken him with the dirty joke, which—honestly—fair.

You don’t see him again until you're heading out, bag slung over your shoulder, keys jangling in your hand. You pass Dex’s desk, and he stands up so fast he almost collides with the corner of his desk. 

“Hey,” he says, voice weirdly formal. He wrings his hands. “Uh. Wait a second.”

You stop. “Yeah?”

He hesitates, squinting as he unlocks his phone, and silently holds it out to you. You blink down at the screen.

It’s a Minion. A fucking Minion. The image is so low-res you can count the pixels, jpeg artifacting all over. The Minion’s mid-stride, throwing up a peace sign. The text reads:

     BestfriEND      BoyfriEND      GirlfriEND      Food      Only Food has no END.

There’s a watermark in the corner that says something like “Susan's Recipe Shack,” straight from the Facebook feed of someone’s divorced aunt. It takes you a second to process what’s happening. And then you wheeze, laughing so violently your knees buckle a little. Two people from Cybercrimes glance up. You wave them away, tears in your eyes.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, clutching your chest. “Dex. Dex.”

He’s standing stiffly, eyes flicking nervously around the room, like he didn’t expect you to react. His phone wavers in his hand. “You don’t have to laugh that hard,” he mutters, starting to pull it back.

“No, no—don’t you dare delete that,” you grab his wrist, still breathless. “You made this? Where did you find it?”

He blinks. “Facebook.”

“Christ almighty, you’re going deeper.”

He swallows, ears red and flexing his hands. “You seem to like them.”

You giggle again and this time somebody mutters something about needing to go home. You don’t care. Dex is still standing there like he’s not sure if he should run away, but a smile’s starting to tug at his mouth too.

“Keep going,” you say, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “I want more tomorrow.”

“…Alright,” he nods. He’s serious but the blush’s absolutely radiating off his face. “I’ll look for more Minions.”

a/n: this is what i was talking about btw

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - February 5

1. Austin experimented with giving people $1,000 a month.

People who received guaranteed basic income in one of Texas' largest cities reported reduced rates of housing insecurity. Austin was the first city in Texas to launch a taxpayer-funded guaranteed-income program when the Austin Guaranteed Income Pilot kicked off in May 2022. The program served 135 low-income families, each receiving $1,000 monthly.

2. Germany: Tens of thousands in Berlin protest far right

Around 150,000 people have attended a protest rally in the German capital, Berlin, against the far right and its ideology, the latest in a series of such demonstrations across Germany in recent weeks.

3. Sweden: Where it's taboo for dads to skip parental leave

It's been 50 years since Sweden introduced state-funded parental leave, designed for couples to share. The pioneering policy offers some surprising lessons for other countries.

4. Germany tests 4-day workweek amid labor shortage

While Germany, struggles to find enough workers, dozens of companies are starting an experiment that will see employees work a day less. In February, 45 companies and organizations in Germany will introduce a 4-day workweek for half a year.

5. K9 finds missing endangered 11-yr-old, gives her kisses

An 11-year-old girl, reported to be missing and endangered, is now safe after she was found by a sheriff’s K9 deputy in Wimauma, Florida. Her handler asked if the K9 could give the girl kisses as a reward to the K9 for locating the girl, and the heartwarming moment was captured on the deputy’s body camera.

6. Oregon Zoo releases seven critically endangered condors back to nature in California

Seven California condors were released into the wild in the U.S. state after the endangered animals were hatched and raised at Oregon Zoo.

7. EU will force cosmetic companies to pay to reduce microplastic pollution

Beauty companies will have to pay more to clean up micropollutants after EU negotiators struck a new deal to treat sewage.

Under draft rules that follow the “polluter pays principle”, companies that sell medicines and cosmetics will have to cover at least 80% of the extra costs needed to get rid of tiny pollutants that are dirtying urban wastewater.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 11 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with their tail between their legs?

TW: Angst, Intersex reader, reader has some... not so great coping habits, sexual tension, smut

Word Count: 2.6K

Read Pt. 1 HERE Read Pt. 2 HERE Read Pt. 3 HERE Read Pt. 4 HERE Read Pt. 5 HERE Read Pt. 6 HERE Read Pt. 7 HERE Read Pt. 8 HERE Read Pt. 9 HERE Read Pt. 10 HERE

I'm Afraid I May Never Learn From All My Mistakes

The workweek flew by you in a flurry of due dates for upcoming projects and deadlines for your current builds. Despite the chaos, you found yourself eagerly counting down the hours to the weekend. Thoughts of Wanda's smile, her touch, and the way she looked at you filled the quiet moments of your day. Each time you thought of her, you felt your heart flutter—a feeling that was both exhilarating and terrifying. You hadn't seen the redhead since your weekend together, a thought which brought you sadness.

Thursday evening, you were in the last meeting of the week, and you received a text from Wanda: "Miss me?" Attached was a photo of her lying in bed, the sheets tangled around her body, leaving little to the imagination. You slammed the phone down onto the conference table and cleared your throat, hoping no one had noticed your lapse in professionalism. "Sorry, just...something came up," you muttered, trying to focus on the blueprints in front of you as everyone's attention was on you.

Your cheeks were tinted a rosy pink at the thought of the older woman alone in her bed like that. The meeting dragged on, and your thoughts were far from work. You couldn't wait to get out of this conference room, and back to your cubicle to text her back. And you were damn glad you had your blueprints to carry.

Finally, your meeting ended, and you rushed to your desk, throwing the rolled prints down before slouching down into your chair and texting Wanda back with a simple "More than you know," along with a winky face. She replied with a smirking emoji, and your heart skipped a beat. Loosening your tie, you looked around at your surroundings before snapping a picture that showed the 'problem' you had been hiding since the picture she sent you. You sent it to her with the caption "Better watch what you send me, young lady. You won't be able to handle the punishment."

Three grey dots quickly appeared, then disappeared, and reemerged as she was contemplating her response. "Last time I checked, I'm older than you, Y/N."

Smirking, you shook your head. "Maybe so, but who were you calling 'daddy' while I broke your bed?"

Wanda's response was swift, "Y/N, don't start that..." Before you could begin your response, another photo came across, showing more of her sinful body, bottom lip fully trapped in those pearly whites that had you enraptured.

"Wanda, behave, baby. I can't do anything while I'm still at work." You shot back a response, trying to sound stern, but the smirk on your face betrayed you. You watched your phone, waiting for her to respond, the anticipation making you feel giddy like a teenager.

"But you can imagine," she texted back with a mischievous wink. You groaned, sliding your phone off to the side so you could unfurl the blueprint you needed, beginning to tweak it how you were asked to in the meeting. You heard a few vibrations coming from your left, trying to ignore the anticipation in your gut, knowing that it was likely Wanda.

You managed to keep your focus on work for all of half an hour, but the buzzing of your phone was a persistent reminder of the distraction waiting for you. When you couldn't take it anymore, you looked down to find several more texts from her, each more flirty and provocative than the last. "You're going to be the death of me," you muttered to yourself, your cock twitching in your pants. Scrolling through the descriptions of what she wants to do to you, you came across the last message. It was a video, and your heart nearly stopped when you clicked it. You quickly paused it, realizing that there was more than anyone's share of obsceneties in it, and rifled through your shoulder bag looking for your earbuds.

Once you had them in, you hit play, and watched as Wanda lay back on her bed, her fingers tracing along her glistening folds, her breathy moans coming across as she buries her fingers knuckle deep into her heat. Your eyes widened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure.

You had to remind yourself that you were at work, and that your coworkers were just on the other side of the thin fabric walls. You shot back a text, "I'll give you what you're asking for this weekend," before sliding your phone across the desk, far away from you before turning on some music from your watch.

The end of your night could not come fast enough. Each moment at work was torture, knowing that Wanda was just a house away from yours, probably thinking of you as much as you thought of her. The anticipation was palpable, and it was all you could do to keep from walking out the office, and straight to her house.

Finally, you had made all of the changes you needed to, and your 'friend' had finally relaxed enough that you could walk out of the office without shuffling to hide. You began packing up your things, sliding your laptop and various other things into the pouches on your bag. The clock above the door ticked away the final seconds of your workday with a sadistic slowness. Each tick echoed in the quiet office like a gunshot, but you had made it. Just as you were throwing your coat on over your shoulders, a voice echoed from behind you. One you weren't anticipating hearing, not here.

"Y/N?" there was a familiar rasp to it, as you turned to face none other than Natasha. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "I was told I would probably find you here."

You felt your cheeks burn as you hastily shoved the last of your things into your bag, trying to hide your disappointment in her arrival. You just wanted to get home, slip next door and see the woman who has been occupying your thoughts all week. "Funny how that works, Nat. I work here."

Natasha's smile grew, "I know that," as she stepped closer. She looked you up and down, a knowing glint in her eye. "That's not how you should treat someone who gave you such a welcome to town, or did you forget?"

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt, "It's not like that Nat. Believe me, I have tried to forget, considering the circumstances. And had I known about your situation with my best friend and your boss, then it wouldn't have ever happened."

Natasha's expression softened, "I know it's complicated, but it's not your fault, Y/N." She took a step closer, "But, that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun together." She leaned in, whispering in your ear, "I know you enjoyed it."

You stepped back, shaking your head. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not doing that again, Natasha. Is that seriously all you came here for?" you hissed in her direction.

Her smirk grew, "What if I told you, that's not what I really came here for?"

Groaning, you gathered your things, trying to get out of the office. "What could you possibly be here for, Natasha?"

Her eyes glinted with a mischievous spark, "Well, I need your help with something."

"My help?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. "What on earth could you possibly need my help with?" you let the irritation seep through your voice.

Natasha sauntered closer, her hips swaying in a way that was definitely not accidental. "It's about Pietro," she said, her tone dropping to a whisper. "I need to plan something special for him. For his birthday."

You stopped in your tracks, turning on your heel before walking right up to the redhead. "Let me get this right. You begin dating my best friend, your boss, then sleep with his best friend when she comes to town. He finds out, so you've been kissing his ass since. Now you have the fucking balls to walk into my office, flirt with me and insinuate sleeping with me again, just to turn around and ask for help with something for his birthday? Are you stupid?" you growled.

Her eyes narrowed, "Like you should be one to talk about crossing lines, Y/N."

The accusation stung, but you held your ground. "What the hell do you mean by that, Romanoff?"

Natasha's smirk grew wider, "Oh, come on. You've been spending an awful lot of time with Wanda, haven't you? Looks like she has more than helped you 'settle in'. How would Piet feel about that revelation?"

You clenched your jaw, anger boiling up inside you. "Don't bring him into this. Whatever's going on between Wanda and me is none of your business. And frankly, I don't care what you do for his birthday. Just don't involve me in your mess." You turned to leave, but Natasha grabbed your arm.

"I'm not trying to start trouble," she said, her voice taking on a serious tone. "But I am looking out for him."

"Jesus, Natasha, you don't think, do you?" You shook her hand off, the heat of your anger burning through your cheeks. "I've known Piet since high school. I'm not just going to toss his friendship away for some fling. And I'm certainly not going to entertain being with his sister without letting him know! He already knows about us, Romanoff! Wanda and I are just trying things out, trying to make it different than our past. And what we have, it's certainly not something to be used as leverage in some twisted game."

Natasha's smirk slipped, and for the first time, you saw a flash of genuine concern cross her features. "You're serious," she murmured. "I had no idea. I just..."

You shook your head, scoffing. "Yeah, Natasha. You had no fucking idea." You turned to walk away, halting when she spoke.

Her expression grew contrite. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble. But I want to let you know something."

You turned to face her, your arms crossed. "What is it?"

Natasha took a step closer, her eyes serious. "Pietro's not okay," she said, her voice low and urgent. "He's...he's been acting strange lately. And I think it has to do with someone who is coming back to town."

You frowned, "Who?"

"Val. She's been gone now for..."

"6 years." you finished. You are certain your heart is now in your stomach, and all color has left your features.

Natasha nodded solemnly. "Exactly. How'd you know?"

You glanced at the redhead, shaking your head. You weren't going to tell her the truth, not this truth. "Best Friend. Remember?"

Natasha nodded, her eyes widening a fraction. "Right. I'm sorry, I forgot." You shook your head, standing in the middle of the glass entryway to your office building. "I'm gonna go now, have a good night, Y/N."

"Wait," you called out as she started to turn away. "What's going on with him? Is he okay?"

"Call him. Best friend, remember?" was all she said before she walked away.

You watched Natasha leave, her words echoing in your mind like a warning bell. The thought of Val returning to town made your stomach churn. The woman had been a tornado in your friendship with Pietro, leaving a path of destruction and heartache in her wake. You hadn't thought about her since you left Westview, and for good reason—the very mention of her name brought back memories you'd rather forget. But Natasha's concern for her boyfriend was clear, and you knew you had to at least check in on him.

Pulling out your phone, you called him, the line ringing with a sense of dread in your chest. After a few rings, he finally picked up, his voice sounding more tired than you'd ever heard it. "Hey, Y/N, what's up?"

"Piet," you started, your voice tight. "Natasha came by my office, she said you weren't doing so well. What's going on?" You heard a dry chuckle on the other line.

"Of course. No 'Hey man, I may be banging your sister but I wanted to talk to you', just straight to it." You could hear the sarcasm in his voice, but it was laced with a hint of actual pain. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Look, Natasha came to me because she's worried, and now I am too. What's going on?"

There was a pause on the line, and for a moment you thought he might hang up. "Val's coming back," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "And I don't know what to do." Hearing the confirmation from him is like a dagger, sharp and cold, twisting in your gut. "And she is bringing Maria with her." You feel your insides twist, knowing this will never be good for anyone here.

"Maria? As in...Maria, Maria?" you asked, wanting to make sure you're thinking of the same person.

"Yeah," he sighed. "The one and only. She's apparently decided she wants to reconnect with certain people, and Val's using it as an excuse to come back and stir up shit."

You felt your jaw clench. "What kind of shit?"

"Well, Y/N, when I first saw her and spoke with her, she somehow knew you had moved here. Something about, 'so much misunderstanding in your relationship' or some shit like that."

Your heart stopped beating, and the realization that Val knew about your move and would probably talk to Wanda set in. You could feel the spiral slowly beginning to start, the fear of something happening with Wanda too much. "I... fuck, Piet. What about Wands? Fuck."

Pietro's sigh was heavy, "I don't know, man. I'm sorry. I should've called you sooner. I've been trying to figure out what to do, how to handle it."

You felt your stomach drop. "No, no, it's okay. I've got to tell Wanda. She deserves to know before Val says something to her."

Pietro's voice grew a little stronger, "I know it's a mess, but she's going to have to find out from us first. I can't have Val playing puppet master again. And, Y/N?"

You swallowed hard, "Yeah?"

"Thank you for...caring enough to try and warn her, to prepare her. But this is exactly why I told you to handle things before you moved here."

You felt a knot form in your stomach. "I know. I'm sorry, I should've been more upfront with Wanda from the start." You rubbed the back of your neck, the tension building. "But it's not like it's been easy. I didn't think that this...this would be what happened."

Pietro sighed again, "I know, I know. But that's the problem, Y/N. You didn't think. And when it comes to Val, and Maria, those two are always 7 steps ahead on the chessboard. Just...try to talk to my sister before Val gets a chance to. I don't trust that bitch."

You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. "I'll go right now. I'll talk to you later, Piet." You ended the call, slipping your phone into your pocket and taking a deep breath before walking out of the office. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the hot mess of emotions you felt on the inside. You made your way towards your car, popping the trunk to throw your belongings inside. As you slammed the deck lid down, a voice came from behind you. 

"Well hello, Y/N. What a small world."

[thechekhov]

How often would you say that you draw comics and art while also focus on the other things in life; work, family, etc?

Like, for example, if you had an exact number of minutes, hours, or days of drawing, what is an estimate per day or week? I'm just curious.

Honestly, it's difficult to count since my workweeks tend to vary based on the season but here's a quick example:

I don't work full-time at this point but I do have an hour commute both ways, and because I'm on a salary, I'm sometimes forced to stay overtime, meaning that my entire day is just sleep-eat-work-eat-sleep in that order, with nothing else that really happens that day.

During non-work days, most of my non-work time is..... art-work time!

And by that I mean that if I'm not washing the dishes, running an errand or spacing out, I'm drawing.

When do I play video-games or watch shows? I don't.

When do I spend time with friends? I don't.

Not unless it's specifically scheduled, such as when someone visits from far away. I have about 1 hour of social stuff set aside each week because I participate in a taiko group in the city I work at.

When I count it up, my art stuff ends up being anywhere between 30 -35 hours each work. My part time job is supposed to be 24 hours (not counting the commute), but often ends up going over. And I usually need another 5 hours each week to take care of the back-end office stuff - scheduling posts, managing Patreon, answering asks and planning future stuff.

I will admit I would not be able to do that if it were not for the kindness of my partner, who takes care of most of the cooking and cleaning, and often ends up cooking me things to eat:

I appreciate him and his commitment to keeping me alive very much

Also, just to be clear: I am not pretending that this is not a good work-life balance.

It it just the balance that works for ME, personally. I think most people would find this...less great.

I do not go out for coffees with pals. I do not watch new series, and I do not partake in social events. This is something I am fine with, but I know many other people would find my life incredibly repetitive and boring.

Actually, looking at this math laid out, I am quite disappointed in not being able to accomplish more with the 30 hours I have per week. But...the reality is that aside from running the comic on my Patreon and doing random personal doodling on my main blog, I'm also often trying to do other projects in the background that I don't feel like sharing until their completion.

The reality is, I enjoy this load, though. I make it work for me, and I'm getting to do stuff I like AND make money for myself and my partner! So I'm fine with it. I'm not actually dying from exhaustion.

It's just hilarious when I sometimes get asks going "Hey, have you played that latest 130-hour-long videogame? :)" followed by a swift "I wish you would post comics daily again :((( I want more arrttttt" like kids, you can't have both, I don't know what to tell you.

[bittersweet-vitriol]

Every single person over 40 absolutely SCREECHING "WhAt Do YoU mEaN??? tHe JoB mArKeT iSnT bAd EvErYoNe Is HiRiNg!!!!!!1"

Yeah, you're right, they are, but they're also the greediest companies that have ever fucking existed, and are PERFECTLY happy to run their current employees absolutely fucking ragged while EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE is understaffed AS FUCK just so that they can hang up a "We're hiring!" sign and say "UwU sowwyy were so undewwstaffywaffied!! We got a biiiiiig labow showtage! 🥺" Meanwhile, they're throwing stacks of HUNDREDS of applications straight into the shredder because they're waiting on that one magical candidate that has a master's degree (for a job that required nothing but on the job training 5-10 years ago) , 10 years of relevant experience (for this entry level position), and is, for some reason, willing to accept a 37.5 hour (part time teehee) workweek (daddy company can't afford to offer you health insurance, sick days, or benefits, don't be silly!!!), not being allowed to work a second job, also not being allowed to have any commitments whatsoever outside of work, and also being paid at or near minimum wage

[frodothefair]

Writing unspired and unmotivated. Yes, it can be done, and it should be done (but only if you want to).

I am a firm believer that if you want to learn to do something and do it well, you have to do it a lot. And in order to do it a lot, you have to do it even if you don't want to. With writing, this means that you have to write even if you're not motivated and not inspired. In fact, I've found that motivation and inspiration are unreliable partners. They are like the weather -- poorly understood, fickle, and largely outside of any tangible control.

So what do you do? Here is what works for me, as a person who (not to toot my own horn, but yes, to toot my own horn a little) has published 5-10K chapters well-nigh every two weeks for the last two years. I may not be the best, but I'm nothing if not prolific.

Now, granted, I will check my privilege and say that I would not be able to publish on such a schedule if I wasn't blessed with 1) a 4-day workweek, 2) a very supportive spouse and 3) the absence of any condition like ADHD, which can be a major barrier to getting things done. And if being prolific or finishing WIPs or getting as good as you can is not your goal and you're just writing for fun (totally valid, by the way), feel free to ignore everything I say. After all, none of us are pros here -- except for those who are, but they'll never tell ;).

But for anyone else, here goes.

When I think about writing, I start by checking in with myself and labelling my mindset in one of three ways.

ONE. Absolutely RARING to write.

If so, nothing to be done here. Just write. Off you go, run like the wind.

TWO: Writing feels positively PAINFUL. Oh, please, please, please don't make me write. I'll sob if you put me in front of a keyboard.

Ok, then. If that is really the case, then don't write. It will only burn you out, like trying to boil an empty pot. Go do something else, something that will soothe you and fill your cup. But then, after a few hours or a day, check in with yourself again.

And then finally, THREE - everything in between. Maybe I'm feeling "meh" about writing. Maybe I'm feeling inadequate or nervous or wondering "what's the point anyway." Maybe the inspiration isn't gushing like a fountain. Maybe I'm a little lazy or a little tired.

Well, guess what? It happens. In fact, this is how I feel about writing at least half of the time.

But I do it anyway, because I find that if I do it, the words will come. And I will feel more excited.

So here's what I do.

I make sure that my environment is comfortable and positive.

I sit in my comfy writer's chair, and I make sure my space is uncluttered, and I wear comfy clothing, and I have a beverage and a snack by my side. I put my earplugs in, or, if I'm in the mood, my brown noise, which is great for concentration.

And then I vibe with my characters for a bit. I have my desktop set up in such a way that I can always see small pictures of my main characters, even with a word doc open. I may pretend that they're sitting by my side, or that I am in their shoes -- wherever I left off the last time I wrote. I may reread some of what I wrote the last time.

And then I take some deep breaths and write The Truest Sentence I Can (TM). This one is from Papa Hem -- whatever his other flaws, he gave great writing advice. Another one of my faves: “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

Now, it doesn't have to be The World's Truest Sentence, nor does it have to be perfectly true. All it needs to do is have some authenticity. Make it the trust sentence you can write in that particular moment. You can always make it better and truer later.

And then you write another. And another.

And if you get stuck, get up. Get a drink or a snack, use the bathroom, stretch, look out the window. (But don't take too long, 1-3 minutes is usually enough). By the time you come back, you may find yourself pleasantly unstuck. And if you're still stuck, repeat the process of vibing with your characters, rereading what you wrote, and writing a true sentence -- the truest sentence you can in that particular moment.