#its like sitting at home and going 'i need eggs i guess ill just pray about it' no dude youve gotta go to the fucking market

[incognitajones]

okay so one of my favorite things about Fixer Upper is that they work in the same place!!! So if you're up for it what I'd like more than anything is for some fluffy caretaking h/c follow-up where Jyn takes Cassian home early to their(!!!) house! :D

Jyn’s phone buzzes once, and then again, and she reaches blindly for it while still staring at her computer. Two texts have arrived almost simultaneously: one from Bodhi, saying that he’s sick and going home, and another from Cassian.

feeling shitty think I have to leave early can I get a ride home?

Jyn smiles at the screen and thumbs back a quick response.

ugh, so needy (jk) sure just give me 5

When she arrives in the lobby, Cassian’s waiting on a bench by the main doors, looking so miserable that the small laugh she’s been holding in since he texted her dies in her throat. His face is unhealthily pale and he wobbles when he gets to his feet. She grabs his backpack by one strap and reaches up to push his hair off his forehead, hot and slick with sweat.

“You look awful,” she says, shocked into tactlessness.

“The food truck betrayed me,” he groans, dropping his head heavy against her shoulder.

“You should’ve known better than to listen to Bodhi and get the foot long,” she tells him, because it’s the truth, but she also strokes his hair in an attempt to be comforting. Poor Cassian. Although it’s still kind of amusing that her stoic boyfriend (he hasn’t taken a sick day in the year she’s known him) has been laid low by street meat.

He crosses his arms over his stomach and swallows hard. “I need to get out of here fast. Before it comes up all over this marble floor.”

Luckily she’d driven to work today, which she doesn’t often do; otherwise she’d have to call for a cab or an Uber and pray that Cassian could keep it together for the ride home.

The fresh air outside revives him momentarily. He lifts his head and breathes in deep, but then she sees another wave of nausea wash over him, his face turning a sickly yellow instead of its usual olive tone.

“Cassian? Are you going to…?” It takes him a second to focus on her, but eventually he swallows and shakes his head.

“I’ll get you home as fast as I can,” she promises, and keeps her foot on the pedal at a steady five miles over the speed limit all the way. Cassian rolls down the window and leans against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut, gulping in drafts of the wind blowing in. As soon as she parks on the street, he throws the car door open and hurries to the house—he doesn’t quite run, but it’s close.

By the time Jyn gets to the doorway he’s disappeared, but she can hear retching from the bathroom upstairs. Poor guy. She shuts the door behind her and hangs up his coat, abandoned on the floor; Cassian dropping his stuff in a pile in the hall is another sign he must be seriously ill.

She follows him upstairs and taps on the doorframe lightly in warning before she steps into the bathroom. “You okay?”

“No.” Cassian’s sitting on the floor, slumped against the side of the tub with his cheek mashed against the porcelain. “Trust me, you don’t wanna be here for this,” he groans, his voice echoing weirdly off the tile. He lurches back up to his knees and grabs for the toilet. Jyn grimaces and kneels behind him on the bathmat, rubbing his back in sympathy as he heaves. At least it doesn’t sound like there’s much left to come up.

After a few moments he lifts his head, panting. “This is disgusting,” he croaks, sounding so defeated that she blinks. “You’re never going to want to have sex with me ever again.”

Jyn stifles a laugh. “Oh, Cassian, don’t be such a drama queen. You saw me hungover after Baze and Chirrut’s housewarming party and it didn’t turn you off forever.”

“Don’t you have to go back to work?” His voice is slurred and faint.

Jyn shrugs. “I took the rest of the day off, I can do some work from home.”

True, watching anyone puke isn’t her idea of a fun time, but she loves Cassian and she wants to be here to do anything she can to make him feel better. She gets up, her knees cracking, and draws him a glass of cold tap water. He drinks avidly, gulping it down. “Careful, if you drink too fast it’ll just come back up,” she warns him.

She reaches for a clean washcloth and soaks it in cool water, gently wiping the sweat from his forehead before draping the cloth over the back of his neck. He sighs. “That feels good.”

The doorbell rings. She hesitates, debating whether to leave Cassian. It’s probably just someone selling something anyway. But he flaps one hand at her in dismissal. “Go on, it’s fine. I’ll just get into bed once my stomach finishes turning itself inside out.”

It’s Leia on the front stoop, Ben (now seven months old and so fat his chins have chins) propped on her hip. When Jyn opens the door he stretches out his arms with a gummy smile that dims as soon as he sees it’s just her. He likes Jyn, but he loves Cassian.

“I hear Cassian’s not feeling well?”

Jyn blinks. She spent so many years isolated, talking to basically no-one except her boss and Bodhi, and now there’s a whole handful of people who know stuff about her life, who care enough to ask questions. It’s a bit overwhelming sometimes, honestly.

But it doesn’t explain how Leia already knows about Cassian, unless she’s psychic.

“Bodhi texted Luke, who called me.”

Of course. “Yeah, looks like the two of them got food poisoning from one of their lunchtime adventures.”

“Well, we have gallons of this stuff.” Leia hands her a bottle of Pedialyte. “Don’t hesitate to come and get more if you need it. And if you want to come over for dinner later, in case Cassian can’t stand the smell of cooking, you’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Leia.” Jyn waves goodbye to Ben, dodging his grab for her fingers—she certainly doesn’t want to risk passing this germ on to the rugrat.

When she gets back upstairs, Cassian’s already in bed, huddled into a shivering ball. Jyn goes back and forth gathering supplies, trying to anticipate anything he might need: garbage can by his side of the bed, just in case he still isn’t finished puking; Pedialyte and water on the night table. She brings his favourite blanket up from the living room and drapes it over him, tucking it in around his shoulders.  

She leans over to kiss his sweaty temple, about to sneak out of the room and leave him alone to get some rest. But he cracks open one eye and stares up at her pleadingly. “Stay?”

She can’t resist his pitiful tone. It’s awkward but in the end they work out a position that’s comfortable for both of them. Cassian curls on his side, head nestled on Jyn’s stomach just beneath her breasts, with her laptop on a pillow next to her thigh. She strokes her left hand absently through his hair, rubs his shoulder and kneads the tight cords in his neck, paying partial attention to the discovery document (she’ll have to re-read the whole thing) while she listens to his breathing. At first it’s laboured and interrupted by hitches as he holds his breath, willing himself not to be nauseous, but gradually it evens out and slows down. She glances down at his face; his eyes are closed, the tension in his forehead smoothed out by sleep.

Jyn thinks about shutting her laptop and crawling under the covers for a nap too. But her stomach suddenly growls beneath Cassian’s head, reminding her she hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. (Thank god she didn’t take Bodhi up on his invitation to meet them for lunch.) Cassian might not want anything to eat for a while, but she’s hungry. She slides out from under him gently, nudging her pillow over for him to use instead.

In the kitchen, she scans the fridge and cupboard trying to figure out what to make. Jyn has vague memories of her mom feeding her applesauce and bananas after she was sick, but according to Dr Google that’s no longer recommended for people recovering from gastrointestinal issues. A plain chicken broth and rice soup, she decides, maybe with an egg whisked in if Cassian’s stomach can take it. She’s still no gourmet cook, but she can handle that. She washes her hands scrupulously and gets to work.

The soup is nearly ready and she’s chopping a few green onions for her share of it when she hears footsteps on the stairs. Cassian stumbles into the kitchen, wearing nothing but pajama pants and his grandmother’s crocheted blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hair is sticking up at all angles in an endearing mess. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s still pale, but he doesn’t seem to be sweating.  

“Feel like you could eat something?” she asks, and he nods.

She fills a mug of soup and passes it to him. He cups his hands around it. “This actually smells good,” he says, sounding surprised.

Jyn nods. “I texted Bodhi, he says he’s feeling a little better already too. I guess the good news is this doesn’t last long.”

She gets a mug for herself and leans against the counter, eating in companionable silence. But after slowly sipping just half his mug of soup, Cassian puts it down on the counter.

She eyes him anxiously. “How’s your stomach?”

“Fine.” He yawns. “I’m just exhausted. Feels like a bus ran over me.”

He’s been working long hours lately—too long—and Jyn’s sure that’s part of the reason this virus hit him so hard. “Come on, back to bed.” She curls her hand into his and urges him up the stairs.

But when they get there, he tugs her down on to the mattress with him and she doesn’t resist. She notches her head under his chin and lets her feet slot between his. He pulls the crochet blanket up over both of them and wraps his arm around her waist, securing her against him.

“I really don’t want to go to work tomorrow,” he mumbles into her hair.

“You don’t have to.” She yawns too, fatigue catching up with her. “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Good, then you can sleep in with me.” He spans his hand across her back, warm and intimate, and sleep slides over Jyn like a wave.

Next morning, Jyn wakes when the mattress shifts beneath her as Cassian gets out of bed. She doesn’t open her eyes but listens intently, hoping he’s not still sick. But the only noises she hears from the bathroom are running water, the friction and splash of brushing teeth. When Cassian returns he slides into bed behind her, curling up in an echo of her posture but not quite touching her. She can feel his warmth all along the line of her back.

Jyn smiles to herself and rolls over, nestling into the circle of his arm. “Feeling better?”

“Mmhmm.” He hums into the top of her head. “My appetite is definitely back.”

“Want to go out for breakfast, then?” she asks, thinking of waffles.

“No.” He grins at her, slow and suggestive, and dips his head to trace his tongue along the neckline of her t-shirt. She laughs and pulls him up into a kiss tasting of mint.

#jyn x cassian #rebelcaptain #cats and metersticks #my fic #prompt fill #more sick fic #fixer upper #modern AU

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

We are at Sonic, 99 cent regular size burritos today-must mention ad, my older brother wanted chili cheese tots (i need onion and mustard on mine), pretzels, drink, my mom ordered my dad some things.

So Annabelle and i ordered. I smoked, she ate moz sticks. Ours was $7. We saved our burritos for home, hers was egg and cheese only. Mine sausage.

The rest of my sciatic nerve was killing me. Took me awhile to figure out what it was, i even asked last night some of the muscle trained peoples what they thought it was. So I just have a stem coming from the spine. A short, probably not a new nerve growth because (im not saying my doctor sucks because there's a method to the madness) i haven't had sciatic pain and i know for a fact as well as my currently recurred sinus pain is caused by situations i am in. Could be a new growth, idk but the doctor tests nerves and they're close together and we're not using florscopy to look in my body while holding something that can paralyze me for life. So better safe and repeat than sorry. Of course i could be wrong and a cyst is putting pressure on my motor nerve. Because the doctor tests as i said and I fall asleep or am in and out and when he tests the motor nerve it shakes my leg. And so i feel a similar pain as i do now. Except i hear the doctor when hes needling me and he says "thats not it" "nope" "i cant get it" "lets just move on for now" so i assume we have a sciatic branch under a motor nerve. This is why i trust my doctor. If you're curious, measure straight across from the tip of your ass crack to the middle of your butt cheek, the size of my hand from the crack. Then pivot your middle finger so its pointed down and i got a nice hunk of Matt handle fat and that whole palm are hurts but when on opiates/narcotics and CBD and muscle relaxer and neuropathic pain medication, it hurts straight across from my crack and doesn't radiate but comes in like a dagger on each literal heart beat.

So I'm feeling like shit. Exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, physically, my mom is pissed cause my dad wants a sausage,burrito and she wants me to get a BBLT which no one,wants cause that's all she buys. And shes starting her psycho drama bull shit. Which just ended in "you didn't give me money" and her well you had money to,get coffee at the gas station and my dad saying "shes not going to give you a real reason, shes going,to,say something you would,say because that's all you understand"

I never told her i would use my money although im the type to do so. I told her my brother gave me money, when she asked if i needed it before i left, cause she was working outside. My brother will give me $40 to buy food and he only get a $9 meal. But i had to use my own money. Cause it was $17.58 and i gave the girl a $1 tip.

The girl looked scared. I think it was the energy in the air. I was struggling to ignore it. I don't like guns. They make life unfair. If you walk up to me, i have a chance to make,a semi-plan. If i walk up to you, you have a chance to make a plan. With a gun, there's nothing. No chance to defend. Which is common sense. Unless God jams the gun. Inexperience is scariest cause then it increases the chance a misfire could occur. I guess that's why some of us like the dark. Mother Nature can be a safety shield. I do use her.

You have heard the beginning and the almost end of one story. What do you think has happened at Sonic to cause this eerieness???

Did I stand up in the sunroof waving my magic crystal wand?

Am I randomly attacking people with my new JLO purse by hitting people in the back of their heads for having their window open?

Did I go inside and take over the Mic to sing "Fuck tha Police"?

No.

So we sitting there just having ordered everyone else's food so it would be hot and fresh upon delivery.

And the Sentra of a century pulled in blaring his music about idk what. Annabelle and i made fun of him cause it sounded like he was singing about tater tots. Then later the song was about hot tamales. Swear.

So I'm still mostly sitting straight with my head back against the seat, eyes closed and smoking cause that doesn't hurt. (There is a sciatic position for sitting I learned at physical therapy) and i feel my kid dodge and say something.

Its literal too much pain to turn my neck but I do cause my kid is all "omg" and its not a good. I say "what?" "He has a gun!!!!"

I'm all no he,doesn't but my eyes flash up at him and I see him pull back as if hes just loaded or checking/playing while its empty.

I'm strongly feeling hes empty. Strongly. Yet I am extremely aware how vulnerable I am if hes not or has bullets within reach. My kid gets down lower than the window without me telling her to.

Fear is suffocating. I know my kid is startled like Hell. Idk if anyone else inside saw. The car hop is weary, yet i see that look often with just loud music -- because usually those people are disrespectful.

And IDK where he came from. So IDK if I'm,praying or being told the guy isn't there to harm,me.

Well I mean like if he is, what am i gonna do?

Besides all was in the air,was pure,fear.

Danger is something completely different feeling... You know when you watch a cat on tv stalk,a,prey and you get that warm dark comforting feeling? I didn't,have that.

It was pretty sunny, Philadelphia.

But I was annoyed cause my kid was startled and there was a little Mercedes skin between hers and his. Even if I know I'm safe. I don't trust that someone put bullet proof materials on my car before i got it.

So the kid refuses to look at me.

Finally we get our food and we can leave.

My kid feels free to laugh again. "He has an apple watch and an iphone 5"

Then the kid feels free to speak.... He was a messenger. I accept his message. And i thank him.

So i tell my dad and his answer is a double barrel shot gun.

God's is a German Shephard.

Denise's is a rottie.

How do i deal with those situations? Neither one of us are there. Thats what i express. Im not there, the gun isnt and whoever has the gun. Why? If they're planning on criminal behavior, then they feel safe to know im not,a,witness. Idc they rob someone or kill them. I dont want to be robbed nor killed. So they're on their own just as they were before I saw them.

If they are robbing, and its fast and easy ill,cheer them on. I honestly do not give a,fuck.

I'm,not about to be in some petty none sense drama that i wasnt in in the first place.

Oh yeah sure Sabrina but you're a key board warrior. Hell fuck yes i am. And bring your shit. Try me out. You're gonna get a hugely different response if you're all about me.

See the difference? Dont be about me and leave me alone. And i see nothing.

Unless i have to.

Cause we all know I'm a tattle tale.

So hopefully old boy knows where to pick up his tamales.

Cause I'm sure they will be just fine.

Also before this occurred.

I was analyzing the message of my, get this, sigh Attica.

Which was about the same person my gun totting friend was messaging about.

And unfortunately Mr I steal eggs and sperm to create white kids to abuse left his information about how to deal with criminals and their behavior.

Which unfortunately was mostly, just let them do it.

And so they are saying themselves they need to stop following that formula.

Now Mr Gun had the same answer but a different one than i was thinking (for once)

But his is best.... For my peace.

Of course live and let live, let people have a chance to grow has also been active.

For Denise it doesnt work.

So my choice is really none -- as I do not have to make that choice. I'm not going to do either one as i am not qualified to do either. However both as explained to me that i will remain unharmed (emotionally,mentally,physically--- 2 of which are about people i love being hurt as well) and so i accept either or both choices being carried out.

The,wind is nice and cooling,today. Pretty excited! :) kinda got,a little sandblast to the teeth BUT NOT my face.

So mother nature says mush!!!!

[samantaradek]

Rebirth

Always shifting, changing,Metamorphosis: the process of transformation from an immature form to an adult form in two or more distinct stages.  By definition that is, a painful process if you ask me, yet it happens and it happened to me throughout this year. I have grown so much, I have changed, the confusion of feeling like one's soul is out of one's body or one's body is out of one's soul, overwhelming. The finishing point, that made me re-think my life? The death of my Grandpa, before the 12 of March 2018 I have never experience relative's death. In my head I had the silly notion of my grandparents being forever immortal, untouchable, of me visiting them every summer telling them about my adventures, I guess they are in my memory. There is so much lessons that my grandpa though me, so much I wanted to thank him for, so much I wanted to tell him about. Yet he was gone in a flash, leaving his wife, his children and his grandchildren. 

Stages of grief:

That night you couldn't sleep it was past 12 but your brain couldn't turn itself off, one of your split-second thoughts was;"he's dead, grandpa is gone."

You knew he wasn't well after the operation, you fall back into the abyss of sleep. Waking up your uncle asks you if you're going home to Poland.

The question being so irrational that you dismiss it without asking why. 

Then he tells you: Your grandpa died last night. 

At first you cry, you cry so hard that the reality becomes a blur of regret and emotion. 

You go to University pretend like everything is fine, keep it all in, don't want people to see you cry. 

Leave for the airport, you are nervous, the flight, the car, just going through motions, you’re in a church praying, you see his body unmoving in the coffin. 

Back home, everyone is quiet, just enough small talk to keep the ghosts from coming, no one is drinking.Upstairs, his bedroom lies empty, granny said she'll sleep there tonight, you hope he won't haunt her.

The morning ,black clothes, wear makeup, so, no one sees your puffy eyes, you find the poems you wrote for him a while back, show your aunt, change them a bit, make them 'funeral ready'.

The drive, funeral, Your aunt reads them while she sobs, Placed them into the coffin in grandpa’s hand.You want to laugh at the priest, the nun took out too much holy-bread, so, he shoves it into his mouth, while the organist plays, downs it with some water/wine, 

Hypocrisy.

You're outside, they have taken the coffin, you hold your grandmothers hand, both of you feel weak, you need someone else, your mother is on the other side helping, she seems to take it all into her stride, she never was fond of grandpa,

At the burial site, you're holding a rose, There’s an accordion playing, its grandpa's tune, "Szla dzieweczka do laseczka"

You almost lost your grip on reality, 

You're back, the funeral is over you go and throw the rose into his grave, a seldom goodbye, you're lacking closures as much as anyone here, regret not coming over in January, why didn't you?

The restaurant, you only know a few people ,they're all talking,

You see your godchild Alek, decide to keep yourself busy with him, you feed him, but then he's off playing with the other kids, you hold your granny's hand under the table for a while. 

Try to make conversation, it’s all over, you met some new family members. Going back to his grave with granny and her sisters, they talk, there's some lads who are your cousins, you make small talk, your chest feels heavy, keep it in Back into the car, then home.

Your alone in the kitchen, you can almost see him sitting on the stool smoking by the old stove that's non-existent now,your tears are dry, your throat hurts Then you get mad, so so mad. How dare he leave? 

How dare he go without saying goodbye?How dare he not be there for me when I have important news to tell him?How dare he not stay and see my future?

You make it personal as if he wanted to leave and let you suffer, not realising that cancer is a serious illness, he was in so much suffering after all of the chemotherapy and radiotherapy.

This is not about you, it’s about him, about his life, about him being a generous human being. About him telling you stories, making you laugh, listening to your troubles, advertising you, putting you first, unconditionally loving you no matter the upsetting things you have said to one another in the past. 

You hug your granny in the hallway and say your goodbyes,the house will be so quiet and lonely,your uncle is telling you, you should stay (joking)By the time you reach the airport you decided,going out of the car you hug your uncle and say you can't go. He leaves you stay, your aunt sheds a smile, it has been a while since she did that at anything other than Alek.

You drive back to your Grandparents knowing that now you only have one, it stings.Acceptance: You had to sleep in his room, thinking it would be hard, you looked through his closet, put one of his farming jumpers on out of sentiment,(it smells of him of burnt wood, cigarettes his cologne and air)then cried yourself to sleep.Night after night for two weeks.

You didn't want other relatives to know, so, when your aunt comes into his/your bedroom, lies on the bed and cries.You are numb.Unable to comfort her, or yourself for that matter.

You tell her it will be better with time, because time heals all wounds.Yet she cries, its not the same without him,There’s no one to throw a joke no one to give you something to do.

Just his/your room and the closet filled with his life.  You can't sleep, you wonder why?

Old memories fill your head, the porcelain duck that could lay eggs, the horse and the wood engraving, him teaching you how to draw, showing you different tricks, waking you up at 4 am to go ploughing, driving the tractor while you sat on his lap, tickling you until you couldn't breathe, carrying buckets of feed for the pigs, milking cows, showing you his not-so-priceless coin collection, buying you ice-cream always asking for his change, life in itself is so complex.Your granny looks awfully sad, she tells you that it might be her time soon, you get upset, tell her she can't leave, she needs to wait for great-grandchildren, not from your side but you have sibling.

She laughs. 

And you know that she will be alright when you leave.

This is a poem I wrote after my grandad pasted away,

thank you for reading,

Sam xxx

#poem grandad sad emotional love memory