south halsted

memprime replied to your post“Answers Miscellaneous”

I thought that was a Dick’s Sporting Goods, where the feminine mace costs 5 dollars more than the masculine mace.

There is a Dick’s also! If you’re standing at that point where Clybourn crosses Halsted, facing the Dick’s facade, keep heading south on Halsted and REI is a rather unassuming storefront about a block and a half down on the west side of the street. 

I’m not very impressed by Dick’s, so I’m not surprised they have a pink tax. I looked at their prices and for camping gear at least they aren’t any cheaper than REI, so I never bother with them. 

Tiptoe (Chicago P.D.)

Title: Tiptoe

Fandom: Chicago P.D.

Rating: T/PG-13

Author’s Note: I’ll refrain from writing a diatribe about how angry I am a scene with Jay talking about his PTSD was cut, and instead offer up this (quick) drabble-ish fic I wrote up that attempts to fill in the obvious gap in the break room scene between Erin and Jay at the end of 4x18. I couldn’t find specifics on where PTSD support groups meet in Chicago so I used the locations of Veteran Service Officers from the Illinois Warrior Assistance Program’s website as a proxy.


“Thank God for the job, though, right? I mean, every day you get to meet somebody who’s problems are bigger than yours.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replies with a nod of his head because she’s right. The job keeps him grounded; the job keeps him focused and tethered to the here and now.

Yet the words still feel heavy and wrong as she explains how she’s gone above and beyond to help today’s somebody, as she provides herself with an out to leave him in the breakroom. And his gaze immediately shifts to the floor; his head tilting downward so he doesn’t have to look at the small smile she offers him as she moves to tiptoe past him.

“Erin,” he softly calls out, and he can hear her boots scuff on the linoleum floor as she skids to a stop long before he’s fully turned around to face her. “I—”

“I, uh,” he says pausing to swallow the lump in his throat. Her back is still turned to him; her body nearly halfway out the door. And — despite all their conversations in here, despite the fact that he followed her in her and initiated this — the break room isn’t exactly where he imagined himself telling her about this. Telling her about something he’s spent most of the last eight years trying to tiptoe around.

Yet he spent Monday night’s meeting listening to an artillery field officer named Jon talk about how he tiptoed around things until he tried something stupid and this afternoon listening to Voight tell him to he’ll be out of the unit if he doesn’t stop tiptoeing around what’s going on. So he squares his shoulders, lifts his head, and forces himself to find the words to tell her that, in fact, some days somebody else’s problems don’t seem all that bigger than his.

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