#chicago eats

[city-of-chicago-il-real-trust]

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. will prob get a pt.2. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[yurihotline]

Thinking about the graffiti on the walls in l4d and how it just feels like if Tumblr users were in the apocalypse

[pbnbucks]

im about to say the most craziest, nastiest, sluttiest, gut wrenching thing to human kind.

[germesthegenie]

So I was thinking earlier today like “damn imagine if we didn’t have the timeskip and got the full 2 years with the Chicago Wards that’d be so cool”. But then I remembered the first 25-ish arcs took place over like 4 months in universe. That’s like 6.25 arcs per month. So imagine if Worm just had like another 150 arcs. The One Piece of niche web serials.

[yabagofmilfs]

All of this seems. Not chill. For a child somewhere between 12 and 15. (x)

[missroserose]

cta gothic

Your trip requires a transfer. You get off the Red Line for your transfer. The station smells like dirty socks. The Pedway directs you beneath downtown, through the refrigerated perfumed air of a mall arcade, and out to the Blue Line. The station smells like dirty socks. The arrivals board says your train will arrive in five minutes. Five minutes passes. Six. A violinist saws away in one corner, somehow audible through Animotion in your noise-canceling headphones. The station smells like dirty socks. Seven minutes. A train arrives. It’s going the wrong direction. Google tells you three trains are on their way within ten minutes. Ten minutes passes. None have materialized. The violinist has left to seek more lucrative audiences. You will be late for your pole class. The station smells like dirty socks.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Walter Einenkel at Daily Kos:

Anti-immigrant lies and rhetoric spewed by Donald Trump and his party have caused real and terrifying results. On Thursday, several city, county, and school buildings in Springfield, Ohio, were targeted by a bomb threat. On Friday, a Springfield middle school was closed and two elementary schools were evacuated. ABC News originally reported that there was no direct connection made between the threats and the GOP's repeated racist lies about Haitian immigrants abducting and eating pets. Additionally, ABC reported it was not “immediately clear if Friday's evacuations were from a new threat or linked to bomb threats sent via email Thursday morning.” But in an interview with The Washington Post, Springfield Mayor Rob Rue said that Thursday’s bomb threat “used hateful language towards immigrants and Haitians in our community.”

During Tuesday night’s presidential debate, Trump erroneously claimed, “In Springfield, they're eating the dogs. The people that came in. They're eating the cats. They're eating—they're eating the pets of the people that live there.” This lie has also been pushed by his running mate Sen. JD Vance a number of times. And Trump continued to perpetuate the lie, adding geese this time, in a campaign rally Thursday in Arizona.

The Haitian Times reported that some of Springfield’s Haitian community has felt so threatened during this barrage of right-wing hate-propaganda that they chose to keep their children home from school following the debate. “We’re all victims this morning,” one woman, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals, told the outlet. “They’re attacking us in every way.”  The same kind of racist rhetoric has also besieged Venezuelan immigrants in Colorado. Trump has repeatedly pushed bullshit crime numbers (which he did once again during the debate), targeting Venezuelan communities in the Centennial State as filled with “gangs,” and saying they were “taking over” Colorado cities. 

[...] This is sadly par for the course during a time of fascistic and hateful rhetoric. We saw it with Asian hate crimes rising during COVID-19 pandemic, when Trump and others would frequently use derogatory terms for the coronavirus such as “Kung Flu,” and the “Chinese Virus.” We've seen it in the rise of antisemitism connected to the rise of MAGA extremist rhetoric and conspiracy theory as well as the Palestinian/Israeli conflict. The consequences of the Republican Party’s need to target, isolate, and divide various groups of people, are that innocent, hardworking people suffer. At the same time, without any meaningful policies, the fear and economic uncertainty that the GOP repeats remains the same.  Trump said Tuesday during the debate that the Haitian immigrants in Springfield were “destroying” the residents’ “entire way of life.” That divisiveness, despite the fact that these Haitian Americans are part of that community, is the Trump way. And in a country made up almost entirely of immigrants, there’s always someone to blame.

Aurora, CO and Springfield, OH are two communities in the news recently as a result of right-wing hate mobs targeting the cities to push their anti-immigrant BS.

[brycesfav]

the rookies are out tonight !

[separatist-apologist]

Anyone know of any cool people worth meeting in the UK?

[plotting-against-you]

My Own Worst Enemy

Fandom: One Chicago

Characters: Halstead Sister Reader, Jay Halstead, Will Halstead, Dr. Charles, Ethan Choi, Maggie Lockwood

Summary: You have a relapse in your anorexia, and no one knows until you show up at Med.

Warnings: Eating Disorders (i.e., anorexia) and their symptoms and habits.

Author's Note: I know nothing about anorexia, so I had to google it. If this comes off in any way incorrect, please know that I'm sorry. Also, if you ever find yourself in this situation, please seek help...I know it's hard, but we want you safe and healthy.

It started with a harmless comment. That’s what anyone would have thought, though you knew it wasn’t harmless. Not to you at least.

You had just gotten a full-time job at your local library, which seemed heaven-sent. You’d always loved being around books, so it all seemed to click when you found this job online.

Then the comment came.

You were eating during your allotted thirty-minute lunch break in the staff break room a week after starting when two women walked in from another department. You hadn’t met them yet but cringed when you saw their figures.

You hadn’t had the easiest time growing up. You were constantly picked on and developed an eating disorder at sixteen. Coincidentally, that was when your mom got sick, so you hid your illness in an attempt to keep the focus on her. It worked…until it didn’t.

You’d landed in the hospital where they diagnosed you with anorexia, and you’d had to work extra hard to come back from it ever since.

Seeing the women and their “perfect” figures didn’t make you recoil as it once would have, but their comments did.

“Girl, you brought a whole package of turkey to work? How many sandwiches are you planning on making?”

The other woman shrugged. “Don’t make fun of me! I like my turkey sandwiches, okay? Besides, you know I could eat a whole horse and not gain a pound.”

You looked down at the leftover beef stew in front of you and slowly laid down your fork. You had been having a stressful time recently with the new job, and your already fragile psyche took the hit as if it were a personal attack on you.

Boxing up what was left of the dinner you’d had at Jay and Hailey’s the night before, you tossed it in the garbage and grabbed a water.

“This is all I need today.” You told yourself. “I’ll do better tomorrow.”

…

You hadn’t done better tomorrow.

In fact, it had been weeks since you had started up your old habits. Luckily for you, it was easy to hide the signs from your family since it was just Jay and Will, and they’d both been working weird hours, making it impossible to see each other.

You had just gotten home from your day at work, having had nothing more than a bottle of water for lunch, and leaned against the couch in exhaustion. Though you grew increasingly tired every day, you found it hard to sleep at night.

You knew that was a symptom of the disease that had come back in full force, but you refused to accept it.

Dropping your bag, it made a thud on the floor, and you blinked your eyes a few times to clear them of the dots that danced in your vision. You were dizzy, but you refused to call your brothers for help.

Just as the thought entered your mind, your phone rang, and everything went dark as you reached to answer it.

…

You woke up on the floor behind your couch, your head pounding, your stomach growling, and your phone still ringing.

Reaching out an arm to search for your phone, you pulled it to your ear and scrunched your face in annoyance. “Hello?”

There was a pause. “Thank fuck.”

You continued to lie on the floor but opened your eyes in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve called you like twelve times.” Jay’s voice said on the other line. “I thought maybe you had been hurt or something.”

“I was napping.” You lied, though you figured it was close to the truth. “It’s been a long day.”

Jay snorted. “You work at a library. How hard can that be?”

“You’d be surprised.”

He ignored you. “Well, did you forget that you were supposed to meet Will and I at Molly’s for a drink tonight?”

“Shit. That was tonight?” Between focusing on work and spending your free time counting your calories, you’d forgotten about the invitation from your brothers. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted.”

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” Jay’s voice sounded concerned.

“I’m fine, honest. Just tired. Rain check?” You ignored the fact that you were still lying on the ground.

Jay sighed, disappointment filling his tone. “Okay. We’ll do it another night.”

“Thanks, Jay.” You told him as you hung up.

Then you lay on the floor, resting a hand on your aching stomach. It had been some time since you’d put anything other than water and some nuts into it but couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You would soon be at your ideal weight, and everything would return to normal.

…

You nearly screamed when you brushed your hair the following day and found a large chunk of it tangled in the brush. Your hair started falling out again, as it had when you were younger, and you sighed.

You knew you needed help, but you didn’t want any. You liked this control, and you liked having this ideal image in your head.

Ignoring the anxious pit in your stomach, you continued to get ready for work and left your apartment. Everything would be fine, you told yourself.

And it was…until midday.

You had been in the stacks trying to locate a book for a patron when the dizziness set in. Blinking it away, you reached for the top shelf when the world tilted on its axis, and you were suddenly lying on the ground staring up at the ceiling.

People were around you immediately, but everything sounded like a train flying past your ears. Sitting up, you waved everyone off but let your director pull you into the first aid room.

He grabbed a bottle of water and had you sit while he pulled out your emergency contact information. “You’re okay, Y/N. I’m going to call your emergency contact to pick you up and get you checked out.”

Groaning, you tried to stop him. “It’s okay, really. My brother is a doctor. I’ll just get him to check me out after my shift.”

The last thing you needed was for him to call Jay, your first emergency contact, or Will, your secondary contact. They would freak out, and you didn’t want them to know anything about this.

“Y/N, you collapsed. That’s not something we play around with here.” Your boss told you.

You shook your head and went to stand when the world went black again, and you crumpled to the ground.

…

“Dr. Choi! We’ve got incoming.” Maggie yelled to the physician and turned to the ambulance bay as the doors opened.

“What do we got?” He asked, running over and meeting the eyes of the paramedic.

“Thirty-year-old female collapsed at work twice. Lost consciousness on the second fall. Severely malnourished and dehydrated. BP is low, and so is her blood sugar.”

Looking down at you, Ethan sighed. He knew what this probably meant and knew your brothers would be worried. “Mags, keep them out of my treatment room until after I’ve finished.”

“You got it.” She told him and looked at you worriedly.

As they transferred you to a hospital gurney, Ethan shined his pen light into your eyes. “Y/N? Can you hear me?”

Your face contorted in disgust, trying to escape the light as you nodded. “Hmm…yeah.”

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

“If you stop shining a light in them….” You muttered but instantly felt terrible. “I’m sorry….”

Ethan shook his head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Y/N.”

He rattled off a bunch of tests to the nurse before you bit your lip. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

He sighed. “Y/N…you know how this looks. You can either let me run a bunch of unnecessary tests, or you can let me call Dr. Charles, and we can get this over with sooner.”

“What about my brothers?” You asked meekly.

“I can keep them out until after you talk to Dr. Charles if you want?” He suggested though he knew he’d have a battle on his hands.

You nodded. “Please.”

“Okay. I’ll have Maggie page Dr. Charles, and we’ll go from there.”

…

While he usually walked into work at a leisurely pace, Will found himself rushing inside to meet his brother. “What happened?”

Jay shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Her boss called and said she’d passed out twice at work today, but when I got here, Maggie and Ethan told me I had to wait out here.”

Turning to look at the nurse, Will’s eyes held fury before Ethan stepped in. “Will, she asked for some time. Dr. Charles is in with her right now, and then you can go in.”

“Dr. Charles?” Jay asked him. “But why would-”

The thought dawned on both brothers simultaneously, and they looked sadly at each other. It had been nearly fifteen years since they had dealt with this, but it looked like your worst enemy was back and swinging.

The door opened, and Dr. Charles walked out of the treatment room. “Boys. You can go in now.”

Jay took off the second the words came out, but Will stayed back, looking at his colleague in fear and anguish.

“Is it…it’s back, isn’t it?” The redhead asked him.

The seasoned doctor sighed. “She’s permitted me to tell you this, so yes…her anorexia is apparent again. She said she’s been dealing with it for a few weeks now.”

The eldest Halstead looked towards your room and sighed. “I wish we’d known. It’s the same thing that happened before, you know? We didn’t know until she ended up in the hospital.”

“This can be a tough thing.” Dr, Charles told him. “But you know as well as I do that recovery is possible, and you had to know that a relapse could happen.”

Will nodded. “Yeah, I just thought we were in the clear.”

“Well, I can tell you that we came up with a therapy plan and scheduled a meeting with a nutritionist. I can also tell you that your sister is very strong but very scared of what you might be feeling, so please…go in and see her.”

Nodding almost robotically, Will moved over to your room and sighed as he took in your appearance. “Hey, kid.”

You raised your tear-filled eyes to him but kept your grip on Jay’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Will moved forward instantly and came to your side, brushing the bangs out of your face. “You have nothing to apologize for, Y/N/N.”

“What happened?” Jay asked quietly.

You bit your lip. “I’ve been really stressed lately, and then someone made a comment at work…it just slid away from there. I didn’t mean for it to get this bad.”

“When I called you last night, and you said you’d been napping?”

You looked at Jay sadly. “I had passed out in my apartment and didn’t want to tell you.”

“Y/N…you can’t be doing this to yourself,” Will told you. “I know you’ve started on a plan with Dr. Charles, but will you let us help you, too?”

You nodded slowly. “Please. I need help.”

“And you’re going to get it,” Will promised his little sister.

Jay sighed. “Listen, I think you should move in with Hailey and I…at least for a little while. It might be easier to handle if you have support around you.”

You snorted. “You just don’t want me home alone in case I relapse again.”

He looked at you sadly. “Can you blame me?”

You shook your head. “No…no, I can’t. And I will take you up on that offer so long as Hailey’s okay with it.”

“She will be. You know she loves you.” Jay smiled, though it was strained. “You know we love you, too, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I love you both right back.”

[chicago-geniza]

Every day I think, this is it. I have approached as closely as possible the maximal asymptote of Hating UChicago. And yet. Every day. My hatred of UChicago increases Exponentially

[pbnbucks]

word count : 129

warnings : lil cunty, 2 fem relationship

summary : movie night

“hows your booty so big angel?” you say as the 6’3 giant walks past you as you peep all her curves in the skims set she was gifted.

“its cause my moms a baddie” you roll your eyes at the girls answer that was completely opposite of the reason why.

“so have you picked what you want to watch?” you question the unpredictable woman except this time she finds herself knowing exactly what she wants

“p-valley” she responds now laying her body across the love seat patting her chest for you to lay with her

grabbing your water bottle as you lay you stomach against her chest resting your head on her upper chest as her heartbeat soothes you to sleep while your snores echo around the penthouse.

[theorderofthetriad]

[impishglee]

i like ketchup as a condiment but i don’t support it on hotdogs as a matter of principle. if there isn’t an entire salad on your hotdog genuinely what is the point.

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

I would snack on catfood as a kid for literally no reason. I've known people since then who ate cat or dog food when they were desperate. I was not desperate, I was just a freak. I had favorite brands n shit. purina is mid, meow mix was delicious. Iams brand placement in movies always looked like it would taste good but I never got to try it because my parents refused to buy it when I was a kid. I've told people in my life that I used to eat catfood as a kid but what I never tell them is that I still crave it.

"I was not desperate, I was just a freak" is such a beautiful little line.

So I'm no expert as to how to keep a body functioning well but like is there harm in eating cat food? If you crave it I fully support you chasing your bliss and having a little kitty kibble crunch n munch.

I'm super curious how u had access to such a variety of brands to try!