WOOOOOOO OKAY 2.2k sidgeno beauty vlogger au for @honeycombhenry because i got e M O t i o n a l thinking about her art
“A lot of you have been asking me about how and why I started
a makeup and beauty vlog,” video-Sidney says, his voice a little scratchy. Zhenya
had been listening to the new update on the accidentally-stumbled upon channel,
which had quickly become one of his entertainment go-to for the charmingly shy
and genuine personality (Crosbeauty, he thinks fondly, what an adorable little nickname) and lovely
face behind the camera, in the locker room as he changed sluggishly, when
video-Sidney admits, “I’ve been really putting off answering that question, but
I hope that my answer will help encouraging some younger people who may be in a
At 8.7 million subscribers, Crosbeauty is one of the
most-followed and loved YouTube channels, featuring a Canadian man who talks
about his love for hockey while testing various makeup brands to see if they
really live up to the hype. Zhenya’s favorite thing, he thinks, is watching
Sidney tuck back a stray curl behind his ear as Sidney gazes off-camera,
talking about the team’s stats, his day, visiting in parents in Cole Harbour
and, as always, thanking his audience with his usual ending catchphrase and
thumbs up, “Thanks, everyone, see you next time. Remember to get up every
morning and do something that you love. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
plot : y/n is jeff’s secret girlfriend but she gets jealous when other girls talk to him and has to show everyone/and him, who’s he is
word count : 1270
notes : jealous!reader
Walking into school, your eyes searched for someone in particular. You found him with his friends, leaning again his locker surrounded by his usual group of friends. He caught your eye, quickly looking away but a smile burst onto his face. You strode past him, moving to your own group of friends. You could feel a pair of eyes on you and you knew who they belonged to.
“Hey, Y/N’s here!” your best friend, Kat hollered.
Your other friends all turned and smiled at you. You returned it, but furrowed your eyebrows. They were acting odd.
“We have news” one of your other friends chorused.
“We think Jeff might be into you. You know the one on the baseball team? Hot Jeff?” another blurted.
You were stunned for a mere second before you regained your composure and laughed.
“Guys, there is no way Jeff Atkins is into me” you glanced at Kat, with a sly smile on your face.
Kat was the only one of your friends that knew about you and Jeff’s relationship. Kat tried to hide her smug smile,
“He’s been looking at for the past few weeks and you should’ve seen how he smiled when you walked in this morning”
You smacked her on the arm for feeding into this gossip and she put her hands up in surrender.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to do something about that then” you winked at them playfully, making all of your friends laugh, unaware of the truth.
“Oh, better act fast then because, Tracy’s on the same mission”
You turned around to see a girl leaning against his locker. They were laughing about something. She was pretty, prettier than you in your opinion. You trusted Jeff, you knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you but you couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of envy as you watched him openly laugh with that girl. You two had agreed to keep your relationship a secret until he got his grades up since his parents thought a relationship would distract him. But seeing him talk to that girl so freely, laughing and joking, you realized that could’ve been you instead. But you were used to this feeling so you brushed it off.
“No but Tracy and Jeff would be kinda cute, I mean they’ve been working on a chemistry project together for the past weeks and they’re adorable in class” one of the girls in your circle, thought out loud.
“Have they now?” you muttered.
“Yeah and I reckon they would be a pretty good couple”
You glared in their direction,
“Hey Y/N, so I have this chem- ”
Jeff yelped as you
pulled him into your room by the front of his shirt, swiftly shutting the door
behind you with your foot. You pushed him into the wall next to the
door, pressing your body to his, trapping him between you and the wall. Jeff’s eyes widened at your position,
looking at you questioningly with big eyes.
“Y-Y/N what’s going on?”
You didn’t reply verbally, simply
pressing your lips to his instead. He instantly reacted to the kiss,
moving his hands to your waist, squeezing gently. You let your hand rest
on the back of his neck while another sat on his shoulder. He mumbled something incoherent and you ignored it. You shoved
your tongue into his mouth, but he pulled away as soon as you did.
“What’s up though?” he whispered, leaning his head back onto the wall.
You dodged the question, answering with another question.
“You’re okay with this aren’t you?” you responded.
“Well yeah of course…” Jeff stopped for a second, gathering his words but you had already taken that opportunity.
untangled yourself from him and lifted his shirt over his head, You smiled slyly at the sight of his bare body. You couldn’t help but smash your lips back onto his. He accepted you for a few heavenly
seconds before pulling away again.
“No seriously, what’s going on?” Jeff asked, worry in his eyes.
“Does it matter?” you panted, looking up into his eyes, getting restless.
“It does, I don’t want my girl- oh my god”
You had attacked his
neck with kisses, sucking a bit longer than necessary with each. You ran
your hand up the dips of his toned abs, getting a groan in return. You moved up to his jaw, pecking his lips before making a path down again. You hit just the right place, near the crook of his neck,
making Jeff moan in response.
You smirked at this,
trailing your hand down to his belt buckle. You pulled him closer to you
but before you could proceed to undoing it, Jeff pulled away for the
“I’m serious, what’s going on with you? You’re not like this normally…” he muttered, breathlessly.
took a deep breath, you didn’t want to tell him the real reason you
were all fired up. You hated being the typical jealous girlfriend. At
your silence, Jeff spoke again.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s super hot but I just want to know if there’s anything wrong and I want to help if there is”
tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, looking at you with those
concerned eyes. Those adorable eyes that you fell in love with. Jeff was so different from the other jocks that he called his friends. A normal guy wouldn’t have questioned this but Jeff, being Jeff, was always thinking about your well being.
“I got jealous” you muttered.
You knew from the surprised look on his face that he heard you. You never really got jealous. Girls always flirted with him and you didn’t blame them.
“What was that?"he asked with a cheeky grin.
"I got freaking jealous okay?!”
And then he burst out laughing. The nerve of him. You looked away, anger bubbling in you.
“Of who?” he got out in between fits of laughter.
“That girl you’re doing the chemistry thing with”
You finally looked back into his amused eyes.
“Worried that we had chemistry?”
slapped his chest at the terrible pun. That’s when you finally noticed
the red and purple marks all over his neck and collarbone. It was your
turn to laugh now.
“Well I won’t have to worry anymore” you smirked.
eyed you suspiciously before following your gaze. You watched as his
eyes widened dramatically and he looked to you like a gaping fish.
how the hell am I meant to cover this up? Everyone will notice!”
“Jeff, man it’s like 500 degrees out, take that scarf off” Jess groaned.
“Uh, no I’m okay” Jeff replied awkwardly.
“Well, I’m getting sick of it” Marcus stated, ripping it off Jeff’s neck before he could protest’
The whole group silenced. Why did Jeff have to wear a v-neck today?
“Oh look who got some last night” Bryce cheered.
“Aww, look at our little Jeffrey growing up. I thought you didn’t do one time things” Justin teased.
Jeff had turned a bright shade of red.
“Damn dude, do we know the girl? Because she’s pretty hardcore” Monty chuckled, eyeing the marks that covered a large portion of his neck and shoulder.
Jeff took a deep breath, playfully glaring at you from across courtyard. You caught his gaze, laughing and winked at him.
The morning after Sarah Williams defeats the Goblin King, she gets up and makes toast. She has to brush some glitter off the toaster—it withers and vanishes at the brush of her fingertips, and she stares at her hand for a long time.
It mostly just looks like her hand. Even when she turns it over, and sees where she scraped her knuckles against the oubliette, where the shattered mirror cut the back of her wrist. It looks like she fell, or was playing in the street. That’s all.
The toast comes out burned, and Sarah stares at that too. Eventually, she slumps down against the cabinets and cries, wracking sobs that send her dad and Karen rushing into kitchen. They check her forehead for a fever, put their hands on her, and keep asking, “Are you okay? Sarah, please, tell us what’s wrong…”
Eventually, her dad drags her into his lap and cradles her against his chest, like he did when she was little. Her legs are too long to really fit anymore, but Sarah hugs him around the neck anyway. “It’ll be okay,” he says, keeps saying. “You’ll be okay.” And Sarah—doesn’t laugh, because she can’t, and doesn’t have the words to express what—how—
(None of her stories ever talked about this. What did Sir George do, the morning after he slayed the last dragon in England? Did Tam Lin eat breakfast, or did he sit there, shivering, wondering if his hands were different, having been claws and wings and scales?)
Afterwards, she leaves the burnt toast outside on the back porch. Not an offering. Maybe a reminder.
It’s Didymus she sees the most often, mostly because he’s the one who invites himself rather than waiting for an invitation. He comes for tea, but even if there’s no tea—which there isn’t, usually—he comes to tell Sarah stories. She learns to love poetry because there’s no escaping it with him. (She won’t read Idylls of the King until Brit Lit in college, but she ends up scrawling a lot in the margins; Didymus’ telling of events had been much more interesting.)
Once, she falls asleep like that, her hands tucked behind her head with Didymus curled up and sleepily reciting from the crook of her elbow. “So tender was her voice, so fair her face—though I don’t think he was looking at her face, my lady, pardon me for saying so—”
Sarah buries her nose in his fur. Didymus always smells of rosewater, and a crispness she thinks is just…the Labyrinth. She falls asleep trying to place it.
She wakes up with a wild fox in her bed, animal-black eyes frightened and flat, teeth bared. The fox is whining, and she’s tempted to throw herself across the room, to get away from this wild thing and its teeth. It takes a monumental will to keep herself still and her breathing slow, even; like she’s still asleep and unafraid.
It takes her longer to swallow, and start humming one of the songs he taught her—a knight’s round, he’d said. She’s shaky at first, but the fox’s ears flick forward. It cocks its head, and slowly, the teeth disappear behind its lips.
She almost laughs when noses at her throat curiously, butting its head against her jaw like a cat might.
Happy Trans Day of Visibility guys!
I tried to write some long sappy message to all of u but I’m not that good with words so I’m just gna leave it at this: I love you all and you’ll get to be you’re whole authentic self at some point. whether it be within yourself or publicly. You’ll get there. Don’t worry. And if there are any trans kids out there that have nobody to turn to, please know you can come to me anytime. I’m always here for you.
[he/him pronouns btw]
Cassian was one of the best Jaeger pilots of
the PPDC until, during a fight with a huge Kaiju, he felt his co-pilot dying.
Key was his best friend, his only friend, and Cassian never recovered, choosing
to retire, to escape far from the battlefield.
Burdened by self-pity and an oppressing sense of guilt, Cassian struggles to
survive, until one day General Saw Guerrera, his old boss’s co-pilot, finds
him, asking him to come back. They need pilots, all those they can find. They
The exact moment Cassian enters the Shatterdome he realizes he’s home.
Jyn Erso is Saw’s adoptive daughter and a great pilot. Or at least she is on
paper as Guerrera has always prevented her from piloting one of those metal
giants she loves so much. The official excuse? She’s not ready. In reality? He
just doesn’t want to lose the one member of the only family he’s ever had.
As Jyn and Cassian try to persuade Saw that they are drift compatible, Bodhi
Rook lab technician is trying to find a way to understand Kaiju’s attack’s
pattern. His research brings him face to face with organ smuggler and Kaiju enthusiast
Orson Krennik. Not his brightest moment.
Bonus: the mighty Jaeger known as Force Alpha is piloted by married couple Chirrut & Baze,
Jyn’s old friend and Cassian’s old acquaintances.
Jyn’s and Cassian’s Jaeger is called Rogue One by Bodhi, because “you are both
The way TV shows trauma can lead people to expect every reference to trauma to be a plot point. This can be isolating to people coping with the aftermaths of trauma. Sometimes people treat us as stories rather than as people. Sometimes, instead of listening to us, they put a lot of pressure on us to advance the plot they’re expecting.
On TV, triggers tend to be full audiovisual flashbacks that add something to the story. You see a vivid window into the character’s past, and something changes. On TV, trauma aftermaths are usually fascinating. Real life trauma aftermaths are sometimes interesting, but also tend to be very boring to live with.
On TV, triggers tend to create insight. In real life, they’re often boring intrusions interfering with the things you’d rather be thinking about. Sometimes knowing darn well where they come from doesn’t make them go away. Sometimes it’s more like: Seriously? This again?
On TV, when trauma is mentioned, it’s usually a dramatic plot point that happens in a moment. In real life, trauma aftermaths are a mundane day-to-day reality that people live with. They’re a fact of life — and not necessarily the most important one at all times. People who have experienced trauma do other things too. They’re important, but not the one and only defining characteristic of who someone is. And things that happened stay important even when you’re ok. Recovery is not a reset. Mentioning the past doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in crisis.
On TV, when a character mentions trauma, or gets triggered in front of someone, it’s usually a dramatic moment. It changes their life, or their relationship with another character, or explains their backstory, or something. In real life, being triggered isn’t always a story, and telling isn’t always a turning point. Sometimes it’s just mentioning something that happened to be relevant. Sometimes it’s just a mundane instance of something that happens from time to time.
Most people can’t have a dramatic transformative experience every time it turns out that their trauma matters. Transformative experiences and moments of revelation exist, but they’re not the end all and be all of trauma aftermaths. Life goes on, and other things matter too. And understanding what a reaction means and where it came from doesn’t always make it go away. Sometimes, it takes longer and has more to do with skill-building than introspection. Sometimes it doesn’t go away.
On a day to day level, it’s often better to be matter-of-fact about aftermaths. It can be exhausting when people see you as a story and expect you to advance the plot whenever they notice some effect of trauma. Pressure to perform narratives about healing doesn’t often help people to make their lives better. Effect support involves respecting someone as a complex human, including the boring parts.
The aftermath of trauma is a day-to-day reality. It affects a lot of things, large and small. It can be things like being too tired to focus well in class because nightmares kept waking you up every night this week. TV wants that to be a dramatic moment where the character faces their past and gets better. In real life, it’s often a day where you just do your best to try and learn algebra anyway. Because survivors do things besides be traumatized and think about trauma. Sometimes it’s not a story. Sometimes it’s just getting through another day as well as possible.
A lot of triggers are things like being unable to concentrate on anything interesting because some kinds of background noises make you feel too unsafe to pay attention to anything else. For the zillionth time. Even though you know rationally that they’re not dangerous. Even though you know where they come from, and have processed it over and over. Even if you’ve made a lot of progress in dealing with them, even if they’re no longer bothersome all the time. For most people, recovery involves a lot more than insight. The backstory might be interesting, but being tired and unable to concentrate is boring.
Triggers can also mean having to leave an event and walk home by yourself while other people are having fun, because it turns out that it hurts too much to be around pies and cakes. Or having trouble finding anything interesting to read that isn’t intolerably triggering. Or having trouble interacting with new people because you’re too scared or there are too many minefields. Or being so hypervigilant that it’s hard to focus on anything. No matter how interesting the backstory is, feeling disconnected and missing out on things you wanted to enjoy is usually boring.
When others want to see your trauma as a story, their expectations sometimes expand to fill all available space. Sometimes they seem to want everything to be therapy, or want everything to be about trauma and recovery.
When others want every reference to trauma to be the opening to a transformative experience, it can be really hard to talk about accommodations. For instance, it gets hard to say things like:
“I’m really tired because of nightmares” or
“I would love to go to that event, but I might need to leave because of the ways in which that kind of thing can be triggering” or
“I’m glad I came, but I can’t handle this right now” or
“I’m freaking out now, but I’ll be ok in a few minutes” or
“I need to step out — can you text me when they stop playing this movie?”
It can also be hard to mention relevant experiences. There are a lot of reasons to mention experiences other than wanting to process, eg:
“Actually, I have experience dealing with that agency”
“That’s not what happens when people go to the police, in my experience, what happens when you need to make a police report is…”
“Please keep in mind that this isn’t hypothetical for me, and may not be for others in the room as well.”
Or any number of other things.
When people are expecting a certain kind of story, they sometimes look past the actual person. And when everyone is looking past you in search of a story, it can be very hard to make connections.
It helps to realize that no matter what others think, your story belongs to you. You don’t have to play out other people’s narrative expectations. It’s ok if your story isn’t what others want it to be. It’s ok not to be interesting. It’s ok to have trauma reactions that don’t advance the plot. And there are people who understand that, and even more people who can learn to understand that.
It’s possible to live a good life in the aftermath of trauma. It’s possible to relearn how to be interested in things. It’s possible to build space you can function in, and to build up your ability to function in more spaces. It’s often possible to get over triggers. All of this can take a lot of time and work, and can be a slow process. It doesn’t always make for a good story, and it doesn’t always play out the way others would like it to. And, it’s your own personal private business. Other people’s concern or curiosity does not obligate you to share details.
Survivors and victims have the right to be boring. We have the right to deal with trauma aftermaths in a matter-of-fact way, without indulging other people’s desires for plot twists. We have the right to own our own stories, and to keep things private. We have the right to have things in our lives that are not therapy; we have the right to needed accommodations without detailing what happened and what recovery looks like. Neither traumatic experiences nor trauma aftermaths erase our humanity.
We are not stories, and we have no obligation to advance an expected plot. We are people, and we have the right to be treated as people. Our lives, and our stories, are our own.