#and then this morning i got an email saying it'd be here at close to 6 pm

[knifegremliin]

hey do you guys want to see the new fucked up cat i bought off ebay

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 2 (Rowaelin)

Part 1

~Rowan~

Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.

This though?

This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.

Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.

He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.

If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.

He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.

Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.

What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?

The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.

Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.

She'd stolen his bed.

The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.

How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.

It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.

Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.

She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.

He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.

If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.

Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.

In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.

Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.

She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.

Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.

Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.

He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.

Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.

Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.

Nothing.

Which meant someone was helping her.

He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.

Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.

Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.

No, he'd have to try something new.

Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.

He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.

He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.

And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.

Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.

Except the beep never came.

Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.

Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.

"Where's my car, Rolland?"

"In your spot, boss," the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. "Haven't seen you drive out yet."

"Yes, exactly. Which is why it's a mystery why it's no longer in it's spot."

Rolland caught up slowly. "You mean... it was stolen? From here? From you?"

Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, "Just let me see the security tapes from this morning."

The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.

"That's weird," he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.

"What?" he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he'd learned over the years.

"The tapes are gone, but there's... this."

Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn't keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.

The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.

He was going to fucking kill her.

~Aelin~

"Enjoy your taxi ride here?" she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. "You are such a pain in my ass."

She just shrugged.

He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.

Finally he asked, "Why are you doing this, Aelin?"

"I told you. You locked me up for something I didn't do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It's simple, petty revenge."

Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.

He was quiet for another moment. "Why now?"

She sighed, but she wasn't upset. Truthfully, she'd been waiting for him to ask that question.

"I want to tell you a story."

He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. "I'm not fucking joking around. And I'm not going to let you waste any more of my time."

He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, "Sit down, or your car's going off Whigsby Bridge."

He smiled like he'd won their little game. "So you admit you have it."

"Sure," she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.

His brow furrowed. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

"You're a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden."

He narrowed his eyes. "This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-"

"You aren't going to press charges," she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.

Nasty little prison habit she'd developed, smoking.

Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.

"Oh, really?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.

She grinned. "Once you sit and hear my story and realize I'm telling the truth, you're going to feel so guilty you won't even care about the car. Now sit down. I'd hate to see a classic get totaled because you're being stubborn again."

He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.

Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.

She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.

He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.

She'd debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she'd decided to start at the very beginning.

"My parents died when I was four," she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. "I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child."

She smiled at the few memories she had. "I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn't prove it was me."

"Sounds familiar," he grouched, making her grin.

"I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later."

As she'd predicted, his mouth fell open at that.

Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.

His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.

"But your record says-"

"That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know."

Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he'd take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn't someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.

It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.

"I didn't know it, but he'd been watching me for a while. He... I don't know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me."

"To do what?" Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.

"Everything," she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn't want to know."

"How to kill," he finished, picking up on her tone.

She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.

"I was good," she told him quietly, looking down at the table. "By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he'd ever had. None of his other... children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace."

His eyes didn't show an ounce of doubt, and she didn't know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.

"I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn't care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam."

"Another of his students?" Rowan asked, and it wasn't lost on her he said students instead of children.

She nodded. "We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I'd turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him."

Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he'd meant to her.

"Was?" Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he'd once been, the one she'd loved.

Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino's owned by Arobynn's competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he'd kill Sam as retribution."

Rowan's eyes widened, almost like he hadn't realized how brutally she'd been raised until that moment.

"I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn't not do the same for him. I told him I'd do anything."

She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. "Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn't kill him. I thought they'd be similar to the one he'd messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, "The second I shook his hand, Tern--another of Arobynn's--shot Sam in the head."

Rowan's face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.

He started to say something, but she spoke faster. "I... snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that's true. I am, and I don't regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I'm glad he's dead. And one day, I'll kill Arobynn for what he did."

Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. "Why didn't you leave, run away?"

She leveled a look at him. "I didn't exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year."

There was a long pause.

"Punishment?" he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.

She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. "He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he'd come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no."

Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was... he was angry for her.

"It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn't. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job."

"What were the jobs?"

Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, "You already know."

"The murders."

She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.

He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.

It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn't know why she'd done what he thought she'd done. That he thought she'd.. wanted to do it.

He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. "Thank you for telling me that," he said eventually. "I never could understand why."

Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. "You asked why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it now."

He opened the door but paused. Waited.

"It's because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn't care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it."

She spoke around the lump in her throat. "I told you I didn't kill those people, Rowan, and you didn't even care."

He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.

He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn't believe it. He was angry?

"I didn't care? I didn't fucking care, that's what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn't fucking care?"

Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.

That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn't put what he was saying with what she knew.

He'd watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn't done.

"I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell me anything. But you didn't! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn't give me anything to actually work with."

"I-"

"I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?"

She shook her head, because she hadn't.

"Exactly. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, eyes flashing. "I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you'd know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn't you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case."

He slammed a hand into the table. "I did everything I fucking could! I was desperate for it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!"

She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.

"I didn't assume shit," he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. "You didn't tell me anything."

Aelin's voice trembled as she croaked, "I tried."

He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. "No, you didn't. If this past week has proven anything, it's that you don't try to do anything, you do it. You didn't tell me anything, Aelin. You're still not telling me anything."

"I'm telling you to look again! I'm telling you you didn't look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything."

"Stop playing games with me!" he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. "It's been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you're holding onto and just tell me!"

Gods, she wanted to.

He was the one person she couldn't trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, "I didn't kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn't kill them. I can't... I can't tell you anything else."

"Jesus, Aelin," he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.

"Just look into it," she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. "I promise you can figure everything out, and you'll understand everything. Please."

She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn't been her original plan.

It was because she'd spent eight years believing he hadn't tried, believing she hadn't been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn't her.

And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn't even understand yet.

Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, "I loved you, too, you know."

He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. "Not enough, apparently."

"You don't believe that," she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.

"If you'd loved me, you would've told me. You would've given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you're talking about. You wouldn't have let me watch them take you away."

"Rowan-"

"You wouldn't have thought, for a second, that I didn't try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have waited eight years to do whatever it is you're trying to do."

"I had to," she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn't be enough.

She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he'd told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn't. Not yet.

He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she'd once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. "Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn't tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night."

She smiled sadly. "Me too."

Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he'd never see her again.

He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn't given up on her immediately, now that she'd told him the story she'd wanted to tell him, that it was over and she'd give up.

"Look again," she whispered. "You know I didn't do it. It's why you're here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You know I wouldn't."

"Goodbye, Aelin," he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.

It wasn't until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.

She'd told herself that it didn't matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.

She'd told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he'd find the clues she'd left for him.

She'd told herself this was just a game.

She'd told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.

~~~

Part 3

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[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

Summary: Winry sat in the optimal place to study in the school cafe for the entire fall semester. Then spring came, and suddenly some self-entitled twit who dressed like off-brand Gerard Way decided it was his territory. He was so not going to get off easy.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.8k words of coffee shop/college AU with a side of enemies to almost-lovers

A/N: It's finals week, I posted this on Ao3 at almost 5am, and if the rest of the sentence didn't make it obvious, I'm writing from unfortunate experience. Not beta-ed or proofread, although I happened to see one thing to fix when I woke up this morning. Feel my raw power. Rawr.

It wasn't that big a deal.

It kind of really was, though.

Every Thursday morning during the fall semester, Winry sat in the same spot at the same school coffee shop. It was the spot sent by the entire patron pantheon of cram papers. Maybe one person didn't need an entire booth, but it was in the corner, and the tops of the bench seats had opaque plastic barriers that just so happened to be perfect for minimizing excess visual chaos. For the most part, there weren't loud conversations, and the jazz music that came through the speakers helped her tune out people ordering coffee. Add to that the fact that she could use campus flex dollars and not her own bank account that was begging for mercy, and it was the perfect spot to get papers done.

But apparently not this spring.

As soon as Winry walked in, she noticed him in the corner. Some emo wannabe guy on his computer. Probably on Reddit complaining about how women didn't appreciate the amazing pics he sent them on Tinder. Or at least, it was a fair guess based on the sour look on his face. Why did this guy of all people have to steal the holy grail spot? Ugh. She was still gonna get her coffee, darn it.

"You know the deal, Sciezska. Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer."

"On it! You paying in flex?"

"Yeah." She scanned her student ID and lowered her voice. "Who's off-brand Gerard Way in the corner?"

"Who's Ger—"

"The punk kid."

"Ohhh. I can try to get his number for you, if you want."

"No, he looks like a total tool! And not the kind I like dealing with!"

"Which means you think he's hot. I didn't think you were into that type, but you're not wrong."

"For the last time, no, Sciezska! He took my spot! And I'm trying very, very hard to keep this to a stage whisper, but if you keep trying to set me up with some random creep, I won't be able to!"

A distinctly male voice grumbled, "I'm not a creep."

"Keep telling that to the girls on Tinder. I'm sure they'll understand eventually."

"Yeah, and I'll bet if you look at your 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign a little more, you'll understand it eventually." He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Nice Guy?"

"Lay off, it's eight in the morning. I said the only reason I even have a Tinder account is because my roommate stole my phone while I was going to the bathroom."

"Well, if you didn't want it, why didn't you delete it?"

"Eh, I figured if I really got sick of being single one day, it'd already be there."

"Never would have guessed you were single," Winry said dryly.

"Come on, it's way too early to be rubbing that kind of crap in. Who says I'm not fine with being single anyway?"

Sciezska timidly spoke up. "Medium roast with espresso and vanilla creamer?"

Winry thanked her as red jacket boy continued. "'Edward Elric, Bachelor.' Almost sounds as good as 'Edward Elric, Bachelor of Science.'"

"B.S. degree. Sounds about right."

"About time you stopped acting like I'm an idiot!"

Winry snorted. "That's not what I meant."

"Hey!"

"And with that, I'm going to go find some other spot to write my paper."

Edward, as his name apparently was, scoffed and mumbled something that sounded like "good riddance". Maybe the librarians wouldn't get on her case too much for bringing in coffee.

-----

A week later, Winry walked into the cafe, assuming the circumstances of the previous week were an anomaly. They were not.

"Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer," she grumbled and sulked in the direction of the corner seat.

"Hey, don't start with me again, blondie. I've had a whopping four hours of sleep and I can't promise you'll like what comes out of my mouth."

"We're at a coffee shop. Get some coffee. I can't help it if you're too hung over to be polite."

"Now look, genius. I did not stay up until 4 A.M. working on a stupid chem paper for that sadistic pyromaniac excuse for a professor just for some random chick to accuse me of being hung over."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And for your information, coffee doesn't really help me wake up. It just helps me focus on homework." He lifted up his empty cup and gave it a shake.

"That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard."

"ADHD is a weird thing, and yet, here I am."

"Huh, interesting."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pick up where I left off with the same stupid ten page paper I started last night."

"Oh right. Sure," Winry stammered. "Listen, I'm really sorry I just assumed things about you. It was wrong of me, and I'd like to make it up to you, if that's okay."

Edward eyed her suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well...I could look over your paper once you're done writing it? I've got a paper of my own to write while I'm waiting, and I can sit right across the table here so you don't have to come get me. I won't try to talk to you or anything. Neither of us need that kind of distraction."

"Alright, alright. Get your coffee and sit down. The girl at the counter's been up there waiting for a good minute or two while you've been at confessional over here."

"Wait, she has?" Winry's eyes widened, and Edward laughed at her expense. He was kind of attractive when he wasn't scowling...wait what? She pouted and got up to retrieve her coffee. When Winry returned, she plopped down on the bench opposite Edward and opened her laptop. Peeking out from behind it, she added, "By the way, I'm Winry. I figured you ought to at least know the name of the person who's proofreading your paper."

"Well, Winry, you're the one who volunteered." The corners of his mouth twitched upward. The two worked on their assignments in silence, occasionally speaking up when necessary.

-----

Edward was in the corner again the next week as well.

"Hey, Edward! Mind if I join you for homework again?"

"Normally, I'd say no, but you didn't bother me too much last week, so you might as well." He turned away slightly.

"Great! Have you gotten your coffee yet? I didn't see a cup, and you got something the last two times."

"Eh, I haven't been here long. If you're going up and getting yours, would you mind ordering a caramel macchiato for me?" He asked, sliding his ID across the table.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be back in a sec."

She returned and slipped his ID back before pulling out her computer. "Do you have anything for me to look over this time?"

"Not this week. But if you have anything you need looked over, I can do that, too."

"Actually, I do, if you wouldn't mind."

"Winry, I just volunteered. Just send the paper to my school email. Mine's 'elricedwa'," he instructed as he proceeded to spell it.

"Medium roast and a caramel macchiato?" Sciezska called out.

"Coming!" Winry replied and turned to Edward. "I just sent it, so you should be able to start while I'm getting our stuff." Eyes glued to his laptop, Edward gave a thumbs up.

Once she returned with their drinks, Winry sat down and wordlessly set Edward's drink next to him.

"Thanks," he muttered distantly. His lips mirrored the words he was reading. Though his lips weren't plump by any stretch of the imagination, they were shapely. His steely concentration made the air leave Winry's lungs. To top it all off, the first rays of sunlight came through the window just right, hitting Edward's hair in a way that made it positively glow.

What was she thinking? Those were only the sorts of things people thought when they had a crush. She'd only had two positive interactions with him, including this one. ...well, maybe it was a crush. She could certainly do worse than someone with a questionable fashion sense. After all, he worked hard, and he got good grades, if the quality of his writing was any indication. Okay, fine. He was also drop dead gorgeous, if you could see past his clothing choices. Yeah, she had a crush.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"...no."

"Figures. I finished reading your paper. It's not bad, I just left a few suggestions for sentence structure. Now I am going to enjoy my caramel macchiato." He took off the lid and breathed in the steam with his eyes closed, nearly drooping into the cup in content. When he opened his eyes slowly, Winry was awestruck by the similarity between the color of his eyes and his drink.

"What?" Edward furrowed his eyebrows.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything. At all. Nope."

"Okay." He shrugged. She reopened the document and went through his suggested edits. Gnawing her lip in concentration, she leaned forward a bit to settle in and tackle the editing.

"...hey, uh, Winry?" Edward gulped. "Are you going to drink your coffee?"

"Oh! Yeah, I almost forgot. Thanks, Edward!" she smiled.

"No–no problem. And you can call me Ed, you know. Most people do. Except for that excuse for a professor that calls me pipsqueak. Can you believe he's my advisor? I mean, come on, I'm a grown man. I'm not that short."

Winry made a poor attempt at containing her laughter. "Okay then, Ed. Prove it. Stand up."

"Fine." He slid out of the booth and stood. Winry followed suit and appraised their respective heights.

"Well, I'd hardly call you tall, but you're at least taller than me by a few inches, for whatever that's worth."

Edward grinned as if he had won some sort of prize. "Time for shorties to sit down now!"

"Watch it now. You're not too far from that label yourself, mister."

They both returned to their positions in the booth and worked steadily for the next hour. At the end of that time, Winry closed her laptop. "Ed, are you okay? You seem distracted."

"ADHD. I'm always distracted," he dismissed.

"No, like, are you sick or something? You did get more than four hours of sleep this time, right?"

"No comment." Ed's mouth twitched. He mumbled barely loud enough to hear, "Wouldn't have mattered anyway."

"Are you sure? If you're not feeling well, I can drive you over to the health center."

"N-no. That's not it." He exhaled, then slid a napkin across the table. His hands trembled slightly. "Anyway, here's my number. In case you need me to look over a paper. Or whatever. I've got a class soon."

Winry blushed, but tucked the napkin in her laptop. "Thanks, Ed. See you next week?"

"Yeah. Next week."

-----

Winry: This goes with your major, right?

Edward: Blocked

[shawnpetermuffins]

Pictured with You (Epilouge)

A/n: we have come to an end to this story of mine. Thank you for sticking around for so long.

Summary: It's been a year, and you're looking for something to do on this week long vacation.

Warnings: fluff

Word count: 1.9k

***

One year later

We wanted a week away from the craziness. Just one week for ourselves and our friends to hang out and not care about having to work - me on the finishing touches of the new album, which I'm actually stressing about right now because y/n still knows next to nothing about it. And that's stupid of me because literally every song is about her and if she tells me she doesn't want that then I'm screwed because I have nothing else to give the label.

She's kicking her feet softly from the edge of the pool, looking nothing less than breathtaking as the blinding sun hits her body just right. I swim away from my friends and to my rightful spot between her legs. Y/n looks down at me when I press a gentle kiss to the tops of her thighs. "Whatcha thinking about, love?"

She hums, running a lazy finger down the column of my neck. "Nothing. Just like watching you have fun, is all."

"It'd be more fun if you got in with me."

"I think you have attachment issues, Mendes."

"Yeah?" I bite playfully at her knee and she laughs, trying to push my head away. "Might have a point there… but I'm not gonna fix that."

"Gonna cling to me more?" She teases as my hands snake around her body, resting softly on the curve of her butt.

"Mmm…" I mumble against her neck. "Never gonna stop clinging to you. Gonna hold you like this forever and ever."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

"Get in with me," I beg, jutting out my bottom lip as her hands lace through my wet curls. "I'll carry you." That gets her attention.

"Okay," she nods. "Well get me in, rockstar." I smile up at her and swiftly, but carefully bring her down into the pool with me. She shudders at the feel of the cool water against her warm skin. "Fucking hell, it's cold!" Her teeth chatter as she rests her head on my shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around my neck to steal my body heat. We stay like for minute, allowing her to get used to the unfamiliar temperature. "We're good," she mumbles and I slowly move us over to our friends who are goofing around, splashing each other.

"Oh good, she came to join us!" Brian exclaims. Before I know it, y/n is tugged from my arms and being spun around until she's finally thrown into the pool, completely submerged in the chlorine filled water. "There," Brian says triumphantly, with a laugh. "Now you're on our level."

She pushes her baby hairs out of her face with a shake of her head and an exaggerated eye roll, "so thoughtful, Bri. Thanks for that." She splash him once before taking my outstretched hand.

"Sorry, honey," I mumble into her hair, pressing her back to my front. "He caught me off guard."

"S'okay." Her head rests against my chest as we watch them make fools of themselves, not a care in the world. I whisper the words of the song playing into her ear and she falls deeper into me, wrapping my arms tighter around her waist.

"Y/n/n?" I say after a while of comfortable silence drifting between us.

"Shawny," she scrunches up her nose, hating the cutesy nickname, but she can't help that it comes out when she's a little tipsy. I love it though, and kiss the tip of her nose.

"Move in with me," I request, my head buried in her neck.

"What?" She giggles, turning in my arms.

"Move in with me," I say again.

"Where's this coming from?" She wraps her arms around my neck once again.

I shrug, "I mean, you've been going over there a lot more often recently. And… I have a drawer full of your clothes already."

She hums, "well I think I'd need more than just a drawer if we decided to do this."

"I'll get you your own damn closet if you want."

"You'd have to move houses if you did that."

"Then let's look for one. We can find one with a closet just for you, and we can make you your own dark room."

"Whoa there, big spender. That's a big commitment. You sure you can handle all that?"

I nod, "Yes. Hell, I'm ready to marry you right now if you say yes."

She looks up at me with a smirk. "you asking me something, Mendes?"

"Depends on what your answer is," I counter. "What do you say, honey? Will you marry me?"

"I think… my answer is… yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes," she nods, a big smile on her face.

I laugh, pressing my forehead against hers before kissing her deeply. "Oh god, baby. I love you."

"I love you too."

"Let's do it tonight," I plead, my eyes closed.

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. Let's fly out to Vegas and just get married."

"You really want to? I don't even have a dress."

"We'll get you something there. Come on, y/n. Say yes?"

"You," she pokes my chest with her pointer finger, "are completely insane."

I shake my head, "is that your way of saying you'll do it?"

"Well duh," she rolls her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing that we were gonna do this.

"Yo, what is with you two? Do you ever let go of each other?" Connor asks, splashing us.

I hold y/n's head against my chest before I ask. "You guys down for a quick road trip?"

"Where?" Brian asks, shaking out his wet hair.

"Vegas," I say with a cheeky grin.

"What's that look? What are you planning?" Connor questions.

"Y'all feel like being witnesses to a wedding?" Y/n asks, sparing only the smallest of glances to our friends. They're in complete shock. But it only takes a second before they're jumping on top of us, screaming out congratulations.

"Shit, let's go! We hit the road now, we can be there just after sunset." Brian is already pulling himself out of the water.

---

"Nervous?" Brian claps my shoulder while I fix the collar of my shirt.

I chuckle, "dude, my heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest. I've never been more nervous in my entire life."

"Well what's that thing you always say? Nerves mean you care?"

"Yeah," I nod. "But, god, man. I'm getting married. Did you ever think that was gonna happen? Like this, no less?"

"Hey," he holds the sides of my face and slaps my cheeks. "Don't stress about it. The love of your life is just on the other side of that door. You're just minutes away from your forever. This is going to be the best day of your life."

I swallow the lump forming in my throat, "Yeah. You're right. It's y/n." I can't help but laugh. Because I say it like I'm not still a nervous wreck every time she looks at me. Like my heart doesn't skip a beat every time she smiles. Like I don't forget what I'm about to say because I get lost in those piercing -

The door opens and Connor starts walking down the aisle, arm linked with y/n's, and I swear my breath catches in my throat. She looks beautiful in the white blouse we just got her, and the high waisted, ripped jeans that she insisted on wearing because a skirt was just not her. And I agreed, but to be fair she could tell me she wanted to wear a paper bag and I would have went along with it because I just want her. It's not until she's in front of me, wiping at my cheek that I realize I've been crying watching her walk toward me.

"Hey, come on, bub. Marrying me can't be that bad," she jokes.

I laugh, wiping roughly at my face, "Jesus, no. You're just so beautiful."

She flips her hair playfully, "Well then what are you waiting for, Mendes? You gonna marry me or not?"

Mendes. She's about to be a Mendes, and I can't wait.

---

I wake up the next morning, sheets thrown haphazardly over me and the beautiful girl in my arms. I watch her figure for a few minutes, once I've adjusted to the bright light the sun brings into the room. Her hair is all over the place, but still framing her face perfectly as her eyes moved rapidly behind her eyelids. Her naked chest is just barely covered by the white bedsheets, one arm thrown over her stomach. And then my eyes land on that dainty ring she fell in love with the second I slipped it on her finger last night and it hits me that I'm laying in bed next to my wife. And I let myself think about how I get to wake up next to her forever. It's the most perfect moment.

Until my phone rings beside me and suddenly it isn't anymore.

"Hey, Andrew," I whisper as I answer his FaceTime call.

"WHAT IS THIS I'M SEEING ABOUT YOU GETTING MARRIED?!" Andrew's loud voice booms through my phone and I flinch because y/n stirs beside me.

"Shh…" I point my phone to my girl who is still sleeping, thankfully.

"You got married. Don't you think that's something you should tell your manager so that he's not blindsided early the next morning by all of these pap photos and articles and hundreds of texts and emails asking if it's true?"

"Well I am sorry I didn't tell you."

"So you did? Shawn, what were you thinking? This is everywhere right now."

"I was thinking that I have the most perfect woman by my side and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with her and that I wanted the rest of my life to start right then and there. That's what I was thinking. I'm sorry I didn't tell you and I'm sorry that it's online. But I'm not sorry it happened. I have everything I've ever wanted right here next to me." I look over to see y/n looking up at me with a sleepy smile.

"Shawn," my manager tries to grab my attention, but I can't seem to focus on anything other than the smiling woman next to me.

"If you'll excuse me. My wife just woke up and I would like to give her a proper good morning." I shut my phone off and reach over to brush a strand of hair from my girl's face. "Hey there, beautiful." I say quietly and lean down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

She hums, "good morning, handsome."

"Sleep well? You were… very tired last night," I say with a smirk and she moves to slap me, but I'm quick to catch her wrist.

"Nuh-uh, Mrs. Mendes." She giggles into my chest. "What? What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she shook her head, her hands on either side of my face. "It's just the first time I've heard it like that. I like it."

"Me too."

"So Andrew's mad."

I shrug. "He'll get over it. Now come cuddle," I lay on my beck and open my arms for her. It doesn't take long for her to shrink into my side, head on my chest.

"You still want to be married to me?" She murmurs, half asleep once again.

I press my lips to the crown of her head, "for the rest of my life, baby."

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[tsfanart]

New Roommate

Or...

...Actually, I'm gonna leave the source for this for the end because spoilers. Let's just jump right in!

--

"When is Thomas' new roommate supposed to get here?" Patton whined early one morning. "I wanna meet our new friend!"

"Well, according to the email exchange they had last week, it appears that Jason is supposed to arrive here between 11:00 and 12:30," Logan replied. "Hopefully that will give Thomas enough time to clean the apartment well enough beforehand," he added disdainfully.

"I hope he likes acting!" Roman piped up. "Or at least video games. Or something that Thomas likes. It'd be pretty boring if they had nothing in common."

"Perhaps," Logan said, "but regardless of whether or not this new roommate is interesting, what matters is that whatever that job is that he has pays him enough to take the pressure off paying the rent."

"Give it time," Patton spoke up, noticing Roman's pout. "I'm sure we'll find something in common with him!"

Logan turned to Virgil. "Well, anyway, how are you feeling about all this?" he asked politely. "You haven't really said much since we got the arrangement finalized."

Virgil let out a loud sigh. "Look, you guys know me well enough to know that I don't love this. Rent or no rent, don't you think it's kind of weird that this guy happened to be exactly what Thomas was looking for?"

Patton cocked his eyebrow. "Weird, how so?"

"I mean, think about it. Thomas puts up an ad for a male roommate in Gainesville who makes at least $1500 a month and is between the ages of 25 and 30, and someone responds within less than a minute?"

"Well, he did put it on a lot of sites," Logan pointed out, "not to mention he posted it on a weekend evening when most people would be online. So while it was a bit surprising, statistically it's not unlikely that someone would respond that quickly."

Virgil rubbed his face. "Okay, fine, I see your point. But come on, don't you think it's a little weird that we've never even seen a picture of him?"

Logan's face lit up in sudden realization. "Ah, I understand your concern now. However, I think that catfishers are a much larger problem on dating sites than they are when it comes to apartment ads." Patton nodded in agreement and shot Virgil a reassuring smile.

"Well, I guess," Virgil said reluctantly.

Moments later, the doorbell rang, and all the Sides shut up as Thomas went to open it.

"Hello, are you Thomas?" asked an extremely pale, lanky boy with a rasping voice.

"Yeah, I am!" Thomas chirped, extending his hand. "You must be Jason."

Jason nodded and gave Thomas a firm handshake. Thomas led him inside and up to his new bedroom.

"Wow, Virge, he's even paler than you!" Roman whispered gleefully. Virgil just waved him away and stared at Jason critically as he unpacked his stuff.

"So...it's good to finally meet you!" Thomas finally said in an effort to fill the silence.

"Likewise," Jason said without looking up. "I apologize for my sparse communication during these past few weeks; unfortunately I am not a huge fan of technology."

At this news, both Patton's and Roman's shoulders sagged, while Logan, meanwhile, was starting to perk up in camaraderie.

Virgil stood closer to the edge of Thomas' mind and narrowed his eyes. Catfishers aside, there seemed to be something something much more sinister going on. There was only one way to find out for sure though...

"Oh, that's too bad. Well, anyway, I know it's a little early, but if you're hungry later, I'm making lasagna with garlic bread for dinner tonight!"

Jason tensed up. "Oh, that sounds nice! I may have to pass on the latter, I'm afraid, but thank you, I appreciate it." He turned to Thomas for once and gave a small smile. Thomas nodded and closed the door behind him and went back downstairs.

Now more free to talk amongst themselves, Virgil crossed his arms and opened his mouth, but Roman interrupted him before he could say anything.

"Alright, Edward Sullen, we all know what you're thinking, but come on, you're being ridiculous here." Virgil scowled at him, but then he said a little more kindly, "Trust me, if I really thought Thomas was living with a vampire, I'd do something about it."

"But he's so weird, and he talks so...formally." Logan shot Virgil a glare, and he ducked his head apologetically.

"And he hates technology," he went on. "Why would he hate technology unless he grew up during a time without it and saw how much it changed people?"

"I mean...lots of reasons?" Logan said slowly.

"Okay, but why garlic bread? Even I like garlic bread."

"Well, people do have different taste buds," Roman pointed out.

Virgil unfolded his arms and approached Roman, inching forward with every word. "Yeah, but if he didn't like the way it tasted, he would have wrinkled his nose or cringed. But he got scared at the mention of garlic. Scared. Did you notice that? Because I did. So tell me, why would he get scared unless garlic was deadly to him?"

"Okay, okay," Patton said, pulling Virgil back as he rubbed his shoulders. "Let's all just take a few deep breaths here. I am absolutely sure that Thomas did not just sublet his apartment to a supernatural being."

"Honestly, Virgil," Logan spoke up with a gentle laugh, "I feel strange being the one saying this, but don't you think it's a tad possible that you read too much?"

"And he didn't open his mouth when he smiled, either," Virgil went on, ignoring Logan's comment. "He has got to be hiding something behind that kind and polite exterior, and I am gonna make sure that Thomas makes the most garlicky garlic bread this Jason kid has ever eaten," he growled.

"Aw, I think he's just shy, kiddo, that's all!" Patton soothed. "Heck, he's probably pretty nervous about all of this. We don't need to do anything to hurt him."

Virgil softened a little and backed away. He pouted and folded his arms again, and after a moment of silence, Logan hesitantly approached him.

"Virgil, are you aware of the phenomenon known as confirmation bias?" he began gently.

"Yes, I'm aware of it," Virgil snapped. "Are you aware of the phenomenon known as Thomas isn't getting turned into a vampire on my watch?"

"I--" Logan started, but sighed. Now completely at a loss, Logan turned to look at the other two.

"Look, would it make you feel better if we went back to his room to get a little more proof?" Roman asked gently. "I promise I won't let him get hurt," he reiterated.

"Okay, sure, let's do that," Virgil agreed. He enhanced himself enough to get out of Thomas' subconscious, and suddenly Thomas himself, who had been busy in the kitchen, stopped short to give the room upstairs a curious look. He shuddered a little, and ventured back up the stairs.

Back inside Thomas' head, Patton squeezed Virgil's hand. "This'll help," he insisted. "You'll see!" Virgil stared straight ahead, but smiled a little anyway.

Once at the top of the stairs, Thomas noticed that Jason's room was propped open. He approached it and knocked on the door. "Hey, Jason, I was just wondering if you wanted to--"

But whatever offer Thomas was about to make was cut short by a sight that made him gasp.

--

And there you have it, there's my story "New Roommate"! Or in other words...

Thomas shares an apartment with a vampire and it ends in a cliffhanger!

(Yes, I went there! 😂)

--

@lizaelsparrow @bunny222 @phlying-squirrel @haikyuupaladin @anarchicrealist @existentialburden @hissesssss @lonelygoldheart @sassy-in-glasses @pensive-patton @punch-you-with-friendship @challybop @natigail @kindofclever @k9cat @iris-sanders-athena @ravenclawangst @secretlyondrugs @theresneverenoughfandoms @nashiraneko @wtfeodipus @savingshae @zoalis @a-simple-fryingpan

[yogaposesfortwo]

Meet the Next Generation of Yoga Changemakers

These young yogis—representing Gen Z—are changing the planet through peace, love, and compassion. Many are quick to tsk-tsk “kids these days” for nonstop smartphoning and a self-centered attitude. But this most-diverse generation, with nontraditional views on everything from identity to power structures, is more conscientious than you would possibly think—and that’s very true for these five up-and-coming yoga teachers (most of whom started practicing before they hit double digits). prepare to be inspired.

Tabay Atkins: Showing us the way to follow your dharma, because the country's youngest yoga teacher

By Meghan Rabbitt

Tabay Atkins Age: 14 Lives in Maui, Hawaii My yoga model is my mom, because she beat cancer. My biggest accomplishment thus far is graduating highschool at age 14. My favorite teaching moment was once I led a yoga class with Tao Porchon-Lynch, the oldest living yoga teacher. She told me, “Keep doing what you’re doing, and stay faithful you.” In the year 2030, I’ll be teaching, traveling the planet , and sharing my love of yoga and veganism with as many of us as I can. Yoga is for everybody . Yoga isn’t about stepping into the “best” pose. I wish more yogis would realize the amazing benefits of a plant-based diet. The promise I make to myself a day is to be the simplest version of myself that I are often . It was a complete fluke that six-year-old Tabay Atkins found himself with a stack of coloring books within the corner of a San Clemente, California yoga studio. His mom, Sahel Anvarinejad, had just finished treatment for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and showed up there for what she thought was a tea date with Carolyn Long, a lover of a lover who’d sent countless texts and emails with supportive and galvanizing messages during her cancer treatment. Long had asked Anvarinejad to satisfy her at her studio without exactly clarifying that they’d be doing quite having tea. “I had only been cancer-free for 2 weeks, and once I walked into the studio that night, i used to be so skeptical of yoga,” says Anvarinejad. “I wanted to run out. But something told me to remain .” Long had a plan—albeit a rather sneaky one. What were the probabilities that Anvarinejad would suggest meeting on the precise day and time that her studio’s yoga teacher training was starting? Didn’t that mean she was meant to hitch the training—to find out how yoga could be a neighborhood of her post-cancer healing journey? Anvarinejad felt resistant. She’d never even done yoga before, and now she was getting to join an educator training? But Long was persistent. So, Anvarinejad signed up—if a touch reluctantly. Before the second class, she tried to bail because she didn’t have childcare for her young son. “Bring him!” Long told her emphatically. Which is how Atkins ended up in yoga class thereupon stack of coloring books. Except Atkins did more watching than coloring that day. The next, serving as a prop helper for the trainees, he delivered bolsters and blocks to their mats as required . Then, Atkins started trying a number of the postures from the sidelines, too. “A few days every week , i might practice with my mom,” says Atkins, now 14. “She’d inquire from me to remind her the way to do the poses, and that i would show her. a tremendous transition happened from the start to the top of my mom’s training—there was this super-change in her. Before yoga, she’d been sad and scared then low on energy and mobility due to the intensive chemo. After the yoga training, she was happy again—back to her old self, but better.” While most second graders might simply be psyched to possess their mom back to normal, Atkins wanted more: He wanted to urge certified to show , too. “I wanted to assist people the way yoga helped my mom,” he says. “There were numerous people within the single bed next to her who didn’t even realize yoga. i assumed if I could share this amazing practice, others could find an equivalent quite healing and happiness, too.” A Teacher is Born During her training, Anvarinejad often considered how grateful she was that her son was being introduced to yoga—and what proportion she could’ve used the practice when she was a toddler . due to all of the strain kids face at college , with friends, and reception , she decided that the right thanks to get her teaching legs under her would be to volunteer at her son’s school. She taught during gym classes and after school, and shortly parents started posing for private lessons and summer yoga camps for his or her children. Within a year, Anvarinejad opened the primary kids’ yoga studio in Orange County—and Atkins was right by her side, a self-proclaimed “helper” at age eight. “My mom started getting various certificates to concentrate on kids’ yoga—like the way to teach kids on the spectrum, teaching tweens and teenagers , and even restorative yoga—and I joined her for all of these ,” Atkins says. He was seven when he got his first yoga certificate, to show autistic kids, and a couple of years later, he found himself helping his mom lead a category at a faculty for autistic children in San Francisco . The principal warned Atkins that the youngsters he was close to teach were susceptible to violence and shouldn’t make physical contact with him or each other . But when Atkins started chatting with his peers, they were calm and captivated. When he led the scholars through a partner exercise—and they happily leaned on one another as they held Tree Pose—the principal and therefore the teachers within the room started crying. “They couldn’t believe what was happening,” Atkins says. “But I did. I thought, This just goes to point out you all how capable they really are.” After that experience, Atkins was officially sold on teaching yoga; it had been another pivotal moment that propelled him forward on his teaching journey. When he was 10, he completed a 16-day, 200-hour yoga teacher training and officially became the youngest yoga teacher in America. During Atkins’s training, it had been Anvarinejad’s address sit within the corner of the studio and fetch props and snacks for the scholars . “It was amazing to observe Tabay undergo the teacher training experience himself, then much fun watching him surprise everyone—including his teacher!—with his knowledge of the practice and true interest in learning more,” she says. Immediately after he graduated, Atkins started teaching at the studio his mom owned, and offering donation-based classes, with all proceeds getting to organizations that support kids with cancer. How to accept No Regrets Every morning, Atkins wakes up and does a brief flow together with his mom—typically some Sun Salutations and a couple of favorite poses, like Tree Pose and Crow Pose. They each name what they’re grateful for, too—a practice Atkins credits with reminding him of the transformative power of yoga and therefore the honor in sharing its benefits with others. “It’s so amazing to ascertain students walk into my classes looking exhausted and leave feeling energized and more alive,” he says. “But what I’ve realized is that it’s one thing to share the practice and another to measure it.” Enter his commitment to eating vegan—a concrete way he says he puts the principle of ahimsa (nonviolence) into practice. It’s a method Atkins says he lives his favorite mantra: Think good thoughts, speak kind words, feel love, be love, and provides love. “In this world immediately , we all got to do more of this,” he says. “There’s not enough love going around.” But if you recognize where to seem for love—and stay hospitable the moments when it'd spontaneously appear—you’ll find it, Atkins says. To wit: the kismet that was his mom—and him—finding yoga. Atkins says he often cares how life may need unfolded differently had his mom not suggested she meet Long just when yoga teacher training was starting. He considers how different her path post-cancer may need looked and the way the course of his childhood likely would have taken very different turns. “It’s all proof that everything happens—or doesn’t happen—for a reason,” Atkins says. “By living with this mindset, I won’t regret anything.” That’s to not say Atkins is watching life unfold because it will; he’s pursuing opportunities to spread the facility of yoga far and wide. “I think the longer term is so bright for my generation,” he says. “We’re educating ourselves and our parents. We’re walking our own paths and doing things differently. We’re trying to shake things up by coming together to speak about things like how our choices affect our surroundings .” “I see yoga helping us still do that in even bigger and better ways—and I’m so grateful to be a neighborhood of it.”

Ashley Domingo: Using Technology to Create Yoga Experiences for Gamers

By Bria Tavakoli

Ashley Domingo Age: 23 Lives in Portland, Oregon My yoga model is my teacher Rosie Acosta. She is that the most real person i do know , but at an equivalent time, the foremost mystical. My biggest accomplishment thus far is completing my 500-hour training and teaching within the space where I first started my journey. My favorite teaching moment was when an in depth friend told me she experienced an emotional release in one among the primary classes I taught. In the year 2030, I’ll be creatively fulfilled and ready to help my loved ones with whatever they have . Yoga is being here, now. Yoga isn’t only about embodying love and light; it's the acceptance of the opposites also . I wish more yogis would realize you don’t need to be the entire shebang—vegan, wearing Alo leggings on Instagram, drinking a smoothie for breakfast every morning—to be a “yogi.” If you've got a body and you'll breathe, you'll be a yogi. The promise I make to myself a day is what I call No Zero Days: a day I do something to maneuver toward being the person i would like to be. Some days I’ll move a mile, some days I’ll move an in. . Some days I’ll have time to try to to a 90-minute practice; some days i'd just roll in the hay my legs up the wall for a couple of minutes as my asana practice for the day. It doesn’t matter how big the move—as long as it’s not a zero. Ashley Domingo skipped college in favor of yoga teacher training and real-world job experience. Today, she’s creating a virtual yoga program for gamers that suffer from stress, anxiety, and depression. Growing up, Ashley Domingo was an honest student and an ingenious free agent with a love of crystals and tarot cards. As an adolescent weary of the criticism she was receiving from her hip-hop dance teachers, she started exploring yoga on her own through YouTube and other apps. That was the straightforward part. The not-so-easy part was choosing to forgo college, despite good grades and sky-high family expectations. “My mom was salutatorian of her highschool and went back to the Philippines to offer an interview about the importance of education,” says Domingo, who teaches yoga at her office and informally to friends. So embarking on yoga teacher training rather than attending a university was certainly off brand for her family, with whom her relationship was tumultuous. She felt sort of a disappointment to her parents, she says, who didn’t understand what she wanted to try to to together with her life. Five years later, she credits yoga with helping create a shift in perspectives—both hers and her family’s. Love initially Savasana At 19, Domingo took a full-time job working in insurance, where she started taking weekly beginner yoga classes at her office. “After that first Savasana, i used to be hooked,” she says. So she began to seek out a studio where she could explore her curiosity and deepen her practice. One teacher, she recalls, read poetry aloud at the top of her class. “It felt so safe and open,” says Domingo. “It was so different from the fear and judgment I faced in dance class.” it had been that warm feeling of acceptance that nudged her to become an educator . “I wanted to make that environment, because I knew what proportion it had been helping me with courage and clearing self-doubt.” She went on to try to to just that. After completing her 200-hour training in 2018, she began teaching the exact same class where she’d once found such comfort and relief from workday stress. Top of Her Game Last year, news of a high-profile player’s suicide rocked the web video-gaming community, during which Domingo had been a participant since 2010. (A 2017 review of fifty observational studies published within the Journal of Health Psychology found that depression and anxiety were particularly prominent among gamers.) Domingo recognized that her online peers needed “the tools to recollect their self-worth and value outside of the persona they show online,” she says. In response, she’s creating a month-long virtual yoga and meditation program for gamers, complete with meditations, asana, and instructional videos on topics starting from the importance of rest to how yoga can improve focus. She hopes to launch the series, dubbed “Bringing Peace to the Keyboard Warrior,” this year. “I know tons of my friends are very hard on themselves, and that i can give them more tools—and guide them through some exercises which will help. patiently ,” she adds, “You can do belongings you didn’t know you'll .” And she’s speaking from experience. At last, she says, “I desire I’m within the right place, and that i trust that.”

Maris Degener: Setting an example for how to work through anxiety, depression, and eating disorders

As told to Meghan Rabbitt

Maris Degener Age: 21 Lives in Santa Cruz, California My yoga model is Susanna Barkataki, for her commitment to using yoga’s teachings as a vessel for social change. My biggest accomplishment thus far is saying “yes” to recovering from my disorder . My favorite teaching moment is whenever I desire I’ve created a secure container for college kids to be their own teachers. In the year 2030, I’ll be doing the simplest I can with what I’ve learned so far . Yoga is unity. Yoga isn’t a contest . I wish more people would realize that this practice may be a thanks to hook up with healing and compassion, to not “fix” you or cause you to feel unworthy. My Favorite Mantra I can do hard things. Words of wisdom I live by “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” —Dr. Luther King, Jr. The promise I make to myself a day Try your best and roll in the hay pityingly . I’d been out of the hospital for just a couple of days, on bed rest reception , but still skeptical of why I’d needed to be hospitalized within the first place. i used to be 13 years old, and albeit the doctors and nurses showed me my weak vitals on the machines surrounding my bed during my three-week stay, I still couldn’t grasp how sick I was—how much damage I’d done to my body by not eating. So, after I’d been discharged, despite my strict bed-rest orders, i made a decision to try to to a pushup. I wanted to prove i used to be strong. I climbed out of my bed and came to my knees on the carpet beside my night table. How hard could this be? i assumed . I slowly placed my hands on the bottom beneath my shoulders and inched my feet back to urge into Plank Pose. I dropped to my knees, immediately realizing I couldn’t support my very own weight in Plank, including lower myself to the bottom then lift myself copy . therein moment, it clicked: mental disease isn’t an attention-seeking game; it’s a matter of life and death. I knew I had hurt myself, and it had been time on behalf of me to heal. Hello, Yoga? It’s Me, Maris When I was within the hospital, the doctors and nurses told me how important it might be on behalf of me to urge my strength back without strenuous exercise. Yoga was a logical choice, and once I noticed a replacement studio had opened near my hometown—and they were hosting free classes on Sunday mornings—I asked my mom if I could provides it a try. I got there embarrassingly early and ended up lecture Jenni Wendell, the studio owner and therefore the teacher that morning, before class. I’ll always remember how seen I felt by Jenni, which definitely took the sting off how absolutely overwhelmed I felt before and through that first-class . i used to be getting back in-tuned with my body and learning what it had been wish to be present. There was tons happening , like trying to maneuver into the varied postures and learn the various Sanskrit words. i used to be lost within the chaos of it all, except for the primary time in my life, I didn’t feel overwhelmed by that fact. Yoga gave me permission to not have it all found out . And Jenni met me exactly where i used to be . There was such a lot to find out and no finishing line . There was no competition or prompt for comparison. I realize now how lucky i used to be to fall under a studio where these beautiful tenets of yoga were emphasized. After that first-class , Jenni gifted me a yoga mat. it had been her way of creating sure I knew that my presence really mattered. Jenni cared if I came back—and not just during a business sense but during a way that felt to me like this person genuinely cared that I showed up. What i do know now's that when you’re handling depression and anxiety—and I grappled with both, starting at such a young age—you don’t believe that folks care if you’re around. the very fact that Jenni, a stranger, was caring on behalf of me felt revolutionary. Let the Healing Begin I desire my hospitalization and first chapter of my anorexia recovery were focused on the physical, which mostly involved ensuring i used to be eating enough calories and getting back to a healthy weight. once I found yoga, I wasn’t during a precarious place with my health. Still, that first yoga class was really challenging. In some ways , yoga felt sort of a clean slate , which was so nice after what I’d been through. I became a faithful student, getting to multiple classes every week , and after a couple of months, I got employment at the studio’s front desk. One day, Jenni told me she was performing on producing the studio’s yoga teacher training, and she or he offered me a scholarship to hitch . i used to be in awe of the practice and my teachers, but i assumed Jenni was crazy—I thought there was no way someone my age could teach yoga. Jenni described that she was designing the training to be more sort of a study group, where we’d study the philosophy of yoga and the way to integrate it into our lives, additionally to the way to teach. Now, I see that Jenni wanted me to hitch the training to assist me integrate yoga into my life beyond the 75 minutes i used to be thereon mat she’d given me. When I taught my first-class therein training, Jenni said she’d never seen me look so joyful. Something changed in me; all I wanted to try to to was expire what had been given to me. My teachers emphasized that the work of the yoga teacher is to expire what you’re learning, which suggests the simplest teachers are the simplest students. This gave me permission to be a vessel for the practice to return through; the way my teachers instilled that sort of humility in me cleared the way for my voice to emerge. I reflected on the teachers who’d had the foremost impact on my journey. The common thread? Their willingness to be vulnerable with me. They were human—always willing to return to my level and say something like, “Oh, I’ve experienced that, too.” They held space on behalf of me and didn’t attempt to “fix” me. And in being their authentic, beautiful selves, they inspired me to try to to an equivalent . My Story—on the large Screen When a filmmaker from my hometown who knew about my struggle with anorexia approached me about being during a documentary she wanted to form about eating disorders, all I saw were red flags. I’ve seen numerous films about eating disorders and are disappointed and unnecessarily triggered by them. Most of the documentaries romanticize skinny bodies. Some would go away me feeling like there was no hope for full recovery. Worse, many actually served as a guidebook to fuel my disease. (That woman ate only X amount of calories? I should eat less.) “Yoga Helped Me Remember Who I Am—and Dream about Who i would like to Be” I shared all of this with the filmmaker, and she or he really listened to my points and promised me that we’d create something different. I told her I didn’t want to speak about my weight or diet or show any pictures from the time i used to be sick. I wanted to urge to something deeper—with attention on my catalyst for healing, which was finding my practice. i assumed of my yoga teachers’ vulnerability—and the strength that shone through because of it—and I aimed to point out up with an equivalent quite truth they’ve always showed me. In i'm Maris, we mention my journey, yes. But what we actually tried to try to to is urge people to seek out their thing—the thing that speaks to their version of healing. When I hear from people who’ve watched the film, what seems to possess resonated the foremost is that the power of vulnerability. I feel closest to people when they’re vulnerable with me first. In making this documentary, I need to be that friend—the one who exposes in order that others can, too. And if I even have given even one person permission to share their story or reflect on their own experience, I desire the gift is mine. You never know what your journey—or even just your presence—might mean to someone.

Maryam Abdul: Teaching yoga and being a doula has helped her heal her community

Maryam Abdul Age: 23 Lives in l. a. , California My yoga model is @Yogi_Goddess Phyllicia Bonanno on Instagram. She’s an unapologetically black yogi who shows that there's representation within the community for black women doing this practice. My biggest accomplishment thus far is preparing and launching private yoga and birth doula businesses. My favorite teaching moment is when my students or friends say they feel better, more open, and calmer from the yoga. In the year 2030, I’ll be hosting yoga retreats, opening a yoga and wellness studio and a birth center within the Watts/South Central LA community—plus a juice bar. i would like such things to be accessible to members of my community. Yoga is your own journey together with your body and mind. Yoga isn’t alleged to only be this super-beautiful, on-the-beach, Handstands-and-splits practice. I wish more yogis would realize we've the liberty to be as creative with our yoga as we would like to be, and that we can explore more parts of ourselves. Be very gentle with yourself therein exploration. We don’t got to be hard on ourselves. Just a couple of years ago, Maryam Abdul was a sophomore in college, feeling disconnected, depressed, and anxious. “I had no sense of purpose. I felt lost and confused. Like I didn’t belong,” she says. What led her to become a significant yoga student was the motivation to reclaim her body after a sexual assault: “I lost myself— i used to be a shadow. I didn’t have anything to rest on , because I had let everything that was good on behalf of me go.” That included elements of her Islamic faith, which she says paved the way for her to eventually find yoga. Almost four years after the assault that rocked her foundation, Abdul is rooted during a solid, clear sense of purpose and mission: to help underserved communities, specifically the South Central l. a. neighborhood of Watts where she grew up— an area she calls a food desert with few outlets for yoga and wellness activities. Last year, at age 23, Abdul began training to become a yoga teacher and a doula almost simultaneously. almost like midwives, doulas provide mental, physical, and emotional support to mothers during pregnancy, delivery, and even miscarriages, and help their clients navigate a health care system that disproportionately fails black women. Abdul’s passion and curiosity had led her to review the medical industry’s early-20th-century effort to regulate , pathologize, and institutionalize black midwives—which has negatively affected birth complications among black mothers. Armed with this information, she enrolled during a local doula educational program . “We see an enormous disparity in black maternal death and infant deathrate ,” she says. “Meanwhile, stress is literally killing black mothers. i exploit yoga and meditation with my doula clients to cultivate peace and calm—with an intention to combat the statistics. i would like my people to measure , and live well. And that’s why I do what I do.” —BT

Natalie Asatryan: Bringing yoga to kids so she can change the world

Age: 15 Lives in l. a. , California My yoga model is 101-year-old Tao Porchon-Lynch, who proves yoga are often practiced at any age. My biggest accomplishment thus far is raising money for charities by teaching donation-based yoga classes. My favorite teaching moment was once I led my high school’s eleven through a yoga class. -In the year 2030, I’ll be a yoga teacher, student of yoga, and doing whatever I can to form the planet a far better place. Yoga is that the unity of the mind, body, and soul. It’s an indoor and external experience at an equivalent time. Yoga isn’t about striving to be perfect. I wish more people would realize how important it's to share yoga with the younger generation, because it might make humanity better. My favorite mantra is Om, because the buzzing of the “m” is that the eternal sound of God that lives within you in every breath. How cool is that? Words of wisdom I live by Be kind—but also courageous. The promise I make to myself a day I’m getting to do my best with what I’m given today, and whatever else happens, happens. Natalie Asatryan was five years old when she learned the way to really breathe. She was in her first yoga class—at an area studio crammed with other kindergarteners—and the teacher told them to imagine that they were hot-air balloons and had to light a fireplace in their hearts and breathe deeply so as to fly. “Then, when we’d lay in Savasana, the teacher would tell us to be as loose as noodles, and if our muscles weren’t tense when she picked up our legs and gave them a wiggle, we’d get a sticker,” says Asatryan, now 15. “My Generation goes to Run the planet Soon. The More folks Who Do Yoga, the Better” At age 12, Asatryan would continue to become the youngest girl to become a 200-hour certified yoga teacher. How did that happen? We asked her to offer us the backstory. Author: Yoga Journal Staff Source: https://www.yogajournal.com/teach/meet-the-next-generation-of-yoga-changemakers Discover more info about Yoga Poses for Two People here: Yoga Poses for Two Read the full article

[bnhascenariosheadcannonsimagines]

I've just found your blog and love it! So thank you so much! And, uhh, would it be possible for you to do HCs of the UA staff getting Rick Rolled? (I read the Filthy Frank ask and just, it'd be hilarious if the prank is much less... scarring.)

Nedzu

Thought it was a work related email and clicked on the link without looking… This is not for work. What is this? Why is it here?

Doesn’t get the joke, but likes the song and now listens to it unironically sometimes in his office and you can walk by and hear it playing softly sometimes

Recovery Girl

Why do students keep trying to get her to look at their phones and not their wounds???? Stop this Denki, you need medical attention.

She is confused why a song from her teenage years has come back as a joke, “He was a good artist you know!”

Toshinori Yagi/All Might

Gets an email and opens it and is genuinely confused when it loudly starts yelling during class one day. And when all of the students start laughing and giggling he gets so confused. Help this poor man!

The song gets stuck in his head and he’ll start humming it without noticing and his students will start laughing again and it is making him worried. What is so funny about this song???

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Sighs when he sees a link to something and rolls his eyes when he clicks on the email and it starts singing. He’ll have to talk with Mic about this later, because his class lost it when it started singing

“Yes I know what a Rick Roll is. No I didn’t mean to Rick Roll the class. Stop asking so many questions, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Someone save him, his class won’t leave him alone

Hizashi Yamada/Present Mic

LOUDLY SINGS TO IT AND IS PROBABLY THE ONE THAT SENT THE EMAIL TO ALL OF THE OTHER TEACHERS. He is the meme king of the staff and we all know it, so if he can make the other teacher’s lives a little harder then you know he will (^w^)

He blasts it through his speakers usually, so no one can Rick Roll him because he is constantly Rick Rolling himself… He’s more of a mess than Toshinori

Ken Ishiyama/Cemetoss

Is alarmed when he gets an email that starts singing throughout the class, but quickly mutes it. Not fast enough for the students though.. The classroom is a madhouse. Everyone is singing… What does he do? Please calm down

He gets his class to calm down and now opens all emails with his computer muted because he doesn’t think he can handle another mob of singing students

Nemuri Kayama/Midnight

Probably helped Mic send it to everyone so she could watch the others suffer and she didn’t have to, but Mic still sent it to her and she opened it while her students where working quietly on a worksheet and every single one of them heard it…

She smiles and says not to worry about it, but she can hear them humming it for days after and she swears she’s going to kill Mic

Lunch-Rush

Why is this student singing in the lunch line? Why is EVERYONE ELSE also joining in?? What is happening in his cafeteria?? Please do not stand on the tables.

He knows the song, but does not appreciate that kids are shrieking it loudly through his domain. So he gives the kids who hum it the less good, not bad because he could never do that, food

Thirteen

He was lucky enough to have opened the email when he was alone checking the systems early in the morning… But quickly realized his mistake of leaving his audio on when it started playing over the loud speaker and the USJ vibrated with Rick Astley

Why was the sound system that loud in the first place? He swore his helmet almost cracked! But when he got to the computer to turn it off he saw a draft in his emails, “Luv u :* -Mic” And he is now no longer allowed to come to the USJ without another teacher

Snipe

He doesn’t even know how technology works so when he can’t close the video after clicking on it, another smashed phone. Well less smashed, more shot…. His phone plan won’t cover it this time. Damn it Mic!

This poor man doesn’t understand that it was a joke and is confused when his students now sing it quietly. Sometimes they’ll call him Rick because the panic dance/looking around he did looked like that bad dancing in the video

Ectopalsm

His class is usually well behaved, but leave it to Mic to turn his nice class into an animal house… Please everyone take their seats, but the song still haunts the classroom every few days because someone will quietly play it to mess with him

He would like to talk to Mic but every time he emails him he sends him another link that ends up being the same video and he never gets anywhere but annoyed because the song has plagued his thoughts and classroom

Power Loader

His smile gets wider when he hears music but is scared when the students around him start to laugh at him. What did he do wrong? Is there something wrong with his helmet? And remains completely oblivious to the whole meme aspect

He’ll hum it and the students will laugh but he and Nedzu are having a great time with this blast from the past

Sekijirou Kan/Blood King

His class explodes and he is confused why a song from so long ago has them all laughing? Please stop an continue with your work. Why the hell are they all laughing so hard? Stop this. Save him

The song now comes up and puts him on edge, he doesn’t know what turned this happy go lucky song into a nightmare for him but it happened and he is scared