Apr 20
Baby girl punk.
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Baby girl punk.
Witness my very poorly timed screenshot
Jimmy and Jey at WrestleMania 41 ❤️
our new World Heavyweight Champion
The greatest of all time ..
Where the weight lives
Pair: Rhea Ripley X Roman Reigns (Platonic)
Plot: On the biggest night of the year, Rhea Ripley walks into WrestleMania fighting more than just Jade Cargill — she’s fighting her own spiraling anxiety after learning her match has been cut to eight minutes. A quiet moment with Roman Reigns grounds her, reminding her exactly who she is. After surviving interference and reclaiming her championship, Rhea watches Roman’s war with CM Punk alongside Iyo Sky, cheering him on as he rises back to the top. When both champions finish their interviews, they cross paths backstage, sharing a rare, genuine hug — two leaders, two storms, two champions who carried the weight of the night and reminded the world who they are.
Rhea Ripley and Roman Reigns are my absolute favorite superstars, and after both of them winning at Mania — and that hug that completely took me out — there was no way I wasn’t writing a fic about it. This one is soft, emotional, and set to the vibe of “Ribs” by Lorde, because that song just feels like them. Hope you enjoy. ❤️😊🤍
The hallway outside Gorilla is buzzing — producers rushing, agents whispering, the low roar of 70,000 people vibrating through the concrete. WrestleMania has a pulse, and tonight it’s beating fast.
Rhea Ripley stands in full gear, gloves half‑on, pacing. Her chest is tight. Her breathing is uneven. She hates this part — the waiting, the thinking, the spiral.
Liv Morgan walks up, Women’s World Championship over her shoulder, Raquel at her side. Liv’s still glowing from her win the night before, but her smile softens when she sees Rhea.
“You good, Mami?” Liv asks gently.
Rhea forces a smirk. “Yeah. Just… Mania stuff.”
Liv bumps her shoulder. “You’ll kill it. You always do.”
Before Rhea can answer, a referee jogs over, headset crooked, out of breath.
“Rhea — can I talk to you? Real quick.”
Liv squeezes her arm. “We’ll be in Gorilla. Come find us.”
They walk off, leaving Rhea alone with the ref.
Rhea crosses her arms. “What’s up?”
The ref hesitates — never a good sign.
“Okay, so… timing changed. Your match with Jade just got cut.”
Rhea’s stomach drops. “Cut to what?”
“Eight minutes.”
Her breath catches.
“And since Jade’s the champ… she’s still getting her run‑ins. Michin and B‑Fab are cleared.”
Rhea’s vision tunnels.
“Eight minutes… with run‑ins?” she whispers.
The ref apologizes and runs off.
Rhea stands frozen.
Her hands start shaking.
Her chest tightens.
Her throat closes.
She’s spiraling.
And then—
A shadow falls over her.
Roman Reigns steps out from the locker room, already in his gear, tape on his wrists, calm as a mountain.
He stops right in front of her.
“Rhea.”
She doesn’t look up.
Roman’s voice drops, low and steady. “Hey. Look at me.”
She lifts her eyes, barely holding it together.
Roman steps closer, blocking out the chaos of the hallway.
“You’re Rhea f***ing Ripley.”
Her breath stutters.
“They could give you eight minutes, eight seconds, or eight hours,” Roman says. “It doesn’t matter. You walk out there and you OWN that stadium.”
Her breathing slows.
Her shoulders drop.
Her heartbeat steadies.
Roman taps her shoulder. “Breathe. Right here. With me.”
She matches his inhale.
Matches his exhale.
Roman nods. “There she is.”
Rhea wipes her face, jaw tightening with determination.
“Go remind them who the hell you are.”
The stadium lights dim. The crowd swells. Rhea’s music hits like a thunderclap, and the entire arena erupts. She marches down the ramp, eyes locked on the ring.
Jade Cargill stands tall inside, championship glinting, confidence radiating.
The bell rings.
They collide.
Jade shoves Rhea into the ropes, smirking. Rhea fires back, but Jade’s power dominates early — shoulder tackles, slams, targeted shots to the lower back. She plants Rhea with a brutal mind‑buster, nearly ending it.
Rhea kicks out, but she’s rattled.
Jade transitions into a crossface, wrenching back hard. Rhea claws toward the ropes, refusing to tap. She powers out, but Jade stays ahead, catching her with a sudden kick to the jaw.
Then—
Michin grabs Rhea’s ankle behind the ref’s back.
B‑Fab lands a cheap shot.
Jade distracts the ref.
Another attack.
Another shot.
A three‑on‑one assault.
Rhea collapses to a knee.
Jade lifts her into an electric chair — the Sandstorm — and drops her.
Rhea barely kicks out.
The eight‑minute clock is suffocating her.
And then—
Iyo Sky sprints down the ramp, launching herself onto Michin and B‑Fab with a flurry of backfists and kicks. The crowd loses its mind as Iyo clears ringside.
Rhea rises.
Jade turns—
HEADBUTT.
Jade staggers.
Rhea hooks her for the Riptide—
Jade slips out, too strong. She shoves Rhea off and swings for Jaded.
Rhea ducks.
Slides behind.
Hooks the arm.
RIPTIDE.
One. Two. Three.
The stadium detonates.
Rhea Ripley collapses to her knees, clutching the title she just reclaimed.
She proved Roman right.
The moment Rhea steps through the curtain, the roar of the stadium fades into a dull hum. Crew members clap as she walks by. Someone shouts, “Hell of a match, Mami!”
Rhea just wants a second to breathe.
She turns toward the women’s locker room — and stops.
Roman Reigns is standing there.
He’s in full gear, seconds from heading to Gorilla for his match with CM Punk. The Tribal Chief aura is fully on — calm, focused, unshakeable.
But when he sees her, his expression softens.
Rhea exhales, a shaky laugh. “You’re still here.”
Roman nods. “Had to get my head right.”
She steps closer. “I just… wanted to say thank you.”
Roman tilts his head. “For what.”
Rhea swallows. “Back there. Before the match. I was spiraling. And you didn’t have to say anything. But you did.”
Roman studies her — someone who understands the weight she carries.
“You didn’t need me,” he says quietly. “You just needed to remember who you are.”
Rhea’s throat tightens. “Still. It helped.”
Roman nods toward Gorilla. “Go celebrate. You earned it.”
Rhea nods back. “Go finish your story.”
They pass each other — two storms crossing paths.
Rhea sinks onto a production crate backstage, title across her lap. Iyo Sky drops beside her, still buzzing from earlier.
A monitor flickers to life — Roman vs. Punk.
Rhea leans forward. “Alright, big dog. Show us something.”
Punk slaps Roman across the face.
Rhea’s jaw drops. “Oh, he’s stupid‑stupid.”
Iyo gasps. “He wants to die.”
Roman fires back. The match explodes into chaos — strikes, counters, table spots, GTS attempts, guillotines, low blows.
Rhea reacts to every moment:
“Damn, that one looked rough.”
“He hits like a truck.”
“STOP PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS.”
“He’s cooked.”
“LET’S GO!”
Iyo jumps, squeals, covers her mouth, claps like she’s watching fireworks.
Roman hits the final spear.
One. Two. Three.
Iyo jumps up and down. “HE DID IT!”
Rhea beams. “That’s my Tribal Chief.”
She watches Roman hold the title high.
“He reminded the whole damn world who he is.”
Joe Tessitore, Big E, and Peter Rosenberg welcome Rhea to the post‑show desk. The crowd behind them roars.
Big E: “Eight minutes. Interference. A powerhouse champion. And you STILL walked out with the gold.”
Rhea: “I thrive under pressure. Chaos brings out the best in me.”
Rosenberg: “People are calling you the Roman Reigns of the women’s division.”
Rhea laughs softly.
“Roman’s in a league of his own. But if people see me as the standard? I’ll take that. Still — I’m not trying to be Roman Reigns. I’m trying to be Rhea bloody Ripley.”
She taps the title.
“And tonight, I reminded everyone who that is.”
Roman steps onto the stage, new World Heavyweight Championship over his shoulder.
Big E: “Punk threw everything at you. And you STILL walked out champion.”
Roman: “That’s what happens when you step to the Tribal Chief.”
Rosenberg: “Did you remind the world tonight?”
Roman smirks. “Absolutely.”
Joe: “Some say this was one of your greatest Mania performances.”
Roman: “They can call it whatever they want. I call it business.”
Backstage, Rhea turns a corner — and Roman is walking toward her.
Both champions. Both bruised. Both carrying gold.
Rhea grins. “You crazy bastard. That match was wild.”
Roman chuckles. “You’re one to talk.”
She steps closer. “Congrats, champ.”
Roman nods. “You too.”
Rhea steps in and hugs him. Roman hugs her back — steady, warm, grounding.
Two leaders. Two champions. Two people who understand the weight the other carries.
When they pull apart, Roman taps her title. “Told you you had it.”
Rhea smirks. “Guess we both did.”
Later, when the arena finally quieted and the last fireworks drifted into the Las Vegas sky, Rhea found herself surrounded instead of alone — The Usos crashing into her with loud cheers, Solo giving her a rare proud nod, Tamina pulling her into a tight, mother‑bear squeeze. The Samoan crew she’d grown close to over the years crowded around her, all of them buzzing with the same post‑Mania adrenaline she still felt in her bones. Down the hall, Roman’s laughter rumbled from the Bloodline locker room, low and tired and victorious, and the whole group reacted like family hearing good news.
Two champions. Two storms. Two leaders who walked into WrestleMania carrying the weight of their worlds and walked out with gold on their shoulders and people who loved them at their backs.
Rhea looked down at her title, then at the family celebrating around her, and let the moment settle deep in her chest. Tonight, they didn’t just win — they reminded the world, and each other, exactly who they are.
Before she could even take a breath, Jimmy Uso slung an arm around her shoulders and yelled, “Aye, get over here! We need a picture with the champ!” Jey appeared instantly, grinning like he’d been waiting for this moment all night. Solo stepped in behind Rhea, quiet but solid, one hand resting on her shoulder in silent approval. Tamina squeezed in on the other side, pulling Rhea close with a warmth that felt like home.
Someone shouted down the hallway, “Roman! Bring your ass, Uce — family photo!”
Roman emerged from the Bloodline locker room still in his gear, title over his shoulder, hair damp and loose. He raised an eyebrow at the chaos, but the smile tugging at his mouth gave him away. “You all can’t take one picture without me?”
He stepped in beside Rhea, their shoulders brushing, both titles gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The whole group crowded together — loud, laughing, sweaty, victorious. A crew member lifted a phone.
“Alright, ready— three, two—”
Rhea lifted her title. Roman lifted his. The Usos threw up ones. Solo stood stoic but proud. Tamina beamed.
Click.
The photo captured everything — the gold, the exhaustion, the joy, the family. Rhea looked at the screen when they showed it to her, and for the first time all night, she felt the weight in her chest loosen completely. This was what she fought for. This was what she belonged to. This was home.
The End
TAGLIST 😊
@trippinsorrows @acute-crashout-jeyuso @empressdede @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @femdisa @mytribalnightmare @eringobragh420 @southerngirl41 @officialeve24 @usoinked @bossbitch-22 @madhatterbri @purplementalitybluebird @bloodlinemadness @holycollectivekitty @jstarr86 @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @duhitzkay380 @bloodlinesbabe93 @theusotwinzcom @thebigredmonster @chynagirl13 @mamis-girly @transparentphantomface @amazinggirlsstuff @spiicii @mselenalovebug @sharmelasworld @moxley99 @crazylady20 @myleelovesfood @jeysbitch @skyesthebomb @fafomama @keenagurl @chocobuttabaybee @terrortwinunicorn @mamis-girly2 @lovelyjay45 @wwestrang-fan @bossbitch-25 @xnightmarexpunkx @ctinadiva @nash2023 @ztrek808 phoebe0391 @bigbackbri @armanihouse @bibonacita23 @scorpiodivazchamp @pruningthebreeze @dwill484 @rememberingvirgo
All the women of color lost their titles to white women. trumpman reigns wins against known leftist cm punk. idk just an observation do whatever you want with that
“oba’s gonna kiiiilll you” chant at Roman in the post show is so fucking funny
Ok last post of the night and I’m going back in my hole and reposting amazing stories!!!!
1) WWE needs to diversify their production and writing time.
2) Roman may come once in a blue moon but the man is not afraid to take a move or a hit.
3) if your not gone take the time and care it take to truly create a show worth watching; then just make all PLEs one night events.
3) give the new talent there time to shine, can’t develop them if you don’t let them shine
Overall night two was way better and worth watching! Thank you for coming to my TED talk!