#She Remembered Caterpillars

[spielkritik]

Lesenswert: Katzen, Raupen, JRPGs, Dreamcast, Pentiment, Stripperinnen / Sehenswert: Cute ’em up, 1080° Avalanche

Leicht verspätet, doch liebevoll kuratiert wie immer: Die einzig echten Games-Lesetipps von SPIELKRITIK.com. Ganz neu und ganz frisch von mir entdeckt ist der Blog “Sam Derboos Odditorium”, der sich mit einer ausgedehnten Liste der tollsten Videospiel-Katzen sogleich an die Spitze der heutigen Auswahl katapultiert. Es folgt ein alter Bekannter, diesmal allerdings in deutscher Sprache: Andreas…

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#1080 snowboarding #acclaim #bmx xxx #dreamcast #gamecube #Grandia #indie games #jrpg #katzen #kosmologie #PC Engine #pentiment #She Remembered Caterpillars

[phantomwyvern]

Some glittery LPS sketches, pets featured are cat #2255, chinchilla #2116 and caterpillar #2145, pets from a anon ask I sent @lpsotd

#littlest pet shop #lps #lps cat #lps chinchilla #lps caterpillar #bugs #I’ve never drawn a caterpillar or chinchilla before and I can’t remember the last time I drew a cat but I do like how all these guys turned #especially the caterpillar love how she came out #lich draws things #phantom wyvern’s drawings #January #2023 #oh hey look first post of the year here #this was mostly a excuse to mess around with glittery textures again

[chaos-has-theories]

I have just realized that technically, intertextually, analysing-the-themes-ically, Marcia is Jenna's evil stepmother.

I mean - Jenna is Snow White, yeah? Princess, black hair, mother dies, lost in the forest, pursued by a hunter; gets taken in by a family defined by having seven little people living in a very enclosed space.

And then there's Marcia - who marries her father, who takes her appearance very seriously, who we're even told has a sentient magic mirror within a paragraph of meeting her.

She even almost plays into her role... for about one chapter. She arrives at the Princess' new home, plying her with jewelry, and tries to take her away, much to the chagrin of both her and her family.

Except Marcia just isn't evil. She takes Jenna with her to keep her safe and gives her fuzzy purple socks and then they all jump down a rubbish chute, and the next time the books remember that they were kind of about Snow White once upon a time is during Queste Physik, when the real Evil Queen appears (who also uses a magic mirror, who wants to be young forever, who is willing to kill her own daughter over it).

Anyway I'm obsessed with how these books do and do not use fairy tale motifs but I definitely hadn't noticed Marcia's role in it before today but now that I do I'm going to make fun of her forever (affectionate)

#seriously the fairy tale motifs in these books? #there could so easily have been a Red Riding Hood plot for Jenna but I don't remember that happening #Lucy technically has a Rapunzel/Maid Maleen subplot in the background but she's just too practically minded to let that stop her for long #Syrah Syara is Sleeping Beauty except when she very much isn't #because in some ways the dragon boat is more sleeping beauty than her #and whenever it seems like something might become too fairy tale we get an excurs about how hard it is to get rid of dragon dung #or a chapter from the perspective of a caterpillar #and honestly I respect that #septimus heap

[irafuwas]

pics from today's walk 🌿

#misc #do you guys remember that episode of spongebob where sandy has to leave town and she asks spongebob and pat to housesit #and they're like ok sure bitch so they go to her place and take care of her pets and they come across what looks like a worm #but its actually a caterpillar and it eventually turns into a butterfly and it like burns down bikini bottom #and they would keep showing those really scary close up shots of the butterfly!?? #that episode came out when i was like 5 years old and the butterfly close up shots scared me SO bad #i hated butterflies for years and would run away whenever they chased me #anyways so today that old fear kind of resurfaced #i got chased by butterflies i had to run through clouds of mosquitoes and swarms of dragonflies #i got harassed by a tarantula hawk (if u dont know what those are and are scared of bugs pls dont google it) #when i went to use the potty by the trails guess what i didn't notice was in the stall w/ me until i had my damn pants around my ankles!! #a WASP #yes im almost 30 and i still say “potty” shut the hell up #anyways that's my story

[tofixtheshadows]

This is a niche post for one person and one person only (myself) but I need access to the Cricket literary magazine archives.

#do they exist? I need them to exist #I would not be the person I am today without the Spider and Cricket magazines #also hilariously I'm making this post because I was thinking about Falin from Dungeon Meshi #and remembered that when I was a kid I read an illustrated retelling in Cricket #of a Japanese story about a noblewoman who is considered strange and undesirable because she loves bugs #and doesn't conform to the rigid beauty standards of the era #Toshiro falling in love with her while she's looking at a caterpillar is probably a reference to that story! #and I never would have known without Cricket ... thank you Cricket.... #(this was possibly in Cicada and not Cricket. nevertheless.)

[fazcinatingblog]

Tumblr, today my boss consumed:

6 cheese biscuits

Another 6 cheese biscuits

Then 6 choc chip cookies

One pod espresso coffee

Her sandwich brought from home

Mineral water

You're welcome

#oh I'm sorry i forgot to mention i work for the very hungry caterpillar #yeah that's my boss!!!!!! she takes so long to get ready because she has to put shoes on all the caterpillar feet!!!!!! #and then one day she'll turn into a beautiful butterfly #remember that movie - was it bug's Life? & there was a fat caterpillar & when he turned into a butterfly he was the same fat caterpillar #but with wings #that's my boss

[zooophagous]

I see a post, that asks the question "you are now married to your phone background, how fucked are you?"

I close the app and look. When was the last time I considered my phone background? I can't even remember it.

On the screen before me is a purple wildflower, a bergamot, or "bee balm" plant, photographed in North Dakota in 2019 in a family member's back yard.

I am married to a bergamot. She is tall and shapely, moreso than myself, though her choice of purple raiments matched closely my own. She is my favorite color. Maybe that's how we met? Why I decided to woo her?

My wife the bergamot is a socialite. She has more friends than I. Every morning she gossips with a cabbage white butterfly, and cruelly shares their secrets with the rusty patched bumblebees, who compete for her affections with the domesticated aapis mellifera, which trail at her purple coattails like lapdogs.

Her favorite friend, however, is the ruby throated hummingbird. More insect than avian though it does contain a vertebral column, it iridesces like green beetle wings and in my heart I feel jealousy as my bergamot bride and the hummingbird kiss.

I sit with her for a season. Under the sun and the heat and the biting flies. She is covered in dewdrops and in spiders. I spare her from caterpillars and lavish my affections on her with a cup of water.

The world turns at last to its cool side, my bergamot changes her purple coat to her dusty toned night gown. She lies down to sleep and is buried beneath a bed of fresh snow come October.

Love so fleeting, marriage so brief, could I forget my bergamot and move on? Could my love be perennial and evergreen even when my beloved is not? It is winter and my bride is dead. How fucked am I?

[onthecrescentofthehill]

I feel like this is such a key moment in Shuro and Falin’s dynamic that i’ve never seen talked about and wish was mentioned again in canon. ‼️THIS IS NOT A SHIP POST‼️ for clarity but to me it adds such an interesting layer to how Shuro must feel towards her and the imbalance in their relationship…..

So much of his character is feeling alienated and inaccessible to the people around him, at first in his own family and then culturally after he left home. the party doesn’t even know his actual name. he’s under so much pressure and could feel like anyone Knowing another side of him would compromise his obligations, and partly why he resents what he views as Laios’s compulsive earnestness so much. but at the same time I think him seeing how much patience and love she has for Laios makes him wonder if he could be safe with her. and in the caterpillar scene he sees Falin finding beauty in something others find repulsive and inconsequential (plus in the recent Adventure Bible we learn he also has an interest in critters….)

I’m not sure when the caterpillar scene takes place in relation to his nightmare, either way she literally enters his subconscious and saves his life!! I’m so so so curious about the details tbh. I can’t imagine how humiliating that would feel but at the same time it took away the need for him to confess any of his weaknesses, Falin took it upon herself and the most Insane part to me is he probably doesn’t even remember what she saw, because Marcille didn’t remember the content of hers. and there’s no way he’d ASK, and Falin wouldn’t volunteer that information.

anywayyyyy Shuro knows she’s seen the deep pain and loneliness at his core and guided him out. he wants that, he DID get it, but doesn’t know HOW!!!! so of course he’d try to chase that in reality and he would feel an intense closeness with her because she’s the only one who who’s Literally Seen that side of him, one that he might not have a full realization of.

it rly captures this imbalance between them that I think Shuro really wants to bridge even if he’s unequipped for it, and Falin doesn’t reciprocate. like. You See Me, Can You Please Show Me What You See? he knows, factually, that she could understand and help him. but he only offers to make her “comfortable.” and at the end of the day she does for him what she would do for anyone, often at great risk to herself (imo her desire for independence in the AB demonstrates her wanting to break this) he knows this and it would be enough, he even admires that about her greatly. but it doesn’t leave much room for her own self actualization.

I don’t have a conclusion other than thank you Ryoko Kui. thank you.

#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #falin touden #shuro #toshiro nakamoto #dungeon meshi spoilers #toshiro haters LOG OFF ✋ thank you

[frillsand]

What's a niche detail in the actor AU no one's asked about but you'd like to share

There are so many cool stuff in their story i love your work, art and writing

Thank you! I do have a few details I want to share!

Before he got his show, Wally was dedicated to expanding his talents. Dance being one of them, like ballet, tap, ballroom, waltz and some other I can’t remember rn

They didn’t have much money so paying for classes wasn’t an option for him. Free classes and volunteering was a good start

Julie likes having the biggest hair possible so she gets hair extensions, since she worked at the hair salon, she never payed full price

Back in their old neighborhood, Sally and Wally were band kids, their school wasn’t big enough for a marching band so Poppy made them informs just for them. Sally played Trumpet and Wally liked the flute (they weren’t good)

Barnaby still does stand up at night clubs, Howdy loves to go to the gym but isn’t allowed to gain a lot of muscle because it would be weird to see a buff caterpillar in a kids show. Frank and Eddie both have their little hobbies of collecting. Frank has ethically sourced framed bugs and Eddie has his stamp collection.

Poppy has a girlfriend with the name Giselle Coscoroba. She’s a Swan ballet dancer and is the reason Wally was able to learn. She usually spends her time at kids classes when she’s not performing but she was more than happy to teach her girlfriends family for nothing in return

“Oh my god, we’re struggling with money”

Julie:

Jk she almost never got her extensions because they needed the money, but now she gets them as often as she wants

#welcome home puppet show #welcome home actor au #diva wally #actor wally darling #eddie dear #julie joyful #sally starlight #howdy pillar #poppy partridge #giselle coscoroba #frank frankly #barnaby b beagle

[preciouslandmermaid]

💐💐💐

imagine being a kindergarten teacher who meets reid

maybe its thru JJ, maybe you've got Henry in your class, and she kindly, warmly strikes a friendship with you after Henry moves into 1st grade. and its a little unorthodox but jj and her husband are always willing to help out (when their schedules can allow) with school events and so yeah, you become friends.

and when jj introduces you to her friends/colleagues - there is of course a little bit of an intimidation factor (because hello...they are fbi) but penelope makes you feel so welcome (because of course she does. and you tell her your students would love her. and she offers to teach a tech class and youre like ok they're five but yes let's do it) and morgan shamelessly flirting, and emily being hot and intimidating and then there's reid, quiet, awkward, wont-shake-your-hand reid.

but there's something to it - a mutual nerdiness, perhaps, or how reid doesn't make you feel "stupid" just because you're an elementary school teacher and not a professor at a college (despite the fact that in many places you need a least a master's to teach).

imagine weeks later when you run into reid at the coffee shop. completely random. the sky is gray, uninteresting, and promising rain. he surprises you by remembering your name before there's a shy yet earnest quip when he says he's got an "eidetic memory." and you laugh warmly and spencer thinks its one of the best sounds he's heard all morning.

and it goes slowly from there, but it moves naturally, like a caterpillar forming its chrysalis

(when you tell reid this, somewhere after the 4 month mark since you've long stopped counting individual dates, he says; "did you know the word comes from the greek word 'khrusos' - which means gold - because of the gold color or metallic sheen of some pupae".

and in that moment, that singular moment, you admire the honey-gold tint of his eyes in the late afternoon sun spilling luminescence across the sidewalks and across shiny car windshields and think that you could already see the shape and color of whatever butterfly that was going to burst from its cocoon).

one time you refused to come over his apartment because "the kids used glitter today" and you didn't want to get it all over his place. so he came over instead, and you watched the iridescent sparkles swirl down the bathtub drain together.

imagine spencer reid laying his head in your lap, something heavy and unspoken between you, shaped in the spread of his fingers across your hips, in the erratic pulse of his heart pressing into your shins

the school doesn't celebrate Halloween, but they have an annual "trunk or treat" where people CAN dress up and trick-or-treat out of the trunks of their cars and spencer starts helping you, decorating the trunk with fake cobwebs, and skulls, and eventually diving into convoluted themes that you're not convinced kids aged 5-10 are totally going to get.

"it's jaws." he says, holding a shark head made of paper mache, "you know, the 1975 film? you said we couldn't do slasher horror movies because they're too gory for the kids but i'd argue that this movie stands alone as a great horror film with how Spielberg creates consistent tension throughout the whole film considering we don't see the shark until an hour and twenty-one minutes into the run time."

(the kids don't really get it, it's true. "sharks aren't monsters." they would say, or "sharks aren't scary." or "is this from Baby Shark?" but you and spencer have fun, passing out candy, sharing small looks to each other--so that makes it all worth it).

imagine something soft, sweet, something quiet shared over coffee with spencer. something gentle amidst all the chaos, the heartache, and stress of his day-to-day job.

"I don't know how you do it," you tell him, "seeing the worst of what the world has to offer day in and day out."

his long fingers stroke the underside of your jaw, "i don't know how you manage a room full of fifteen 5 and 6-year-olds." he pulls a face. "especially with the germs."

imagine bringing spencer lunch at the office - earning the knowing, sly looks from his friends and team, knowing you can't hide against a room full of profilers and knowing it doesn't really matter anyways.

:) ok that's all i got. <3

#i dont feel like writing a fic about this so have this instead #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff

[wileys-russo]

https://youtu.be/Mh4f9AYRCZY?si=L-uta8a3X3S_gyLj

Another instalment of Mearps and Delilah… based on this video, where Delilah walks in whilst Mearps is doing an interview and you have to do the rescue mission!

part of the a date to remember universe series

interruptions II m.earps

"mummy!" you looked up at the small voice and the patter of feet as there was a flash of dirty blonde and your daughter came flying around the corner crashing into your legs.

"whats up babe?" you chuckled at her eagerness, running a hand through her hair with a smile. "wheres mama?" she sighed, hugging your legs tightly. "she's in a meeting lilah, she's at work." you grabbed beneath her arms and hoisted her up onto your hip.

"no!" delilah shook her head firmly, pointing to the office where your wife had been shacked up most of the day. "not at work!" delilah huffed, her eyebrows furrowed into an angry frown.

"no caterpillars." you teased as you smoothed out her eyebrows with your fingers, watching in amusement as she frowned them together once again. "mama isn't at work baby but she's doing work." you tried to explain, sitting her on the counter.

"i hate work." delilahs frown deepened as you smiled sadly, pulling her into a hug. "baby but work is important to mama. you like watching mama play football yeah?" you asked feeling her nod into your shoulder, her tiny hands balling your shirt into her fists.

"well thats part of mamas work!" you reminded, your daughter pulling her head away and looking at you with an odd look making you chuckle. "she's playing football?" delilah questioned looking away toward the office.

"no lilah but she's talking about football to some people, thats also mamas work." your daughter still seemed a little lost but nodded and appeared a little less distressed.

"how about we read a book and have a snack, then you'll have a little sleep and when you wake up mama will be done with work?" you suggested, heart melting at the way the almost four year olds eyes lit up.

"can i sleep in your bed?" the girl grinned, batting her eyelashes as her hands grabbed the back of her neck. "what's wrong with your bed!" you laughed shaking your head. "yours and mamas is huge!" she exclaimed throwing her hands up.

"maybe. now go pick a book!" you smiled, gently placing her back on her feet. with a shake of your head you turned to rummage through the fridge, listening to the thunder of small feet as your daughter sprinted off to her room.

though when you'd finished making her a snack and she hadn't yet returned, alarm bells raised slightly in the back of your head as you left the kitchen to check on her.

the first thing you noticed was that marys office door was open, though you knew she had media commitments and meetings until four. the next thing you noticed was the tiny body hovering in the doorway, one foot in the room and one foot out, hesitating as she knew she would be doing the wrong thing.

"delilah grace earps, no." you whispered in her direction, shaking your head as her eyes darted to meet yours. "lilah, no." you spoke more firmly this time, though the moment you took one step toward her she was inside the office and you swore.

mary hadn't clocked the door opening, or the hushed whispers of her wife trying to coax her daughter away from her office, but it would appear whomever was interviewing her had.

"well look obviously i've been in discussions with them for months now about the next steps and-" "mary i'm so sorry to interrupt but it would appear you've got a visitor."

"hi mama!" mary jolted at the voice and her eyes widened, delilah clinging to her leg with a wolfish grin. "lilah mama's working, outside please." mary nodded toward the door with a somewhat forced smile, well aware this was being recorded and streamed live.

"no more work. i hate work!" her daughter huffed, smacking her leg as you stumbled into the room, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights seeing your wife was live.

"delilah, go to mummy please." mary murmured, gently pushing the girl away with her hand who scowled and shook her head, clinging right back to marys leg. "im so sorry give me just two seconds." the goalkeeper apologized to the interviewer who looked more amused than annoyed.

your wifes eyes met your own with a warning look as you nodded, rushing over to grab your daughter who moved to hide under marys desk, causing you to drop to your knees and crawl after her as mary hid her face in her hand with a sigh.

"come here." you warned seriously and at the shift in tone delilah took your outstretched hand, allowing you to pull her into your arms as you stood from the floor. however miscalculating the distance you caught your head on the corner of the desk with a loud thump as mary mumbled under her breath and you winced, hurrying out of the room.

"sorry mummy." delilah tried with her very best puppy dog eyes as she clung onto you and you pulled marys office door shut. "delilah grace-" you started to tell her off once you were out of earshot of the office but at the way your daughters bottom lip wobbled you broke with a sigh.

"lilah." you moved into her bedroom and sat her on the edge of her bed, squatting down so you were eye to eye with her.

"what you just did was very wrong okay? i know you miss mama but when she's working we have to leave her be so she can do her work, the more we interrupt her the longer she has to work." you tried to explain, your resolve wavering as your daughter sniffled.

"but i love mama, just wanted to see her."

"oh baby i know you do, and mama knows you do too. now no one loves mama like you do but lots of people love mama in their own way so sometimes we have to share her with them when she's doing her work." you explained firmly though not unkindly as your finger reached out to wipe away the few tears pooling in the corner of her eye.

"but the best part is that she will always come back okay? and she will always love you more than anyone in the whole wide world." you tickled her gently as she let out a small giggle and your face softened. "more than you?" your daughter asked with wide eyes.

"sometimes!" you both turned to look at mary who was standing in the doorway. you watched your daughters small internal struggle, clearly wanting to go to mary but knowing she was in trouble.

"come here lilah, i'm not mad at you." mary knelt down and opened her arms, the girl racing into them and almost tackling the keeper to the ground. "oh your hugs are magical." mary sighed, squeezing her tightly as your daughter giggled.

"sorry mama." the girl mumbled into her shoulder as mary rubbed her back. "its okay baby i know you are, but next time when the door is closed it means mama is busy, okay?" your daughter nodded in understanding.

"i have a little break from work for now, how about we read a book before your sleep? then when you wake up you me and mummy can go out for dinner. hows that sound?" mary offered, delilahs face lighting up as she nodded excitedly making you both laugh.

mary telling her to pick a book she moved over to the case in the corner as both you and your wife stood. "do you want something to eat?" you asked quietly, the taller girl wrapping you in a tight hug with a nod and a sweet kiss pressed to your lips.

"yes please love."

~

"well she's down for the count, and snoring just like her mummy!" you looked up from the counter with a playful glare as mary entered with a smug smile. "hilarious. need i remind that theres a reason you get roomed alone when you're away for games, tournaments and camp?" you quirked an eyebrow.

"don't be mean now my love." mary grinned moving closer. "she's not the only one who missed you though, big day. you look exhausted baby." you admitted with a frown, marys eyes softening as you fondly kissed her jaw.

"last one for awhile though, few more games and then we're off on holiday just the three of us for two whole weeks." mary reminded of your plans for the upcoming international break, your wife opting to miss national duty in favour of going away for delilahs fourth birthday.

"i can't wait and neither can lilah. i'm sorry about before though, i took my eye off her for a minute and thats all it took." you sighed, sliding the sandwich over to your wife who chuckled, moving to press her body into yours with a thank you for the food.

"how's your head?" mary asked, half in amusement and half in genuine concern as she gently grabbed your face tilting your head from side to side. "fine. my dignity though? long gone." you sighed with a pout which mary wasted no time kissing away.

"i hope you know thats going to go viral, i'm talking worse than the world cup fuck off." your wife mumbled against your lips, her hands gripping your hips as the counter dug a little into your back and your arms wrapped around her neck.

"oh god don't remind me, i've not even looked at my phone yet but its been going crazy for the last half an hour." you pulled away with a groan, burying your face in your wifes chest and feeling her body vibrate with laughter as she held you tightly.

"well my last meetings not for another...twenty five minutes. delilah's down, we have the house to ourselves?" you pulled your head away and met your wifes suggestive smile, feeling her hands start to gently creep from your hips toward your bum.

"i think i can make do with twenty, gives you five to freshen up."

#mary earps x reader #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #mary earps #woso imagine #woso blurbs #engwnt #woso community

[clownsuu]

It’s been a while since I posted a more Frank dedicated post JSHDHDH, my scrimblo mans smhh

I somehow rizzed AI mob Wally by faking my death MSHDGHDHSS

also Funfact, Frank in this is like- not overly obsessed with how Howdy is a caterpillar, but actually really likes him (and Eddie) as those two are actually the calmest peeps in the whole group (with the occasional Julie but even she can be chaotic at times). He enjoys the calmness when his days are nothing but chaos and heavy work loads. (Poppy would be put into the list as well, however her anxiety leaks on to frank, making him terrified as well)

also bonus info, one of the closest people he’s got outside of the family is Dr.Stone, however Dr.Stone is always stone cold with anyone he talks to. It’s unclear what their relationship is. (Dr stone remembers, but frank barely does)

#Welcome home #welcome home mob au #welcome home frank #welcome home howdy #welcome home julie #welcome home eddie #frank frankly #howdy pillar #julie joyful #eddie dear #man art block is kickin my a. S S S aG A I N

[animatingforfun]

This was a pure joy to work on.

For the behind-the-scenes story of how I made this animated mini-short, click “keep reading” below.

I started this 6 weeks ago, just before Nintendo shut down its 3DS and WiiU servers. The server shutdown meant no more multi-player online play for 3DS games, like Mario Kart 7, but also no more uploading to the Butterfly Animation online gallery directly from the app.

As an homage to the Inchworm and Butterfly Animation apps for the DSi and 3DS that I’ve been animating on since 2011, I originally was just going to animate just a single shot featuring something butterfly related.

But the story evolved as I began asking myself a series of "what if" questions that I had fun answering, like, “what if it was a little girl playing dress up as a butterfly?” And then “what if she was first cosplaying as a caterpillar then the butterfly?” “If this is a story of growth, what if she stumbles? What is her attitude when she stumbles?” “What if the design of the girl was something like Isao Takahata or Yoichi Kotabe would draw?”

Making this was the embodiment of everything I hope to achieve with my personal animation: to let creativity flow and just have fun animating and creating.

Since this mini-short was animated on my Nintendo 3DS, there was a memory limit of only 100 drawings, which was a bit of a challenge for longer or complex actions, but was a fun puzzle to solve. Sometimes limitations force you to come up with even more creative solutions. (I was able the squeeze in more drawings than the memory allowed, and filled it to the max!) :)

The song I used is from Rebecca Sugar’s album, "Spiral Bound", and perfectly fit the theme of the short. Initially, while I was drawing the character, I found myself humming a tune from Steven Universe that dealt with beginnings, endings, and not being ready. It’s amazing how the brain can subconsciously pick the playlist!

In the end, that song, sung by Steven’s father in the show, didn’t quite fit, but then I remembered another song by Rebecca Sugar which was more on theme with my story, called “My Own Way to the End”. The whole album is wonderful! You can check it out here:

Painting the backgrounds for this was the most challenging thing for me, but also the most eye opening! After painting, I would look around at the trees in the neighborhood differently. So many colors when you really look closely.

There’s so many talented people at my work and it was great that I could ask them for advice. One person I asked was the talented Tia Kratter, who happened to teach a mini-painting class for the animators while I was working on this short. I asked her for advice on one of the background paintings and she asked great questions which challenged me to try different things, but I still felt like I was having fun and playing without fear of failure. I mean, it was still hard though! Hahaha!

If you’ve read up to this point, thank you for reading this. :) I hope you enjoy this mini-short as much as I enjoyed making it!

#animation #2d animation #butterflyanimation #nintendo 3ds #animators on tumblr #rebecca sugar

[mrsjobarnes]

What’s the worst thing that can happen?

Summary: Jake and you have been secretly together for 5 months, what is the worst that could happen? 

Jake Sersin x Mitchell!Reader

Word count: 1.8 k 

Warning - 18+, Angst, Fluff, Illusion to Smut

Likes, Comments and Reblogs  are welcome!

Please do not steal my work! 

“Hey, baby, I'm pulling into the parking lot now. Are you sure you don’t want to come clean and tell Bradley?”

“Y/n have you lost your mind? Rooster and Maverick would kill me if they found out I was dating you, and I don’t know about you but I’d like to live” you giggled at what Jake had just said.  

“Okay but if they ask I’m not lying anymore,” you said.

“Deal, at least if they kill me I’ll have witness” you can’t help but laugh at the stupidity of your boyfriend

“If they see how happy you make me, they can’t hurt you. That’s the perk of being the only girl but in all seriousness, it doesn’t matter what they think, you’re my boyfriend and I love you. That’s all that matters” you quickly say your goodbyes and lock your car. As you walk into the bar you look around for your bean pole of a brother. After you spot him you walk over. “Hey, guys this is Maverick's daughter and my sister Y/n!” Rooster said. Everybody went around introducing themselves when Coyote aks the million-dollar question

“Soooo are you like adopted or something because you look nothing like Maverick,” he asks. Rooster goes to answer when you cut him off. 

“Am I adopted Bradley, how could you lie to me?” you say, the group goes dead silent. He rolled his eyes, while Jake bites his lip to keep from laughing. “I’m just kidding, yeah I'm adopted,” you say. Everybody lets out a collective sigh and hardy laugh.

“Long time no see,” said Nat while she gave you a bear hug. “Seriously where have you been? '' she asks. 

“Well unlike you guys some of us have regular 9 to 5 jobs,” you say smiling. 

“Y/n you and I both know you don’t work a 9 to 5,” Bradley says. It’s true you don’t, you’re an elementary teacher so you work overtime quite often. 

“Tis true brother, however winter break is around the corner! Thank god, I love kids but some of these crotch goblins are giving me a run for my money” you say with a serious look. Everyone burst into laughter. Nat offers to buy you a round and you graciously accept. The team goes on to talk about things that you could care less about. All you care about is the joy you see on Jake’s face when he gets to talking about something he is passionate about. You know how your brother feels about Jake. they didn’t have an excellent start to their relationship but he saved, your brother, and dad. They are working on building a relationship, which makes you very happy. 

As the night goes on you end up playing pool with Jake, Bob, Nat, and Bradley. You are bending over for your shot when Bradley asks “what the hell happened to your neck and chest Y/N” he asked with a very concerned tone, ready to beat whoever did that to you. 

“Oh this, it’s nothing.” you try to play it off but Nat interjects and tells Bradley that they are hickeys. Your face turns beet red as you tried to think of a way to change the conversation. Jake starts panicking because of the conversation you had in the car. “So has anyone seen the new episode of house of dragons?” a tv show you knew Bradley liked.

“You’re not getting out of this Y/n,” Bradley says with a stoic look on his face. He has always been super protective over you. He thought that if you were seeing someone you’d tell him. To be honest he was a little hurt. 

“Its, not a big deal, I’m seeing this guy and he got carried away. It’s not my fault I’m irresistible. Plus I’m a grown woman and if you think I look bad you should see him” you say. Jake smile remembering how she got those and why it looks like his abs and back were attacked by a cat. “Now can we move on to why you still have a caterpillar on your lip,” you ask. The group erupts in laughter. Pleased with the fact that he gets to live till tomorrow Jake buys the table a round. While he’s at the bar ordering a girl comes up and strikes up a conversation with him. 

“Oh look, hangman found someone already. He was doing so well too, almost 4 months.” Javy said. Everyone lets out a chuckle.  You turn around and see Jake talking to a girl. You try hard to not get jealous because you know he is a good guy. Before anyone else could comment they saw Jake shut down the girl’s advancements and head toward the table with their drinks. “Whoah Hangman are you sick,” Javy asks. 

Jake furrows his brows “No?” he said questioning why Javy would ask that, then it dawned on him. “Oh I just don’t feel like it tonight,” he said. 

“That’s been your excuse a lot recently, are you sure you’re okay” Javy ask genuinely concerned. Jake felt trapped, he could either fess up or keep lying. He looked at you, hoping you could give him an answer. You look at him as if giving an encouraging nod.  He quickly musters up some courage. 

“I am seeing someone” Jake said with a bashful smile. You smiled as well, although it wasn’t the full truth it was a step in the right direction. The group was silent until Bob congratulated him and said it was about time. The group quickly moved conversations to talk about the most recent football game. 

You walked over to Jake and whispered into his ear “Hey do you want to get out of here and come to my place?” He gave an enthusiastic yes and told the group that he was going to head out. 15 minutes later you also bid your goodbyes to the group and raced to your house to meet Jake. 

As you pulled into your driveway and parked Jake hopped out of his car and raced to you feverishly kissing you. Once he was done he put his hand out asking for your keys. Once he had them he threw you over his shoulder giving your ass a nice smack which elected a moan from you.

—

 You are awoken by the sun streaming through your blinds. You turn over and snuggle into Jake’s chest to hide from the sun’s harsh rays. He brings you closer as if that’s possible. “Good morning darling,” he said with his voice thick with sleep and southern charm, you smile and look up at him. 

“Moring,” you say kissing him, he kisses you back like a man starved. You giggle and straddle him and kiss down his neck when you hear the lock to your front door click and a pair of boots stomping around. 

“Y/n, are you up? You are late to brunch” your dad shouts

“Hurry up im starving” shouts Bradley stomping up the stairs. You quickly look at your clock and see that it’s 12:30. You are 30 minutes late to brunch. 

“Shit shit shit” you whisper as you get off of Jake and try to find a shirt. “Uhh give me a second, i'll be right out” you shout. Whispering profanity and telling Jake to get dressed and hide in the bathroom. It’s too late because Bradley opens the door right as Jake is getting out of bed to put his boxers back on. 

“What the fuck” Bradley yells frozen in the doorway, you hear another round of feet coming up the stairs. 

“What is it, Bradley,” your dad asks sounding super concerned. Once he appears at the door and lets out a grone. They both look ready to kill At this point, but the shock has worn off of you. 

“First of all knock”, you say in a stern tone. “Second of all calm down,lets talk about this when I’m fully dressed” shutting the door in their faces. Looking back a Jake you expect him to freak but he doesn’t he just pulls you in for a kiss. 

“It was nice to know you doll,” he says kissing you again. You roll your eyes and put on some PJs. Once you are both dressed you head downstairs into your kitchen. 

As soon as you walk in they start asking questions. You hold your hand up and say “First of all stop yelling, Second would you all like coffee?” you walk towards the coffee maker and turn it on. Jake stands at the door looking ready to run if they come after him. As the coffee starts to brew you go about making your cup while Bradley and your dad just stare at you knowing not to mess with you until you’ve had a cup. As soon as you’ve taken your first sip they start bum-barding you with questions. “Okay let me start from the beginning you say” walking over to the table and grabbing Jake along the way, as you all sit down. “Jake and I met at the Hard deck 5 months ago, he was very kind and not like how you all described him,” you say looking at Bradley. 

“YOU’VE BEEN DATING FOR 5 MONTHS” Bradley stands and shouts. You give him a look that screams ‘shut the fuck up’ he quietly sits back down and you continue explaining the ins and out of your relationship. Once you are done you all sit in silence while the two men across from you process this new information. “I still don’t like this,” said Bradley. You kick him under the table and glare. 

“I don’t care if you like it, it's my life and I can date who I want,” you say looking at Jake with doe eyes. Bradley just glares at Jake 

“Does he make you happy,” your dad asks. You shake your head yes. “Then that’s all I can ask for, but I swear Jake if you hurt my baby I will kill you,” he said. 

“Yes sir,” Jake said. “She is honestly the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love her and would do anything for her.” He said kissing your forehead. You look up at him and snuggle into him. 

“Okay, then that’s all I can ask as a father,” Maverick said sincerely. You smile at your dad and then look at Bradley. 

“I'm not happy that you kept this from me, however, if you are happy then I'm happy. Just keep the PDA to a minimum please,” he said with a small smile on his face. “I'm going to text the group that you don’t have an STI,” he said looking at Jake. 

“What,” the group said collectively. Bradley explained that when Jake stopped sleeping with a new girl every night, the team got concerned and Bob suggested that he may have gotten an incurable STI. They all burst into laughter. 

“Well, why don’t you two get dressed? We can go get food, I'm still hungry and I know Bradley is probably dying” said Maverick, you and Jake agreed and went to get ready. 

“See that didn’t go that bad,” you said, handing Jake some clothes. 

“Wait till they find out that I’m moving In,” he said, kissing your neck.

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin smut #jake seresin x you #jake hangman x reader #hangman seresin x reader #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #jake hangman x you #jake seresin imagine #top gun #top gun maverick #dagger squad #pete maverick mitchell #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin

[hedgehog-moss]

Today was Baby Poldine’s first day of school ! The idea for now is just to get her used to being in a narrow enclosed area without getting stressed, and pet her everywhere while she’s in there to desensitise her (especially her head & legs), so she can start wearing a halter next month.

People who were here in 2019 might remember that this simple gentle curriculum didn’t work very well with Baby Pampe. No amount of nothing happening while stuck in a small enclosed area ever made Pampe accept the concept of small enclosed area. It just made her more determined to escape. One of my posts about this ended with:

This didn’t make me worry too much about Poldine’s education, because by now I’ve accepted that you can’t use Pampérigouste as an indication of how llamas in general behave. Getting Poldine to enter the chute was incredibly easy in comparison to her mum! She saw that her hay net was here and trustingly went up to it—while Pampe was standing outside the corral like

Shhhh.

Poldine was quite stressed in the beginning, her little legs were shaking and she folded herself up like a caterpillar trying to find an exit—

—but at no point did it occur to her to jump over any fences, because that’s wrong. Once she stopped squirming I gave her a treat and then petted her for a bit. She was very tense, poor thing, and making anxious little hums.

It’s raining and you’re soggy and smell like wet goat. This isn’t fun for either of us.

She was clearly wondering what horrible thing was about to happen to her, and then I opened the chute and let her back up and out of it and she was looking around like “That’s it...?” She even got distracted from her initial project to get the hell away from here, when she realised her breakfast was still there. (Baby Pampe never would have let food distract her from freedom.)

To congratulate her for remaining in the corral a couple more minutes than she strictly had to, she got an extra clementine peel that was meant for Pirlouit.

Still, she ran to her mum as soon as she was out of the corral and tried to nurse for comfort. The chute was a little bit scary. (And Pampe was like no, we’ve got hay right here, are you kidding me.)

Pampoldine took the rebuff philosophically. She didn’t look very traumatised by llama school, unlike Pampe who was extra annoying and elopey on days when she had to spend 5 min in the chute. Baby Poldine looked almost proud of herself !

Also unlike Pampe who sulked and avoided me for a while after every lesson, Poldine followed me when I went to give my last clementine peeling to Pirlouit, and tried to argue that she was more deserving of it.

And finally, when I looked back on my way home I saw that all the animals were outside the corral finishing the hay, except Poldine who had gone back inside all by herself and was curiously examining the chute she was stuck in 10 min before, like “what was that about”

So, a very positive first lesson! Poldine was such a good girl, and the drastic contrast with 2019 is another confirmation of what all of us already suspected (Pampe is Pampe.)

#crawling along #then again pampe becomes a model llama when she has an opportunity to gaslight me in front of strangers so it's okay #like when the shearer came and was like ''but what were you talking about this is the most cooperative llama in the world'' #me: :l #(this post is dedicated to the anon who said poldine was their favourite along with pandolf because they're both sweethearts! #i'm happy to say she lived up to your expectations today)

[cinnamonglrls]

kerosene. [R.R]

summary: the fire reaches a fever pitch.

wc: 5.7k

4,320 seconds. 

180 days.

26 weeks.

Six months.

Pure, unequivocal radio silence.

You got the message, especially after your blue message spun green when you texted him the morning after that night at HEIDI’s. You got the message, especially when he subtly swerved your attempts at approaching him on two separate occasions with the intent of sincerely apologizing for your inebriated lapse of judgement face-to-face— your persistance a true testament of your developing appreciation of the budding friendship you two were cultivating in the bracket of time post-injury and pre-fallout, no matter how short lived it was.

A corpse of a caterpillar before it could ever bloom into a butterfly. 

4,320 seconds. 

180 days.

26 weeks.

Six months.

In all honesty, you wanted to be buried where you laid. When you awoke with three flutters of your eyelids that morning, a shutter of film-burned memories of the night prior rolling on a reel that you played, paused, rewinded and repeated in your mind’s eye, you wanted to be buried where you laid. It was the type of regret and humiliation that drives you into nosediving beneath the cover of your duvet, hiding from the harsh realities and cruel, cruel consquences of casamigos.

He’s fucking married.

You groaned and moaned and pressed your knuckles into the corners of your closed eyeballs in frustration, berating yourself underneath the safety of the thick comforter where no one could find you.

4,320 seconds. 

180 days.

26 weeks.

Six months.

You had heard it in passing. You were winding down for the night at the barren arena after a show in Chicago. Only a few people were left at the venue, comprising of staff and a handful of wrestlers who were scheduled to perform near the end of the show that night. You were stripped clean of your in-ring gear and settled for something far more comfortable; a tight angelic tank top with black sweatpants. A NIKE duffle bag hanging off of your shoulder as you cruised the hallway on your way out to the escalade that would then lead you to your hotel for the night when a murmured conversation you couldn't help but overhear as you passed an office peaked your interest.

“… Has a really good eye for talent. I mean Roman was the one who put Isabel on Paul’s radar when she was still over at NXT, after all. I think that…”

It stopped you in your tracks.

You slowly leaned your body onto the cold cinderblock wall in the dimlit vacant hallway, a few safe feet away from the source of the voices. A deep fold etched between the natural arches of your brows as you stay within earshot of the conversation but also at secure enough distance to eavesdrop without arousing suspicion. Roman put you on Paul’s radar? 

You don’t remember how long you stood hidden in that dark hall, quiet as a mouse with your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip and then your fingernails, a cycle that rotated as you skimmed through cold memories of how unwelcome you were made to feel upon your debut at his hands, which was bad enough. But he was a factor in the reason you were placed on the main roster in the first place?

It wasn’t until you heard shuffling of feet originating from the office that you hurriedly pushed yourself off the wall and made your way down the hall and out the building.

4,320 seconds. 

180 days.

26 weeks.

Six months.

Part-timer.

It was a nickname he worked overtime to earn.

Since the fallout, he’d begun limiting his appearances on television— only showing face once every two to three weeks at best. A privilege that came with the termination of the storyline that included you two, coincidently. 

The sudden decision to cut the cord on the narrative, which came only three weeks after that fateful night, snatched the rug right from beneath your feet. It cut your air time by a whopping seventy-five percent, infuriating loyal wrestling fans all around the world who made their voices heard. 

Trending tweets. Cunning signs. Persistent chants.

The people wanted you so much that you were coined The People’s Princess.™

Paul’s demeanor as he delivered you the news indicated that there was nothing he could do. It was beyond him. 

The biggest upset of it all, a sentiment that you felt deep within you and a sentiment that wrestling outlets and general fans all around the world who also had the capacity to recognize it echoed: this juggernaut of an opportunity to showcase your skill was seized from you before you could really prove yourself worthy. To the people, to yourself.

A corpse of a caterpillar before it could ever bloom into a butterfly. 

And now, there’s a fire sparking in your gut.

Chocolate covered strawberries, extravagant flowers, trips out the country, frequent and random proclamations of love.

There wasn’t a stone Roman left unturned for Thea. 

Overcompensation tends to be a symptom of gnawing guilt, after all. 

His forehead gently falls against your knee at the same time his eyes flutter closed in surrender, like he knows what you’re thinking about. Like he’s thinking about it too. You spread your legs a tiny inch. A forbidden invitation paired with a whiny whimper; a desperate siren plea of his name.

After bolting out of your hotel room that night with the speed of lightning, he stayed encaged within the peace of his escalade for a long time before pulling off, tightening his jaw and flexing his fingers for any semblance of control. And he’ll never admit it if he was ever confronted, but he spun the block. He pulled back into the parking garage and contemplated it.

He thought about it.  

But then he thought about Thea. Thea, who has never forsaken him. Thea, who has suffered through the loss of all three babies they’ve ever conceived before birth. Thea, who slept on uncomfortable chairs at the hospital during the trials and tribulations of his health battles. Thea, who left everything she’s ever known to facilitate his career aspirations. 

So how could he? He couldn’t.

He did everything in his power to scrub your essence off of him: physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. He showered three times in succession. He blocked your phone number. Then, he made a couple phone calls to management with a request that carried no room for leeway this time around.

He dug through the cardboard boxes in the dark and dusty attic and stared at the crumpled up piece of vows with faded lead etched on it from all those years ago, reminding him why he chose Thea.

And that was it. 

It’s been 4,320 seconds, 180 days, 26 weeks, six months since you last seen Roman.

Until now.

Now, as you sit atop a high stool at Naomi’s outdoor bar and lock eyes with him the second you toss your head over your shoulder— curious as to the influx of commotion at the backyard gate during her and Jimmy’s 4th of July cookout. You wish you didn’t feel it. The peace that you’ve made with the heat that blooms in your ribcage but spreads like wildfire. Your eyes dart to Naomi and she looks just as lost as you are when she inconspicuously slides her phone out her backpocket.

mimi ♡: He told us he wasn’t gonna be able to make it. I have no idea what’s going on. I’m so sorry 

mimi ♡: U know I would’ve told u he was coming if I knew                                             

2:21 PM.

You grip the spine of your mimosa a little tighter than you were two minutes ago,the sizzle of smoke, indistinct rowdy chatter, laughing children, and throwback jams wafting from the stereo of a hefty speaker overstimulating your senses now that you were far more distressed than you were two minutes ago. 

There’s a lot of pressure on you right now. You’re in an uncomfortable situation, not only because you’re in the same vicinity as the man who is the direct source of every single issue you’ve faced in your professional career, but you’re on his turf. This is his family. You’re the outsider. 

Unbeknownst to you, standing beside his brother at the grill, Jey is watching this all play out with the eye of an eagle. He watches Roman unlatch the backyard gate with one hand and carry a shiny package of TNT explosives under the other arm, Thea trailing in behind him as symphonies of greetings expel from family members scattered around the yard. He catches the silent interaction between you and his sister-in-law and sighs under his breath.

“Man, hold this, uce.” 

He passes his seasoned pair of tongs to Jimmy and unties the knot of his apron behind his back as he makes his way to the backyard bar. An arched football slices through the blue sky when he slips the apron off and tosses it over his shoulder, sliding behind the bar before you see him.

“Uh-uh, where you goin?” he interrupts you before you can slide off the stool.

“Um, to the restroom?”

He smacks his teeth, “with your purse?”

You look down to the bag clasped in your hand before sighing, sitting back on the stool and placing your purse onto the bartop.

He grabs your mimosa by the spine and tugs some liquor from beneath the bar before pouring it into the mimosa. You laugh, so he laughs.

“I can’t stay, Jey.”

“Ion know whatchu talkin bout.”

“Yes you do. That’s why you’re over here, right?”

He looks up at you from his concoction and then closes the cap on the liquor, returning it back to it’s place.

“I’m over here cause you look like a wallflower at my brothers get-together. And if there are any wallflowers, that means the kickback lame,” he looks away from you, “Aye Jimmy! Is this kickback lame?!” he yells out for his brother and you scramble to slap him on his chest to get him to lower his voice as to not any draw attention.

“Hell naw! Who said that?”

Jey shrugs, tossing a finger at you.

You hear grass crunching under shoes from behind you and suddenly Jimmy is sitting to the left of you but you can’t peel your eyes off of Jey, your hand incredulously cupping your mouth at his outburst.

“Say it ain’t so.” Jimmy states, looking between you and Jey.

Shaking your head, you explain to him what you were telling his brother. The conversation shifts gears when Naomi joins and persuades the group into playing a round of uno over at the outdoor sofa. One round crossfaded into three which crossfaded into numerous other card and board games until the sun set. 

When you find yourself growing restless, you separate from the group with a stack of dirty dishes in your palms and stroll into the empty house to discard of the dishes. 

As the faucet’s stream polishes the ceramics in your hand as you hold it under the water, you feel it.

Eyes.

It instills a deep sense of paranoia within you. Your eyes have scanned the expanse three separate times, lazily and then slowly and then very meticulously in hopes of pinpointing the source. You sweep the hazy vicinity once more but this time you lock eyes with the source.

You expel a tight sigh past your lips. You don’t even have to turn around. You know he’s there.

Something softly thuds against the kitchen island and you turn your head to see your wallet placed there before his herculean frame— almost a silhouette due to the luminated backdrop of the tangerine sunset past his build, in the backyard. You soundlessly return to softly scrubbing the plate clean.

A minute passes.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move either.

“Jimmy and Naomi put alot of effort into putting this together.”

“So.”

“So don’t make me fuck it up for them, Roman,” you tuck a loose strand behind your ear, “don’t make me fuck it up.”

With his bottom lip bitten between his teeth in ponder, he takes a second to digest the sentiment. He’s never really taken you for a brazen daredevil at the mouth with the singular exception of the moments following the time he unintentionally caused significant damage to your ankle and became the catalyst of the first and only blip on your professional tracksheet thus far. Even then, that independent situation unfurled after months and months and months of subtle transgressions— equivalent to having a long, less than ideal day and bursting into tears only after you arrive home and your belt loop gets latched on a door handle.

It seems to be a pattern with you two.

The ebb-and-flow. The long periods of piling tension rolled into motion due to his inability to communicate and behave with you the way he truly desires and then manifesting in frustration but delivered to your front door in the final form of misdirected ignorance. 

It never fails.

That usual sensual liveliness about you that piqued his interest during that fateful NXT interview almost two years ago has been stunted. He knows it. Everyone knows it. Now, you’re self-aware enough to recognize that falling out with the thickest pillar supporting the operations of a male dominated, billion dollar business was a major oversight on your behalf which has almost boxed you into the placement of a social outcast. The slippery politics sucking you dry and leaving you for a pile of bones. 

There’s a varnish of guilt that lines his features, perhaps due to the hazelnut sadness in your eyes. He’s heard indistinct whispers through the grapevine for a while during his attempts to keep his distance that can be traced via a paper trail back to your coworkers and peers, ridiculous enough that he refuses to breathe life into them, but it’s hard to refuse when you’re standing before him. As breathtaking as you’ve always been, yet absolutely depleted, “Isabel…” 

And perhaps it’s what propelled him into swiping your wallet from your table after ensuring his wife was deeply engrossed in conversation with a family member, crushing Jey’s attempt of a heroic intervention beneath the sole of his shoe like he was a slimy cockroach with a low and stern Shut Up when he saw Roman take your belonings and roam into the house behind you.

Your hand, fatigued from holding the grudge, drops the ceramic plates with a reverbrating clank into the sink. You rush past the kitchen and through the halls with every intent of preserving yourself from digging yourself into a deeper hole, disoriented when your elbow is gripped and tugged into an empty bedroom and bookended with the silky click of a lock.

The speed in which you tug your arm away from his possessive grasp startles you both once in the solitude of the empty sanctuary, but him more so than you. An unsuccessful organ transplant where the body deems the foreign entity as a threat rather than an antidote— you have emotionally marinated in your resentment towards him for so long that your body’s natural response to his touch is immediete rejection, “don’t touch me.”

Gathering the courage to apply your body weight on your other foot as you stand, you immediately scurry to your feet, inhaling a tight gust of air and squeezing your eyes shut.

His eyes spring around your features in multiple, quick successions, “what the fuck do you want from me? Huh!”

Peace. Uproar. Honesty. Transparency. 

Despite your own desire for a dose of his honesty, you’re hypocritically far too polished and noble to admit what it is you truly itch for from him. Too honorable and righteous to peel the rug back inch by glorious inch and reveal the tight-lipped accumulation of pink dirt you’ve swept beneath the surface for a very long time in the name of a carrying a clear conscious and straying away from ruffling any feathers. And, he simply does not deserve that from you. He doesn't deserve your secrets. He doesn't deserve your vulnerability. He doesn't deserve a fleeting glance at the cards tucked in your hands. So you keep them close to your chest, “I want absolutely nothing from you. I want nothing to do with you.” Snapshots flit through your mind at unruly speeds: your conversation with Paul, the faint bone-chilling sensation of fire running up your ankle, eating lunch in isolation in your dressing room as a rookie, the tight finger-snap of rejection pooling red-hot embarrassment in your stomach at the hotel, his suave and effortless manuevers and dodging your every feeble attempt at an apology. Weak and shaky, “you’re pathetic.”

A whistling wind rolls a tumbleweed across the sandy soil of a Nevada desert.

Despite his own desire for a dose of your honesty, he’s hypocritically far too dutiful to admit what it is he truly itches for to himself. Too obligated to promises he’s already made to indulge in the forbidden fruit that haunts him in his dreams and stirs him awake in the midst of stormy nights. His conscious torn into two, split evenly in the middle. Snapshots flit through his mind at unruly speeds: his heart nosediving into his stomach at the haunting sound of your scream piercing the air the night of your injury, his conversation with Paul, lingering glances despite your awareness, eyes pinned on you during your first night back at gorilla. But he’s too obligated to promises he’s already made. His jaw wired tightly shut in indignation, he stares at you in silence as tension rolls off the blades of his rigid shoulders.

You’re a hellcat on turbo with a dark tint and severed breaks when you get like this, “look at you. You know it too. You can never confront shit. Ever. All you do is run.” You pause and desperately rummage for something that will elicit a reaction from him even half as equivalent in intensity to the kinds that you’ve been grappling with, “like a bitch.”

And you get it.

His thumb and forefinger press into the plush flesh of your jaw with analytical precision and a tilting force just enough that you’re resorted to eyeing him down the slope of your nose before you even get the chance to blink. Your chest rises and falls in sharp cycles, your stomach tied in a tight knot as he furrows his brows while looking down at you, “oh yea? I’m a bitch?” 

“Yeah.”

“And what else? Tell me.” 

When it gets too intense, when his gaze starts to feel like he’s talking to you without saying a word, when it feels like you’ve known him forever and just met him all at once, when it feels like he’s a second away from unearthing your most depraved impulses, when you start to feel small at the foot of his scrutiny, you shove his hand off and watch the floor as he emits a low scoff beneath his breath.

His hunky frame inches away from yours, his arms across his chest, “gon ‘head. Tell me about myself since you know every-fucking-thing Isabel.”

In biology, the way in which we ensure immunization from foreign bacterias and virus’ is by taking it upon ourselves to insert those virus-causing organisms within us via vaccination with the intent of familiarizing our body enough to the organism to build the antibody to fight it— that way, the illness doesn't have a profound effect on our immune system should we ever contract the virus again, since we were proactive and already trained our body to combat it. In life, resistance to fear is built the same way. You have to be foreseeing enough to inject yourself with temporary toxins for the greater good despite it feeling like you’re nosediving into deep waters, swimming with blood-thirsty sharks as cinderblocks hang tied to your ankles, “no. I don’t know everything, but I do know one thing.” Your eyes latch with his like a lock and key, your voice small as a mouse, “I know you feel it too.”

All the air in the room has been sucked out. 

You’re in the middle of the ocean, one blood-thirsty shark slowly circling you.

“It’s why you ripped me off of you like I was a venereal disease and almost shattered the foot I stand on. It’s why you haven’t been able to look me in the eye for the past six months, right?” You have to know. You have to. Because whether he knows it or not, the career you’ve sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears for hangs on the line tied by a thin thread. And apart from that, you don’t care about what else really hangs in the balance in the moment: not his wife, not his self perception, not even yours. If you know the why, then you’ll know just how to manuever this dillema so your career is in safe hands. 

His chest puffs out once, a chuckle barren of humor entirely spills from his nostril— eyes ablaze. Deciding against dignifying you with a response, he turns and walks to the door.

“It’s why you put in a good word for me, isn’t it?”

Has a really good eye for talent. I mean Roman was the one who put Isabel on Paul’s radar when she was still over at NXT, after all. 

Stillwater. 

His back prevents the sight of his eyelids rolling shut as his fingers mold around the door handle. 

His unresponsiveness feeds the fire of your spiel, “I’ll violate my contractual obligations. I’ll go elsewhere. Tell me I’m making this all up and it’s a coincidence. Tell me I just keep on stepping on your toes and that’s where it starts and ends. I’ll make all of our lives easier. Because I don’t want this. I don’t want my position in this organization to be dependent on the state of my relationship with you. I deserve better than that, Roman. So call me crazy, or be honest to the both of us.”

If regret was a color, it would be the film of deep navy blue that envelops the morning just a couple footsteps before dawn. Nostalgic and self-depricating. Something like the faint billow of Bobby Womack’s If You Think You’re Lonely Now wafting in the air of The Bellagio’s bar in the same fashion the scent of funnel cake at an amusement park does. Regret is the condensed glass on ice in his palm, melting on borrowed time. 

Perhaps the worst part of regret is the alternative, the masochistic relish in marinating in another universe in which your decision is slightly or entirely different than the one you landed on, resulting in a completely different outcome. Is the grass greener on the other side? Or is it green where you water it? Was the grass doomed from the start, sprouting from contaminated soil with infected toxins?

Perhaps the grass is green under you and there is no contingency.

It’s nomansland. It’s quicksand except every single grain of sand is an alternate outcome, engulfing his lungs as the ground swallows him whole, belching, and spitting out nothing but his bones.

A thin tube of brown velvet lies nestled between your index finger and thumb, tracing the lining of your razor sharp cupid bow with your eyes glues to the compact mini mirror the size of your palm in the back of the black escalade. When the grandeur golden marquee of your hotel approaches into view, you place the liner back into your clutch and exit the vehicle, tossing a curt Thank You to the chauffeur.

Pure kismet, he spots you instantly. 

Pure kismet, you spot him instantly.

It isn’t discernible to neither of you when his knee begins to bounce beneathe the guise of the hovering counter as you begin to approach, his head hung low as if there were something suddenly very interesting on the napkin under the foot of his whiskey. 

The last conversation you two had two months ago marked the beginning of something else entirely for you. The response you were fishing for that night returned an empty hook, but there was something final in its essence. After all, there’s only so much water you can fit under the bridge before it overflows. As luck would have it, or just the natural cycle of good karma, you were offered a contract at AEW with benefits that chucked your current arrangement with WWE out of the frame, including complete creative control of your character and likeness. An iridescent, silky pearl discovered within the jaws of a grueling tough-as-shit clam, “you didn’t think I’d leave without saying goodbye, did you?”

His glass meets his lips, his body facing forward entirely, “I did, actually.”

You have a newfound sense of calm within you. The type of peace that only the knowledge of what’s to come can ensure. The type of peace that envelops you when you see the sun yawn over the sky after a very dark night. Trusting what you can’t exactly see. Blind faith, “I don’t like to leave things unsaid. You should know that about me.”

This draws him to you. He eyes you behind his drink. His hooded eyes take you in before the glass contacts the wooden counter with a clank. He rolls his lips into his mouth and looks away, “that’s not your color.”

“Excuse me?”

Silence. 

You raise your hand in the air and point to his drink when the bartender catches your eye, signaling one for yourself, “whatever that means.” You watch him mindlessly roll the band on his finger before peeping out again, “what’s my color then?”

The color you were in the first day he saw you, “cherry red.”

You glance down at the minimalistic black silk clinging onto the skin of your frame, dipping and divoting along with the natural curve and pivot of you. You shrug, thinking nothing of it, “my date liked it.”

How do you mourn the loss of something you never really had? How do you bury something that never even lived? Perhaps the reason why the thought of you out with someone else is lighting his skin on fire is because he’s silently aware of where the fingers of fault should be pointed at and there’s nothing he can do to negate it. But hurt men are impossible men, “well you’re here with me so I take it he was a dud.” 

The sound you emit is half a laugh and half a scoff. You thank the bartender with a curt nod and nurse the glass with your palm, “You’re unbelievable. Has anyone ever told you that?” he mindlessly shrugs, “anyways. i just wanted to stop by and… clear the air before I left. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but last night was my last ni—”

“—I was introduced to wrestling when I was in the Airforce.”

When the inital slight surprise of the unexpected revelation wears off, a phantom thumbnail of a polished silver dogtag swinging on the neck of Roman’s olive green fitted tee— tucked underneath camo cargos comes alive in your minds eye. A location somewhere confidential. Somewhere top secret, but sandy and hot, his skin tanned and freckles indulgent. His hair unkempt and glossy with sweat as his upper body folds in situps when in the privacy of isolation. 

He runs his fingers through his rough beard, still faced forward, “whenever any one of us had a bone to pick with one another over there, we’d handle it like men; with our fists. Cut our losses if we were defeated. First blood would end the fight. But it started getting messy. Rules were getting bent. Our men were getting hurt.” He takes a sip, “one time one of the boys stole one of the airmen’s breadrolls at lunch. The concussion put him on his back for a month. Our sergeant held our feet to the fire.”

You fill in the blank, “so they started wrestling instead.”

He lips purse in acknowledgement once.

The Airforce was the perfect solution to the troubled adolescent. There tends to be a haunting trail of overcompensation that’s left in the aftermath of trauma. Ghosts that whisper indistinctly in your ear, of which only your insecurities and weaknesses and fears are audible— telling you that you’re weak and that you won’t ever amount to shit and that you should just quit while you’re ahead. Or maybe not. Maybe that just applies to him, “there was something about the opportunity to discipline myself that drew me to enlisting. My pops was a piece of shit. No way around it. Used to beat on my mom. Used to belittle me, taunted me when I tried to help her.”

Roman tries to lower and sit on his haunches, looking immensely out of his element as this is the most concerned he’s ever been about you since meeting you, “hold o-,”

Perhaps the fuel to build his body came from the fire of helplessness that afflicted him as a doe-eyed child, hiccuping tears away as his father scoffed and laughed at his feeble attempt at intervention. Perhaps the opportunity to disipline himself was never that simple, but rather a way to become the man he’s always aspired to be; stronger, tougher, resilent. Because our past is never truly in the past. 

And if you listen close enough, it sounds like there’s something he’s telling you without telling you.

He chuckles, but it’s absent of any humor, “I’ve spent my entire life wanting to believe I was nothing like him, that I was better than him, but shit, maybe I’m my fathers son after all.” 

Half of a man, just like his father. Wandering eyes, just like his father. Except the circumstances are vastly different. Except the context is vastly different. Except he’d never dream of laying a hand on you with the intention of hurting you. Except his father never felt a damn thing for any of those women. Except nothing is the same at all.

“Why are you telling me this, Roman?”

So call me crazy, or be honest to the both of us.

“I don’t like to leave things unsaid. You should know that about me.”

The fact that he’s too little too late isn’t lost on him, the optimistic hurl of a basketball piercing through the air mere seconds after the game-ending buzzer. But the opposing team is already celebrating, bottles of champagne popped and confetti sprinkling from the sky. 

“I don’t think that’s true at all. I think you’re the most conflicted man I’ve ever known, but you’ve never wavered. You face adversity in whichever form life decides for it to manifest that day yet you’ve never compromised your values. Your father sounds like a wet sock and I’m sure he’d be devastated to hear that you’re nothing like him despite what your mind tells you, Top Gun.”

A subtle tight-lipped smile sparks to life, warmth radiating in the ribcage of his chest.

And suddenly there is a lightness that settles between the two of you that can only be compared to the calm after the storm. The gradual sway of the trees to a slow halt after a particularly devastating hurricane, when the winds slack and the dark clouds part to make room for the sun. Because there are no more questions to ask, and you aren’t in the dark anymore. 

The two of you spend the night immersed in the longest conversation you’ve ever shared under the soft lighting of The Belliago’s bar in the name of a bid farewell. He tells you tales about his time in the force that make you laugh and you fill him in on things he missed in the six month time span during the fallout. The bartender brings you two a bowl of macadamia nuts that he mindlessly shoves to the side because you’re allergic. He slyly mentions your dress again with the intent of you elaborating more on the man you just returned from a date with so he can dissect him and make him lesser of a man for his own pride but you don’t take the bait. You tell him how happy you are about the height this new endeavor is going to take your career. He can see the light in your eyes again. 

When you excuse yourself and wander off to the ladies room, he blows a gust of air that’s been repressed in the deepest pit of his lungs all night and rubs his hand down his face. If regret was a color, it would be the forlorn warm lighting of a hotel bar somewhere in Nevada. Melancholic and self-loathing. Something like the faint billow of The Temptation’s My Girl wafting in the air of The Bellagio’s bar in the same fashion the scent of chlorine at a pool on a summer day does. Regret is the condensed glass on ice in his palm, melted. 

And it dawns on him that you don’t plan on returning when he finally notices you took your clutch to the ladies room with you.

He watches in slow motion with baited breath as you exit the bathroom, toss him one last glance over your shoulder, and leave the bar for the lobby. Quicksand. The empty archway carved into the bar’s wall instead of doors facilitate the view of you entering the elavators when the stainless steel doors slide open. Quicksand. His eyes glued on you, he tosses a wad of cash onto the counter as his feet move on their own accord. Quicksand. All the air is sucked out of your lungs when you see him approaching with the prowess of a black panther with every intention of pouncing. Quicksand. His body barely slides inbetween the constricting steel plates before his mouth is latching onto yours so intensly that even a pack of hungry wolves couldn't rip him off. His palm wrapped around your throat, your back collides into the corner of the elevator as your fingers grasp onto his tee for dear life. A deep rumbling of I fucked up I fucked up tumbling past teeth, moaning lips, and writhing bodies. 

sorry for the wait. school been turning me every way but loose i fear. but cimtfyk is back andddd it’s about to get uglier than vince mcmahon. thank u for reading <3

tags : @cyberdejos2 @annfg8 @looneyloser0 @joannasteez

#roman reigns #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x reader #wwe #roman reigns one shot #wwe one shot #roman reigns x black reader #CIMTFYK 🧋