SCW Boards
Roleplay Boards => Climax Control Roleplays => Topic started by: BellaMadison on October 24, 2025, 11:26:40 PM
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~*~Bluey Days & High Stakes Nights~*~
O’Connell Home
It was the kind of autumn afternoon that could make anyone forget the world outside. The sun hung low and golden over their backyard of their home, casting a warm glow through the kitchen windows of the O’Connell home. Bella leaned against the counter, half a cup of cold coffee forgotten beside her as she scrolled through her phone, highlights of her match from the night before still buzzing through her feed.
She’d done it.
She’d beaten Victoria Lyons.
No shortcuts, no interference, just grit, instinct, and a will that refused to die. The bruises along her ribs still ached when she breathed too deep, and the burn in her shoulders reminded her of every second she spent in that ring. But it was the kind of pain she didn’t mind. It meant she’d earned it. It meant she was one step away from a chance at the SCW Bombshell World Championship.
And that step? The finals of the High Stakes Tournament.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of tiny feet thudding down the hallway, followed by an all-too-familiar bark.
“Mommy! Mommy, look!”
Bella turned just in time to see Máire barreling into the kitchen, her little arms spread wide and her face lit with pure joy. She was dressed in her Halloween costume, a full Bluey outfit, floppy blue ears and all, the fabric already faintly smudged with dog fur and something that suspiciously looked like peanut butter and dirt. Luka, the husky, bounded in behind her, tail wagging like a metronome of chaos.
“Oh my god, baby...” Bella couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “You’re Bluey again?”
“I Bluey!” Máire declared proudly, spinning in a little circle until she nearly toppled over.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Bella chuckled, setting her phone down and kneeling to fix one of the ears on the hood. “Didn’t we agree Bluey stays clean until trick-or-treating?”
Máire pouted, shaking her head with firm toddler conviction. “Bluey go everywhere.”
“Of course she does,” Bella muttered, smirking as she brushed off a bit of dust from the costume. “Bluey’s gonna need a bath before Halloween even gets here.”
Malachi appeared in the doorway then, one eyebrow raised, a coffee mug in hand and a tired grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Bluey’s been helping Luka dig holes in the backyard, just so you know.”
Bella gave him a look. “Seriously?”
Mal just shrugged, unbothered. “They were supervising each other.”
“Unbelievable,” she said, running a hand through her hair before standing up. “You know this means I’m gonna have to wash that costume again before Halloween, right?”
“Or,” Mal countered, sipping his coffee, “We can just tell people it’s authentic Bluey. You know...been on adventures.”
Máire, clearly pleased with this version of events, clapped her hands and yelled, “’Venture!”
Bella couldn’t help it, she laughed. That deep, uncontrollable kind of laugh that came from joy more than humor. Luka barked once, tail thumping against the cabinets as if in agreement.
“Fine,” Bella relented, ruffling Máire’s curls. “But if I find dirt in your bed again, you’re both sleeping outside.”
Mal raised an eyebrow. “You mean me and the dog, or the dog and the toddler?”
“Yes,” Bella deadpanned.
He chuckled, crossing the room to kiss her temple. “Still riding high from the win?”
Bella sighed, her smile softening but her eyes flicking briefly toward the living room where her gear bag sat half-open. “Yeah. I mean... I beat Victoria Lyons. You don’t just do that. She’s been the standard for the division for so long, and I...” she trailed off, shaking her head a little. “It still doesn’t feel real.”
Mal set his cup down and leaned against the counter beside her. “It’s real. You earned it. Every bit of it.”
Bella glanced at him, her mouth twitching with a small, proud smile. “Finals of the High Stakes Tournament. One step away from the World Title shot.”
“And after that?” he asked, voice soft, testing.
Bella tilted her head, watching Máire run through the living room with Luka chasing at her heels. “After that... we’ll see. Right now, I’ve got a mountain to climb.”
Mal nodded, his gaze following hers. “Just promise me you’ll come home in one piece. You’ve already proven enough to everyone. You don’t have to keep breaking yourself to do it.”
Bella’s expression shifted, that mixture of stubborn pride and quiet tenderness that only he could draw out of her.
“I’m not doing it to prove something to them anymore,” she said finally. “This time, it’s for me. For her.” She gestured toward their daughter, who was now standing on the couch trying to make Luka “sit” by offering invisible treats. “I want her to know her mom never quit.”
Mal’s reply was wordless, just a nod, and then a hand finding hers, fingers lacing together as the sounds of laughter filled the house.
Máire squealed as Luka finally sat, tail wagging like mad, and threw her arms up in triumph. “Bluey win!”
Bella smiled at that. “Guess winning runs in the family.”
Mal smirked. “You’re not wrong.”
For a long, perfect moment, everything felt still, the kind of quiet that came before the next storm, but for once, Bella didn’t mind it. She knew what was coming. The finals would be brutal. The climb would be steep. But here, in her kitchen, with her little Bluey running wild and her husband at her side, she felt grounded. Ready.
Because no matter what happened next, she’d already won in the ways that mattered most.
~~The Weight of Fire~~
O’Connell Home – Late Night
The house was quiet. That rare, bone-deep stillness that only comes after a long day, Luka’s soft huffs from the hallway, Máire’s gentle breathing through the baby monitor, the hum of the fridge filling the spaces between.
Bella sat at the kitchen table, still in her workout clothes, a sheen of sweat clinging to her shoulders. Her knuckles were taped, bruised from another round in the barn. The glow from her laptop painted the tired lines under her eyes in pale blue.
On the screen, the SCW replay looped: her victory over Victoria Lyons, that one moment where her hand was raised, the referee holding her up as if she might collapse otherwise.
She should’ve felt elated. Relieved. Victorious.
Instead, all she felt was the pressure building again, the next step looming larger than the last.
Crystal Caldwell.
A name that carried weight. A woman who’d been at the top, reinvented herself more times than anyone could count, and always seemed to come back sharper, louder, harder to ignore.
Bella hit pause. The sound cut off with a click that echoed in the kitchen. She sat back, rubbing at her temples. Her heartbeat felt like it was thrumming in her ears, too fast, too loud, too much.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and before she could stop herself, her chin dipped forward against her arm.
The line between exhaustion and sleep blurred.
Then---
A chair scraped against the tile.
Bella’s eyes snapped open.
Nick Madison sat across from her, elbows on the table, holding a steaming mug of coffee like it belonged there. Jeans, an old Springsteen tee, that familiar mix of warmth and mischief in his expression.
For a second, she forgot to breathe. “...Dad?”
Nick’s grin tilted. “You sound surprised.”
“I—yeah, kinda,” she muttered, blinking hard. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Guess someone forgot to tell me that.” He took a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking toward her laptop. “So. That’s the big one, huh? The match that’s got you running yourself into the ground again?”
Bella followed his gaze. “Crystal Caldwell. Yeah. She’s... she’s different.”
Nick raised a brow. “Different how?”
“She’s not like Victoria,” Bella said quietly. “Victoria’s a brawler. You know what you’re getting with her. Crystal, she’s a show. She attempts to get into your head before she even throws a punch. I’ve seen her tear people down just by smiling, especially now that she’s riding the coattails of that bitch, Mercedes. She knows every trick, every camera angle, every word that’ll make you second-guess yourself.”
Nick nodded slowly. “Sounds like you respect her.”
“I did....” Bella sighed. “And the unreal thing is I wanna again. She’s a fuckin’ hall of famer and yet, she’s a leech on Vargas’ ass.”
Nick leaned back, his chair creaking. “You ever think maybe that’s why you can beat her?”
Bella blinked. “What?”
“Oh come on Bells, you don’t go in pretending you’ve got it all figured out,” he said simply. “You go in with your eyes open. You see her for what she is, a once upon a time, damn good wrestler. But that doesn’t make her untouchable.”
Bella looked down at her hands, flexing her taped fingers. “It’s not just that, Dad. I keep thinking about the finals. The world title shot. Everything that comes after this. It’s like I can’t breathe unless I’m winning, unless I’m chasing something.”
Nick smiled softly. “That’s the fire talking.”
“Yeah, well, it’s burning me alive.”
He chuckled. “You get that from me. Your mom burns steady, you burn bright.” He leaned forward, voice gentler now. “You ever stop to think maybe, and just hear me out, it’s okay to enjoy where you’re at? You just beat Victoria freaking Lyons, kid. You’re two matches away from the top of the mountain. Take a second to feel that.”
Bella shook her head. “If I stop moving, I’ll lose it.”
“Lose what?”
“The edge.”
Nick tilted his head. “Or maybe you’ll find balance.”
She scoffed lightly. “You and your balance.”
He smiled. “Hey, you’ve got Mal. You’ve got that little girl upstairs who thinks you hang the moon. That’s not a distraction, Bella. That’s your anchor. You walk into that ring carrying them, not the weight of what might go wrong.”
Bella’s eyes softened, her throat tightening. “You’d like her, you know. Máire. She’s fearless. Doesn’t even cry when she falls.”
Nick’s grin turned wistful. “Wonder where she gets that from.”
Bella laughed quietly, blinking back tears. “I wish you could see her more. I get that you are busy but sometimes it feels like I never get to see you anymore, or talk to you.”
Nick’s voice dropped low, steady. “Same, kid. But every time she laughs, every time Luka starts barking at nothing and you swear she’s losing it, that’s a little of me saying I’m still here.”
Bella smiled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re not real.”
He chuckled. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
She wiped her face, letting out a shaky laugh. “So what, you came back to give me another pep talk?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you just needed to remember that no matter who’s standing across from you, Victoria, Crystal, whoever’s next, you’ve already walked through worse. You just don’t quit.”
Her eyes met his. “You really think I can beat her?”
Nick leaned back, the edges of his figure softening in the dim light. “I don’t think it, kid. I know it. You’re my daughter, maybe not by blood but I will be damned if I didn’t agree to give you my last name if I don’t see a little of me in you. You don’t back down from anyone who thinks they’re above you and if you don’t light a little fire in the process....”
The hum of the fridge grew louder.
Nick’s voice faded like the tail end of a song. “Now go get some sleep, Bells. You’ve got a storm to bring.”
Bella’s eyes fluttered open.
The kitchen was empty again. Luka was snoring softly from the hallway. The laptop was still paused on Victoria’s match, the coffee beside her stone cold.
Her phone buzzed.
Dad: You’ve got this, Bells. Don’t overthink it.
Her chest tightened, then loosened all at once.
Bella smiled faintly, whispering to the empty room, “Yeah. I do.”
She closed the laptop, rose from the table, and headed toward the stairs, ready to face whatever storm waited next.
~*~“No More Crowns”~*~
Training Facility
Late Night
The lights above the ring hummed softly, a pale halo over the worn canvas. The rest of the gym was dark, save for one camera light blinking red in the corner.
Bella Madison stood in the center of the ring, black hoodie unzipped, tape still wrapped around her fists from earlier training. Her knuckles were pink, the faint shimmer of sweat glinting under the lights.
No theatrics. She didn’t need them.
No makeup. She probably should have at least a tad but fuck it, let them see the bags under her eyes.
No music. No distractions.
Just her.
She stared into the lens for a long, deliberate moment before she spoke.
“You know... I’ve had a lot of time to think since the High Stakes tournament started. About what drives me. About what breaks me and about who the hell I really am in all this.”
Her voice was low, measured, but under it, there was the thrum of something feral.
“Because every round, every fight, it’s been the same damn story, hasn’t it? People are looking at me like I’m the underdog, the one who fights hard but never quite gets there. The one who bleeds for this company, but always falls just shy of the mountaintop.”
She smirked faintly, shaking her head.
“And yet, here I am, still standing. Still swinging. Still proving that I belong here.”
She paced slowly, every step echoing against the empty walls.
“Victoria Lyons was supposed to stop me. She was supposed to remind everyone that Bella Madison was just a flash of violence, a punch-drunk fighter who didn’t know when to stay down. But she didn’t. I beat the woman who dominated a single division for a year. The same woman who told me I didn’t have the guts to stand where she stood and I did exactly that. And by the by, Victoria, I am so excited for you and what comes next. You have my respect and I want to see you mop the fucking floor with Mercy and that weave in her head.”
She stopped mid-ring, lifting her chin toward the camera.
“Now I’m staring down Crystal Caldwell.”
A bitter laugh escaped her throat.
“Crystal... God, where do I even start with you? Better yet, where the hell do I even fucking finish with you? You’ve been in this game long enough to rewrite your story ten times over, but lately, it feels like you’ve run out of pages. You call yourself a legend, and you are. You’ve earned that, I guess. But somewhere between the spotlight and the self-worship, you forgot that legends bleed too.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You walk out there with your glitter and your cameras and you on Mercedes Vargas’ coattails, acting like you’re untouchable. Like your name alone keeps you safe from reality. But here’s the truth, sweetheart, the lights don’t hide the cracks. They just make ‘em shine brighter. And I really should have beat the shit out of you the last time we came face to face to make you second guess even coming back to the ring.”
She stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous hush.
“You used to fight for something, Crystal. I watched you claw your way to the top. I respected you. Hell, I even looked up to you once...even when I was kicking your ass before you went into hiding over and over and over again. But now? Now you’re just noise. Empty noise wrapped in sequins and ego, pretending it’s still music.”
“You’ve had a hell of a run, haven’t you? Decades of reinvention, ten thousand wardrobe changes, a thousand catchphrases, a trillion and ONE name changes and somehow, you still can’t decide who the hell you really are.”
She tilted her head, eyes cold.
“You’ve been a hero, a villain, a victim, a goddess, a ghost. You’ve been the tragedy, the comeback, and the pity party all rolled into one glitter-soaked package. You’ve sold the illusion better than anyone, I’ll give you that. But here’s the problem, Crystal, illusions don’t fight back.”
“And me? I’m not an illusion. I’m the woman that rips through your fairy tale and drags you into the dirt.”
Her fist tightened around the middle rope.
“You look at me and see the brawler. The woman who gets blood on her hands and calls it art. The one who doesn’t play politics or kiss asses to stay relevant. And you think that makes you better than me?”
Her smirk turned into something sharp, dangerous.
“No, what it makes me...it makes me real. You used to be dangerous, Crystal. Now? You’re a mascot. A relic with a spray tan and a ring light.”
Her tone sharpened, venom curling under her tongue.
“You call yourself the standard...bitch, you’re the REASON why warning labels are put on shampoo. You’re what happens when ego replaces effort, when spotlight becomes a waste of oxygen. You’ve been sucking the air out of this division for years, and nobody’s had the guts to tell you that the world’s moved the hell on.”
“But I’m not ‘nobody,’ am I? I’m the one standing between you and another shot at pretending you matter.”
She pulled herself up onto the second rope, leaning into the camera.
“I’m not here to pretend. I’m not here to post selfies and quote championship reigns like a highlight reel that never ends. I’m here to fight. Because when that bell rings, all that glitter? All that fame? It won’t save you.”
“You’re stepping into the ring with the Hardcore Queen of SCW. The woman who’s been beaten, bloodied, and broken, and still kept coming. I’ve had chairs shattered across my back, glass in my skin, and people tell me to walk away more times than I can count.”
Her eyes flickered with quiet fury.
“And I never fucking did.”
She took a deep breath, centering herself, voice lowering again, not calm, but controlled.
“If you think you’re walking into this match against some starry-eyed rookie, you are going to find yourself in a world of hurt. I’m not that same fucking bitch you faced when your last name started with a Z and everyone already knew what was going to happen before the bell even rang to start the match. You’re stepping in with the Hardcore Queen of SCW. The woman who fought Victoria Lyons until neither of us could stand. The one who crawled through glass, steel, and blood just to get another shot at the mountain you’ve been coasting around for years.”
She stepped closer, leaning on the ropes, her tone turning mocking, deadly sweet.
“But by all means, Crystal, keep pretending you’re the main character. Keep posing. Keep kissing Mercy’s ass to try and stay remotely relevant. Keep talking about how you’re the past, the present, the future, and the goddamn galaxy while you’re at it. Because while you’re busy reapplying your lip gloss and quoting your Wikipedia page, I’ll be tightening the tape on my wrists and plotting every second of your downfall.”
“You think you can outlast me? You think you can outshine me? Maybe once but not now. Not here. Not in this tournament. Because while you’ve been busy polishing your crown, I’ve been sharpening my edge.”
Her tone softened, but only slightly.
“This isn’t about legacy anymore, Crystal. This is about hunger. And mine? It’s bigger than your ego, your fame, or that ridiculous throne you think you still sit on. I’m not walking into Climax Control to survive you. I’m walking in to bury the illusion that Crystal Caldwell still runs this place.”
“You don’t scare me. You piss me off. You’re everything that’s wrong with this business, fake, hollow, desperate for that attention and applause that stopped meaning anything years ago. You’ve made a career out of convincing people you’re still relevant, but when I’m done with you, Crystal, there won’t be enough smoke or mirrors in the world to hide the truth.”
She stepped down from the ropes, the camera following her every move.
“When that bell rings, I’m not just fighting for myself. I’m fighting for every woman who’s ever been told she’s too raw, too emotional, too violent, too much. I’m fighting for the fire that still burns in me, and the family that keeps it alive. So you better bring every trick, every cheap shot, every performance you’ve got left. Because when it’s over, there’s not gonna be a camera angle pretty enough to hide what I’m gonna do to you.”
She leaned in close, voice barely above a whisper.
“This isn’t the comeback tour you wanted. It’s the cautionary tale you earned. When that bell rings, you’re not facing the rookie you can manipulate, or the veteran you can charm into submission—you’re facing the woman who’s gonna tear the crown off your head and shove it down your throat.”
“You call yourself a diamond, Crystal? Cute. Let’s see how you shine when I grind you into dust.”
“No crowns. No cameras. No Mercy, especially if she knows what’s fucking good for her..”
Bella straightened, pulling down her hood, sweat-damp hair clinging to her jawline.
“You’re looking at the future SCW Bombshells World Champion, and the last person you’ll ever underestimate.”
The screen flickered, her gaze unblinking.
“Welcome to your reckoning. Courtesy of the Hardcore Queen of SCW, Bella Madison. See you in the ring, Caldwell.”
The camera clicked off.
The gym fell silent again, save for Bella’s slow, steady breathing, the sound of someone who knew what it meant to bleed for what she wanted.