[Christian Underwood]

Please post all roleplays here! Have fun and good luck!

[Andrea Hernandez]

I really didn’t want to think about SCW at one point.

It wasn’t long ago I was in my backyard, alone: ignoring texts and calls from people wanting to check up on me, not enjoying anything positive, including the fact that I recently won a 5th world title outside of SCW. I could only think about that last match.

I really didn’t want to tell anyone it was destroying me on the inside.


“Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse…”

The shame inside of me was spreading like a virus. That feeling of my heart and soul being sucked out of me after Summer Xtreme five years ago was a feeling that I was hoping to never feel again.

But there I was, just in a numb silence, the unthinkable thought that I was able to push off for months but now I couldn’t…

“Summer of Hell 2.0…”

To say that I was in a panic wondering what I had to do to avoid that was an understatement and yet, in that moment of weakness where I was praying to my father, or someone in heaven, or anything spiritual that may exist, I got an answer…

…from the worst source imaginable.

“Give it up, Andrea…” I could hear the doubt from the demon of insecurity that finally resurfaced for the first time in years.  “...it’s time to admit that this ‘redemption’ you’ve been doing has failed…”

“Shut up…” I said to that demon inside of my own mind.

“When are you going to admit that you’re never going to have what you want from SCW? Why do you have to be stupid to think that things were ever going to be different when things are going to end up exactly the same? Face it. You’re on the bridge to nowhere. You’ve already given in to the same shit you gave into 5 years ago so you might as well give in and let me out…”

“...I can’t do that to myself or to the people that care about me again…” I said, weakly resisting.

“If you’re not going to let me take over, then leave…” the demon inside of me retorted. “...you did it before. You’d never have to worry about SCW and all its stresses ever again…”

“You’re right… I wouldn’t…”

“Now you’re listening. You’re too stubborn to leave and in that case, there’s only one thing to do. Let me out, Andrea.”

The tears were falling down my face. There was a majority piece of me that had already thrown in the towel. I knew I had too much pride to just walk away and “prove everyone else right”. But after what just happened, I didn’t feel like I could go back and face the music. It felt like the only option that I had was to let the darkness within me win out and just embrace the same old movie all over again.

“LET ME OUT!!!! You know you can’t change the narrative. You know you’ll always be a pariah and you’ll never be respected. You know the slander is never going to stop and you’re never going to get anyone else to see you as you want to be seen…”

Being so shot and broken as I was, what was the use of resisting anymore? The demon in me was by no means lying and I always knew what it just said as fact even though for months I had been denying it to myself.

“Don’t you remember the cruise? Five years ago?” the demon inside me reminded me. That’s where you bottomed out. You might as well let it happen on that cruise again. If you continue to resist me, everything’s going to get worse and you’ll be seen as a joke… just like Crystal Hilton…”

“...that’s where you’re wrong…” I meekly resisted as the tears continued to flow. I was feeling myself about to break into a complete anxiety attack and it was clear that I was triggered back into the same brutal trauma I suffered through five years ago.

“Stop trying to justify your failure! When I was in control, you were the most dominant you’ve ever been in SCW…”

“I NEVER won a world title there when I was the most hated bitch in the company…”

“But you weren’t suffering so much and having your passion sucked out of you, am I right?”

“Leave me alone… just leave me alone…”

“Not until you let me out or get the fuck out…”

My internal conflict was interrupted by my phone ringing very loud. I saw it was a text from Myra with an “urgency” mark on it. I figured it was an emergency so I read it.

“MIAMI! MY SCHOOL! ASAP!” she wrote in all caps. I knew this side of Myra when she was very pissed off and suddenly, I had a completely different reason to have an anxiety attach. “I am SO PISSED at you and tbh, been disappointed in you for MONTHS! Get your ass here. NOW!”

I exhaled feeling relief, yet worry knowing I had angered Myra somehow. For now, the demon within me had left me alone. However, Myra Rivers, for all that she can do to help, is a completely different monster when she’s pissed off at you…

Two days later…

Normally, I’d look forward to going to South Beach but…

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Myra asked me the moment she saw me. “Fortunately, I did this on a day where I know my students aren’t here but… are you fucking kidding me?”

“Fuck her…” I can already hear my inner darkness saying.

“Don’t say a FUCKING WORD, Andrea…” Myra added while my anxiety was increasing with her anger. “I know exactly what the fuck is wrong with you. A match like that, you don’t throw away… unless you’re allowing something so fucking stupid and irrelevant eat at you which you have been for months now. Even subconsciously, all you can think about is how you don’t want everything to play out the same and yet you’re literally manifesting it…”

“Oh FUCK OFF…” I thought to myself. My eyes widened not because of what Myra was saying, but because that was a moment where the darkness in me and I merged.

“...in fact, the moment the Chamber was even announced, you gave up!”

Anger was building in me even further.

“Don’t let her talk to you this way…” that darkness told me. “Who is she to say a fucking thing about your SCW career?”

“You decided you were going to just lie down and quit before the match even happened and then you spiraled further afterward. Your passion DIED in that chamber, Andrea…”

“Hit her where it hurts, Andrea. You know you want to. You know that there’s a piece of you that could never stand her anyway…”

“You’ve done nothing but coast ever since, sticking with the same platitudes and playing it way too fucking safe… when you actually TRY! You weren’t even TRYING in that match and now you’re over there giving me that stupid pity face and dealing with being torn up inside over YOUR OWN FUCKING FAULT!”

I was biting the inside of my lower lip with rage as she continued.

“You need to wake the fuck up and stop holding yourself back because what I saw in that last match was someone that didn’t even want to be there all because you’re rising to the same shit that plunged you into the darkness five years ago. What do you have to say for yourself, embarrassing yourself like that?”

I didn’t have an immediate answer being so torn in my internal conflict. Myra just scoffs, showing how annoyed she was with me.

“Typical. You’ve never been able to handle criticism well, justified in this case or bullshit like all the shit you deal with. This is why I didn’t want you to go back to SCW because I KNEW this was going to happen…”

That did it for me.

“You quit SCW! Why the FUCK do you have a right to say anything, you self-righteous BITCH?”

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Get her…” that darkness told me. “GET HER!”

“YOU, Myra are the LAST person that should be talking about ANYONE giving up especially as far as SCW is concerned because that’s what YOU did three years ago, REMEMBER?”

“Oh no, you are NOT deflecting this back at me! You don’t get to throw that shit back at me just because you want to run away from your fucking problems.”

I merely scoff at this without so much batting an eye and I can see it was Myra’s eyes widening, almost as if she was realizing what side of me she was dealing with.

“Running away from my problems… says the weakling that had to QUIT because she kept letting down her daughter…”

“THERE YOU GO… FUCK HER!!!!” that darkness blurted out while Myra was seething with some deep-seated anger. 

“Andrea…” Myra let out a deep breath doing everything in her power to avoid tapping into HER demons. “...you need to wake the fuck up or get the fuck out because that performance was pathetic of you and you deserve BETTER than to sleepwalk through a match just because you’re in your feelings about what other people think of you.”

“Whatever…”

“Get the fuck out of my sight, Andrea…”

Myra walked away from me and I didn’t even bother saying a word to her.

“Remember…” my inner darkness began to remind me. “...you were far more dominant without HER holding you back…”

Internally, however, I was instantly feeling awful about the way I just treated her to the point where tears were forming in my eyes.

“Fuck her… you don’t need her. You need ME… let me out. It’s the only way!”

I wanted to catch up to her and apologize, but I knew the damage was done already. I walked out of her school feeling more defeated than ever…

Last Sunday…

I was packing up for the cruise even though I knew I didn’t even want to go. That familiar dread was filling me as I NEVER liked going on it nor did I like the Summer XXXtreme event itself. I had just about finished packing the last bag that I had while I was drowning in the guilt that I had over how I treated Myra and the feeling of worthlessness and completely undeserving of the match that I was to partake in on the cruise. I took a few deep breaths trying to keep that internal demon from saying anything to me because after that fight with Myra, I had already had enough.

“Andrea?” I heard the familiar voice of my mother. I looked at her and I could see she had something in her purse, though I didn’t pay it any mind aside from that.

“Look… Mom… this really isn’t the time to talk to me.”

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been struggling and the way your body language and happiness falls off a cliff whenever you either mention SCW or have to go to one of their events…”

“Mom…” I briefly paused to let out a sigh. “I’ve already gotten the ‘get out there’ speech from Myra and I KNOW you hate that company even worse than she does.”

“I wasn’t going there, actually…”

I widened my eyes with surprise.

“It would be in your worst interest to leave because then you wouldn’t live with yourself and it’d affect you for the rest of your career and they’re not worth that. I know that you dread the cruise and you have nothing but bad memories but you’re not going to let those memories nor are you going to let those people win…”

“Mom…” I said with a very audible groan. “...I appreciate that you’re TRYING to help and that you’re rising above that ‘leave’ nonsense, but considering how distant you’ve been from this whole thing on your own volition, I’m not sure how you can help me.”

“I beg to differ, Andrea. The cruise has bad memories for you all because of one experience you had five years ago. Nothing bad has happened to you since then, but every year you always dread it and I know for you, that dread is even higher this year because of what you’ve been going through for months. You can fight through this, just like you did five years ago.”

“I’m not sure if I can….” I admitted. “Myra and I got into this huge fight the other day and one of the first, and worst, symptoms of me plunging back into the darkness I was in before is her and I being at odds, which we are right now.”

“It’s a symptom of the fact that you’ve given up…” my mother says with a concerned look on her face. “You gave up after High Stakes, didn’t you?”

My eyes widened with surprise when I realized how perceptive she was.

“That’s where it started, but winning the title and then being thrown into a chamber is where it really got bad for me. I gave up before the bell rang on that one and it’s been downhill since. Now? I just want to leave again and never go back because I could care less about what my ‘legacy’ is in that company. It’s never going to be positive anyway…”

“Running away won’t solve anything, but not caring about your legacy is a good start because it stops you from caring too much about what other people think. Take this with you…”

My mother pulls out a notebook and hands it to me.

“Your father wrote something in there for you five years ago after you lost the title and he wanted me to give that to you.”

“Why didn’t you give it to me then?”

My mother sighs with some regret.

“He died right after he wrote that and in all the grief, I completely forgot about it until I found it the other day doing some attic digging…”

I glanced at the notebook with a numb surprise going through me.

“Knowing what he wrote, it’ll be the best thing for you. Don’t read it until you’re on the cruise but until then? Stay strong, alright?”

“Yeah… thanks…”

My mother briefly embraces me before she walks out the door. Unfortunately, as I looked at the notebook, that internal demon spring into action again.

“You’re always going to be a letdown to DADDY! You KNOW how to make all the pain and suffering go away.”

Suddenly, the room got REALLY cold. I thought I was about to have a huge panic attack, but I heard another voice in the room.

“Don’t listen to that, Andrea… whatever you do… don’t listen…”

“Dad? Is that you?” I asked out loud. “I won’t listen to that darkness. I have to read what you have to say first…”

Suddenly, the room got warmer and brighter and that tension (and darkness in me) was gone.

And for the first time in months, I had hope…

July 12

I hadn’t signaled for the camera to come on yet. I was sitting on the edge of my hotel room bed mulling things over and thinking about the notebook that was in front of me. On one hand, I wanted to open it and read it right then and there with the camera on. It felt like maybe it could give me the boost that I needed.

However, there was a pit in my stomach that knew that doing so would open the door for my opponents, upcoming and in the future, to pick at and the last thing that I wanted to do was to even give anyone the power to pick at the relationship with my father. I signaled for my cameraman to come get the notebook. He came to grab it and set it down on the drawer behind him.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a bit searching for any hint of that “demon” inside of me that was pushing me to give up and give in. My shoulders felt light. That’s when I knew I didn’t have to worry about it and that I could express my thoughts. Difficult as it was considering recent events, I signaled to the cameraman to turn it on and with that, I really knew I had to choose my own words carefully not because I wanted to avoid giving my opponents “red meat”, but because I had to focus on getting the right message cross for me and nobody else.

“Elephants in the room aren’t fun to address. So, let’s address the most recent one and work backwards. The last match I had? I blew it. Did I give it my best effort? Absolutely not. Hell, I didn’t even want to be there. Truth be told, I HAVEN’T wanted to be there for a while. When I was in the ring for that triple threat match, I was so out of it that I literally had this feeling of ‘I don’t care anymore’ and to those friends, family and fans that were expecting the very best out of me, not only did you not come anywhere close to getting that, but you haven’t gotten that for months. For those that look up to me, for those that depend on me for any reason, for those that have done everything in their power to help me do whatever it takes to be at my best for any given match, I sincerely apologize for phoning it in as I have for a while because… well…

There’s no excuse for it. I can deep dive into so many reasons, but there’s no excuse for it. That triple threat match, I dogged it all because I was all up in my feelings about this place, the people in it, what people were saying about me, angry at the world, angry at this person for treating me like I wasn’t shit all because they only bothered to go off of an inaccurate card description, angry at that person for basically burying me even though I did nothing to them because they were up in their feelings themselves over “slights” that were just them taking any little fucking thing personal even when 99 percent of it had nothing to do with them, angry at the events of 5 years ago that I suffered through, angry because of how hard I was pushing to be better than that time period of my life only for others to shit on it and say ‘oh you’re still the same’, angry at this person for calling my title win a Cinderella run, angry at that person for calling me a paper champion on social media, anger, anger, nothing but anger and it was slowly driving me into the dirt without me realizing it until it was too late.

Something that I was taught by my mother once was ‘be the light you wish to shine’. With everything that I’ve mentioned just now, I’ve been anything but that and all I’ve done is rise to it and feed into it when on MANY occasions that I’ve been in this company over the years, I’ve proven that I’m above all that. I will be the first to admit that I haven’t done the best job at rising against adversity ever since High Stakes aside from the time that I was able to beat Kayla Richards for the world championship and I KNOW that’s largely because of my own doing so after everything that’s been going on? I’m going to straight up fucking say this.

I WILL be that light. I WILL be DONE with the nonsense. I’m not rising to the bullshit again. I don’t care what odds are against me in this match. I don’t care WHO I am facing. Hell, if you’re listening to this waiting for when your name is mentioned so that you can talk your trash and start doing the same old fucking shit that everyone else does, stop wasting your time and exit out of this video because I am NOT going to rise to that crap and I am NOT going to bore our audience by doing your typical “list off everyone and say why they won’t win”. Not only is that cliche, but it’s also a pointless exercise because in a match like this, why the fuck do you want to focus on so many other people when the truth of the matter is, priority number one should ALWAYS be YOU and ONLY you and how YOU’RE going to handle this match and how YOU are going to live, learn and grow from any recent adversity that you’ve dealt with. I’m not going to do that. I get that the odds are going to be long as it is based on the numbers alone, but to waste time worrying and focusing on other people that I know are going to come at me with the same old shit that I’ve heard millions of times before or pick at my last match exaggerating it the way everyone else in this fucking locker room fucking exaggerates every little fucking thing…”

I knew that I was starting to get heated with the increased profanity. With that, I took a deep breath being determined as hell NOT to let that demon inside of me come out again. I briefly remembered how it suddenly came out of me going into a match with Kiera Fisher nearly five years ago and it took me two years to seal that demon away.

“Focus girl… focus…” I told myself in my own mind. “Don’t let these bitches get to you. They’re not worth it. They never were.”

I took another deep breath before I continued.

“Priority number one is going to be me. Take it how you see it. I don’t give a fuck anymore. I am DONE allowing other people to define me.  That was the last time I am going to allow myself to fail in such a bullshit fashion. From now on, I am no longer going to rise to the bullshit so say what you want to say about me because not only do I KNOW in my heart that you’re wrong and that you’ll never define me but… spoiler alert… I’m not even going to bother watching what you all have to say about me. Yes, I KNOW, I’m breaking like an unwritten rule of this business. GASP! BLASPHEMY! How DARE she?!?! Actually, if I’m breaking anything, it’s a mold that everyone cow tows to just because it’s “supposed to be the way”. But ultimately? I’m not going to listen or watch anything any of my opponents have to say about me and I am damn sure not going to respond to any of it because I am NOT going to allow ONE person in this match to define my feelings or to define my truth. I am not going to allow myself to get worked up over some bullshit that someone else said because something that I have really wised up to is the fact that whatever you do, it doesn’t matter. Whoever you are, doesn’t matter. Someone, somewhere is always going to grasp at straws and pick at anything to tear you down because they have a vapid imagination to even do anything differently.

I am going to focus on winning this match and nothing else because at the end of the day, when it comes to my story in this business and my story in this company, it’s ME! It’s nobody else but me! Hell, I’ll be the first person to admit that I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to my success here and the truth of the matter is, and I KNOW most of you if not all of you are going to HATE what I’m about to say: not ONE of you is my greatest enemy or my greatest opponent in this match… it’s ME! I own the fact that in order to win this match, I WILL have to overcome my worst, deepest insecurities within myself and to snap back into that fire that I’m known for KNOWING that when I do, it STILL won’t guarantee that I win this thing. Trust me, I know that some people are going to come at me harder in that ring than others due to history or whatnot, but ultimately, not one of you is going to be able to cripple me. The only one in that ring that can cripple me is… me… which is exactly what I did the last match I had and I’m NOT going to do it again and I’m NOT going to do it anymore. Not ONE of you is going to put me through hell because five years ago, I endured, I overcame, and I defeated the worst hell I’ve ever been through in my career if not my entire life. Am I proud of how I did that? No, but I still overcame all that  and compared to what I wen through five years ago, this doesn’t even come CLOSE to being that.

So by all means, whisper and gossip and lie and misinterpret and make yourself look like a damn fool. When I win this match, you’ll only have yourselves to blame because I WILL NOT make this about proving other people wrong. I don’t NEED to prove anything to fucking anybody but ME! I will NOT make this match about silencing critics, or other people, or anyone else because I will NOT be granting people that aren’t worth my feelings that kind of power over me anymore! That’s why with every last one of you in this match, I’m not addressing you one by one or doing what I would typically do and pick point a weakness or a recent match that you had or some piddly little thing that I can pull out of thin air as “proof” as to why you’re not going to beat me or why you’re not better than me. Honestly? It’s a tired exercise and people as a whole need to think outside the box when it comes to that. Rather than focus on the perceived weaknesses of everyone else, I will focus on my own weaknesses, I will working on strengthening myself to overcome those weaknesses and I will focus on my own strengths, on my own abilities and what I am truly capable of once I overcome this career long, if not life long, mental block in me that holds me back over and over and over again. I’ve reached a point where I’m fed up with that. I’m 31 now. I’m old enough and beyond experienced enough to finally break free from all of it and that’s what I am going to do by the time this match hits no matter how hard that is and how hard it may become over the next week. What just happened to me is where I draw the line. I’ll do whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, to break free from those last mental chains that have been so damn stubborn for years and I am going to find a way to win this.

Five years ago, I allowed losing the SCW Bombshells World Championship to someone I SHOULD’VE beaten… but I didn’t because I got in my own fucking way… to define me and it broke me to the point where I became someone that wasn’t me at all and never should’ve been in the first place. I should’ve known better than to make such a garbage, stupid mistake like that. Now? I’m NOT going to make that same mistake again, not anymore. It’s high time I started to stand up for myself, to strengthen myself, to do whatever it takes to ensure that I never allow one fucking person to define me again and while this may be overdue for a wrestler of my caliber, I will own that to kingdom come and back, it’s better late than never and no matter how this match goes for me, I’m not going to fade into the night and I am not going to allow a single loss, a single ounce of adversity or anything like that to turn into an embarrassment that defines me in the long run. This is where the slate is wiped clean, where I learn every single piece about who the fuck I am and I made damn sure that I become the light within myself that I’ve starved to have for many, many years. No more being conservative. No more holding back. No more weighing myself down. Never again. This is where I take that stand and this match, win or lose? It’s going to mark a turning point for me for the very long term and for a very long time to come…”

I signaled for my cameraman to cut and he gave me the thumbs up ensuring me that the camera was just shut off.

“I haven’t seen or heard that kind of fire out of you in months…” he said as he handed me the notebook.

“That was just the start…” I said as I glanced at my father’s notebook and started to think about how I was going to conquer my inner demons and worst insecurities. “...just… the start…”

I took a deep breath to come down from that fiery speech I just made before I made my exit from the hotel room.

[Alexandra Calaway]

Preparing for the Trip
LJs Place
Las Vegas, Nevada

The last of Alexandra’s gear was packed, the suitcase zipped, and her boots resting on top like a final piece of armor. The soft hum of Las Vegas nightlife filtered through the window as she stood in the middle of her bedroom, mentally checking off everything for the trip. It was strange, in a way, how much calmer she felt this year compared to last. Experience had softened the edges of uncertainty. She knew what was waiting on that ship. The chaos. The fans. The long days and wild nights. But this time, she wasn’t walking into it with that same heavy weight on her chest. Across the room, LJ sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone absently before setting it down. His duffel bag sat mostly empty at his feet.

“Are you sure you’re packed enough?” she asked, glancing at the bare bag with a teasing smile.

He looked up and smirked. “I’m not the one stepping into the ring in the middle of the ocean. I figured out a few shirts, a pair of shorts, and one dress outfit in case they try to get fancy.”

“You’ll need more than that. It’s Summer XXXtreme. There's sun, saltwater, and the kind of mayhem that eats clean clothes alive.”

LJ chuckled and stood, walking over to her. “Yeah, but I’m not on the card. I’m not working. I’m just... yours this time. Bodyguard, emotional support, maybe a glorified luggage handler.”

Alexandra’s smile faded into something warmer, softer. “You’re more than that. Just having you there makes everything feel more grounded.”

He shrugged, but the faint pink in his cheeks gave away how much that meant to him. “Still feels weird, though. Not being booked. Not being part of the show. I’ve spent so much time fighting for a spot that stepping away, even for a week, messes with my head.”

She nodded in understanding. “It messed with mine last year. I wasn’t sure I even belonged on that cruise. I kept second-guessing everything, Ashlynn, the matches, the fans, being out at sea with no safety net. But it ended up being one of the best things for me. Because I stopped trying to be perfect and just... showed up. Did my thing. And people noticed.”

“You got everyone talking,” he said. “And now they’re expecting you to outdo yourself.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she said, stepping closer and slipping her arms around his waist. “What I care about is being focused, being me. And this year, I get to have my partner there. Not as a tag team, not as an act, just as someone who has my back.”

LJ rested his chin on top of her head. “Always. Even if I’m the guy in the crowd with the overpriced drink yelling too loud.”

She laughed against his chest. “You’d be the best part of the crowd.”

For a few moments, they stood there in silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them. This trip wasn’t just about the cruise or the matches—it was about taking a step forward, together. With Ashlynn staying with Cassandra and Dhillon for the week, there was finally room for Alexandra and LJ to breathe as a couple.

“I think I needed this more than I realized,” she said quietly.

“The cruise?”

“No,” she replied, lifting her eyes to meet his. “This time. With you. Without everything pulling us in five different directions. I’ve been going non-stop for so long, I forgot what it feels like to just be with someone.”

“You haven’t really let yourself slow down,” LJ agreed. “Even when we first got together, you were still wearing your armor.”

“I had to,” she said, her voice soft. “For Ashlynn. For survival. For my own sanity. But I’m tired of carrying that weight all the time.”

He nodded. “Then don’t. Let me carry some of it with you.”

Her eyes glistened for just a second before she looked away, blinking it back. “You say things like that and I remember why I let you in.”

“I didn’t knock gently,” he said with a small grin.

“No, you didn’t. You walked in like you belonged here. And maybe, you do.”

They sat on the bed, her hand resting over his. The bags were packed, the plans set. Tomorrow, they’d board the ship. Alexandra would step back into the spotlight, the ring, the madness of a wrestling cruise. And LJ would be right there, not as a wrestler, not as her man in the corner while she was in a match, but as her anchor.

“You nervous?” he asked, glancing at her sideways.

“Not about the match,” she said. “That’s the easy part. It’s the stuff between the matches that gets tricky.”

“Like what?”

“Like trying to remember who I am when I’m not being the performer. Like making space for us in a world that doesn’t stop moving. Last year, I felt like I was surviving. This year, I want to live in it.”

LJ leaned back on his elbows. “So we do that. You work. I support you. We steal moments in between. Breakfast on the balcony. Watching the sunset. Making fun of people in the pool.”

Alexandra laughed again, brighter this time. “God, that sounds perfect.”

“It will be,” he said. “You fight. I’ll be there. And when the lights go out, it’s just you and me. That’s what I’m looking forward to most.”

She turned, curling into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“When we get back, when the cruise is over, and real life crashes back in, don’t let me shut down again. Remind me of this. What it feels like to let someone stay.”

He kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll remind you every damn day if I have to.”

The air between them settled into something steady, calm. Tomorrow would bring the roar of the ocean and the madness of fans. Alexandra would face whatever challenge the cruise had in store. But tonight, she had something far more powerful than momentum, she had LJ. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t walking in Summer XXXtreme alone.

Let’s Talky Talk
The Strip
Las Vegas, NV

The camera opened on the glimmering chaos of the Las Vegas Strip. Neon signs buzzed above packed sidewalks. Tourists shouted, music blared from open doors, and slot machines chirped from every direction. In the middle of it all, walking with slow, measured steps through the chaos, was Alexandra. She was dressed in a sharp leather jacket, sunglasses covering eyes that burned with purpose, her boots striking the pavement with deliberate weight.

She didn’t glance at the noise or the spectacle. All of it faded behind her focus. The camera followed as she walked past the Bellagio fountains, the spray catching the city lights in bursts of color. She finally came to a stop beneath the glowing canopy of the Flamingo, turned to face the camera, and pulled off her sunglasses.

Her eyes locked onto the lens, cold, sharp, and surgical.

"Let’s talk," she said, voice low but firm enough to cut through the roar of the Strip.

Amelia: "The Unknown Equation"

Alexandra tilted her head, a small smirk curling at the edge of her mouth. "Amelia. The one I haven’t touched yet. The enigma. The one the fans like to call a mystery. You know what mysteries are to me? Just problems waiting to be solved."

She took a few steps down the sidewalk, weaving between a group of partygoers without breaking her stride. "We’ve never faced each other, and I know that’s been eating away at you. They’ve been protecting you. They’ve been crafting your journey like it’s a fairy tale. But here’s the thing, sweetheart, fairy tales end in horror when reality hits. And I am that reality."

She stopped again, just in front of a luxury store, her reflection staring back from the glass. "You’ve never had to bleed for your momentum, Amelia. You’ve never felt what it’s like to be broken in front of a crowd that expected more from you. You dance, you fly, you smile—and they eat it up like it’s gourmet. But when you step into the ring with me, none of that’s going to save you."

Alexandra leaned closer to the glass, staring into her own eyes before looking back at the camera. "You’re fast, you’re clean, you’ve got technique. But I’ve made careers end for less. What you’ve built for yourself—your potential, your precious image—I’m going to drag it all into the street like garbage and show the world what happens when smoke and mirrors meet substance."

The Strip pulsed behind her, but her tone never wavered. "So go ahead, Amelia. Be their rising star. Be their future. Because when the time comes, I’ll be the one who introduces you to your ceiling. And I promise, it’s going to hurt."

Joanne: "The Broken Record"

Alexandra turned a corner, walking past Caesar’s Palace, the grandeur behind her a stark contrast to the venom in her voice. "Joanne. Poor, stubborn, beautifully deluded Joanne. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? And every single time, I’ve beaten you into the floor like it’s tradition."

She rolled her shoulders, brushing past a performer on stilts without a second glance. "What amazes me isn’t that you lost. It’s that you keep coming back like something’s going to change. Like this time, things will be different. Like you’ve somehow evolved past the woman I already exposed."

She scoffed, glancing sideways as if picturing Joanne’s face. "You’re not evolving, Joanne. You’re decorating failure. You put up a fresh coat of paint every time I destroy you and try to convince yourself the cracks aren’t there. But I see them. Every twitch in your eye when my name is brought up. Every forced breath you take when they ask about your losses to me. You’re not fighting to win. You’re fighting to survive. And I’ve got bad news, survival isn’t enough anymore."

Alexandra stopped beneath a massive LED billboard flashing championship belts and highlight reels. She didn’t even look up. "I don’t hate you, Joanne. You’re not worth that. What I feel is pity. Because no matter how many times you crawl back into that ring, hoping this time you’ll rise. I’ll be there to remind you that some stories end the same way, every time."

She looked into the camera with icy finality. "And your story? It ends with me."

Andrea: "The Thorn in My Side"

Now Alexandra’s walk had slowed. Her pace was deliberate. There was weight behind her steps as she passed the Mirage. The lights flickered above her, like sparks trying to find fuel. "Andrea," she said, the name alone carrying tension. "You’re the one that stays with me. The one who got through."

She stopped, folding her arms. The tension in her jaw said everything. "You’ve beaten me. Not often. But enough. Enough to leave a scar. And that’s why I don’t take you lightly. I don’t dismiss you. I respect you, but that respect comes with a price. Because every single time I’ve tasted defeat by your hand, I’ve carved a new weapon out of it. I’ve built new armor. You sharpened me without realizing it."

She stepped off the main sidewalk and onto a quieter stretch of pavement, where the Strip’s noise dulled just slightly. Her voice dropped. "But here’s where we differ, Andrea. You were satisfied with the win. You wanted the moment. I wanted domination. You got the applause. I want the silence that comes after I leave my opponent broken."

Alexandra turned her head slightly, her profile lit by the passing glow of LED lights. "You’re dangerous. But now I’m smarter. Meaner. Colder. You won’t find the same Alexandra you beat before. She’s dead. I buried her myself."

She looked back into the camera, the storm behind her eyes ready to break. "And when we meet again, Andrea... I’m not walking away with a win. I’m walking away with you. Shattered. Humbled. And finally... beneath me."

Kate: "The Identity Crisis"

Further down the Strip, Alexandra came to a halt near a street performer dressed like a living statue. She stared at it for a moment, blank, unmoving, artificial. Then turned back to the camera.

"Kate. You know, I’ve faced chaos, I’ve faced strategy, I’ve faced rage—but you? You’re not even a finished thought. You’re half of a character sketch, barely colored in, and every week you show up with a new coat of confusion like that’s going to make you interesting."

She stepped forward, slicing through the crowd with presence alone. "You think being mysterious is the same as being compelling. It’s not. It’s exhausting. No one knows who you are not even you. You spend more time reinventing your image than refining your craft. And while you're out there figuring yourself out, I’m going to crack your ribs one by one."

The sign for The LINQ blinked erratically behind her. "You're a walking question mark hoping the world doesn’t notice you’ve got no answer. But I noticed. I see the cracks. I see the fear. You’re not dangerous. You’re desperate. Desperate to matter. Desperate to be something other than a filler name on someone else’s win column."

She looked into the camera again, deadly calm. "You’re not a mystery, Kate. You’re a delay. A pause before something real. And I’m going to press play... and erase you."

Diamond: "The Forgotten Victory"

Alexandra now neared the end of the Strip, where the lights grew thinner and the tourists scarcer. She paused at the base of a blinking casino marquee, her silhouette sharp against the fading neon.

"Diamond. Ah, Diamond... the one I’ve already beaten. And yet, here we are again. Trying to shine like you weren’t already dulled. You want another shot? Fine. I’ll remind you what it felt like when I shattered your illusion the first time."

She brushed her hair back, the Vegas wind teasing it loose. "They say diamonds are forever. But you? You cracked. Under pressure, under fists, under me. You fought like you were precious. But I saw through the sparkle. I saw the fracture. You’re costume jewelry, Diamond. All flash, no foundation."

Alexandra began walking again, slower now, like delivering the final eulogy. "There’s no revenge story here. No grand comeback. You can train all you want, bleed all you need to, but when you step into that ring again, nothing will have changed. I’ll put you back in your place like muscle memory."

She stopped, turning toward the camera one last time. "So bring your shine. Bring the defiance. Bring the hope. I’ll crush it again. Not because I need to, but because I can."

She slipped her sunglasses back on, the city lights gleaming in the lenses.

"Vegas is all illusions. But I’m the only truth walking this Strip. Remember that."

With that, Alexandra turned and disappeared into the crowd.

[Amelia Reynolds]

echo 03 ★ secrets

Denver International Airport was never really particularly quiet, what with it being the most massive hub within the midwest. Not even at half-past one in the morning on an early Tuesday in the dark. As always, it seemed to buzz with movement and announcements and the distant rumble of suitcase wheels over tile. She hated waiting in the car, and found it more important to meet her family or friends inside after they’d spent time travelling.

Inside, the air was recycled and cool. The white towering tents of the terminal would always mean that the place was too bright, and too sterile. Even with the fluctuation of passengers moving through the area, even with the night sky visible from where she sat within the center of the area. She was leaned back against the back of the strange, ergonomically sound steel benches, watching travellers come in and out.

Amelia’s hair was tied up in a scrunchie, the bun situated on the top of her head, tendrils falling around her face. She wore her sweats, and a long t-shirt – his, judging by the unreadable logo on the front. The weight of the past few days settled on her.

Grand Junction, the crowd. Her announcement – two wins, two matches, and now…now a shot at everything. That wasn’t nothing. But it also wasn’t just about climbing the ladder anymore. A shadow with a name followed her every step now, but she wasn’t sure what that name was. Expectation. Doubt. Pressure.  All the things she’d said that night were true, had told nothing but what she understood in her own perceptions, but the weight of it settled beneath her ribcage like a quiet breath she didn’t know how to release.

Failure to thrive wasn’t an option. Not right now. Not if she was going to make something of herself, make Wolfslair proud, make Aaron proud. She still hadn’t told Dickie. Hadn’t revealed anything more to Finn after he caught it already. Just let it sit, because right now, that wasn’t important.

Her eyes glanced up to the arrivals and departures screens. The flight from Miami had just landed ten minutes ago, which meant that he would be traversing the airport, wandering from the extremely long gates to the train below the concourses. It would take a little bit of time. Which allowed her mind to wander.

She didn’t know what version of Dickie Watson she was about to get.

She’d watched the footage. Maybe not live, because she was at Phoebe’s salon getting her roots retouched into the wee hours of the evening, but she’d watched it. In bits and pieces. Her stomach hadn’t really let her watch it all in one go. Dickie had always been a daredevil. But the damage he’d taken not seven hours before had been critical. A spear that led to a twenty foot drop, his blood on the concrete. Stretchers knocked over. Fists landing where bandages should have been placed. The match should have been called off, in her opinion.

But then he won. Of course he did. Barely. But to her, it wasn’t victory. It was survival, and it was wearing a damn smirk.

Any second now, he should be coming up from trains, riding the escalator with a slouch in his gait. He would be tired. Emotionally compromised. She’d seen it before, knew it was likely. Every time someone appeared from below with a hoodie and combat boots, her breath caught in her chest, resetting only when recognition didn’t come.

When she did see him, she rose to her feet. He was slower than usual, his black hoodie zipped high and his jaw bruised. His shoulders curled inwards, and his movement was stiff – one of his hands was wrapped in gauze and the other was purpling beneath the ink. He might have dozed off on the plane, but he didn’t look rested. His dark eyes caught hers, her steel blue widening in relief. He blinked, and she literally saw the breath flow out of him in his own form of relief.

Amelia walked towards him then, reaching out with a hand to grasp the least injured one. “Hi,” she murmured. He didn’t smile, but his eyes softened. He stepped forward, slowly, until he was right in front of her. He pressed his forehead softly to hers in greeting.

“You didn’t have to come in,” he told her. “I could’ve walked to the pick up.”

“It smells like diesel fuel out there…and maybe stale tacos. Unsure. Besides, I wanted to see your face in more than a car light.” She reached up, pressing her fingers softly to the bruise on his jawline. She’d seen him in dozens of fights. In cages that collapsed on people. In times where he’d barely been standing. This, however, was one of his worst. “Dimitri.”

“‘M fine.” He muttered, pulling his head out of her grasp.

She didn’t question it.

Minutes later, the door shut heavier than she intended. The 2025 Land Cruiser that she drove was a tall order to get into, but as she adjusted the mirror, he settled into the passenger seat with a low hiss through his teeth. He’d pulled his hood back now, and she could see scrapes on his cheekbone, places that had flowed with blood hours prior. Swelling under his left eye. He buckled in with half a shrug.

She grit her teeth.

The exit from the garage short-term was silent, her hands firm on the wheel. Only the moderate hum of early two-thousands pop echoed. She hadn’t bothered plugging in her phone, hadn’t bothered with trying to find music he liked. She glanced in the mirror at him, watching as he closed his eyes. His lip was split, just to add insult to injury. There would be tender kisses on her forehead before bed, complete with hisses. She looked forward, Denver’s skyline dark in the distance, the mountains hidden by the darkness of the sky and the low moonlight.

“You shouldn’t have taken that match.” Her voice cut like a blade, but it was whispered like silk. He didn’t respond to her as he opened the window and pressed his face into the door, his curls whipping in the wind as the cold air plastered him. “I’m serious, Dickie. You shouldn’t have.”

“Was already booked.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Didn’t realize I had to ask permission.”

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, and she pursed her lips. “That wasn’t what I said.”

“Mmm.” He replied, low and sharp, noncomittal. “C’mon, Melia. You of all people should get it, right? You willfully stepped into this sport without telling the rest of us. Should make all of the sense now. Can’t play nurse now just because I’m better at breakin’ all of the things.”

The wind through the window filled the cab with a soft roar, but it didn’t drown her out. Not when her voice returned, lower, but firmer this time. “There’s dangerous and then there’s whatever the hell that was.”

He didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t even flinch. Just let the cold night slap right against the side of his face like it meant nothing. It probably felt like an ice bath. “That was winning.”

“That was bleeding,” she countered. “That was you gettin’ thrown through glass and off ledges like you were built of steel and not bone, Dimitri.”

He snorted low through his nose and pulled his face back inside the car to look at her. The silence settled thicker as he did so, and she only took a small glance at him. The expression he gave her wasn’t the usual look of adoration he held. He was tired, she knew that, and when Dickie was tired, his filters flipped. It wasn’t the first time they argued. Wouldn’t be the last either.

“You think I don’t know what I’m made of, what it costs?” His jaw ticked as he rolled a sore wrist.

“I think you stop caring when you have a vendetta.”

That earned another snort. But it wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t defensiveness. It was humorless, and he stretched out as much as he could in the chair, spike curved like he was trying to disappear into it. He flexed his knee, wincing imperceptibly. “Says the girl who picked the same goddamn sport, who trained in secret, snuck out of our bed at five a.m., lied to my fucking face for a year, and still expects to play Florence Nightingale when it suits her.”

Her jaw clenched. That sunk. She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “I didn’t lie, Dimitri.” Amelia spoke slowly. “I just didn’t want you to stop me.”

“You’re a Reynolds. There is no stopping you, or Aiden, from doing stupid shit that I ultimately have to plan for.” He scoffed. “Just don’t act like it’s a fuckin’ one-way street. We all bleed here.”

She frowned. Pursed her lips again. Let her fingers clench into the wheel, her right hand dropping to her thigh. “Fine. You can bleed on the boat.” She glanced at him again, softer. “I just..I need you there, okay? I need you present. Please?”

Regardless of the argument, regardless of his words, regardless of the fact that he was liable to break himself again, he slid his battered fingers into hers.

“Always.”
★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Her bedroom was too quiet. And she hated the quiet. Quiet meant her gremlin of a boyfriend was sulking somewhere downstairs on a video game that she had no clue how to play. Quiet meant she was left to her own devices. Quiet meant that she was going to have to deal with things on her own, whether she liked it or not.

She slammed her suitcase onto the bed, opening it with a frown. The silence made everything louder, so when the zipper rolled, she heard it clearly. When she threw her gear into the bottom of the bag, it thudded like a storm. She was trying to stay productive, so she didn’t have to think. The sun had risen over the Colorado plains like a shadow that bathed her in a light she didn’t want two hours ago. It was morning. Eight hours since he slumped in the passenger seat and poke every nerve beneath her skin in only a way he knew how. Snapping accusations about lying and being a nurse when it suited her.

Amelia supposed he wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t right either, though he’d wear it like a badge regardless.

A knock sounded at the door a moment later and she looked up. It wasn’t polite. But it was one she knew. One she grew up with. She didn’t bother saying a word, just knew her brother would enter the room in thirty seconds or less. Seventeen, to be exact. Aiden Reynolds didn’t just poke his head into the door, he came in with all of the energy and barely-contained irritation of a hurricane. He obviously had been training, because sweat was on his collarbone, his shorts rode low and he had a ratty black tank top on that Kallie likely attempted to throw out months ago.

He crossed the threshold in three large steps, his six foot frame towering over her short one. He looked at the bag as she haphazardly threw things into it. “I organize better than you right now. What the fuck is this shit, Mels?”

Amelia paused and looked at the bag. She did organize better than this. In fact, she really liked organization in most of the things she did. With a pause, she looked down at the bag, and then up at Aiden with a frown. “Dickie yelled at me.”

“Yelled?”

“Well. No. More like he turned into a feral goblin king and told me I snuck out of our bed and lied to him for a year. So clearly, that doesn’t mean I get to care if he lobs himself off of stages and drops and into trucks and bleeds.”

Aiden blinked at her. He processed. That sounded like Dickie when wounded. “Okay, but what in the everlovin’ fuck?”

Amelia threw another garment into the bag with likely more force than necessary. “That’s what I said.”

He narrowed his eyes, like he was solving a remotely difficult math equation in his head, or at least trying to figure out which one of them actually was wrong here. He reached over, pulled the shirt back out, and folded with an absurd amount of care and set it back in the suitcase. “So, he’s pissed because you didn’t tell him you were training.”

“I think…” she frowned deeper, “I think really that he’s mad that I tried to tell him he couldn’t  keep trying to die in matches and he had that missile primed and prepared.”

He made a face, somewhere in between something that looked like a grimace and a scoff combined. “Well. I mean, he does love those. Emotional weapons of mass destruction. Likes to sit on ‘em until someone pokes the bear and then boom, whole fuckin’ neighborhood is annihilated.” He looked at her. “Remember when I acted like I didn’t know what blood money was?”

“When he launched you into the counter at Disney World?”

“That’s the one.”

Amelia sat down on the edge of the bed, elbow on her knee, chin resting lightly on the cradle of her palm. She giggled slightly at her brother, who sat down with her. He didn’t say anything for a second, just stayed with her like a fount of solemnity. Even if he had rage beneath his own hands for how things were going, he still would always give her a look that said he was watchin’ out for her.

“I just,” she started, “I don’t want him to be mad at me.” She looked at him, her words softer than usual. “I know I’m not supposed to technically say that, that I should be focused and that I should be all eyes on the prize. But he’s him, Aiden. He’s my person. I want him there, on the boat. Watchin’. Not ‘cause I need all the prep or the cochin’, or plottin’ in the corners. I just want to look out from the ring and see his face, ya know? Like you like to see Kallie’s.”

He nodded, understanding. But she didn’t stop.

“This match, this…double or nothin’ thing…it’s not just a match. It’s a test, and one I could super fail if I don’t got my head on my shoulders. They wanna see if I can belong, if I can go one, two falls and still stand tall at the end of it, ya know? There’s so much pressure and pace and scrutiny…I can hear everyone in the match tryin’ to tell me I’m fuckin’ useless. I don’t wanna, but I know I can easily spiral when someone I love thinks I’ve failed ‘em. Even if I haven’t.”

“Ya didn’t fail him, Mels.”

“I know that. And he said he’d be there, but…”

He snorted, and pressed an arm around her shoulders. “You know how he is. He’ll show up with three busted ribs, say he’s fine, sit in the back somewhere where it’s all shadows and silence. Like he’s not allowed to be proud of ya. But…he is. And you know he’s more afraid of lookin’ any form of vulnerable than he is of jumpin’ off a scaffold.”

“I want him in the front row, Aiden.” She sighed, pressing her head against his shoulder. “I want him to see me win. Not for him, but with him there. And if I don’t win? I still want him to know I gave it everythin’ I had.”

“He’ll be there. Might limp. Grumble. Probably’ll have an ice pack strapped to his ass. But he’ll be there.”

She exhaled, and let her hands fall to her lap. She pursed her lips slightly, and frowned again. “Are you okay?”

“Nah.” He paused for a minute. “I’m just kinda fuckin’ frustrated about the level of bullshit this company has. Same bullshit, ya know? Logan beat me, fine. But I never got my rematch, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near the World Heavyweight title. But now I’m in this match for a contendership and I’ve gotta fight two guys I actually like in Miles and Eddie…”

She waited for him to continue.

“And I gotta turn into a fuckin’ villain to remind everyone I’m not a joke.”

“You’re not a villain, Aiden.”

“Nah, I’m not. But they won’t take me seriously until I act like one. Until I remind them that this isn’t the way it should be. I loved that belt, Mels. Fought for it. And now  it’s bein’ passed around like some damn prop in a clown routine. Held onto by a clown who sounds like Sylvester the Cat on steroids.”

“Then…” she tilted her head, “show them that you’re better than that belt. Let ‘em know that you finally are gettin’ your comeuppance. You deserve to be in the lights. You just kick their butts and let ‘em cry like you did when I was five and I scraped my knee trying to follow you and Adam down to Hungry Jacks.”

“I didn’t let you cry.”

“You told me I would gain superpowers if I did.”

He knocked his head against hers. “It stopped hurting though, didn’t it?”

It did.
★☆★☆★☆★☆★


Ya ever look back and realize like…how far you’ve come, but only to realize that no one else noticed? That no one else is sittin’ in the wings, wishin’ to cheer you on or make you alive. It’s kinda all up to you, whether you wanna survive or succeed or simply be present. A lot of the time, it kinda seems like all anyone wants to do is just be present. They’re content to like…live in this bubble of grandiose self-aggrandizement and forget that some part of ‘em is supposed to loathe themselves. Even just a bit.

Ladies like Kayla Richards and Amber Ryan knew how to loathe themselves. Even Frankie Holliday up there kinda loathes herself, but tries to use it as a plus rather than the whole ass minus it is.

When I started this thing, ya know…people barely glanced twice. Just another Reynolds, when Aiden was kinda bein’ the joke. I mean, that’s his thing, and it’s always kinda been his thing. He stood in front of a man who thought he was a demigod from H.P. Lovecraft’s failure of a novel and weird ass writing, and Aiden stood there as The Great Cunthulu and all of the chaos and shenanigans arose. He and Dickie made the man weep and then he disappeared. I mean, okay. Maybe bullying a man out of the business is a poor practice, but ya also gotta have balls.

I know what ya all thought though. She’s gonna have a stupid accent – mine is lovely, just so you know. But just another hopeful low carder over here. She’ll be gone in a month, right? Didn’t make noise, didn’t yell like everyone else does…didn’t come in with fireworks or edges in my voice. I didn’t need to, ya know? I didn’t need to search for approval from a buncha people who don’t really care too much about my efforts.

Match by match and moment by moment, I built myself. I know it’s not a lot. Two matches. Two wins. I don’t really have the veracity to be sittin’ here, tellin’ ya all the what fors and the whodunits. But I get to kinda talk on my experience, and note that out of everyone in this company, I’m the one with two matches in, the rookie in full, and I made it to a match that I probably should be shyin’ away from.

But I’m Amelia Reynolds, and I don’t shy away.

I take what I’ve learned in those dark rooms and quiet hours of the mornin’ when me and my trainer thought to take every hard hit and every fall as a requiem within our heads. I take what I’ve learned and don’t really give a hoot who is in front of me. Rookie. Legend. It’s all the same. I came to work. I didn’t chase the attention and I didn’t sound like a rotten mess. I let the work speak, and I did what no one expected me to do.

I felled some of your best.

It wasn’t clean and it wasn’t perfect, and I’m pretty sure I could have gotten hurt because I didn’t launch myself correctly and I wasn’t always on top of everything. But I did it. Three of the women in this match I’ve already defeated. Don’t mistake that for some kinda complacency, because it’s not. I grew up on a beach, and I learned about low and high tides. Those high tides come up faster than a huntsman on a lizard, and I’m not about to be caught and drug out to sea, unable to find my way back to solid ground. I know the work is there and I gotta put my best foot forward.

But so does everyone else, don’t they?

I know what it’s like. I’ve been told. Multi-person matches can be the bane of existence in this company because you never really know what it’s gonna be like when you get in that ring. There’s so many different styles and wrestling attempts. And I know that I’ve got to have a lot more to say when I get on that boat. I’m new but I’m not stupid. This is my first supercard, but I watched Aiden, and I’ve watched Finn and Kayla and all my friends. I’ve watched Bella and Miles.

I know. Even if I haven’t experienced it.

I guess that’s what all of you have meant when you belittled me for the fact that I knew people. But honeies, if I didn’t know, then maybe I might be you. And that’s not something I can do.

On the thirteenth iteration of Summer XXXTreme, I’m present. Double or Nothin’. Two pinfalls or submissions. A match that kinda has a bunch of names, egos, resumes, and ickle e. The one you’re not sure about. The one you didn’t expect. The one that you couldn’t have thought would be standing across from anyone leading into a match for a contendership for thee championship. Bombshells World. The most poignant in our division.

Shiny. Gold. Beautiful.

But here’s the thing, friends. I know that it’s easy to just think I’m a body in the match, but I’m not here to finally just arrive and make a spectacle. I’ve already done that. The crowds are happy to see me, because I’m always here to prove none of this is luck and you can’t tell me that it is. It’s not some little spark of enlightenment either, ‘cause I haven’t flamed out just yet. Even if you wish I would.

I mean, I get it. Why I’m doubted. Why you keep lookin’ past me to the louder voices, the heavier hands, the longer resumes, the experience in this match. It’s cause I don’t really yell for anyone’s attention, do I? I’m not comin’ in swinging bottles, callin’ out bloodlines. I don’t demand for people to call me a star, and I don’t act like the whole world owes me somethin’ for nothin’. I don’t bite on all the bait.

I just show up.

I study.

I adapt.

I learn.

Every match has a lesson in it, and every time there is a story to tell from what can be gleaned. I’m not here to make enemies, I’m not here to tell people they’re wrong, and I’m not here to capitulate on an entire roster and make threats. But I am here to make sure that you hear me as we get on that boat and we prepare ourselves for the reckonin’ that’s awaitin’ us.

Diamond. Alexandra. Kate. Andrea. Joanne. We were chosen for this match because management saw somethin’ in all of us. I can understand it too. Fighters. We don’t stand down just because someone told us that we didn’t have it in us to succeed. But out of all of you, I’m the weakest link. I know it. You don’t have to tell me, you don’t have to argue it. You don’t even have to say it. I’m the short stick in an era of a lot of trauma and tribulations.

I get it.

Doesn’t mean it’s right.

But I know that’s what you’ll believe. Because that’s what’s easier to believe, that’s what everyone that was placed before me believed. That just because I have a short match listin’, it’ll be easy to take me apart. So maybe…maybe that’s what you’re bankin’ on.

That when I get in that ring, and I finally see what’s in front of me, that I’ll panic. That I’ll be so overwhelmed that I won’t be able to see straight, think straight, look straight. Maybe I’ll worry that one of you can blindside me while the others kinda tear each other apart, or that I won’t be fast enough to react. That I won’t be able to adapt, or not be experienced enough to hold any part of the ground I stand on. Maybe you’ll think that a girl like me, who’s still tryin’ to figure out how to make sure her boots are laced without any kinda doubt, can’t navigate a storm like what’s on the horizon.

Six women. One match. Contendership. And chaos.

But let me ask you all a question then. Or some questions, in succession. What happens when the storm hits someone who doesn’t flinch? Or when the quietest one in the match doesn’t break under the noise? What happens when I’m still standing, despite all of your best efforts to put me in the grave?

I could stand here and be the loudest if I want to. I’m Australian, we’re not exactly the most quiet English speakers in the whole world. But this match isn’t made for the loudest mouth, or even the one with the most accolades. It doesn’t care if you were most recently Internet, Roulette, or Bombshell champ. It’s a test of instinct and endurance and adaptability. It’s not boiled down to one pin. Or a fall. Or a submission. Or a lucky shot in the dark. Two. Two falls.

It takes skill. Somethin’ maybe I don’t have, but that doesn’t kill my grit and desire and my absolute death mantra that I will survive this.

I’m not lookin’ past you. Lord, no. But I am lookin’ ahead too. Because if I win this, I could stand across from Kayla Fuckin’ Richards, or Frankie Holliday, and I know that that match will be something that no one would ever expect.

I hope you also recognize that I’m not just some little rookie. I know you all frame it as a poor thing, but I’ve been around wrestling for the last ten years of my life. My brother. My boyfriend, who just walked through hell and survived against some of your heroes. I know what I’m walkin’ into, and I’m not disenchanted or ignorant. I’ve see the resumes, studied the videos, read the stats, watched the dirt sheets. There’s weight and desire and want in that ring. Decades of experience and hundreds of matches. Women who have burned down all of the buildins’ just to see it dance in front of their eyes. They have somethin’ to prove because they didn’t get to before.

And then you have me.

Not a veteran. Not a generational phenom. Just someone who wants it more than I’m willin’ to tear down people and scream about it like I’ve been stabbed in the heart too many times. I’ve taken some hits. I’ll take more. I’ve heard critiques, and condescenision. It’s easy. Because I’m nice.

Except I’m not. I know how to have teeth too.

I don’t need your approval, and I don’t necessarily need the crowd’s approval either. I don’t need my name lit up in fireworks to prove that I matter. Growth doesn’t stop just ‘cause it’s hard to see, and maybe I’m not there yet, but I can also figure out how to get there because I don’t have issues in front of me filled with grudges and poor judgement. I’m not afraid of bein’ underestimated, because I expect it.

Ladies, this isn’t just about a title shot for me. It’s not just reaching towards gold and greedily searching for it to be under my little, nicely manicured hand.

It’s about standin’ in front of everyone, in the moment, and ownin’ it. Not because I yelled the loudest. Sounded like an edgelord. Fought through the pain. Or cried about it. But because I earned it. Because I stayed. Because I didn’t flinch.
So when that bell rings, and the six of us circle each other…I’ll remember who I am. I’m not the favorite to win. I’m not the monster in the ring. I’m not a legend.

But I am the girl that trained in secret and took every bump and every bruise like they were my prayers. I stood in the shadow of the greats that I know and love and revere, and I didn’t crumble. I learned. I listened. I got up. Every time.

When the smoke clears, maybe I’ll win. Maybe I dont.

But I will be the one you remember.


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