<![CDATA[Supreme Championship Wrestling - Character Development]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/ Tue, 04 Aug 2026 14:46:18 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[BREAKING: Colleen MacDonald injured in car accident; not cleared for RTG]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4941 Thu, 30 Jul 2026 16:12:32 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4941
Colleen MacDonald is currently the SCW Television Champion. She and Kirsten Scott had had a series of run-ins, which many wondered would lead to a match at the biggest show of the year. Scott was even looking for MacDonald at Breakdown. Adding to the other impacts, we can confirm that Scarlett Carsons had approached Colleen MacDonald about helping her against the Vision after the July 16 edition of Breakdown. More to come as we know it.

Source: https://www.supremecw.com/news/news/brea...ess-xxiii/]]>
Colleen MacDonald is currently the SCW Television Champion. She and Kirsten Scott had had a series of run-ins, which many wondered would lead to a match at the biggest show of the year. Scott was even looking for MacDonald at Breakdown. Adding to the other impacts, we can confirm that Scarlett Carsons had approached Colleen MacDonald about helping her against the Vision after the July 16 edition of Breakdown. More to come as we know it.

Source: https://www.supremecw.com/news/news/brea...ess-xxiii/]]> <![CDATA[A Response (Amelia Nevado to Chris Dumont)]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4920 Fri, 17 Jul 2026 04:05:22 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4920
“Two weeks ago, I went into a six-person tag match as a representative of the New Order, teaming with Polly and Gavin to face Syren, Shaun Cruze and Chris Dumont. Ultimately, my team came out victorious, though not in a way that I can honestly say I'm happy with.  But that is not the purpose of this video and is probably best saved for another time.

No... the reason I'm making this is because it appears something I said was misinterpreted as an insult to someone's honor... and for that, I apologize, because that was not the point I was trying to make.

To Chris Dumont, I did not mean to come across as disrespectful, even if it's understandable how you'd perceive it that way. I was simply trying to make a point that the situation I find myself in right now, where exactly my head is at... it's not as simple as me abandoning everything that makes me who I am, because even now, I continue to fight from within to try and fix myself. It's a fight I question constantly whether or not it's even winnable, but for as much as something in my head tells me it isn't, I still have someone out there willing to believe it's possibly to bring me back from falling over the edge.

But you're right... wearing this proverbial mask I once swore to never wear again because I hated everything that came with it, I am not the same person who joined you in fighting against the Fall of Man. I look at myself in the mirror and I don't even recognize myself anymore... all I see is a porcelain doll I want to wrap my hands around and shatter on the floor, screaming at the top of my lungs that it isn't me. Maybe I truly have lost my sense of honor...

Which is exactly why I want you to help me fix it... why I want to fix what was broken between us.”

Amelia slowly turns to face us directly now, refusing to turn and acknowledge her reflection in the mirror even slightly. Her eyes don't carry the same determined fire we've come to know as of late... they almost look conflicted, like there's two sides battling for dominance in her mind right now and one is just barely holding out to speak this piece.

“You challenged me to match in two weeks' time in Brooklyn... and I accept your challenge.

I'll do you one better, even. I have a feeling that Mr. Delatosso would disagree with my decision, wanting me to go into Rise to Greatness and the biggest match of my career as fresh as possible. I've never truly been wired that way, and I'm not going to pretend to start now. If he doesn't agree to book this match... then we don't need a camera. We can do it either before or after Breakdown if need be, a special treat for all those fans who are the real reason you, me, and everybody else go out there to do this. If that doesn't prove that I'm serious about accepting your challenge, then I don't know what will.

The only thing I ask of you is something I probably do not deserve to ask, but I would hope you know as well as I do would be absolutely fair, and that is to reveal the exact rules of your version of a Pure Wrestling Match. I ask this because I have known and competed in several versions with their own sets of rules, and if I am going to do this properly and rebuild the sense of honor I have slowly been losing, then it's only fair I know what to expect so that I do not break any of these rules when the bell rings.

Even still Chris, I will meet you in that ring. I will offer to shake your hand both before and after, regardless of the result. If you defeat me, I would be more than willing to offer you a shot at my World Title, or you and a partner of your choosing a shot at the World Tag Team Titles as I cannot guarantee I will walk out of Rise to Greatness as the World Champion still, as much as I plan on trying. I offer this because you will have earned it, and it's only fair to reward you for a non-title victory over a champion.

I'll even go ahead and tell you exactly who I want my second to be, because they are the only person in this entire sport who knows me as well as I know myself, the only one I trust to make absolutely sure I do this right and make amends with you through a fair, proper wrestling match.

My longtime partner in the ring... my partner in life... my light in the darkness... La Pequeña Luz.”

Amelia pauses to let that sink in for a moment, especially considering Chris has made comments regarding Luz to Amelia that she's certain have probably not been sitting well with her wife. They certainly hadn't sat well with her, but she let them pierce her all the same as if it would somehow help her to atone.

“I do not want anybody from the New Order to intervene... I simply want to meet you in that ring, put on the kind of match you deserve to have, and show you through my actions what my words clearly failed to convey.

That I am someone who has fallen so much deeper than I'd ever hoped to and I want to start making amends once I no longer have to be who I need to be to survive the situation I am currently in.

I want to prove that there is still a sense of honor and respect I am trying to reclaim from the part of myself who has been trying to take control and mold me into something I never wanted to become.

I want to hope that when all is set and done Chris, you understand exactly where my head is at, and what I'm doing to try and pull myself back above water. With Luz watching over me, I know I will stay on the right path for this match and prove to you that the Amelia you respect is still in here, fighting desperately... and I hope that whenever I can finally call myself free, we can come to an understanding and put this behind us, just as I hope to do with Luz, with Deanna... with all of SCW someday, with time.”

Amelia lowers her head, almost looking like whatever struggle is going on in her mind right now is starting to take its toll on her. Before we can gain any further information or see what happens next, the video abruptly ends.]]>
“Two weeks ago, I went into a six-person tag match as a representative of the New Order, teaming with Polly and Gavin to face Syren, Shaun Cruze and Chris Dumont. Ultimately, my team came out victorious, though not in a way that I can honestly say I'm happy with.  But that is not the purpose of this video and is probably best saved for another time.

No... the reason I'm making this is because it appears something I said was misinterpreted as an insult to someone's honor... and for that, I apologize, because that was not the point I was trying to make.

To Chris Dumont, I did not mean to come across as disrespectful, even if it's understandable how you'd perceive it that way. I was simply trying to make a point that the situation I find myself in right now, where exactly my head is at... it's not as simple as me abandoning everything that makes me who I am, because even now, I continue to fight from within to try and fix myself. It's a fight I question constantly whether or not it's even winnable, but for as much as something in my head tells me it isn't, I still have someone out there willing to believe it's possibly to bring me back from falling over the edge.

But you're right... wearing this proverbial mask I once swore to never wear again because I hated everything that came with it, I am not the same person who joined you in fighting against the Fall of Man. I look at myself in the mirror and I don't even recognize myself anymore... all I see is a porcelain doll I want to wrap my hands around and shatter on the floor, screaming at the top of my lungs that it isn't me. Maybe I truly have lost my sense of honor...

Which is exactly why I want you to help me fix it... why I want to fix what was broken between us.”

Amelia slowly turns to face us directly now, refusing to turn and acknowledge her reflection in the mirror even slightly. Her eyes don't carry the same determined fire we've come to know as of late... they almost look conflicted, like there's two sides battling for dominance in her mind right now and one is just barely holding out to speak this piece.

“You challenged me to match in two weeks' time in Brooklyn... and I accept your challenge.

I'll do you one better, even. I have a feeling that Mr. Delatosso would disagree with my decision, wanting me to go into Rise to Greatness and the biggest match of my career as fresh as possible. I've never truly been wired that way, and I'm not going to pretend to start now. If he doesn't agree to book this match... then we don't need a camera. We can do it either before or after Breakdown if need be, a special treat for all those fans who are the real reason you, me, and everybody else go out there to do this. If that doesn't prove that I'm serious about accepting your challenge, then I don't know what will.

The only thing I ask of you is something I probably do not deserve to ask, but I would hope you know as well as I do would be absolutely fair, and that is to reveal the exact rules of your version of a Pure Wrestling Match. I ask this because I have known and competed in several versions with their own sets of rules, and if I am going to do this properly and rebuild the sense of honor I have slowly been losing, then it's only fair I know what to expect so that I do not break any of these rules when the bell rings.

Even still Chris, I will meet you in that ring. I will offer to shake your hand both before and after, regardless of the result. If you defeat me, I would be more than willing to offer you a shot at my World Title, or you and a partner of your choosing a shot at the World Tag Team Titles as I cannot guarantee I will walk out of Rise to Greatness as the World Champion still, as much as I plan on trying. I offer this because you will have earned it, and it's only fair to reward you for a non-title victory over a champion.

I'll even go ahead and tell you exactly who I want my second to be, because they are the only person in this entire sport who knows me as well as I know myself, the only one I trust to make absolutely sure I do this right and make amends with you through a fair, proper wrestling match.

My longtime partner in the ring... my partner in life... my light in the darkness... La Pequeña Luz.”

Amelia pauses to let that sink in for a moment, especially considering Chris has made comments regarding Luz to Amelia that she's certain have probably not been sitting well with her wife. They certainly hadn't sat well with her, but she let them pierce her all the same as if it would somehow help her to atone.

“I do not want anybody from the New Order to intervene... I simply want to meet you in that ring, put on the kind of match you deserve to have, and show you through my actions what my words clearly failed to convey.

That I am someone who has fallen so much deeper than I'd ever hoped to and I want to start making amends once I no longer have to be who I need to be to survive the situation I am currently in.

I want to prove that there is still a sense of honor and respect I am trying to reclaim from the part of myself who has been trying to take control and mold me into something I never wanted to become.

I want to hope that when all is set and done Chris, you understand exactly where my head is at, and what I'm doing to try and pull myself back above water. With Luz watching over me, I know I will stay on the right path for this match and prove to you that the Amelia you respect is still in here, fighting desperately... and I hope that whenever I can finally call myself free, we can come to an understanding and put this behind us, just as I hope to do with Luz, with Deanna... with all of SCW someday, with time.”

Amelia lowers her head, almost looking like whatever struggle is going on in her mind right now is starting to take its toll on her. Before we can gain any further information or see what happens next, the video abruptly ends.]]> <![CDATA[Breakdown Card Preview - July 23, 2026 looking ahead]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4919 Thu, 16 Jul 2026 19:57:25 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4919
SCW World Tag Team Championship will be on the line

Marquis Dawson vs. Xavier Holloway

Ryan LeCavalier, Colleen MacDonald, David Striker, and more will be in action!


**putting here to avoid people missing the announcement on the Breakdown board**]]>
SCW World Tag Team Championship will be on the line

Marquis Dawson vs. Xavier Holloway

Ryan LeCavalier, Colleen MacDonald, David Striker, and more will be in action!


**putting here to avoid people missing the announcement on the Breakdown board**]]> <![CDATA[Board of Directors maintains existing power structure]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4916 Wed, 15 Jul 2026 03:38:30 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4916
As noted on Breakdown, an important vote by the Board of Directors took place on Monday. After a lengthy discussion, a vote was taken on SCW CEO Frank Delatosso’s vision. The vote ended with a vote that elected to maintain the existing power structure, meaning that technically, Alex Desoubrais, popularly known as CHBK, remains as the COO of SCW and would have full control over the roster, production, and booking upon his return from injury. One member, speaking under the condition of anonymity, stated “some of the members see the benefits of Frank’s vision. The issue however is whether it’s realistic or whether he is capable of imposing it with a roster that still reflects the roster-building of the previous ownership, and CHBK, a method that offers a bit for everyone.” While it’s unsure how widespread this sentiment was, another board member suggested that this may encourage Delatosso to be further motivated to show his changes and leadership can work. We will see what this means comes Breakdown this Thursday!

LINK: https://www.supremecw.com/news/news/boar...structure/]]>
As noted on Breakdown, an important vote by the Board of Directors took place on Monday. After a lengthy discussion, a vote was taken on SCW CEO Frank Delatosso’s vision. The vote ended with a vote that elected to maintain the existing power structure, meaning that technically, Alex Desoubrais, popularly known as CHBK, remains as the COO of SCW and would have full control over the roster, production, and booking upon his return from injury. One member, speaking under the condition of anonymity, stated “some of the members see the benefits of Frank’s vision. The issue however is whether it’s realistic or whether he is capable of imposing it with a roster that still reflects the roster-building of the previous ownership, and CHBK, a method that offers a bit for everyone.” While it’s unsure how widespread this sentiment was, another board member suggested that this may encourage Delatosso to be further motivated to show his changes and leadership can work. We will see what this means comes Breakdown this Thursday!

LINK: https://www.supremecw.com/news/news/boar...structure/]]> <![CDATA[The Great and Secret Show (Jessica Heart and Dylan Howell) THotF RP]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4882 Thu, 25 Jun 2026 01:50:13 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4882 https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DgCD...sp=sharing

Warning: Mature Content. You have been warned. Enjoy!]]> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DgCD...sp=sharing

Warning: Mature Content. You have been warned. Enjoy!]]> <![CDATA[The Return of Class - Bree Lancaster THOTF 2026]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4876 Wed, 24 Jun 2026 01:13:00 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4876 But, here is the CD I submitted. My partial promo will be turned into something else. This is being posted on the boards because I have not tinkered with Dreamweaver and my site since fixing my computer from that virus. BUT SOON!

Hope you enjoy. Oh and Fizz..... you're welcome Wink
----------------------------------




{{Friday, May 8
Harvey, LA
Bree & Josh’s house}}
 
 
“Okay, Babygirl, Momma’s getting it.”
Zara is fussing me from her high chair in the kitchen. It’s almost 5PM and she wants her dinner now. I’m actually almost done with everyone’s dinner, two plates with grilled chicken cut up into tiny bite sized pieces, with steamed baby carrots, and two larger plates with whole grilled chicken breast fillet’s, with baby carrots mixed with broccoli. None of the offspring have a grown enough palate to tolerate the green stuff yet.
 
I hear little feet running behind me, and turn. A beautiful little face with big brown eyes looks up at me. I had momentarily forgotten that Heath isn’t here. His birthday was last week, Dom came to town for the small party… then took Heath with him to visit for a week. My big boy is four now, and this time next year he won’t be able to just pop over to Los Angeles any time Dada feels like it, because he will be in school. So I didn’t mind at all.
“Momma!”
Jalyn calling me and tugging my shirt makes me giggle. I will never not love the fact she calls me Momma.
“Yes, princess?”
“Daddy said go see.” She is only a few months younger than Heath, and they both speak well for their age.
“Dinner is almost ready, you tell him to come see!” I say, smiling.
“No no. He said… see news.”
 
Just then, I hear Josh from the living room. “Love? Jalyn get to you?”
Dammitt. I hate when I’m called to see the news. It’s never anything good.
“Coming!”
I grab Zara from her seat – she’d try to climb out if I left her alone for thirty seconds – and go to the living room. Jalyn follows me. Walking in, Josh is on his feet, and the TV is on.
“Okay, what’s the big—”
On the screen is Dom’s face. It’s a mug shot. I realize the program is paused. Gotta love streaming live TV.
 
“What the fuck?!” I have long since stopped trying to watch my language around the babies. They will just have to learn the difference between regular words and adult words.
Josh reaches over to me to take Zara. “Come see Daddy, Babygirl.” I give him a look. “I don’t want you holding a child when you see this.”
“Oh my god. How stupid was he?”
Josh just points to the TV with the remote, and presses play.
 
“—Teller, just this afternoon got into an altercation on Santa Monica Boulevard… with a paparazzo.”
The news goes back to the anchor, a long-time newscaster in New Orleans and trustworthy (I’ve met her a few times), Meg Gatto.
“According to witnesses, Teller parked his Lexus in front of a restaurant, to meet a friend for lunch. His car is well known in the area, and the cameras showed up quickly. Witnesses say after Teller got out, he opened the back driver’s side door to unbuckle and get his four-year-old son out of the car.”
 
I feel my blood pressure rise, and Josh’s hand on my shoulder.
 
“What happened next was caught on camera by an on-looker’s phone. Viewer discretion is advised.”
They cut to the shaky footage, but it’s clearly Dom’s car, and Dom’s back, and then… Heath’s face. There are four or five vultures (as I like to call them) around, two of them entirely too close, like they were trying to get a good shot of Heath. It’s hard to hear through the chatter, so the news helpfully provides captions when Dom speaks.
“Hey, back up, you don’t need to be this close to my kid.”
The vulture smirks and just snaps picture.
“Don’t make me ask you again!” Dom steps closer, away from the door and towards the man. Heath can no longer be seen.
“What are you gonna fu**in do, huh? Nothing!”
I close my eyes a moment, already knowing how this is going to end. But seeing is different than knowing. I make myself watch.
“Is that what you think?”
“Yeah, it is!” Instead of taking another shot, the vulture uses one hand to push Dom backwards, hard enough that he stumbles into the car door. He says nothing, just recovers his footing and shoves the guy back, harder, and he falls. The camera hits the pavement and breaks. The other vulture who was too close steps up.
“Look what ya did, he was just—”
“Shut the f**k up!” And then the swing came. The video momentarily blurs to hide the actual contact, and the vulture drops. The crowd gets quiet… and I hear my son crying.
 
I see red.
 
The video stops and the news cuts back to Meg Gatto.
“Shortly following this incident, West Hollywood Police arrived, and after speaking with everyone involved, took the two paparazzo and Teller into custody. Police waited until Teller was able to get someone to care for his son before being taken away.”
The other anchor chimes in, a young man who’s new and I can’t remember his name.
“I gotta take Teller’s side on this one, Meg. The man’s just out with his kid for lunch, you gotta let celebrities alone with their family.”
“Can’t say I disagree, but he is known for his temper, going back several years. When--”
 
The video pauses. I turn to Josh, still seeing red. He’s holding Zara with one hand, and the other still on my arm, but when I look at him, he takes a step back.
“Bree…”
“What? What is it, Josh? Am I supposed to just stand here calmly while my son’s so-called father got himself fucking arrested for assault IN FRONT OF MY SON?!”
My head feels twice its size but inside the same skull. Zara turns her head into Josh’s shoulder. I know screaming isn’t good for either of the babies but my rationality is gone.
“No. Of course not. But… just hear me out here… maybe the guy deserved it?”
I scoff hard. “Well of course he deserved it, don’t be ridiculous! But Dom isn’t new to this, okay? He’s been in that damn industry for longer than I’ve known him, he knows what the media can and will do with anything they can run with for attention and money! HE KNOWS BETTER, JOSH!”
Josh takes another step back, and I see Zara staring to fuss. Jalyn appears behind Josh’s legs, looking up at me warily. Her face calms me, slightly. I take a deep breath.
“But you know what’s really getting to me, more than anything else? NO ONE CALLED ME! My son is staying with gods-only-know who while—”
Just then, my phone rings. It’s on the side table. I look over and see the lit-up screen say Dom’s name. I laugh sarcastically.
“Right on time, but five minutes late.” I reach for my phone, but Josh stops me.
“Do you think you should get that right now?”
“Oh I think there’s no better time for me to talk to him!” Josh puts his hand up in surrender. I grab my phone.
 
“What exactly do you have to say for yourself?!”
“Shit… I didn’t beat the news…..”
“I think you’ve beat enough things today, don’t you?”
“Look…. I know it’s bad, okay? You can yell at me later. I need--”
Ahaha. No.
“I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHAT YOU NEED!! You punched a man to the ground, and got arrested…. IN FRONT OF MY SON!” Yes, my son. “Where is he? Do you even know?!”
“Bree…. For fucks sake, of course I know. Lisa picked him up before the police took me in.”
I sigh hard. Lisa, his agent. She and I had words around the time Dom and I broke up and I am not her biggest fan, but I do know she can be trusted with Heath.
“Okay. Okay, that’s good. Someone he knows, and… but… I just…. What the fuck, Dom?”
“I know. I tried to get the bail over with before the news, I think they stalled on purpose, by the way. Anything to further drag me--”
“I don’t really care about your PR problems. I care about Heath. And I am coming to get him.” The perks of owning your own jet. Yes I still have it. It hasn’t got much use since I left wrestling, but it’s been kept up.
“I assumed you would be. I should be home in an hour or so, I can get him all packed up tonight and tomorrow--”
“Absolutely not. I will be in the air as soon as Pete can get clearance.” I look over and Josh and see he’s on the phone. He sees me look and gives me a smile and a wink. He’s calling Pete. Good lord I love this man.
Dom sighs. He really should have known better. “Yeah. Okay fine. Just let me know when you touch down, yeah?”
“I might.”
 
With that I end the call. Dom knows better than to call me back. I toss my phone onto the couch, then squat to Jalyn’s level.
“Hey princess…. I’m sorry I was loud. It’s nothing you did, okay?” She nods at me, and I can see her relaxing. “I was just very upset. But I’m okay now. Are we still friends?” I hold my hand out to her. She smiles and nods, then instead of taking my hand, steps closer to hug me. I wrap my arms around her. “Thank you, princess.”
“Okay Momma. You’re okay.” Her little hand pats my back, like I do to her when she’s upset. My heart….
 
“Bree?” I look up at Josh. “Pete says two hours.”
“Think we can get these ones ready by then?”
“If you think I’m taking these two girls anywhere near that man right now, you’re insane.”
“What, are you staying--”
“No. Call Amy.”
“Right. Sorry, my head isn’t exactly functioning at full power.”
“Understandable.”
I turn back to Jalyn. “Do you want to stay with Aunt Amy tonight?”
“Aunt Amy?”
“Yes, Daddy and I are gonna go get Heath from his dad’s.”
“Zee?”
“She’ll go with you too.” This girl loves her baby sister.
“Okay!” Jalyn gets up and runs down the hall, I assume to the playroom.
 
I get to my feet, and in about three seconds I made another decision.
“Babe, can you call Amy and explain? I need to call Ed.”
“Your lawyer? You’re not actually gonna help--”
“Are you kidding? No! I want full custody on paper.”

 
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
 
{{Several hours later
West Hollywood}}
 

 
Since I am a good person, I did as I said and texted Dom when my jet landed. He’d sent his driver for us. First of all, I didn’t know he had a driver. Secondly, if he had a driver, why was he driving himself earlier? And finally… I know its just sucking so I won’t scream more and Josh won’t threaten violence. He’s already promised me he won’t though. Heath is here, after all.
 
The hours between me seeing that news report and getting to California gave me time to calm down, and get control of myself. I will not be unruly while picking up my son. He needs one of his parents to be calm and rational, and that will always be me.
 
The driver parks in Dom’s driveway. The house is about the same size as my current one, but a newer build and more expensive materials. I freely admit it’s very nice. The driver, who’s name is Jerry, walks us to the side door. No one uses front doors on houses like this.
“Here you are, just ring the bell. I’ll go bring the car around back.”
“Thank you, Jerry.”
Josh presses the doorbell, one of those ones with a camera. He’s annoyed when holding it down doesn’t make it ring repeatedly.
“Damn new tech ruining everything.”
I snicker at him as the door opens. I make a face.
“Gods, you look like shit.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
“Pleasure is all yours, I’m sure.” Josh deadpans. He never did like Dom, even before he moved to New Orleans and reconnected with me.
 
Dom just rolls his eyes a little and waves us inside. He learned a long time ago to not get testy with Josh’s snide comments. That’s a story for another time. We follow him in, and I hear a TV from another room that I know is a playroom for Heath.
“Is he in there?” I point towards that hall.
“Yeah. He knows you’re coming.”
“How is he?”
Dom shrugs. “Seems fine. Looked at me sideways for a while after I got home, but that passed.”
“You scared the shit out of him.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. We had a talk. He seemed to understand it was a bad moment and I’m sorry he saw it.”
“We’ll see.” I start walking towards the hall to the playroom, but stop and turn back. “Is Lisa still here?”
“No. She uh… left as soon as I told her you were coming.”
“Of course she did. Just as well.” I kinda wanted to talk to her, ask how Heath acted when she first picked him up. But it doesn’t matter in the bigger picture.
 
I get to the playroom door, it’s open. Heath is sitting in the middle of the floor leaning against an oversized pillow. The TV is playing a Disney movie. I step in a few steps.
“Hey Nugget.”
His head snaps up, then he scrambles to his feet. “Momma!” I squat down just in time for him to collide into me. I can’t help laughing as I grab him in a hug.
“Hey baby boy.”
He pushes away, and looks at me. “You’re here!”
“Yes, I am. Dada said he told you I was coming.”
“He did. But….” Heath looks away, and a little down. “But he was scary today.”
“I know, sweetie. He’s really sorry, did you know that?”
He nods, not looking up. “He said.”
“It’s okay if you’re still upset. It was a lot.”
“Loud. People yelling. The man fell. The pleece came. And…” Instead of finishing, he leans into me again. I wrap my arms around him again.
“I know, baby. I know. But it’s all over, and it’s not gonna happen again. Okay?”
“Promise?” He asks into my shoulder. I sigh. I can’t say yes, because I can’t be sure Dom won’t ever lose his shit again. In fact, I’m quite sure it’s the opposite, a guarantee that he will.
“I promise I will try my best to keep you away from anything like that ever again. How’s that?”
I feel his head nodding against me. “Okay.”
I let him lean on me a few moments more, then gently make him move back so I can look at him. Those blue eyes are something else.
“Are you ready to go home?”
“Yes. Are we going now?”
“We’re going to a hotel tonight, and flying home tomorrow.”
That gets the first smile out of him since he saw me. “Yay!”
I stand up and reach for his hand. “Come on, Josh is with me. Come say hi.”
He grabs my hand. “My sisters?”
We walk out as I answer him. “No, they’re at Aunt Amy’s. It was too late for them to come. You’ll see them soon.”
 
In the living room, Dom is putting Heath’s clothes into his small suitcase. Josh is near the door, he hasn’t moved much from when we walked in. Heath sees him and runs over, and hugs his leg.
“Hey little man.” Josh ruffles his hair.
“Hey!”
I hear a zipper and turn back to see Dom done with the suitcase.
“That’s most of what he came with. There’s a few items with the laundry.”
“No problem.” Heath has clothes and toys that stay here, but if I get my way – and I usually do, let’s be honest here – all of that would be coming back to my place anyway. I grab the suitcase and set it by the door. Now that I have my son back, I don’t mind being a little more civil.
“Thank you for being good about me coming get him. I know you had a few days left.”
“Of course. It’s for the best and I know it. Things are gonna be… chaotic here for the next little while.”
“Right. Well… for what it’s worth, I do hope the whole thing doesn’t hurt you too badly.” That infernal Netflix show that led to us splitting was still going, and from what I could tell from articles and such, Dom’s character is still an asshole. So of course it’s more popular than ever.
“Appreciate that. Lisa already has a half dozen spin ideas.”
“I have no doubt that she does.” Spin is her specialty. The woman plays loose with the truth more than anyone I’ve ever met. And in my line of work… that’s saying a lot. “Anyway, we should get to the hotel. It’s getting late for Heath.”
“Yeah, of course. He would normally be in bed by now, but I let him wait for you.”
“I appreciate that. I will let you know when we are home safe tomorrow.”  Dom nods. “Oh, and… one more thing before we go.” I look back at Josh. He reaches into his jacket inner pocket and pulls out an envelope. He hands it to me, and I immediately hand it to Dom.
“This is a Service notice.”
“What? For what?” He stares at the envelope as if he can’t fathom what I was giving him.
“Custody, of course.”
His hand falls to his side, nearly dropping the envelope. “Bree.”
“Technically I am not supposed to hand you this myself, but I figured you wouldn’t want a sheriff at your door while all of this is going on. There is a waiver in there you can sign that can avoid all of that.”
Dom looks down at the envelope again, then back up at me. Then towards the door where Josh is standing with Heath. I don’t know if many other people would have noticed, but Dom’s eyes changed looking at Josh.
“Don’t you dare try to blame him, he had nothing to do with this. You understand I have to, right? For my own public image.” While that was also true, it was not my primary motivation. When he looks back at me, I can tell he knows that.
“Didn’t think about that.”
“You just didn’t think.”
Shaking the envelope in his hand a little, he nods. “That’s fair, I deserve that. And I guess this, too.” He waves it in the air a little higher. “I’ll send you the waiver back signed.”
“Thank you.”]]> But, here is the CD I submitted. My partial promo will be turned into something else. This is being posted on the boards because I have not tinkered with Dreamweaver and my site since fixing my computer from that virus. BUT SOON!

Hope you enjoy. Oh and Fizz..... you're welcome Wink
----------------------------------




{{Friday, May 8
Harvey, LA
Bree & Josh’s house}}
 
 
“Okay, Babygirl, Momma’s getting it.”
Zara is fussing me from her high chair in the kitchen. It’s almost 5PM and she wants her dinner now. I’m actually almost done with everyone’s dinner, two plates with grilled chicken cut up into tiny bite sized pieces, with steamed baby carrots, and two larger plates with whole grilled chicken breast fillet’s, with baby carrots mixed with broccoli. None of the offspring have a grown enough palate to tolerate the green stuff yet.
 
I hear little feet running behind me, and turn. A beautiful little face with big brown eyes looks up at me. I had momentarily forgotten that Heath isn’t here. His birthday was last week, Dom came to town for the small party… then took Heath with him to visit for a week. My big boy is four now, and this time next year he won’t be able to just pop over to Los Angeles any time Dada feels like it, because he will be in school. So I didn’t mind at all.
“Momma!”
Jalyn calling me and tugging my shirt makes me giggle. I will never not love the fact she calls me Momma.
“Yes, princess?”
“Daddy said go see.” She is only a few months younger than Heath, and they both speak well for their age.
“Dinner is almost ready, you tell him to come see!” I say, smiling.
“No no. He said… see news.”
 
Just then, I hear Josh from the living room. “Love? Jalyn get to you?”
Dammitt. I hate when I’m called to see the news. It’s never anything good.
“Coming!”
I grab Zara from her seat – she’d try to climb out if I left her alone for thirty seconds – and go to the living room. Jalyn follows me. Walking in, Josh is on his feet, and the TV is on.
“Okay, what’s the big—”
On the screen is Dom’s face. It’s a mug shot. I realize the program is paused. Gotta love streaming live TV.
 
“What the fuck?!” I have long since stopped trying to watch my language around the babies. They will just have to learn the difference between regular words and adult words.
Josh reaches over to me to take Zara. “Come see Daddy, Babygirl.” I give him a look. “I don’t want you holding a child when you see this.”
“Oh my god. How stupid was he?”
Josh just points to the TV with the remote, and presses play.
 
“—Teller, just this afternoon got into an altercation on Santa Monica Boulevard… with a paparazzo.”
The news goes back to the anchor, a long-time newscaster in New Orleans and trustworthy (I’ve met her a few times), Meg Gatto.
“According to witnesses, Teller parked his Lexus in front of a restaurant, to meet a friend for lunch. His car is well known in the area, and the cameras showed up quickly. Witnesses say after Teller got out, he opened the back driver’s side door to unbuckle and get his four-year-old son out of the car.”
 
I feel my blood pressure rise, and Josh’s hand on my shoulder.
 
“What happened next was caught on camera by an on-looker’s phone. Viewer discretion is advised.”
They cut to the shaky footage, but it’s clearly Dom’s car, and Dom’s back, and then… Heath’s face. There are four or five vultures (as I like to call them) around, two of them entirely too close, like they were trying to get a good shot of Heath. It’s hard to hear through the chatter, so the news helpfully provides captions when Dom speaks.
“Hey, back up, you don’t need to be this close to my kid.”
The vulture smirks and just snaps picture.
“Don’t make me ask you again!” Dom steps closer, away from the door and towards the man. Heath can no longer be seen.
“What are you gonna fu**in do, huh? Nothing!”
I close my eyes a moment, already knowing how this is going to end. But seeing is different than knowing. I make myself watch.
“Is that what you think?”
“Yeah, it is!” Instead of taking another shot, the vulture uses one hand to push Dom backwards, hard enough that he stumbles into the car door. He says nothing, just recovers his footing and shoves the guy back, harder, and he falls. The camera hits the pavement and breaks. The other vulture who was too close steps up.
“Look what ya did, he was just—”
“Shut the f**k up!” And then the swing came. The video momentarily blurs to hide the actual contact, and the vulture drops. The crowd gets quiet… and I hear my son crying.
 
I see red.
 
The video stops and the news cuts back to Meg Gatto.
“Shortly following this incident, West Hollywood Police arrived, and after speaking with everyone involved, took the two paparazzo and Teller into custody. Police waited until Teller was able to get someone to care for his son before being taken away.”
The other anchor chimes in, a young man who’s new and I can’t remember his name.
“I gotta take Teller’s side on this one, Meg. The man’s just out with his kid for lunch, you gotta let celebrities alone with their family.”
“Can’t say I disagree, but he is known for his temper, going back several years. When--”
 
The video pauses. I turn to Josh, still seeing red. He’s holding Zara with one hand, and the other still on my arm, but when I look at him, he takes a step back.
“Bree…”
“What? What is it, Josh? Am I supposed to just stand here calmly while my son’s so-called father got himself fucking arrested for assault IN FRONT OF MY SON?!”
My head feels twice its size but inside the same skull. Zara turns her head into Josh’s shoulder. I know screaming isn’t good for either of the babies but my rationality is gone.
“No. Of course not. But… just hear me out here… maybe the guy deserved it?”
I scoff hard. “Well of course he deserved it, don’t be ridiculous! But Dom isn’t new to this, okay? He’s been in that damn industry for longer than I’ve known him, he knows what the media can and will do with anything they can run with for attention and money! HE KNOWS BETTER, JOSH!”
Josh takes another step back, and I see Zara staring to fuss. Jalyn appears behind Josh’s legs, looking up at me warily. Her face calms me, slightly. I take a deep breath.
“But you know what’s really getting to me, more than anything else? NO ONE CALLED ME! My son is staying with gods-only-know who while—”
Just then, my phone rings. It’s on the side table. I look over and see the lit-up screen say Dom’s name. I laugh sarcastically.
“Right on time, but five minutes late.” I reach for my phone, but Josh stops me.
“Do you think you should get that right now?”
“Oh I think there’s no better time for me to talk to him!” Josh puts his hand up in surrender. I grab my phone.
 
“What exactly do you have to say for yourself?!”
“Shit… I didn’t beat the news…..”
“I think you’ve beat enough things today, don’t you?”
“Look…. I know it’s bad, okay? You can yell at me later. I need--”
Ahaha. No.
“I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHAT YOU NEED!! You punched a man to the ground, and got arrested…. IN FRONT OF MY SON!” Yes, my son. “Where is he? Do you even know?!”
“Bree…. For fucks sake, of course I know. Lisa picked him up before the police took me in.”
I sigh hard. Lisa, his agent. She and I had words around the time Dom and I broke up and I am not her biggest fan, but I do know she can be trusted with Heath.
“Okay. Okay, that’s good. Someone he knows, and… but… I just…. What the fuck, Dom?”
“I know. I tried to get the bail over with before the news, I think they stalled on purpose, by the way. Anything to further drag me--”
“I don’t really care about your PR problems. I care about Heath. And I am coming to get him.” The perks of owning your own jet. Yes I still have it. It hasn’t got much use since I left wrestling, but it’s been kept up.
“I assumed you would be. I should be home in an hour or so, I can get him all packed up tonight and tomorrow--”
“Absolutely not. I will be in the air as soon as Pete can get clearance.” I look over and Josh and see he’s on the phone. He sees me look and gives me a smile and a wink. He’s calling Pete. Good lord I love this man.
Dom sighs. He really should have known better. “Yeah. Okay fine. Just let me know when you touch down, yeah?”
“I might.”
 
With that I end the call. Dom knows better than to call me back. I toss my phone onto the couch, then squat to Jalyn’s level.
“Hey princess…. I’m sorry I was loud. It’s nothing you did, okay?” She nods at me, and I can see her relaxing. “I was just very upset. But I’m okay now. Are we still friends?” I hold my hand out to her. She smiles and nods, then instead of taking my hand, steps closer to hug me. I wrap my arms around her. “Thank you, princess.”
“Okay Momma. You’re okay.” Her little hand pats my back, like I do to her when she’s upset. My heart….
 
“Bree?” I look up at Josh. “Pete says two hours.”
“Think we can get these ones ready by then?”
“If you think I’m taking these two girls anywhere near that man right now, you’re insane.”
“What, are you staying--”
“No. Call Amy.”
“Right. Sorry, my head isn’t exactly functioning at full power.”
“Understandable.”
I turn back to Jalyn. “Do you want to stay with Aunt Amy tonight?”
“Aunt Amy?”
“Yes, Daddy and I are gonna go get Heath from his dad’s.”
“Zee?”
“She’ll go with you too.” This girl loves her baby sister.
“Okay!” Jalyn gets up and runs down the hall, I assume to the playroom.
 
I get to my feet, and in about three seconds I made another decision.
“Babe, can you call Amy and explain? I need to call Ed.”
“Your lawyer? You’re not actually gonna help--”
“Are you kidding? No! I want full custody on paper.”

 
 
* * * * * * * * * *
 
 
{{Several hours later
West Hollywood}}
 

 
Since I am a good person, I did as I said and texted Dom when my jet landed. He’d sent his driver for us. First of all, I didn’t know he had a driver. Secondly, if he had a driver, why was he driving himself earlier? And finally… I know its just sucking so I won’t scream more and Josh won’t threaten violence. He’s already promised me he won’t though. Heath is here, after all.
 
The hours between me seeing that news report and getting to California gave me time to calm down, and get control of myself. I will not be unruly while picking up my son. He needs one of his parents to be calm and rational, and that will always be me.
 
The driver parks in Dom’s driveway. The house is about the same size as my current one, but a newer build and more expensive materials. I freely admit it’s very nice. The driver, who’s name is Jerry, walks us to the side door. No one uses front doors on houses like this.
“Here you are, just ring the bell. I’ll go bring the car around back.”
“Thank you, Jerry.”
Josh presses the doorbell, one of those ones with a camera. He’s annoyed when holding it down doesn’t make it ring repeatedly.
“Damn new tech ruining everything.”
I snicker at him as the door opens. I make a face.
“Gods, you look like shit.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
“Pleasure is all yours, I’m sure.” Josh deadpans. He never did like Dom, even before he moved to New Orleans and reconnected with me.
 
Dom just rolls his eyes a little and waves us inside. He learned a long time ago to not get testy with Josh’s snide comments. That’s a story for another time. We follow him in, and I hear a TV from another room that I know is a playroom for Heath.
“Is he in there?” I point towards that hall.
“Yeah. He knows you’re coming.”
“How is he?”
Dom shrugs. “Seems fine. Looked at me sideways for a while after I got home, but that passed.”
“You scared the shit out of him.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. We had a talk. He seemed to understand it was a bad moment and I’m sorry he saw it.”
“We’ll see.” I start walking towards the hall to the playroom, but stop and turn back. “Is Lisa still here?”
“No. She uh… left as soon as I told her you were coming.”
“Of course she did. Just as well.” I kinda wanted to talk to her, ask how Heath acted when she first picked him up. But it doesn’t matter in the bigger picture.
 
I get to the playroom door, it’s open. Heath is sitting in the middle of the floor leaning against an oversized pillow. The TV is playing a Disney movie. I step in a few steps.
“Hey Nugget.”
His head snaps up, then he scrambles to his feet. “Momma!” I squat down just in time for him to collide into me. I can’t help laughing as I grab him in a hug.
“Hey baby boy.”
He pushes away, and looks at me. “You’re here!”
“Yes, I am. Dada said he told you I was coming.”
“He did. But….” Heath looks away, and a little down. “But he was scary today.”
“I know, sweetie. He’s really sorry, did you know that?”
He nods, not looking up. “He said.”
“It’s okay if you’re still upset. It was a lot.”
“Loud. People yelling. The man fell. The pleece came. And…” Instead of finishing, he leans into me again. I wrap my arms around him again.
“I know, baby. I know. But it’s all over, and it’s not gonna happen again. Okay?”
“Promise?” He asks into my shoulder. I sigh. I can’t say yes, because I can’t be sure Dom won’t ever lose his shit again. In fact, I’m quite sure it’s the opposite, a guarantee that he will.
“I promise I will try my best to keep you away from anything like that ever again. How’s that?”
I feel his head nodding against me. “Okay.”
I let him lean on me a few moments more, then gently make him move back so I can look at him. Those blue eyes are something else.
“Are you ready to go home?”
“Yes. Are we going now?”
“We’re going to a hotel tonight, and flying home tomorrow.”
That gets the first smile out of him since he saw me. “Yay!”
I stand up and reach for his hand. “Come on, Josh is with me. Come say hi.”
He grabs my hand. “My sisters?”
We walk out as I answer him. “No, they’re at Aunt Amy’s. It was too late for them to come. You’ll see them soon.”
 
In the living room, Dom is putting Heath’s clothes into his small suitcase. Josh is near the door, he hasn’t moved much from when we walked in. Heath sees him and runs over, and hugs his leg.
“Hey little man.” Josh ruffles his hair.
“Hey!”
I hear a zipper and turn back to see Dom done with the suitcase.
“That’s most of what he came with. There’s a few items with the laundry.”
“No problem.” Heath has clothes and toys that stay here, but if I get my way – and I usually do, let’s be honest here – all of that would be coming back to my place anyway. I grab the suitcase and set it by the door. Now that I have my son back, I don’t mind being a little more civil.
“Thank you for being good about me coming get him. I know you had a few days left.”
“Of course. It’s for the best and I know it. Things are gonna be… chaotic here for the next little while.”
“Right. Well… for what it’s worth, I do hope the whole thing doesn’t hurt you too badly.” That infernal Netflix show that led to us splitting was still going, and from what I could tell from articles and such, Dom’s character is still an asshole. So of course it’s more popular than ever.
“Appreciate that. Lisa already has a half dozen spin ideas.”
“I have no doubt that she does.” Spin is her specialty. The woman plays loose with the truth more than anyone I’ve ever met. And in my line of work… that’s saying a lot. “Anyway, we should get to the hotel. It’s getting late for Heath.”
“Yeah, of course. He would normally be in bed by now, but I let him wait for you.”
“I appreciate that. I will let you know when we are home safe tomorrow.”  Dom nods. “Oh, and… one more thing before we go.” I look back at Josh. He reaches into his jacket inner pocket and pulls out an envelope. He hands it to me, and I immediately hand it to Dom.
“This is a Service notice.”
“What? For what?” He stares at the envelope as if he can’t fathom what I was giving him.
“Custody, of course.”
His hand falls to his side, nearly dropping the envelope. “Bree.”
“Technically I am not supposed to hand you this myself, but I figured you wouldn’t want a sheriff at your door while all of this is going on. There is a waiver in there you can sign that can avoid all of that.”
Dom looks down at the envelope again, then back up at me. Then towards the door where Josh is standing with Heath. I don’t know if many other people would have noticed, but Dom’s eyes changed looking at Josh.
“Don’t you dare try to blame him, he had nothing to do with this. You understand I have to, right? For my own public image.” While that was also true, it was not my primary motivation. When he looks back at me, I can tell he knows that.
“Didn’t think about that.”
“You just didn’t think.”
Shaking the envelope in his hand a little, he nods. “That’s fair, I deserve that. And I guess this, too.” He waves it in the air a little higher. “I’ll send you the waiver back signed.”
“Thank you.”]]> <![CDATA[Former SCW wrestler now a NASCAR Cup Series driver in a climate change movie.]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4872 Tue, 09 Jun 2026 19:09:04 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4872
https://archive.efedder.net/ArticleView?...4fb5af7d06]]>
https://archive.efedder.net/ArticleView?...4fb5af7d06]]> <![CDATA[Fly Trap]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4849 Thu, 21 May 2026 04:30:44 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4849 So, this was actually supposed to be this week's RP for Breakdown. But, the forum hates me. Anyway, I figured I'd still share it...

Fly Trap
]]> So, this was actually supposed to be this week's RP for Breakdown. But, the forum hates me. Anyway, I figured I'd still share it...

Fly Trap
]]> <![CDATA[Who is the favorite?]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4836 Wed, 13 May 2026 03:31:21 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4836 <![CDATA[Who Really Are The Cowgirls from Hell?]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4814 Sat, 11 Apr 2026 05:39:02 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4814 The city hums beneath the glass like it always does—alive, loud, desperate to be heard. Neon reflections ripple across the studio windows, a thousand voices layered on top of each other until none of them mean anything anymore. Inside, though… inside it’s different. Inside, there’s silence. Controlled. Intentional. The kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be broken… it chooses when to speak.

The red light flickers once.

Twice.

Then steadies.

A low, almost imperceptible hum bleeds into the audio feed—not static, not quite interference, just enough to feel like something isn’t entirely clean about the signal. The silhouette sits motionless in the chair, head slightly tilted, the faint outline of headphones catching a strip of cool blue light. Fingers rest near the microphone, but don’t touch it yet. No rush. No nerves. No need.

Because when you know something no one else does…

You can take your time.

A breath.

Not shaky. Not dramatic. Just… measured.

Then—

“Do you hear it?”

The voice is calm. Smooth. Not disguised enough to feel fake, but not clear enough to identify. It doesn’t push. It doesn’t try to grab attention.

It assumes it already has it.

“That sound… underneath everything. The chatter, the outrage, the recycled bravado, the same tired threats dressed up as something new. Everyone fighting to be the loudest voice in a room that stopped listening a long time ago.”

A slight lean forward. The mic finally turns a fraction.

“They call it momentum. They call it dominance. They call it taking over.”

A pause.

“I call it noise.”

The skyline glows behind the silhouette, distant sirens bleeding into the background just enough to feel real. Grounded. Not theatrical. That’s what makes it land.

“And the funny thing about noise…”

A faint shift in posture. Almost amused.

“…is how easy it is to hide inside it.”

Now the hook tightens.

“See, when everyone is shouting… no one is asking questions. When everyone is watching the show… no one is checking the script.”

“And that’s where you come in.”

No names yet.

No rush.

“You built something. That much is true. Presence. Identity. A brand people can point at and recognize without thinking too hard. That’s power, in its simplest form.”

A slow exhale.

“But power built on perception…”

The head tilts slightly.

“…is only as strong as the truth holding it up.”

Silence again. Let it sit. Let it breathe.

“Cowgirls from Hell.”

The words aren’t shouted. They’re almost… studied. Like the host is testing how they feel in their mouth.

“A name that demands attention. A name that tells a story before you even step into the room. Fire. Chaos. Loyalty. Unity.”

A faint, almost inaudible chuckle.

“Unity.”

The word lingers longer than the others.

“Victoria ‘Vee’ Strader. Veronica ‘Baba Jaga’ Strader. Tamika Strader. Tearra Skye.”

Each name lands like a pin on a board.

Precise.

Deliberate.

“No interruptions tonight. No music to cut me off. No cameras to pan away when things get uncomfortable. Just a signal… and the truth riding on it.”

The hum beneath the audio spikes just slightly, then settles again.

“You’ve been very convincing.”

Not sarcastic. Not yet.

“People believe what you are. They repeat it. They defend it. They attach themselves to it.”

A lean closer now. Not aggressive—intimate.

“But belief is easy to manufacture… when no one knows where to look.”

A pause.

“And I know exactly where to look.”

There it is.

The shift.

Subtle, but undeniable.

“See… you don’t build something that loud… without leaving echoes behind.”

The silhouette finally moves, one hand lifting slightly, fingers tapping once against the desk. Not nervous. Rhythmic.

“Moments. Decisions. Conversations that don’t make the highlight reels. The parts of the story that never get told… because they don’t fit the version you want people to see.”

A breath.

“And some of those moments…”

The voice lowers just a fraction.

“…were never supposed to surface.”

Silence.

Let them feel it.

“You remember.”

Not a question.

A statement.

“You remember the night things didn’t go the way they were supposed to.”

A faint flicker in the lighting. Just enough to feel like the room itself reacted.

“You remember who was there.”

“And more importantly…”

A longer pause.

“…you remember who wasn’t.”

The hum creeps in again. Slight distortion brushes the edges of the audio before smoothing out.

“I wonder if you’ve talked about it lately.”

Now there’s the smallest trace of something beneath the calm.

Not anger.

Not excitement.

Certainty.

“Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you keep it buried under all that noise you create. Because as long as everyone’s looking at the flames… no one notices what’s burning underneath.”

The silhouette leans back again, relaxed.

Composed.

In control.

“One of you wasn’t supposed to be there that night.”

The line drops clean.

No follow-up.

No explanation.

Just weight.

“And one of you…”

A slight tilt of the head.

“…left first.”

Silence.

Longer this time.

Let it sink in. Let it crawl.

“I’m not here to guess. I’m not here to speculate.”

A small shake of the head.

“I already know.”

The city outside pulses. Lights flicker across the glass, reflections warping the silhouette just enough to make it feel…
[Image: scw.png]
]]> The city hums beneath the glass like it always does—alive, loud, desperate to be heard. Neon reflections ripple across the studio windows, a thousand voices layered on top of each other until none of them mean anything anymore. Inside, though… inside it’s different. Inside, there’s silence. Controlled. Intentional. The kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be broken… it chooses when to speak.

The red light flickers once.

Twice.

Then steadies.

A low, almost imperceptible hum bleeds into the audio feed—not static, not quite interference, just enough to feel like something isn’t entirely clean about the signal. The silhouette sits motionless in the chair, head slightly tilted, the faint outline of headphones catching a strip of cool blue light. Fingers rest near the microphone, but don’t touch it yet. No rush. No nerves. No need.

Because when you know something no one else does…

You can take your time.

A breath.

Not shaky. Not dramatic. Just… measured.

Then—

“Do you hear it?”

The voice is calm. Smooth. Not disguised enough to feel fake, but not clear enough to identify. It doesn’t push. It doesn’t try to grab attention.

It assumes it already has it.

“That sound… underneath everything. The chatter, the outrage, the recycled bravado, the same tired threats dressed up as something new. Everyone fighting to be the loudest voice in a room that stopped listening a long time ago.”

A slight lean forward. The mic finally turns a fraction.

“They call it momentum. They call it dominance. They call it taking over.”

A pause.

“I call it noise.”

The skyline glows behind the silhouette, distant sirens bleeding into the background just enough to feel real. Grounded. Not theatrical. That’s what makes it land.

“And the funny thing about noise…”

A faint shift in posture. Almost amused.

“…is how easy it is to hide inside it.”

Now the hook tightens.

“See, when everyone is shouting… no one is asking questions. When everyone is watching the show… no one is checking the script.”

“And that’s where you come in.”

No names yet.

No rush.

“You built something. That much is true. Presence. Identity. A brand people can point at and recognize without thinking too hard. That’s power, in its simplest form.”

A slow exhale.

“But power built on perception…”

The head tilts slightly.

“…is only as strong as the truth holding it up.”

Silence again. Let it sit. Let it breathe.

“Cowgirls from Hell.”

The words aren’t shouted. They’re almost… studied. Like the host is testing how they feel in their mouth.

“A name that demands attention. A name that tells a story before you even step into the room. Fire. Chaos. Loyalty. Unity.”

A faint, almost inaudible chuckle.

“Unity.”

The word lingers longer than the others.

“Victoria ‘Vee’ Strader. Veronica ‘Baba Jaga’ Strader. Tamika Strader. Tearra Skye.”

Each name lands like a pin on a board.

Precise.

Deliberate.

“No interruptions tonight. No music to cut me off. No cameras to pan away when things get uncomfortable. Just a signal… and the truth riding on it.”

The hum beneath the audio spikes just slightly, then settles again.

“You’ve been very convincing.”

Not sarcastic. Not yet.

“People believe what you are. They repeat it. They defend it. They attach themselves to it.”

A lean closer now. Not aggressive—intimate.

“But belief is easy to manufacture… when no one knows where to look.”

A pause.

“And I know exactly where to look.”

There it is.

The shift.

Subtle, but undeniable.

“See… you don’t build something that loud… without leaving echoes behind.”

The silhouette finally moves, one hand lifting slightly, fingers tapping once against the desk. Not nervous. Rhythmic.

“Moments. Decisions. Conversations that don’t make the highlight reels. The parts of the story that never get told… because they don’t fit the version you want people to see.”

A breath.

“And some of those moments…”

The voice lowers just a fraction.

“…were never supposed to surface.”

Silence.

Let them feel it.

“You remember.”

Not a question.

A statement.

“You remember the night things didn’t go the way they were supposed to.”

A faint flicker in the lighting. Just enough to feel like the room itself reacted.

“You remember who was there.”

“And more importantly…”

A longer pause.

“…you remember who wasn’t.”

The hum creeps in again. Slight distortion brushes the edges of the audio before smoothing out.

“I wonder if you’ve talked about it lately.”

Now there’s the smallest trace of something beneath the calm.

Not anger.

Not excitement.

Certainty.

“Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you keep it buried under all that noise you create. Because as long as everyone’s looking at the flames… no one notices what’s burning underneath.”

The silhouette leans back again, relaxed.

Composed.

In control.

“One of you wasn’t supposed to be there that night.”

The line drops clean.

No follow-up.

No explanation.

Just weight.

“And one of you…”

A slight tilt of the head.

“…left first.”

Silence.

Longer this time.

Let it sink in. Let it crawl.

“I’m not here to guess. I’m not here to speculate.”

A small shake of the head.

“I already know.”

The city outside pulses. Lights flicker across the glass, reflections warping the silhouette just enough to make it feel…
[Image: scw.png]
]]> <![CDATA[My Time (Veronica Strader for TPW)]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4804 Tue, 07 Apr 2026 06:46:45 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4804
My Time]]>
My Time]]> <![CDATA[An Exclusive Supreme Championship Wrestling interview with Konrad Raab.]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4794 Mon, 23 Mar 2026 12:19:59 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4794
------------------

An exclusive Supreme Championship Wrestling interview with Konrad Raab.]]>
------------------

An exclusive Supreme Championship Wrestling interview with Konrad Raab.]]> <![CDATA[яє∂ gαя∂єи яєѕιѕтαи¢є CHAPTER 2]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4751 Tue, 10 Feb 2026 05:07:01 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4751 Chapter Two: Roots Don’t Ask Permission

The city adjusted to Iris Vale’s absence the way a body adjusts to a missing tooth—by filling the gap with silence and learning not to probe it.

Her email deactivated. Her name removed from shared documents. Her desk reassigned within forty-eight hours. A replacement arrived by Monday. Younger. Brighter. Still pliable. Iris passed the building once and saw the girl through the glass, laughing at something a supervisor said, shoulders loose with optimism.

Good, Iris thought.
Let them have you while you’re still soft.

She hadn’t told anyone she was gone. There was no exit interview, no closure ritual, no reclaiming of dignity. The system didn’t bother with ceremony when it was confident you wouldn’t fight back.

They were wrong about her, but only because she had learned something after the pruning: survival was not the same thing as obedience.

The Red Garden began to change after she stayed.

Not visibly—not at first. The soil still looked the same from the street. Trash still collected at the edges. The city still dismissed it as a forgotten strip of neglect. But beneath the surface, something was knitting itself together. Fine threads, invisible unless you knew how to look. Information passed like moisture through dirt. Trust spread slowly, cautiously, the way it had to.

Iris learned the rules by breaking none of them.

No names unless offered.
No questions unless invited.
No assumptions of safety.

She showed up at the same hour every night, just after dusk when the city’s attention drifted inward—toward dinner tables, glowing screens, locked doors. She worked the soil. Replaced cracked stones. Removed invasive weeds that choked the red blooms. She left nothing that could be traced back to her. No trash. No prints. No patterns.

People noticed.

The first to speak to her was the woman with the ink-stained fingers.

She appeared beside Iris one evening without sound, crouching low, dark hair pulled into a knot so tight it looked painful. She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“You turn the soil too deep,” she said.

Iris paused. “It’s compacted. Roots need air.”

“So do people,” the woman replied. “But too much exposure gets them killed.”

Iris met her eyes then. Sharp. Assessing. Not hostile—measuring.

“I’m learning,” Iris said.

The woman considered her for a long moment. Then she nodded once and reached into her coat, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. She placed it in the dirt, weighed it down with a stone, and stood.

“Don’t read it here.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” A pause. “Name’s Mara. For now.”

“For now,” Iris echoed.

Mara disappeared into the city like she’d never been there.

The paper waited until Iris was alone again.

She took it home this time—not to her apartment, but to a borrowed room above a closed laundromat where the walls sweated in the heat and the windows rattled whenever a train passed nearby. She unfolded it carefully, half expecting it to dissolve in her hands.

Instead, it was a map.

Not a geographic one—not exactly. More like a diagram of pressure points. Transit lines with symbols instead of stops. Buildings marked not by address but by function: Processing. Storage. Compliance. Disposal.

At the bottom, in small handwriting:

Roots spread sideways first.

Iris stared at it until her eyes burned.

She had thought the Garden was a place.

She was wrong.

It was a method.

The city, she realized, wasn’t just run—it was cultivated. People were funneled, managed, optimized. Dissent trimmed early. Anger redirected into harmless channels. Those who couldn’t be shaped were quietly removed and framed as failures.

The Garden was learning how to grow in the blind spots.

Weeks passed. The city shifted into autumn. Leaves fell. Surveillance increased.

They started with the cameras.

New ones appeared on corners that hadn’t needed them before. Temporary signs became permanent fixtures. Drones hovered a little lower, lingered a little longer. Public messaging softened its language: safety, community, shared responsibility.

Iris recognized the tone. It was the voice of someone tightening a grip while insisting it wasn’t.

The Red Garden adapted.

They changed hours. Rotated locations. Split meetings into fragments so no one ever saw the whole shape. Iris learned how to pass information without carrying it. How to erase patterns by disrupting her own routines. How to listen without reacting.

One night, she was tested.

It came without warning, which meant it was deliberate.

A man approached her as she worked—too confident, too clean, shoes that hadn’t known dirt in years. He stood just close enough to be intrusive.

“You do this a lot,” he said casually. “Gardening.”

Iris didn’t look up. “It grows.”

He laughed softly. “Everything grows if you let it.”

A pause. “You live nearby?”

“No.”

“Work nearby?”

“Not anymore.”

That got his attention. Iris felt it like a shift in air pressure.

He crouched, mirroring her posture too perfectly. “You’re hard to find in the system,” he said lightly. “You know that?”

Iris finally stood, brushing dirt from her gloves. “Sounds like a system problem.”

His smile thinned. “Careful.”

“No,” Iris said. “You be careful.”

She walked away without waiting to see if he followed.

He didn’t.

The next night, the man was gone.

So was the bench he’d leaned against.

So was the light on the corner.

The Garden didn’t celebrate victories. It marked survivals.

Mara explained that later, in a whisper shared beneath the broken overhang of an abandoned transit station.

“They probe,” she said. “See who panics. Who overexplains. Who tries to disappear too fast.”

“And if you fail?”

Mara shrugged. “You become a lesson.”

Iris absorbed that quietly. Fear wasn’t new to her—but this was different. This fear sharpened instead of paralyzing. It taught instead of silencing.

She began to understand what the Resistance really was.

Not rebellion. Not overthrow.

Refusal.

They refused to be optimized. Refused to be legible. Refused to be useful in the ways demanded of them. They didn’t shout slogans or stage grand gestures. They disrupted gently, persistently, until the system wasted resources chasing shadows.

A transit delay here.
A data leak there.
A compliance form submitted incorrectly by thousands of people on the same day.

Death by a thousand inconveniences.

[i]The Red Garden grew.

New symbols appeared across the city—not tagged loudly, not advertised. Scratched into concrete. Etched into metal. Painted faintly in places only the observant would notice. A broken circle. A stem. Sometimes just a red line, incomplete.

Iris saw them everywhere once she knew how to look.

In the margins of official notices.
On the backs of street signs.
Inside public bathrooms where cameras couldn’t go.

The city responded the way it always did when confused.

It doubled down.

New task forces. New regulations. New incentives for reporting suspicious behavior. Neighbors encouraged to watch neighbors. Employees reminded of loyalty clauses buried deep in contracts.

People complied.

Most always would.

The Garden didn’t need most.

It needed enough.

One night, Iris was asked to speak.

Not publicly. Never that.

Just to a small group, gathered in a basement beneath a shuttered community center. The room smelled of dust and old paper. The lights were dim, unreliable.

They sat in a loose circle. No hierarchy. No spotlight.

Mara nodded at Iris once.

So Iris talked.

She didn’t preach. She didn’t promise victory. She told them about the badge that stopped working. About the smile she wore while being erased. About how quietly the system could end a life without ever spilling blood.

“And I realized,” she said softly, “that they don’t fear anger. They manage it. They sell it back to us in neat packages.”

A murmur of agreement.

“But they don’t know what to do with people who stop asking for permission.”

Silence followed—not uncomfortable, but heavy.

Someone in the back laughed once, sharp and brief. “That’s it,” they said. “That’s the whole thing.”

After that, Iris was no longer just a gardener.

She became a node.

Information passed through her. Decisions bounced off her. She learned how to disappear inside crowds and reappear exactly where needed. How to be forgettable to the wrong people and unforgettable to the right ones.

The city noticed the change before it understood it.

Metrics dipped. Compliance rates wavered. Minor disruptions piled up into patterns no algorithm could smooth out. Someone high up asked a question they couldn’t phrase without admitting fear.

“What’s growing under us?”

No one answered.

Because the truth was worse than ignorance.

Roots don’t announce themselves.

They don’t need permission.

They don’t care about ownership.

They spread quietly, breaking foundations from below, patient and inevitable.

And somewhere between the broken station and the forgotten garden, Iris Vale smiled for the first time in months.

Not because she believed they would win.

But because she knew—absolutely, irrevocably—that the city would never be the same.

The Garden was alive now.

And it was hungry.[/i]]]> Chapter Two: Roots Don’t Ask Permission

The city adjusted to Iris Vale’s absence the way a body adjusts to a missing tooth—by filling the gap with silence and learning not to probe it.

Her email deactivated. Her name removed from shared documents. Her desk reassigned within forty-eight hours. A replacement arrived by Monday. Younger. Brighter. Still pliable. Iris passed the building once and saw the girl through the glass, laughing at something a supervisor said, shoulders loose with optimism.

Good, Iris thought.
Let them have you while you’re still soft.

She hadn’t told anyone she was gone. There was no exit interview, no closure ritual, no reclaiming of dignity. The system didn’t bother with ceremony when it was confident you wouldn’t fight back.

They were wrong about her, but only because she had learned something after the pruning: survival was not the same thing as obedience.

The Red Garden began to change after she stayed.

Not visibly—not at first. The soil still looked the same from the street. Trash still collected at the edges. The city still dismissed it as a forgotten strip of neglect. But beneath the surface, something was knitting itself together. Fine threads, invisible unless you knew how to look. Information passed like moisture through dirt. Trust spread slowly, cautiously, the way it had to.

Iris learned the rules by breaking none of them.

No names unless offered.
No questions unless invited.
No assumptions of safety.

She showed up at the same hour every night, just after dusk when the city’s attention drifted inward—toward dinner tables, glowing screens, locked doors. She worked the soil. Replaced cracked stones. Removed invasive weeds that choked the red blooms. She left nothing that could be traced back to her. No trash. No prints. No patterns.

People noticed.

The first to speak to her was the woman with the ink-stained fingers.

She appeared beside Iris one evening without sound, crouching low, dark hair pulled into a knot so tight it looked painful. She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“You turn the soil too deep,” she said.

Iris paused. “It’s compacted. Roots need air.”

“So do people,” the woman replied. “But too much exposure gets them killed.”

Iris met her eyes then. Sharp. Assessing. Not hostile—measuring.

“I’m learning,” Iris said.

The woman considered her for a long moment. Then she nodded once and reached into her coat, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. She placed it in the dirt, weighed it down with a stone, and stood.

“Don’t read it here.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” A pause. “Name’s Mara. For now.”

“For now,” Iris echoed.

Mara disappeared into the city like she’d never been there.

The paper waited until Iris was alone again.

She took it home this time—not to her apartment, but to a borrowed room above a closed laundromat where the walls sweated in the heat and the windows rattled whenever a train passed nearby. She unfolded it carefully, half expecting it to dissolve in her hands.

Instead, it was a map.

Not a geographic one—not exactly. More like a diagram of pressure points. Transit lines with symbols instead of stops. Buildings marked not by address but by function: Processing. Storage. Compliance. Disposal.

At the bottom, in small handwriting:

Roots spread sideways first.

Iris stared at it until her eyes burned.

She had thought the Garden was a place.

She was wrong.

It was a method.

The city, she realized, wasn’t just run—it was cultivated. People were funneled, managed, optimized. Dissent trimmed early. Anger redirected into harmless channels. Those who couldn’t be shaped were quietly removed and framed as failures.

The Garden was learning how to grow in the blind spots.

Weeks passed. The city shifted into autumn. Leaves fell. Surveillance increased.

They started with the cameras.

New ones appeared on corners that hadn’t needed them before. Temporary signs became permanent fixtures. Drones hovered a little lower, lingered a little longer. Public messaging softened its language: safety, community, shared responsibility.

Iris recognized the tone. It was the voice of someone tightening a grip while insisting it wasn’t.

The Red Garden adapted.

They changed hours. Rotated locations. Split meetings into fragments so no one ever saw the whole shape. Iris learned how to pass information without carrying it. How to erase patterns by disrupting her own routines. How to listen without reacting.

One night, she was tested.

It came without warning, which meant it was deliberate.

A man approached her as she worked—too confident, too clean, shoes that hadn’t known dirt in years. He stood just close enough to be intrusive.

“You do this a lot,” he said casually. “Gardening.”

Iris didn’t look up. “It grows.”

He laughed softly. “Everything grows if you let it.”

A pause. “You live nearby?”

“No.”

“Work nearby?”

“Not anymore.”

That got his attention. Iris felt it like a shift in air pressure.

He crouched, mirroring her posture too perfectly. “You’re hard to find in the system,” he said lightly. “You know that?”

Iris finally stood, brushing dirt from her gloves. “Sounds like a system problem.”

His smile thinned. “Careful.”

“No,” Iris said. “You be careful.”

She walked away without waiting to see if he followed.

He didn’t.

The next night, the man was gone.

So was the bench he’d leaned against.

So was the light on the corner.

The Garden didn’t celebrate victories. It marked survivals.

Mara explained that later, in a whisper shared beneath the broken overhang of an abandoned transit station.

“They probe,” she said. “See who panics. Who overexplains. Who tries to disappear too fast.”

“And if you fail?”

Mara shrugged. “You become a lesson.”

Iris absorbed that quietly. Fear wasn’t new to her—but this was different. This fear sharpened instead of paralyzing. It taught instead of silencing.

She began to understand what the Resistance really was.

Not rebellion. Not overthrow.

Refusal.

They refused to be optimized. Refused to be legible. Refused to be useful in the ways demanded of them. They didn’t shout slogans or stage grand gestures. They disrupted gently, persistently, until the system wasted resources chasing shadows.

A transit delay here.
A data leak there.
A compliance form submitted incorrectly by thousands of people on the same day.

Death by a thousand inconveniences.

[i]The Red Garden grew.

New symbols appeared across the city—not tagged loudly, not advertised. Scratched into concrete. Etched into metal. Painted faintly in places only the observant would notice. A broken circle. A stem. Sometimes just a red line, incomplete.

Iris saw them everywhere once she knew how to look.

In the margins of official notices.
On the backs of street signs.
Inside public bathrooms where cameras couldn’t go.

The city responded the way it always did when confused.

It doubled down.

New task forces. New regulations. New incentives for reporting suspicious behavior. Neighbors encouraged to watch neighbors. Employees reminded of loyalty clauses buried deep in contracts.

People complied.

Most always would.

The Garden didn’t need most.

It needed enough.

One night, Iris was asked to speak.

Not publicly. Never that.

Just to a small group, gathered in a basement beneath a shuttered community center. The room smelled of dust and old paper. The lights were dim, unreliable.

They sat in a loose circle. No hierarchy. No spotlight.

Mara nodded at Iris once.

So Iris talked.

She didn’t preach. She didn’t promise victory. She told them about the badge that stopped working. About the smile she wore while being erased. About how quietly the system could end a life without ever spilling blood.

“And I realized,” she said softly, “that they don’t fear anger. They manage it. They sell it back to us in neat packages.”

A murmur of agreement.

“But they don’t know what to do with people who stop asking for permission.”

Silence followed—not uncomfortable, but heavy.

Someone in the back laughed once, sharp and brief. “That’s it,” they said. “That’s the whole thing.”

After that, Iris was no longer just a gardener.

She became a node.

Information passed through her. Decisions bounced off her. She learned how to disappear inside crowds and reappear exactly where needed. How to be forgettable to the wrong people and unforgettable to the right ones.

The city noticed the change before it understood it.

Metrics dipped. Compliance rates wavered. Minor disruptions piled up into patterns no algorithm could smooth out. Someone high up asked a question they couldn’t phrase without admitting fear.

“What’s growing under us?”

No one answered.

Because the truth was worse than ignorance.

Roots don’t announce themselves.

They don’t need permission.

They don’t care about ownership.

They spread quietly, breaking foundations from below, patient and inevitable.

And somewhere between the broken station and the forgotten garden, Iris Vale smiled for the first time in months.

Not because she believed they would win.

But because she knew—absolutely, irrevocably—that the city would never be the same.

The Garden was alive now.

And it was hungry.[/i]]]> <![CDATA[RED GARDEN RESISTANCE]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4725 Tue, 20 Jan 2026 17:30:42 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4725 RED GARDEN RESISTANCE
Chapter One: The First Seed

The city learned to whisper long before it learned to scream.

It whispered in elevators that stalled between floors just long enough to make people nervous. In office hallways where the lights flickered but never fully went out. In the way faces turned neutral the moment certain names were spoken. In the way doors closed softly, politely, like they were doing you a favor.

Iris Vale noticed it the day her access badge stopped working.

No alarms. No confrontation. No explanation.

Just a red light where green had always been.

She stood there longer than she should have, thumb pressed to plastic, listening to the soft, humiliating beep that said you do not belong here anymore. Behind her, footsteps slowed. People pretended to check their phones. Someone coughed. No one offered help.

That was how the city pruned its gardens.

Clean. Quiet. Efficient.

A security guard eventually appeared—not angry, not cruel. Worse. Apologetic. He spoke in the careful tone reserved for animals caught in places they weren’t meant to be.

“Probably a system update,” he said, already knowing it wasn’t. “Happens sometimes.”

He didn’t meet her eyes.

Iris nodded, smiled, thanked him. She was very good at that. She had been trained to be agreeable, presentable, unthreatening. She gathered her things from the desk she would never return to, aware of how quickly the space stopped being hers. How easily it reverted to neutral.

By lunchtime, her name was already being spoken in the past tense.

That night, she walked.

She didn’t go home. Home had too many mirrors. Too many reminders that compliance had once felt like safety. Instead she wandered south, into the parts of the city where the sidewalks cracked and the streetlights buzzed like insects. The air smelled of damp concrete and old rust. Somewhere, music bled through a wall—muffled, distorted, angry.

She found the garden by accident.

It wasn’t much. A narrow strip of land wedged between a condemned building and a chain-link fence. Trash collected at the edges. The soil was dark, overworked, stubborn. Someone had planted flowers there once—long ago—but now only weeds thrived. Thick stems. Sharp leaves. Red blossoms pushing through dirt that should have killed them.

Iris crouched, fingers brushing one of the petals. It was rougher than it looked. Alive in a way that felt almost defiant.

She laughed then. A short, cracked sound that surprised her.

They had tried to erase her with a badge and a silence and a polite smile.

And here was something that refused to die even when everything about its environment said it should.

She went back the next night. And the next.

At first, she just watched. She listened. The garden was a meeting place—not formally, not safely. People passed through one at a time. A woman with ink-stained fingers who left folded paper beneath a stone. A man with a limp who knelt and whispered names into the dirt like prayers. A teenager who spray-painted over corporate slogans with red lines, shaking hands smearing paint onto her wrists.

No one spoke to Iris.

Not because they didn’t see her—but because seeing was dangerous.

On the fourth night, Iris brought gloves.

She pulled weeds. Cleared debris. Turned soil with a broken piece of metal she found nearby. Her hands blistered. Dirt worked its way under her nails. It felt honest. It felt earned.

When she finished, she noticed the symbol scratched faintly into the brick wall behind the garden.

A circle. Broken deliberately. A stem crossing through it.

Someone had carved it carefully. Quietly.

The Red Garden didn’t recruit.

It recognized.

Weeks passed. The city continued pretending everything was fine. News screens chirped optimism. Schedules stayed full. Smiles stayed empty. Iris learned how the Resistance moved—slowly, laterally, like roots. Messages passed in fragments. Names changed. Faces rotated.

There was no leader. No hierarchy. Only refusal.

One night, Iris found a note waiting for her.

Not tucked. Not hidden. Just resting on the soil, damp at the edges.

If you’re here to be saved, leave.

If you’re here to grow something dangerous, stay.

She stayed.

That was the moment the seed cracked.

Not with anger. Not with violence.

With certainty.

The Red Garden Resistance didn’t begin with fire or blood or speeches shouted into the dark. It began with a quiet understanding shared by people who had been trimmed too close to the bone.

They would not bloom on command.
They would not be decorative.
They would not be owned.

They would grow where they were not wanted.
They would choke the foundations.
They would stain the hands of anyone who tried to uproot them.

And one day—soon enough—the city would notice.

Not because the Garden announced itself.

But because it was suddenly everywhere.
]]> RED GARDEN RESISTANCE
Chapter One: The First Seed

The city learned to whisper long before it learned to scream.

It whispered in elevators that stalled between floors just long enough to make people nervous. In office hallways where the lights flickered but never fully went out. In the way faces turned neutral the moment certain names were spoken. In the way doors closed softly, politely, like they were doing you a favor.

Iris Vale noticed it the day her access badge stopped working.

No alarms. No confrontation. No explanation.

Just a red light where green had always been.

She stood there longer than she should have, thumb pressed to plastic, listening to the soft, humiliating beep that said you do not belong here anymore. Behind her, footsteps slowed. People pretended to check their phones. Someone coughed. No one offered help.

That was how the city pruned its gardens.

Clean. Quiet. Efficient.

A security guard eventually appeared—not angry, not cruel. Worse. Apologetic. He spoke in the careful tone reserved for animals caught in places they weren’t meant to be.

“Probably a system update,” he said, already knowing it wasn’t. “Happens sometimes.”

He didn’t meet her eyes.

Iris nodded, smiled, thanked him. She was very good at that. She had been trained to be agreeable, presentable, unthreatening. She gathered her things from the desk she would never return to, aware of how quickly the space stopped being hers. How easily it reverted to neutral.

By lunchtime, her name was already being spoken in the past tense.

That night, she walked.

She didn’t go home. Home had too many mirrors. Too many reminders that compliance had once felt like safety. Instead she wandered south, into the parts of the city where the sidewalks cracked and the streetlights buzzed like insects. The air smelled of damp concrete and old rust. Somewhere, music bled through a wall—muffled, distorted, angry.

She found the garden by accident.

It wasn’t much. A narrow strip of land wedged between a condemned building and a chain-link fence. Trash collected at the edges. The soil was dark, overworked, stubborn. Someone had planted flowers there once—long ago—but now only weeds thrived. Thick stems. Sharp leaves. Red blossoms pushing through dirt that should have killed them.

Iris crouched, fingers brushing one of the petals. It was rougher than it looked. Alive in a way that felt almost defiant.

She laughed then. A short, cracked sound that surprised her.

They had tried to erase her with a badge and a silence and a polite smile.

And here was something that refused to die even when everything about its environment said it should.

She went back the next night. And the next.

At first, she just watched. She listened. The garden was a meeting place—not formally, not safely. People passed through one at a time. A woman with ink-stained fingers who left folded paper beneath a stone. A man with a limp who knelt and whispered names into the dirt like prayers. A teenager who spray-painted over corporate slogans with red lines, shaking hands smearing paint onto her wrists.

No one spoke to Iris.

Not because they didn’t see her—but because seeing was dangerous.

On the fourth night, Iris brought gloves.

She pulled weeds. Cleared debris. Turned soil with a broken piece of metal she found nearby. Her hands blistered. Dirt worked its way under her nails. It felt honest. It felt earned.

When she finished, she noticed the symbol scratched faintly into the brick wall behind the garden.

A circle. Broken deliberately. A stem crossing through it.

Someone had carved it carefully. Quietly.

The Red Garden didn’t recruit.

It recognized.

Weeks passed. The city continued pretending everything was fine. News screens chirped optimism. Schedules stayed full. Smiles stayed empty. Iris learned how the Resistance moved—slowly, laterally, like roots. Messages passed in fragments. Names changed. Faces rotated.

There was no leader. No hierarchy. Only refusal.

One night, Iris found a note waiting for her.

Not tucked. Not hidden. Just resting on the soil, damp at the edges.

If you’re here to be saved, leave.

If you’re here to grow something dangerous, stay.

She stayed.

That was the moment the seed cracked.

Not with anger. Not with violence.

With certainty.

The Red Garden Resistance didn’t begin with fire or blood or speeches shouted into the dark. It began with a quiet understanding shared by people who had been trimmed too close to the bone.

They would not bloom on command.
They would not be decorative.
They would not be owned.

They would grow where they were not wanted.
They would choke the foundations.
They would stain the hands of anyone who tried to uproot them.

And one day—soon enough—the city would notice.

Not because the Garden announced itself.

But because it was suddenly everywhere.
]]> <![CDATA[Lyman Collapses Following Fatal Fortunes]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4716 Sun, 18 Jan 2026 20:22:06 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4716 <![CDATA[Polly: “They get ALL the credit!!!”]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4710 Mon, 12 Jan 2026 05:47:52 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4710 Doing All The Work, Not Getting Any Of The Credit

Polly can be heard talking to herself backstage, beyond irritated, with her words not being legible.  She then lets out the loudest scream that she has ever let out, making all of Katie Steward’s past screams seem amateur.

She stomps off down the hallway, her green eyes showing more fire than ever.  It is then that she sees it, the door to the room that CHBK was assigned to.  She doesn’t even go to touch the door.  She just yells out.

“I fucking knew it!!!  You rigged my draw!!!  And I STILL had Lawler beat!  I did ALL the work and yet again as always, HE somehow gets all the damn credit!  I don’t expect you to come out or even hear me, but you only just proved me right!  Mark my words, your day of reckoning is coming, boss!”

Polly says the last word like it is a disease to her.

She stomps off, heading back to the room where she had gotten ready.  When she gets to her belongings, she spots it still sitting there just inside one of her two bags, the envelope that she had received from Mr. Delatosso.  Despite seething mad and grinding her teeth, Polly gets out her thoughts on the envelope that is staring up at her.

“YOU are my one last hope now.”

Her green eyes just stare down at it as she shows no signs of calming down.]]> Doing All The Work, Not Getting Any Of The Credit

Polly can be heard talking to herself backstage, beyond irritated, with her words not being legible.  She then lets out the loudest scream that she has ever let out, making all of Katie Steward’s past screams seem amateur.

She stomps off down the hallway, her green eyes showing more fire than ever.  It is then that she sees it, the door to the room that CHBK was assigned to.  She doesn’t even go to touch the door.  She just yells out.

“I fucking knew it!!!  You rigged my draw!!!  And I STILL had Lawler beat!  I did ALL the work and yet again as always, HE somehow gets all the damn credit!  I don’t expect you to come out or even hear me, but you only just proved me right!  Mark my words, your day of reckoning is coming, boss!”

Polly says the last word like it is a disease to her.

She stomps off, heading back to the room where she had gotten ready.  When she gets to her belongings, she spots it still sitting there just inside one of her two bags, the envelope that she had received from Mr. Delatosso.  Despite seething mad and grinding her teeth, Polly gets out her thoughts on the envelope that is staring up at her.

“YOU are my one last hope now.”

Her green eyes just stare down at it as she shows no signs of calming down.]]> <![CDATA[A Changing in the Winds...]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4671 Sun, 28 Dec 2025 15:14:50 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4671 Before contracts are signed and bells are rung, there’s a quiet morning in Pittsburgh—coffee on the counter, football on the schedule, and a family that grounds everything. As 2025 comes to a close, Ethan Cross finds himself at the intersection of responsibility and purpose, with the winds of change beginning to blow toward 2026.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1naBK...sp=sharing

[Wanted to do a little introduction for my character. Hope you enjoy.]]]> Before contracts are signed and bells are rung, there’s a quiet morning in Pittsburgh—coffee on the counter, football on the schedule, and a family that grounds everything. As 2025 comes to a close, Ethan Cross finds himself at the intersection of responsibility and purpose, with the winds of change beginning to blow toward 2026.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1naBK...sp=sharing

[Wanted to do a little introduction for my character. Hope you enjoy.]]]> <![CDATA[Dirt Car Racing Adventures preview for Supreme Championship Wrestling in my 2nd RP.]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4642 Wed, 26 Nov 2025 21:03:49 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4642
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Dirt Car Racing Adventures preview for Supreme Championship Wrestling in my 2nd RP.]]>
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Dirt Car Racing Adventures preview for Supreme Championship Wrestling in my 2nd RP.]]> <![CDATA[Vlogging E1]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4577 Thu, 09 Oct 2025 15:11:02 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4577 YouTube video drops featuring Maria Karagianni in white yoga pants, a white cardigan, white Vans, and sunglasses, as she sits at a cafe with Greek coffee.


Maria Karagiannii

Welcome to the vlog. If you're new, I am Maria Karagianni. I’ve got exciting news… I have joined The Supreme Championship Wrestling.i

Maria takes a sip of her coffee as she crosses her legs.


Maria Karagiannii

I'm honored to be part of SCW. I’m excited for the challenges. I am coming to show I am much more than just a pretty face.

Maria Karagiannii

Be sure to like, subscribe, and ring that bell for notifications whenever a new vlog drops… Peace out.

As Feed Ends As Maria Flashes a Peace Sign with her fingers.]]> YouTube video drops featuring Maria Karagianni in white yoga pants, a white cardigan, white Vans, and sunglasses, as she sits at a cafe with Greek coffee.


Maria Karagiannii

Welcome to the vlog. If you're new, I am Maria Karagianni. I’ve got exciting news… I have joined The Supreme Championship Wrestling.i

Maria takes a sip of her coffee as she crosses her legs.


Maria Karagiannii

I'm honored to be part of SCW. I’m excited for the challenges. I am coming to show I am much more than just a pretty face.

Maria Karagiannii

Be sure to like, subscribe, and ring that bell for notifications whenever a new vlog drops… Peace out.

As Feed Ends As Maria Flashes a Peace Sign with her fingers.]]> <![CDATA[Vlogging E1]]> https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4576 Thu, 09 Oct 2025 14:49:49 +0000 https://www.supremecw.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=4576 YouTube video drops featuring Maria Karagianni in white yoga pants, a white cardigan, white Vans, and sunglasses, as she sits at a cafe with Greek coffee.


Maria Karagianni

Welcome To Vlog i]]> YouTube video drops featuring Maria Karagianni in white yoga pants, a white cardigan, white Vans, and sunglasses, as she sits at a cafe with Greek coffee.


Maria Karagianni

Welcome To Vlog i]]>