lostmonarque

[lostmonarque]

Blah Blah Blah

blah blah blah

[lostmonarque]

Interlude

Ryan moved through life with a spirit both unyielding and razor-sharp, her ego as finely tuned as a violin strung taut for battle. Wrestling wasn’t simply her vocation—it was the pulse of her existence, a visceral symphony where brutality met grace.

To those lucky enough to enter her orbit, she was fiercely loyal, her love like a rip current, pulling you under with the force of her conviction or propelling you forward with her unwavering faith. The ring was her canvas, each match an unfolding narrative of triumph and suffering, etched into the sinew of her being. She wasn’t merely a competitor; she was a symbol—experience honed to form for those reckless enough to dream beyond their limits.

At 39, she was defying the inevitable, standing in stubborn defiance of time’s quiet erosion. Her body bore the hallmarks of a career waged in blood and bone, a battlefield where every scar was earned. She understood the finite nature of her craft, that her clock was ticking down, but she embraced this reality with a kind of rebellious joy. This wasn’t a descent—it was an ascent, her final act in a theater where legacies were built from broken bodies.

She wasn’t here to prove anything to the world but to herself, to ensure that the inferno still raged within her, undimmed by the weight of time. Supreme Championship Wrestling had become more than a career-ending home; it was her proving ground. Her record—scattered with victories and failures—held little weight compared to the metamorphosis she was undergoing.

Each match was a chiseling away of imperfection, a sculptor’s hand refining her form. She wasn’t just preparing for the next match; she was constructing something eternal. The upcoming PPV wasn’t simply another fight—it was a crucible.

Gavin Taylor, her next adversary, stood as a monumental test, a wall she intended to shatter. The Lost Monarch wasn’t fading; she was preparing to reassert her presence, to carve her name indelibly into the annals of SCW history.

Restful? Wrestling was anything but. But for Ryan, peace was an ocean she'd never known, and she had no intention of setting sail for calmer seas. Apocalypse isn't just a wrestling event; it’s a turning point—a cataclysm that promises to reshape the landscape, just as Ryan's career, through trials and triumphs, is poised to emerge stronger and more defined from the chaos.

Family Prospects

There’s a familiar soundtrack to Ryan's daily ritual, the familiar cadence of the beat providing a comforting counterpoint to the chaos of Miami's vibrant life at sunset. The salty sea air, carried in through the open windows, mingled with the pungent scent of sweat and chlorine, creating a uniquely visceral and intoxicating ambiance.

Ryan liked it better this way—quiet, slow, no eyes cutting into her focus. Her black hair clung to her damp neck, framing freckled olive skin, features that traced back to France, Lebanon, and an Asian ancestry she never fully pinned down. Her green eyes flicked over the room as she finished her last set on the bench press, arms trembling, expression cool and focused.

Courtney approached, a smile flickering under the dull lights. “Hey, Ryan,” her voice was warm but with an undercurrent of concern. “Looks like you're putting in serious work today.”

Courtney, with her 28-year-old Pacific Northwest charm, had gone from casual manager to close confidante in four short years. Originally, she’d come to Miami to chase a business degree, but her passion for fitness transformed into owning her own studio—a sanctuary for the driven. The gym wasn’t just a place to sweat; it was Courtney’s heartbeat, a haven where people built themselves, much like she had in this muggy coastal city.

Ryan wiped her brow, the sweat beading against her freckled cheeks. Dressed in a simple gray sports bra and black leggings, the fabric clung to her muscular frame—built from years of dedication yet maintaining a graceful edge. Her deep tan glowed even under the harsh fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the empty gym.

“Yeah, getting ready for my next match,” Ryan replied, breathing unevenly, as if each word cost her something.

Courtney raised a brow. “Another match already? Time flies. Who’s it against?”

“Gavin Taylor,” Ryan’s voice flattened, green eyes narrowing.

“Gavin Taylor? From SCW? I caught bits of his matches back in college—my roommate was obsessed. He’s good, right?” Courtney’s tone wavered between vague recognition and genuine support.

Ryan chuckled, low and dark. “Yeah, he’s good. But I’m ready.” She stood, rolling her shoulders, muscles twitching with unsatisfied energy. Her mind already drifted to the ring, fists impacting, weighty expectations pressing in. She was driven—driven to silence the doubters and crush the skepticism of the Supreme Championship Wrestling crowd. Failure? Not an option.

Courtney sighed, leaning against the wall, her usual spark dimmed. “Jake’s been really difficult lately.”

Ryan hesitated. Emotions weren’t her thing. Fights, sure—feelings? Another story. “What’s going on?” Her voice was cautious, wading into unknown territory.

“He was a star in college—Ohio State football. I was running track for Michigan before moving here. We met at a meet, and he was… everything. Larger than life, you know? You couldn’t walk across their campus without hearing his name.”

Ryan listened, brow furrowed, not quite grasping the depth yet. Courtney’s voice softened, distant. “He didn’t get drafted. Nothing. Since then… he’s been angry. Mostly at me.”

Ryan’s muscles tensed, still buzzing from the workout. She understood the weight of failed plans. Dreams shatter, and you’re left picking up pieces you don’t even recognize. “That’s tough,” she said quietly.

Courtney’s eyes clouded. “I just want him to be happy, but it’s like I can’t reach him anymore.”

Ryan locked eyes with her. She knew that sinking feeling, falling short, watching the future slip. “Ever think about leaving?” Her voice was low, too careful.

Courtney shook her head. “I’m scared. I want more. A family, maybe move somewhere new. But I’m terrified to take that leap.”

Ryan leaned against the weight rack, crossing her arms. “Big decisions always are. But you’ll figure it out.”

Courtney’s eyes softened, grateful but conflicted. “Do you think about it? Kids?”

Ryan shifted uncomfortably. “Nina and I have talked about it. A few times. Still figuring things out.”

Courtney’s eyes widened. “Really? Wouldn’t have guessed.”

Ryan shrugged. “Not something I talk about much.”

The gym felt more intimate in its emptiness, the silence between them like an ocean at dusk, pulling them toward shores they hadn’t visited. Courtney offered a faint smile. “You’ll figure it out too, Ryan. In the ring, at least—you’re a champion. Maybe not the family stuff yet, but wrestling? You’ve got it.”

Ryan’s laugh was bitter, her lips barely moving. “I hope so.”

Courtney rested a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to hope. You’ve already proven it.”

The studio—once cold and hollow—now permeated with shared uncertainty. Both stood in that fragile quiet, where strength and vulnerability blurred into one, waiting for what came next.

So You Want To Be A Wrestler?

The crowd wasn’t just noise. It was a pulse—steady, throbbing—bleeding into the air around her, into her skin, into her breath. Ryan stood in it but wasn’t there. She felt it press against her, like a tide pushing but never pulling her under. They wanted her, pieces of her, signatures, smiles, the flicker of recognition in her eyes. The arena, Rogers Arena, hummed with more than electricity. The air felt thick, like an approaching storm, heavy with something unsaid, unseen. Every fan's scream ricocheted off the walls, crashing into the next.

Ryan, though, was quieter. A veteran, yes, but not old—never old. There’s a difference, and only people like her know it. The kind of woman who’s fought too many battles to count, both in the ring and out. A veteran wrestler, especially a woman in this world, learns to sharpen herself—her body, her mind. It’s not just physical; it’s survival. Like the ocean crashing against rocks, shaping them, breaking them. She moved through the crowd like driftwood on the tide.

Her fingers traced the edge of a glossy poster, her face staring back at her—calm, unbothered. She handed it back without looking, her sharpie an extension of herself, moving without thought, automatic. But inside? Inside, she was tight, coiled, her nerves vibrating like the strings of a guitar strummed too hard. She’d done this before, a million times before, but this time... this time felt different. Homecomings always do.

And then there was him. Gavin Taylor. The All-Star, as if the title wasn’t dripping with irony. She who had once ruled but now roamed, untethered, like a ship lost in fog. Ryan knew his kind. Knew the weight of history that comes from being in the business too long, from being looked at like something that was. He haunted her in ways he wouldn’t understand—his presence a shadow she couldn’t quite shake. A veteran, yes, but fading.

The All-Star vs. The Lost Monarch. It sounded grand, in a forgotten kind of way. A match no one thought they needed, but now here it was, the only thing anyone could talk about.

The air thickened when Franklin Mack stepped in. He didn’t just walk into a room; he occupied it, filled it to the corners, the lights dimming under his weight. He was a man cut from something sharper, something darker. His voice was like the last wave before the undertow pulls you under—deep, low, dragging you down. “Ryan.”

She looked up, the hint of a smile on her lips, but her eyes said more—something unspoken, edged in shadow. “Didn’t think you’d show up in person, Franklin.”

He laughed, the sound soft, dangerous. “Had to. Couldn’t miss it. SCW is watching. Everyone is.” His gaze flickered over her, as though measuring, weighing. “Taylor’s good. But you—you’ve got the fight. I know it.”

She nodded, keeping her face still, but inside she was trembling, an earthquake beneath the surface. Not fear, no—anticipation. A hunger that gnawed at her bones, an old feeling that never really went away, not for someone like her. A wrestler, especially one who’s survived as long as she has, learns that the real match is never with the opponent. It’s with yourself, with what you’re willing to leave behind on the canvas.

Franklin leaned in, voice dropping, conspiratorial. “I’ve got a feeling, Ryan. You’re gonna leave a mark. You have the ability, you really do.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark curling around the edges of her smile. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He left, disappearing back into the crowd like a whisper swallowed by the ocean’s roar. But she didn’t watch him go. She was already somewhere else—in tomorrow, in the match, in the moment where everything either breaks or bends.

Gavin Taylor was a name that carried weight, but legends are like glass. Beautiful, yes, but fragile. And Ryan wasn’t here to shatter him, no—that would be too easy. She was here to make him bleed. To carve her name into the skin of the night, into the memory of the fans, into the walls of the arena itself. She didn’t want the belt, not really. She wanted the fight. The feeling that comes when the lights dim, and everything else falls away except the sound of fists and flesh and bone.

Legends? They fade. Moments? Moments last.

Afterword:

Ryan’s voice surged through the Spotify stream—gritty and unfiltered, urgent and stripped of pretense. It was a warning built towards her upcoming contest, and uncharacteristic of how she usually does things. It's embedded throughout the ambiance, a smooth vibe like a trending hashtag drawing attention, very relaxed yet somewhat haunting. The weight of her words conveyed to her listeners, like a tide threatening to engulf a shore, serious and unyielding. As they tuned in, the atmosphere thickened, heavy with unspoken opinions, while she weighed in on her upcoming matchup, blurring boundaries like a late-night scroll through a social feed, each vexing wave revealing details waiting to be studied in the aftermath:

It's actually quite amusing. Throughout my extensive wrestling career, I never considered the possibility of meeting someone as talented as myself. Isn't that ridiculous?. Yet here I am, on this lofty platform for the second time on Pay-Per-View, feeling like a young teenager getting ready for a big match. Am I experiencing anxiety? Or is it the excitement, the raw energy coursing through me like an oversized neon light flickering in a dim alley?

Gavin, let’s skip the formalities for a bit. I’m Ryan Lecavalier — known as The Lost Monarch, in case you're jotting that down.

You? They refer to you as the "All-Star." Oh, the rumors I have heard! You've traveled the world, accumulated awards like they were accessories, and made an impression in SCW. Quite remarkable, indeed. However, I cannot say that I admire you. Instead, I'll use lighthearted teasing to make my point. Consider this: you are the last wrestler I would want to stand across the ring from. Sure, I've had my fair share of encounters with a diverse group of people recently, but what about you? You are the one who truly believes you are destined to take the throne.

Let us take a step backward. Initially, we had a zealot. Following that came the aspiring rock star. We have now arrived at your turn. 'All-Star,' is it? Do you really understand what that means? Let's educate you, shall we?

In the realm of athletics, an All-Star stands out prominently. However, beneath that brilliance lies a foundation of steadiness. They aren’t just brief bursts of brilliance that fade into darkness. It’s about being present consistently, much like a dependable old vehicle that keeps running smoothly. But here’s the twist: All-Stars are frequently exaggerated. They strut in like unicorns, adorned with numerous awards, yet when the intense focus is on them, do they truly come through? Not really. It's Cute, that All-Star persona you flaunt.

Here's the humor in that, Gavin: a lot of people would leap at the chance to take you on, just to put an end to your nonstop talking and show the SCW audience that this is a contest they absolutely cannot pass up. Of course, I could go through all of the reasons why you're doomed to fail, but let's shift gears. Allow me to share with you an anecdote about how I got here and where the hell I'm going next.

You see, I've been on a little sabbatical. Everyone thought that my injury would end my career years ago. While I did take a break for a while, it wasn't just to recover. I chose to avoid the harsh glare of fame and instead concentrate on the life I built outside the arena. What began as a short break quickly became an extended pause. Meanwhile, the sport continued to evolve without me. What about the fans? What about the competitors? Everything shifted. I watched from a distance, wondering if my opportunity had slipped away like sand. At 39, would I be considered a veteran player, with you attempting to take my spot in the ring?

However, there’s another surprising turn: I’ve returned, not out of obligation, but out of desire. I still have more to demonstrate. Not just to you, but to everyone. Yes, you may hold the title of wrestling’s golden child at the moment or so you think, but I’m here to show you that true legends still carry significance.

It pains me to admit, I’ve lost numerous nights in restless thought, contemplating how this showdown will play out when the bell rings. While you’re behind the scenes, engaged in whatever rituals All-Stars perform to hype themselves up—most likely posing in front of a mirror, admiring your own image—I’m out here devising my plan to break you down. That's the nature of the competition, Gavin. I'm not just here to wrestle; I aim to make people like you tap out.

I'm quite the technical genius, as you might have guessed if you took the time to notice. I come from a family of mat experts, with a wrestling legacy steeped in Canadian tradition and French roots. What are you observing right now? It is the culmination of many generations of Lecavalier artistry. Here's a little insider tip: I am not even the most remarkable member of my family. If you think I am a handful, wait until you meet my wife. Or my cousin Misha. To be honest, my first and second cousins have distinct personalities as well. We've all helped to advance this sport by dispelling the myth that women are only meant for pillow fights. That notion? It's been gone for years.

For the time being, we'll skip the family history lesson. This is the main point: I am part of a wrestling dynasty. Norman Lecavalier, better known as "The Natural," is my father. What about my uncles, Martin and Darrius? They ruled the Canadian and French wrestling scenes in their era. What about my grandfather? His father? They are renowned figures in French wrestling history. But let us not make comparisons between their legacy and yours, Gavin. What about the "All-Star" label? It does not carry the same weight, does it?

As a proud Canadian, I feel a strong sense of honor standing here, face to face with another compatriot. We both left our charming small towns behind for the allure of bustling urban life in the United States—you enjoying the dazzling allure of Los Angeles, while I relished the warm rays of Miami. Yet, destiny has led us back to our homeland for this confrontation. If I were to make a comparison, we resemble the Oilers and the Jets. You, without a doubt, represent the Jets. As for me? I embody the Oilers.

Much like the iconic playoff battles of the 1980s, during which the Oilers emerged victorious six out of seven times, I’ll make sure you remember that score by the time the evening wraps up. You may believe you have a minor advantage over me, but I have six compelling reminders for messing you up.

Isn't it almost like a beautiful verse? Competing in Canada, my own backyard, going head-to-head with another Canadian on a pay-per-view event. I couldn't craft a more compelling story if I attempted. What could make this scenario even more delightful? A title belt at stake. But worry not; that moment is on the horizon. Because whether you admit it or not, I continue to be a top-tier wrestler, and I don't require a championship to validate my worth.

Gavin, let’s be honest. You don’t become an athlete in a flash, particularly when it comes to those competing at the Olympics. It takes countless hours of hard work — rising before the sun, testing the endurance of your body, and giving up everything that used to matter just to secure your spot. Qualifying for the Olympic team? That’s the ultimate achievement, right? It's proof that all the pain, all the effort, and every moment of doubt was truly worth it.

However, there’s a minor disappointment that isn’t often mentioned when it comes to being an All-Star of that level: for every athlete who secures a spot on the team, numerous others miss out. Even if you do wear that prestigious jersey for your country, achieving gold doesn’t ensure a storybook conclusion. The pressure? It’s relentless. One moment, you’re soaking in triumph, and in an instant, everything can come crashing down. Set records? Absolutely, but a single poor performance can erase all your hard work, forcing you to pick up the pieces of a broken aspiration.

The psychological burden? Enormous. Feelings of anxiety, uncertainty, and sadness — they lie in wait behind those accolades, poised to pounce. At times, the shine of success diminishes more swiftly than you can imagine, flowing away like sand through your hands. Therefore, as you revel in your moment of fame, keep in mind: it’s a perilous journey, and I’m here to keep you grounded in that truth.

If you consider yourself a top performer, Gavin, listen closely: that title can either lift you up or bring you crashing down. As for my approach? I prefer to dismantle a top performer. You'll soon realize that my goal isn't merely to win; I aim to invade the mind, the very essence of my rival. Imagine this: I catch you in a hold so relentless that you'll start to wonder if all your efforts in this line of work were all in vain. Alternatively, I might devise a more inventive strategy to completely unravel your confidence. When this battle concludes, we’ll determine if you live up to the buzz surrounding you. But I have a feeling you’re not ready for what I'm about to unleash.

You see, Gavin, the phrase "All-Star" doesn’t carry the same weight anymore, does it? In the 80s and 90s, it held real significance. It was exclusive to the top-tier athletes, those who didn’t merely participate in the sport but rather redefined it, altering our understanding of what greatness truly is. But today? It’s turned into a popularity contest, a fan-driven spectacle that undermines the true spirit of excellence in the appeasement of the masses.

Furthermore, can I elaborate on the significance of the whole thing? Now, it's just a generic term for whoever is currently popular among fans. This is where the problem arises: trends shift, and the term "All-Star" no longer holds the same significance. So, as you revel in your temporary success, remember that I'm here to teach you the true meaning of greatness, and I'm not going to make it easy for you.

What is "Fear of Failure" all about? Every competitor has been surrounded by a shroud. Those persistent thoughts that challenge you and remind you that one mistake can undo all of your hard work. But here's the twist: failing isn't the end of the story; it's the turning point where you decide whether to recover or fall apart. Some people succumb to stress. Others, like myself, thrive in times of turmoil.

There’s also the painful experience of losing one’s sense of self. You pour your heart and soul into this activity, and when it fades, what remains of you? I’ve seen it shatter lives, taking away their very core. I almost fell victim to that fate when I took a break, but I came back more resilient because I was determined not to let it define me.

Let’s not overlook burnout, the stealthy adversary in this journey. You strive relentlessly until your body pleads for relief. Your knees, back, and neck—before long, every part of you is in pain. Still, you adapt and press on, even when advancing feels like hauling a heavy stone. Concerned about getting older? At 39, I sense it more intensely each day. However, rather than succumbing to fear, I transform that apprehension into motivation, driving myself to grow stronger, more focused, and tougher than I’ve ever been.

And what about issues related to body image? Can't they be incredibly overwhelming? It feels like everyone is looking at you, scrutinizing every minor flaw. This game appears impossible to win, doesn't it? However, here's the truth: I have no desire to conform to their expectations of how I should look. I'm aware of my strengths, and that's what really matters. The same is true for previous painful experiences; it's not just about physical wounds; emotional imprints also remain. With each competition and defeat, I bear the weight of those experiences. However, I accept those marks with pride because they document my journey of perseverance and determination.

In the background, fresh challengers are waiting, each one more determined than the former, all set to carve out their reputation at my cost. Setbacks? They might keep you out of the ring, perhaps even permanently. Yet for me, healing is merely another fight to win, a struggle that only enhances my abilities as I return to the arena.

Let’s delve into the constant pressure from the media and the high hopes of fans — it can be unyielding. People seem to have thoughts on every aspect of your profession and personal life. The chaos of social media? It resembles an aggressive beast, always poised to attack. Yet, when you become ensnared in a never-ending whirlwind of journeys and feel the weight of solitude, it becomes clear that all that clamor is insignificant.

You discover how to focus on your inner self and identify your true desires. This is why it’s essential to connect with a cause that matters. You require something that goes beyond mere victories and defeats, something more significant than the praises or criticisms you receive. It’s about having a sense of purpose. It’s about standing up for ideals that resonate deeply within you, motivating you to elevate yourself and succeed, no matter what others outside the arena might express. Ultimately, it’s not merely about the confrontations you encounter with your rivals; it’s about the ongoing struggle you fight within your own heart and mind.

Challenging preconceived notions? I have been dismantling those constraints throughout my career, repeatedly demonstrating that I exceed the narrow expectations others may hold. Every match and every rival presents a new chance to challenge the assumptions people have about me.

Amidst that unyielding struggle, you encounter a path to understanding yourself — your true essence emerges as the clamor subsides into quietude. This voyage is transformative, peeling away the external layers of your guise to uncover the very heart of your existence.

Making a lasting impression is, in the end, what matters. That is my motivation for being here. It's more than just competing in the ring; it's about leaving an impression that will last long after I've left the industry. a legacy that personifies the essence of rebellion, the power of tenacity, and the value of remaining true to oneself. I want to leave an imprint on history, to demonstrate that I am more than just a competitor; I am a formidable presence. That is a story worthy of recognition.

And Gavin, that’s precisely why I’m going to beat you at Apocalypse.

My goal isn’t simply to achieve another win. Instead, I aim to make you understand the sensation of confronting someone who defies your limited view of what an All-Star truly represents. I’m not just reshaping my legacy by defeating you — I’m actively building it because there’s nothing you can do to hinder my progression.

This isn't merely just an ordinary match; it's a pivotal occasion. It's an opportunity to demonstrate to the world that genuine excellence isn’t gauged by championships or fame. It’s about passion, determination, and the unyielding chase of your own reality. When that bell sounds, you'll come to understand that you're not simply up against an adversary; you're confronting something far more strategic, an entity that defies classification and cannot be restrained.

Get ready to give it your all, Gavin. I’ll be set, and when everything is said and done, it will be my name that resonates through the history of wrestling, not yours. Brace yourself for a showdown, as I’m here to show you that true legends never disappear; they keep coming back, over and over.

Also, there’s one last item to remember. Make sure to bear your crown. I’ve heard it's heavy.