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Jonathan last won the day on April 15

Jonathan had the most liked content!


About Jonathan

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  • Birthday September 24

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  1. I don't know if my list was necessarily the most accomplished or longest stretch of greatness, don't really care, I thought about five of the most dominant athletes who essentially ruined their sports with how they broke the conventions of what the best was supposed to be. These five lapped the field more than any other which is why I consider them the greatest athletes off all time. 1. Barry Bonds 2. Mike Tyson 3. Michael Phelps 4. Usain Bolt 5. Wayne Gretzky
  2. "How could anyone adapt to such a radical change in the way the world works, with the idea of power shifted to who was born the strongest, not who could manipulate the rules enough to sit at the top. Every idea of power crumbled, everything so on edge. Presidents were put in the grave because nobody could stop all the freaks being born into the world. The last thing people needed was a push towards the extreme, this was fucking setting fire to the world and letting everybody try to figure it out, one power after the other. It was a shitshow to watch, that’s what made it so much more fun." Welcome To The New World You've been born into the shitshow, a world where the powers that existed in writings of fantasy are now apart of the human genome. Some explain it as the next step in evolution, some say that God got bored, but why doesn't matter now, all that's left is trying to figure how you're gonna make it through the chaos. Please remember to smile and enjoy, and remember, your last words shouldn't be shitty. Signup Sheet: Name: Nickname: Height: Weight: Build: Appearance: Power: General Backstory: Allegiance (Police, Vigilante, Mafia, Cartel, Antihero, Criminal, etc) : Preferred Last Words:
  3. Entry Twelve: Double Goddamnit March 26, 2017 Staten Island, New York Slater Federation Wrestling - Carnage I sat in my car, seat pushed all the way back as I wrapped my knee three times over, tightly taping it before pulling an ace bandage over all the athletic tape and clamping it shut with a pair of pins. It was a pathetic support but anything would be. I had torn my ACL right off the bone, my knee had the stability of jello so I had seventeen braces and had done everything short of a burnt offering to the gods in hopes for no chance of further aggravating it. And I was currently very much regretting not making that offering. I pulled my wrestling tights over the wrap, then pulled my brace over the tights, creating a defacto splint. I couldn’t really afford to dress in the locker room a field a million questions about the status of my knee. So I just hoped to blend into the shadows per usual. I pulled a pair of sweatpants over my tights, grabbed my duffel and headed to the ferry, limping the entire way there. I debated for what seemed like the millionth time if it was actually worth it, staking my future, in wrestling and beyond, all because of paranoia about what the injury could mean. So what, I got injured, shit happens sometimes, and getting worse won’t open any doors for me, neither will bombing bookings because I can’t do a 450. If kept working at it, I’d get back to exact same place I was now, and could push past. I could make PWG come calling again if I wanted it enough... or they wouldn’t. How was I supposed to sit still for a year, watching my friends succeed on the stage I wanted to be on. If it meant wrestling one leg, that’s what I was prepared to do. Would I regret it when my leg literally fell off? Probably, but who plans for the future anyways? I made my usual trip to SFW Arena, arriving about an hour before the show was set to get underway. I was set to face Kyle Reeves in a rematch from match two weeks ago, which had managed to steal the show. We got a week off to recuperate from the damage done, but would be giving the fans the rematch they’d clamored for. The match would be closing the show, which was no pressure considering that if I fucked up I could always just bring up my ACL. Really I saw this as an absolute win. I ducked off to an empty hallway as I awaited the start of the show, passing the time texting Brave and Flynn, who’d both just made their NXT debuts a month after TakeOver: Phoenix. Brave took on Velveteen Dream, but came a short in a fun match, making a great first impression. Flynn did what he usually did, win, beating Kassius Ohno in a great showing, so in other words, nothing had changed. It was an exciting time for them, but I still had gotten radio silence from Ryan. I tried my best to be happy for them, they’d done exactly what we promised each other would do, and they’d be coming back to Brooklyn in about a month. It’d be a trip seeing them again, with me so far removed from the track we all started on. I could feel my existentialism closing in so I decided to join the others in the locker room, in the midst of an intense game of Heads Up. I edged around to the back of the room, trying to soak in as much of the fun as possible without drawing attention to myself and knee that suddenly looked like it put on an extra twenty pounds. It was a fun group of guys, not without their fair share of drama but regardless, they came in with enthusiasm and energy every week, looking to be the best they could be. It was infectious, I’d probably enjoy it more if I wasn’t so focused on getting by to the WWE again, but I wanted to be where my friends where, that wasn’t here. I stayed for a couple minutes before ducking out to the guerilla area. I got in a good stretch as I waited for the show to start, it wasn’t a long wait. Kyle joined me shortly after the show got underway, waiting for our match to be announced. “Savage Mode” started playing and I pushed to the curtain, reminding myself to walk as normally as I could. I pushed the curtains aside and walked out to a warm reception to the fans, taking a moment to bathe in the appreciation before going to the edge of the stage to perform. I upped my pace a bit, getting to the ring quickly. Reeves followed suit, not taking too long to grandstand as “Rise Up” played. He was in the ring and facing off against me before long. Eventually the referee came between us, ushering us to separate corners. He signaled for the bell and the match got underway. “Straight Jacket Shooter” Jonathan Kersey vs “The Black Lion” Kyle “Lionheart” Reeves II For A Comparable Number Of Marbles Kyle didn’t explode out to start the match. He began to circle the ring, edging closer to me with every step around the ring, trying to close of my angles of escape. I saw through the scheme and this time went on the offense, getting a collar and elbow tie up. Reeves didn’t waste any time before ducking out of the hold towards the turnbuckle, trying to maintain some measure of distance between us. I quickly pursued him, employing his own strategy against him, cornering him in... well the corner. We locked up again as I pushed him against the turnbuckle, pushing my forearm into his face and cranking his neck back. He tried to duck away again but I saw it coming, slipping behind him and hitting a Buckle German, sending his skull crashing against the middle turnbuckle. Reeves skimped after the devastating impact. I sprinted to the opposite turnbuckle, setting up for a grounded Shotgun Dropkick. I took off towards the turnbuckle as the fans began to howl in anticipation, a smile crossed my lips as I approached. I halted suddenly, as I felt my arm get yanked behind me, I got spun around, the last thing I saw was the smug face of Julius Jones, before he planted me with a Hells Welcome (End Of Days). I laid there, face into the mat before I dragged myself away from the center of the ring. I could hear Julius calling out to someone, telling them to, “Get him up”. I hoped it wasn’t me as I neared the edge of the ring. It wasn’t me, before I could get my bearings, I felt the ring tremble following what I could only assume was a thunderous Hell’s Welcome. I could hear the belly laughing of the pair, before a second voice, closer to me called out to me. ?: “Exactly where do you think you’re goin mate?” I was jerked up to my feet and turned, as I took in the mug of Daniel Vice for half a second, before I was thrown up, feet dangling in the air as he held me in position for a suplex, I wasn’t that lucky. I was spiked back into the mat. I stared into the lights, reeling from the ambush. I felt my hair get tugged as my head was pulled off my mat. I squinted up, seeing the piercing, and quite angry, eyes of Julius glaring down at me. Julius: Welcome to the show rookie, you managed to slip past me last week and somehow wrestle some of my spotlight onto you and that pathetic “Lionheart”. You see normally I leave the welcome wagon festivities to Mr. Vice, but I couldn’t let him have all the fun this time. I wanted to really make sure you know your place here in SFW. He handed the microphone to Vice, who didn’t even bother to look down at me, looking out to the fans in attendance instead. Vice: Never forget that this will always and forever be the Daniel Vice show, every superstars career trajectory is in my hands, as long as you bend the knee, we should never have any problems. Understand that you’ll never take what I want from me, and we’ll get along just great. You had to learn Jon, you and Kyles rocket ride to the top is done, until further developments. Enjoy your stay. Julius: Now I know that you can have a tendency to be a bit crazy, so we decided to plan a little deterrent. Vice dragged me to my feet as Julius backed to the corner, he exploded out, closing the gap he’d just opened up with massive strides, before hitting me square in the nose with a Claymore. My body thudded against the mat once again, I couldn’t even sit up. Not that I needed to, as Vice propped me up once again. Julius took the microphone back to his lips. Julius: Now I’m about to take a before picture Johnny, this is what you’ll look like if you stay in your place. For your sake, don’t make me take an after picture. Vice handed Julius a phone, the posed against my limp body before snapping a picture and letting my head slam against the mat once again. And just like that, there went that fun thing.
  4. The titantron falls to black, the entire arena following suit. After some seconds, the face of Jonathan appears squarely in the center of the titantron. Jonathan makes his first appearance following his draw with Prince in the first night of Survival Games. He glares down the lens, not looking particularly perturbed, contrasting his normal behavior after a loss. His face mirrors the one he had in preparation of the clash with “The Artist”. His narrowed eyes unchanged, as well as his furrowed eyebrows, as if he lives apart from distraction. “I assume this is not the scene you were expecting, after the draw between myself and Prince, this would be a time to be beside myself, howling my anger out. There’s no need for that, no time to be distracting by allowing raw emotions to overwhelm me. Being upset will only serve to sabotage me, distract me from my goal and disrupt my focus. Especially considering exactly who my next opponent is.” Jonathan pauses for a moment, edging closer to the camera as he implies a new focus on FDS, his next scheduled opponent. The love lost between these two well documented, brought back to the attention of the BPZ fan base following FDS’s message for “Johnny Kills”. Jonathan takes a second, collecting his thoughts before speaking again. “A man I fought besides for many months, one who I swore vengeance on and exacted precisely what I set out to do. The past where share is rather tumultuous, I’ve dwelled on it a little in preparation for our match, more than I should’ve. I recall the doggedness that you entered every moment, promo, and match, it was as if somebody painted determination on your face and let it set. It was rivaled only by your stubbornness on whatever you decided was right for you in any instance. It made you formidable, and also vulnerable. Your inability to view full scopes always troubled me, and now I get to see whether you’ve changed, though I’m not confident you have.” “Perhaps you’ve realized that you’re no longer the superstar you used to be, whether your belief you’ve become even better or simply regressed is none of my concern. And now you’ve begun to cooperate with others again, sheathing to so called “Emperor of Chaos” persona and displaying your heart for all to see. Your apology reeks of him though, doesn’t it? You’re trying to run from your own shadow, not accepting the futileness of your efforts, trying to disassociate from your past instead of facing it. All this time, and you still enjoy running from your problems? Old habits die hard I guess.” “You use your supposed trauma as a way to establish an emotional connection? Perhaps you’re trying to get me to lower my guard, expecting that I would train myself, motivated by my hatred of you. Whether I hate you or not is irrelevant to what I want, so allow me to put your mind I ease. My disgust for you, your methods, and all associated with you will not change the proceedings of the match. Titles aren’t granted on the baggage one brings to the ring. If it’d help you to view me as heartless and callous, refer to me as Johnny Kills, by all means, do whatever you choose to do. It doesn’t matter in the end, because regardless of my feelings, I always intended on slamming your head through the mat.”
  5. A blinding light spreads across the tighten titantron until a pure white light radiates through the darkened arena, now solely via the tron. The fans lie in wait for someone to emerge into the heavenly scene, as the camera adjusts to the rooms brightness. The ivory scene dims a tad, revealing the room to be all white, save for a modified cross scrawled on the wall. Footsteps crescendo from behind the camera until somebody walks past the camera, facing the cross for a few moments before slowly turning, revealing himself as the man set to face Prince in days time. Jonathan stops, donning all black in sharp contrast to the room around him. He stands in front of the camera, bathed in bleached lighting, maintaining his intensity from his last address. He doesn’t prolong the proceedings any further, as he starts his tirade. “Prince, a man who the most noble of aspirations. He disguised himself with such a narcissistic and arrogant demeanor, hiding his truth. That he’s the idealistic wrestler he was when he first decided that he round dedicate his life to this industry. Every time he laces his boots it’s a decision to continue chasing his boyhood dreams. He wants a chance to shine in the limelight just like the stars he admires.” “I suppose I’m supposed to spit at this premise, show some visible disgust by the quixotic nature on display. I couldn’t bring myself to scoff at the ideals I used to hold, aspirations that supplied me with an endless hunger in hopes of fulfilling the ‘boyhood dream’. It’s a useful tool if honed correctly, invincible to discouragement and saturated with determination, until you proclaim to anybody that will listen that no obstacle that can stop. That you won’t let anything or anyone limit you. That’s why it works so much for children, those who can chase and chase and chase until eventually they get handed what they desire on a silver platter.” Jonathan suddenly halts, not breaking eye contact with the camera, retaining the attention of all. A quick wave of emotion washes over him, as he smirks for a millisecond before returning to his stoic demeanor. He takes another step towards the camera, further enveloping the lens, then begins to speak again. “It took me years to realize that there’s no development of a killer instinct when your dream chasing. There’s no urgency, no attempt to do anything required in order to accomplish a dream. That’s why I’ve stopped my obsession with my own dreams, and have become increasingly interested in nightmares. There’s no length you won’t travel to end everybody around you’s dream, no belief that it’ll just happen to workout in your favor. Becoming a nightmare cultivates everything about you to become what is feared, the reality that occurs for most. The grounded truth... that there are no dreams worth more than nightmares. That in the cold, unforgiving reality we exist in, subscribing to the mentality of the dreamer leaves you without anything but a broken heart, and the visual of somebody else taking everything you wished upon yourself. Are you prepared to experience your nightmare Prince? I surely hope you are. As far as you should be concerned, it’s dream over...” Without warning the lights fall around Jonathan, leaving the blindingroom cloaked in darkness. The faint vignette of Jonathan remains in the camera as he begins to fall back into the darkness. His footsteps grow quieter and quieter before ceasing for a moment as Jonathan delivers a final chilling line before the titantron returns to normal. “Your dreams, Mr. Prince, will fade to black.”
  6. A candlelight room appears on the titantron, as the arena lighted dim until the candles scarcely illuminate the crowd. A chair is present, surrounded by familiar artwork. A cloaked figure enters the frame, taking a seat amidst the candles, face concealed by shadows. Nothing occurs as moments pass, before the man leans forward, his face shone on by candles, revealing it to be Jonathan. “I assume it’s likely an explanation is in order, a mysterious disappearance after a disappointing string of losses. Suffice it to say that I wasn’t very pleased, the schemes I’d hatched had fallen apart, the goals I’d concocted strayed further and further from my grasp. I didn’t know what I fought for, my crusade for vengeance had left me with more questions then answers, and a void in the depths of my heart that I was unable to fill. I didn’t know what I wanted, what more could I do when everything I wanted when I started I’d accomplished, what was my drive?” “I pondered this question, holding it alongside considerations of simply leaving. I couldn’t bring myself to cut ties with this company, I still desired more and didn’t know how to go about achieving goals that I couldn’t understand. My motivations where veiled, and I faltered, questioning and second guessing what I thought I wanted. Revenge was so unfulfilling, it could serve as additional drive to want I truly desired. Being on top, reigning supreme at the top of this goddamned company by any means necessary, reclaiming my spot as the unquestioned Ace and champion of the fricking world.” Jonathan doesn’t exude the arrogance as he had previously, an unflinching, laser focus remains on his face as he addresses the crowd, leaving no doubt as to his intentions. He leans back for a moment, then begins gesturing to all the art that surrounds him, and beginning to speak, cloaked in the darkness. “Survival Games has granted me an opportunity to do this, bring myself closer to the championship opportunity I desire, provided I defeat some of the best and brightest BPZ has to offer. My journey begins with a familiar foe, coated in a fresh sheet of paint and a reinvigorated God complex. Prince, it wasn’t long ago that I delivered a message in front of all these people, saying that you were a pathetic waste of talent and potential, promising you would be defeated at my hands and then making good on that promise when I planted you in the middle of that ring and pinning you. You’ve changed since then, you’ve become reassured in your abilities, promising that you’ve grown to a threat we had yet to regard with, that I had yet to regard you with. Is this what you aspire to create Mr. Prince, a masterful work of passion to be enjoyed by the masses. You want to be the elegant star, creating your own story, crafting your destiny in your hands, being the star of your own film. It’s admirable...” Jonathan leans forward, eyebrows narrowed and furrowed, lips pursed, with perhaps a slight indentation in his lips. He folds his hands under his chin as he opens his mouth again to deliver a final verbal flurry. “Trust me when I say what you promise is inconsequential. Useless with a performance that matches the intensity and vigor that you delivered your message with. Are you prepared to clash with the superstars that disposed of you with such ease before? I don’t believe you are, despite what you may claim. You told me that I would be a fool to underestimate you before and didn’t prove anything to validate the words you spoke. No change in demeanor or attitude will make me tremble Prince, you’ve made so many claims to be a new man, so many empty threats and promises, that I almost salivate at the thought of defeating you again, sending your house of cards trembling, and leaving the Promising Prince on mat, struggling for air once again. Please, don’t disappoint.”
  7. Actually, at the rate I’m going at, we’re looking at about a year and a half
  8. Entry Eleven: Johnnywood March 12, 2017 Staten Island, New York Slater Federation Wrestling - Carnage I nearly fainted when I saw the email, I’m certain that I exited myself for a moment and only came back when I heard my phone slam against the floor. I looked the header of the email once again, “Interested in BOLA?” and dropped my phone again. I swung my legs over my bed and picked up my phone on my way to the bathroom and read through the rest of the email, where Super Dragon gushed over me and expressed his interest in me. I slammed the bathroom door close and turned on the faucet, splashing myself with water to calm myself but when I looked up, the mirror showed me and my shit eating grin. This was my official third chance, and BOLA meant everything to me. I replied with a million times yes before I started getting ready for the rest of my day, including my SFW debut against the kid brother of Ryan Reeves, Kyle. Me and Ry had fallen out of touch after I was released but I’d sent him a message telling him about the match to no response. Kyle and I had met a handful of times before, mostly related to his older brother’s infamous benders and he was every bit as talented as Ryan, his break just didn’t come as easily for one reason or another. It’d be cool matching up against him. I hurried out the house and got into my shitty A6, which was one more repair away from earning me a free oil change. I headed out of Queens to WalMart, where I was still picking up shifts but today I couldn’t care less. I sped to the ferry, and spent the thirty minute ride to Staten Island trying to get my game on with Kaylyn (pretty successfully if I do say so myself) until the sight of bad perms and smell of spray tan let me know I had arrived. I hailed a cab and made pretty good time to SFW Arena. I headed to the crowded locker room, passing Liam Starr and Angelo Caito as I waved a hi before continuing past them. I maneuvered through the locker room, finding enough space to get dressed for the show. I continued to greet some of the SFW headliners like Yelich Anderson and Mil Amas, it was a rather tight knit locker room and at the moment, I was standing on the outskirts, I didn’t mind all that much, I wasn’t here trying to make friends, I had those and they were where I wanted to be. I promised myself that I’d make it back to the WWE, without any doubt as to whether or not I deserved to be there, I needed to be here to do that. So I’d continue to pay my dues, be everything I was required to be, and keep climbing towards my dream. I was too late to help setup the ring so I migrated to the viewing area, where Josh Scott and Red Arrow would eek out a victory over Overheel and Prince Cutler, my match would follow Liam Starr versus Alyx Cuddlezworth so I took the time to stretch, making sure I paid extra attention to my, which I had a small brace on, supposedly, I was once again a hundred percent, I wanted some form of insurance regardless. I straightened up after completing my routine twice, and saw Kyle standing near the TV, gulping down a Red Bull. I approached him, he noticed as I grew closer and smiled a bit. We made some small talk as Smith and Cuddlezworth winded down, I planned on asking him if he had been able to reach his brother but our conversation was cut short from Daniel Vice prompting us to hustle over to the guerilla area. I started to focus on the match again, running through it as much as I could before we reached the guerilla, where my music was already starting. I walked through the curtains, stepping into the music as “Savage Mode” boomed through the arena speakers. I stood in the smoke, allowing it to shroud me and further obscure the view of those in attendance, as FD Slater began to shout. “Making is SFW debut, standing at 6 foot 3, 163 pounds, hailing Queens, New York, the “Straight Jacket Shooter” Jonathan KERSEY!” I raised my hand, making a generic three fingered hand signal before swaggering out to the edge of the ramp with a crazed grin on my lips. Contrary to most of my appearances, I managed to get a decent pop, probably from my infamous shoot. I continued down the ramp, showing the fans some love on my way to the ring, I eventually climbed into the ring. “Rise Up” by Extreme Music began to play before I even crossed the middle of the ring and Slater takes to the microphone once again as Reeves jogged to the front of the ramp as Slater introduced him. “And his opponent, The Pride of White Plains, New York, standing at 5’9, 181 pounds, “The Black Lion” Kyle “Lionheart” REEEEVESSS!” Reeves made his entrance, getting cheered the whole way down by the adoring audience. He finally reached the ring where he immediately made his way towards me. He extended his hand as his music stopped, and I took it, before pulling him in close and exchanging an intense, indistinct conversation before pulling away. I smirked at him as we began to circle the ring, both of us stopping in a corner as the ref rang the bell. “Straight Jacket Shooter” Jonathan Kersey vs “The Black Lion” Kyle “Lionheart” Reeves Kyle faked a stutter out the gates, before flying at me, looking for a quick Claymore, I just managed to evade, rolling out the corner to the center of the ring. He didn’t seem to be keen on allowing me to get my bearings, as he bounced back to his feet off the mat and came sprinting at me as I got back to my base. I reacted quickly, lunging towards Reeves and sending him crashing face first into the mat with a barrel roll chop block. I took a page out of Kyles book, scrambling back to him as he lifted his chest off the mat, a bit dazed from the fall, and immediately getting him in a headlock. I wrestled his head back to the mat, looking to slow the pace to my favor. Reeves struggled in the hold, clawing at my forearms to try to wrench himself out the hold before stopping that plan of attack. He dropped his head to the mat, and instead got into a headstand, reminiscent of Jack Gallagher. I released the headlock, instead quickly grabbing a hold of Reeves’ legs and forcefully placing my knee on the small of his back, countering his headstand into a modified elevated Boston Crab. I wrenched the hold, leaning back to put his back under increased strain. The pain became visible on the rapidly reddening face of Kyle, as I cinched the hold in further. I lifted my leg, placing it on the other side of Reeves and dropped my weight onto the back of Reeves to get a traditional Boston Crab locked in. Kyle didn’t quite wave the white flag, he pushed himself off the mat, lifting my alongside him, and incredibly managed to get back to a handstand, lifting my all the back to my feet as he wiggled out of my grasp. I hesitated, shocked at the feat that garnered a good reaction from those in attendance, I finally came back to life, trying to pounce on the hurting Reeves who slid outside the ring. I sized him up as I approached the ropes, I lined him up again, before skying to the top rope, looking for a springboard 450 when Reeves sprung to action, crashing into the ropes to send me tumbling! My right knee caught on rope as the rest of my body careened off the apron, it was over before I even hit the mat. I felt the tear, it felt somebody was slowly peeling my ligament off the bone, just like a band aid. I thudded against the apron, which jarred my knee of the rope as I fell again to the padded floor. I lied there, writhing in pain, grabbing at my knee. The crowd fell still as Reeves leaned against the apron, panting heavily and looking down at my with my knee hugged to my chest. The referee halted his count and came to check on me. In that moment, I could see the dreams I’d envisioned falling away, replaced by painful memories of extensive rehabilitation. My eyes began to water as I realized that my weekend in Pasadena would be replaced with the painstaking process of physical therapy. I could feel the window to WWE I’d concocted slamming shut, replaced by my subsequent retirement from pro wrestling as a whole. The referee finally reached me, asking in a hushed tone, “Are you okay?” I opened an eye, looking at his concerned face as well as Reeves, and responded with a whisper. “Yeah, I just gotta sell you know?” He paused a beat, raising an eyebrow before smirking for a second and returning to the ring to resume his count. Reeves came over, playing to the crowd as he tried to move past my spill out the ring and lifted me to my feet, rolling me into the ring. He scaled the turnbuckle, and launched himself into the rafters, tucking in tight and rotating, looking for his patented 630. He came spiraling down onto my raised knees. He bounced off of them, rolling towards the other side of the ring as the momentum flipped once more. We both clambered to our feet, essentially restarting the match with some major impairments. Reeves reached at his back, and I slapped my knee, trying to will it to cooperate with me a little while longer. He came back to the center of the ring, both of us hobbled as we exchanged some words, getting nose to nose with each other before engaging in a vicious collar and elbow tie up. I quickly took control, outmaneuvering Reeves and getting belly to back for a masterful German, which I bridged, 1…— Kyle got his shoulder off the mat, but didn’t break the hold, I rolled through, standing on just my left as a hit a short deadlift German, bridging this one as well, 1...2.— “Lionheart” living up to his moniker. But my grip remained cinched in, I rolled through once more, again lifting Reeves with only my left leg planted, before I launched him overhead with a release deadlift German suplex. I turned to cover once again, but instead saw Reeves bouncing off the ropes with a handspring. Before I could react, “The Pride White Plains” planted me with a cutter! He quickly flipped me onto my back and hooked the leg to cover., 1...2..— i muscled out of the cover! Reeves slammed the mat in frustration, before covering me once more, to no avail, getting another two count. He made his way to his feet, taking his time as I crawled towards the ropes. I dragged my body up, and limped back towards back Reeves, but didn’t get far, Kyle took action connecting with a super kick to my good knee, taking it out from under me and leaving me on my knees. He didn’t hesitate this time, connecting on a flurry of soccer kicks. I doubled over, my chest know having “The Black Lion”’s kickpad imprinted on it. Reeves didn’t let up, lifting my chin, before shuffling back and looking for a low roundhouse to the side of my head, I managed to duck under it, taking the opportunity to roll up Reeves. I couldn’t maintain my grip and Reeves rolled through, and connected with a nasty kick to the side of my skull, sending me slumping into the mat and Reeves hurriedly rolled me over, looking for the pin fall. 1...2..— I kicked out. Reeves looking up at the ref, in disbelief about the two count. He looked down at me, trying to formulate a plan of attack. Finally, he went back to the apron as I tried once again to pull myself back to my feet. He jumped up, looking for a springboard Cutter but I rolled past him. I quickly got back to my feet and rebounded off the ropes, as Reeves somehow managed to land on his feet, I took it in stride, torpedoing myself at the knee of Reeves, and hitting a Claymore to the back of his knee, dropping Reeves on his back. Reeves tried to recover quickly, slithering away before I could follow up the move and getting back to his feet. I had no intention on allowing him to get breathing room, a hustled over towards, with an awkward gait as I dragged my knee with the rest of my body. I reached Reeves, who tried to stop me with another superkick, I ducked past him, getting belly to back once again as I grabbed his plant leg and tossing him into the air, catching him on the way down for a leg trap neckbreaker. I wasted no time before bringing Reeves back to his feet, I threw his arm around my head and hooked his leg, looking for the Concussion Protocol. I lifted him off the ground but lost the grip, Reeves landed on his feet behind me and headed quickly to the opposite ropes as I turned and chased. He jumped, angling himself at the middle rope and springing of it, looking for his patented Springboard Cutter, but I had it scouted and snatching him around the waist mid flight, slamming him into to the mat with sick release German suplex! Kyle finally stopped rolling from the impact and lied on the mat, the only sign of life being his chest, heaving up and down. I saw him, positioned perfectly. I rolled out to the apron, and stood. I took my time, balancing on my left leg first then planting my right, wincing I straightened it. I threw myself to the top rope, and jumped off it, looking for a 450 and hitting it, slamming into the abdomen of Kyle and covering, 1...2...— “Lionheart” once again proved his nickname was appropriate. I sat up, looking back at the panting Reeves and shook my head, before hobbling back to my feet. I pulled him up alongside with me, keeping him at arms length, then yanking him towards me, looking for the Crash Cart but Reeves evaded, springing to the ropes one more time and springing off it to finally hit and MASSIVE Springboard Cutter! The move left both of us immobilized, my head was stuck to the mat, my eyes wouldn’t open. Reeves tried to come over to cover but just slouched back down, both our bodies had been pushed so much in such a short timeframe, the match had yet to reach fifteen minutes and we were all out of effort to give. The crowd pleaded with us to go on, trying to drown out the count of the referee. I rolled onto my back as he reached six, trying to pull myself up but finding myself unable to. His count continued, he reached seven... eight..— then he stopped! I was still stuck to the mat, Reeves had risen, I caught a glimpse of him, he was on the apron, slowly making his way to the top turnbuckle. He finally got their, and without wait, he threw himself into the sky, tucking himself in close, rotating once, then twice as he fell out the rafters towards me. I tried to drag my knees up as he fell ever closer to me, trying to end the match with his 630 Senton. He finally finished his descent, his back crashing against me. He rolled off me after the impact, holding his back with both hands after landing on my knees. I struck in an instant, pushing him onto his gut and grabbing him by his neck, I locked in Dementia, having the full Dragon Sleeper locked in. I wrenched his neck back violently, bending him in half at the back until anguish filled his face. I kept it in until he turned pale, hardly able to breathe, and finally, he tapped. I let go off the sleeper, hobbling away from the limp body of Reeves as making my way to the ropes. I leaned against them, trying my damndest to stand upright. I hobbled back to the center, allowing the ref to raise my arm and taking a moment to pose with Reeves body under me. I smirked at the crowd before rolling out the ring, then limped to the curtain. I paused, knowing that I’d have to eliminate the limp if I really wanted to go through with that half brained scheme I came up with, I had to wrestle for seven months an insane number times with a torn something, without letting anybody know that my I blew my knee out again. I swore under my breath, assumed that God hate me and walked through the curtain, no sign of a limp, hobble, or hitch in my step. This was gonna be fun.
  9. 100% correct season predictions, fwiw ~ means about, meaning I think the teams will be somewhere around this win total
  10. QB Tiers (got bored, made the list) Tier 1 (Best Of The Best) Mahomes Brees Brady Wilson Rodgers Tier 2 (Elite) Luck Ryan Newton Rivers Tier 3 (Upper Echelon Youngsters) Mayfield Watson Wentz Goff Tier 4 (Above Average: toughest tier imo) Big Ben Stafford Dak Jimmy G Cousins Mariota Tier 5 (Replacement Level) Winston Alex Smith Darnold Trubisky Jackson Carr Mullens Dalton Fitzpatrick Brisett Bridgewater Taylor Tier 6 (Need Development) Allen Murray Haskins Rosen Lock Jones Tier 7 (Below Average) Foles Flacco Keemun Tannehill Tier 8 (Utter Gutter Trash) Manning Beathard Petermeme Driskel
  11. happy 5 years legend

    1. Jonathan


      I really made it to 5 years, what the fuck is wrong with me. Thanks to y’all for being a fun community to be apart of for the past years, here’s to 5 more, semi active, part timing years

  12. Name: Johnny Kills Theme: “Rockstar” Lil Migo Gimmick: Undisputed Signature 1: Package Piledriver Signature 2: Claymore Finisher 1: TALITE (Ripcord Bicycle Knee) Finisher 2: Death Wish (Black Mass/German Combo) Graphic Representative: Aleister Black Extra: Several year pro, fairly acclaimed career across Japan, Britain, and Europe
  13. “Cold Shoulder” blares through the arena, stopping the decree from Flynn and effectively pissing him off as Jonathan slowly saunters out to the stage, putting the fans on edge with his return from hiatus. He emerges at the top of the stage, mouth hanging slightly open, staring down Flynn with no discernible amount of focus. He’s seemingly in a daze, without the calculated menace he’s infamous for. He continues down the ramp, pausing frequently at an incredibly slow pace. He ends his march at the apron, gazing up at the Universal Champion as he puts his microphone to his mouth, still hanging ajar. “A fall from grace isn’t it Flynn. You aren’t far removed captivating encounters with your former best friend, headlining show after show. The audience fed out of your hands, enveloped in every story you created, hanging on every word you said. Now you work with talent that you believe is so far below you, undeserving of mention in the same breath as your name. You come out here, telling this people to believe what you say, just like they used to. You vie for their acceptance, and decide to besmirch my dear Sheridan to gain it, a bit desperate don’t you think.” Jonathan mounts the apron, running his hand through his tangled hair as he looks around the arena, before bringing his eyes to back to Flynn. “Perhaps you are still trying to prove that you’re the most dominant man in this company, with more and more people coming to breathe down your neck and wrestle the crown away from you, you want to know that you’re good enough still to reign as king.” Jonathan enters the ring, pausing as his right leg rests on the apron before pulling it through and stopping mere inches from the the current Universal Champion. He breaks the eye contact, only serving to irritate Flynn further as he brings the microphone back to his lips. “Am I worthy to face you? A competitor to make you feel like the superstar you are? One to be cautious against, one who can actually take everything from you? How about I try to snatch that crown from your scalp, your highness?” Jonathan does a faux bow, with a smirk dancing onto his lips as he steps back, shrugging his shoulders after the proposition, as he rests on the ropes, awaiting a response.

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