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Everything posted by Jonathan

  1. 100% correct season predictions, fwiw ~ means about, meaning I think the teams will be somewhere around this win total
  2. 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
  3. 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
  4. Imma fuck y’all up
  5. Jonathan


    “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.
  6. Book One | Chapter One: The Transfer Portal My jaw dropped when I saw the news. Perhaps it was the morning fatigue inducing even more shock. I think it was the fact that what happened was legitimately insane. Fifteen high profile players had just transferred into The National Circuit. The National Circuit was an assembly of the thirty best basketball high schools thrown together in a league, not bound by regions but sprawled out throughout the year. Schools came from the powerhouse states, the usual California, Texas, Georgia, as well as the DMV. If there were 150 starters in the league, all of them were in the top 400 at the very least. The competition was extremely stiff. Brendendale managed to become recognized as one of these thirty when Moses Brown carried us through regionals and got us the title of best school in New York. Now it was on us to not completely embarrass ourselves as the only New York team in the Circuit. I could understand why some of the nations best wanted to get into the Circuit, their scholarships weren’t going anywhere and the Circuit was a better showcase then AAU. Multiple TV deals had already been inked, recruiters would be all over this. They wanted the same attention that I needed, it added further fuel to the media frenzy. We came out with two of those transfers, adding Jafari Asha and Aidan Igiehon to our front court besides Derrick Iverson. They were good players, Derrick could do anything on a basketball court, a High School Draymond, and wouldn’t clash with with the 7’7 behemoth, Jafari. I didn’t know much about Jafari, he was supposedly seventeen but his birth certificate was lost somewhere overseas. There was also no tape whatsoever on him, but hopefully he knew how to be tall. Aidan on the other head was a complete behemoth, “The Irish Hulk” was a rim wrecker and completely deserving of his five star ranking. Having any combination of the three big men would be more than sufficient. Our team was rounding out nicely, a backcourt of George Kaneko, a lights out shooter and capable playmaker, and Davey McDaniels, a Swiss Army knife that provides a retro point guard feel though not tremendous at anything. Besides them were another sniper in Angelo and a lockdown, bouncy Jay “White Men Can Jump” Sellers, molded in the fashion of Jaylen Brown. Next to the three bigs, was me, “The Promised King” and “Cowboy” Jesse Paul. The pressure to perform for me was coming externally through the sheer amounts of talent I was set to face, oh and of course, who could forget the coach’s kid, Brenden Playz Jr, trying to pry away every millisecond of playing time I had and make it his. He was talented, Uber athletic with competent technical skill. The team would all but be handed to him, it was just a matter of whether it’d be at my expense. There were a lot of other big transfers of four star plus talent going to new high schools, all listed below. Chandler Lawson - Norcross Jalen Johnson - Link Year Matthew Hurt - Minnehaha Trendon Watford - McEachern Joshua Christopher - Huntington Prep Julian Strawther - Findley Prep Johnny Juzang - Sunrise Christian Isaiah Todd - Paul VI Catholic Tyler Gill - Paul VI Catholic Bronny James - Sierra Canyon Zaire Wade - Sierra Canyon Epic Dalton - Norcross Bart “Buckets” Van Horn - Duncanville This was the last thing I expected, a dramatic change like this only meant that this season would be even more difficult, having to compete with a new superteam in Sierra Canyon, with four sons of NBA All-Stars and Cassius Stanley leading them; Montverde and Kobe Bryant’s son, Sameer; the reigning National Champs, IMG Academy; Lamelo Ball, Rocket Watts, and now, “The Inch Worm” H.R. Putney at SPIRE; and even more five stars across the country. The banging on my bedroom door jolted me out of my thoughts. I placed my phone back on my nightstand and rolled out of bed. I quickly walked to my door and swung it open, seeing my dad in no mood to be late. “Hurry up and get ready, we have more work to do,” he said. He turned and walked away as I pulled the door back closed. I rummaged through my dresser, pulling out a two pairs of basketball shorts and two shirts. I dropped a pair of shorts and a shirt in my basketball bag, throwing on the others. I went to my closet next, taking a pair of school pants and a dress shirt, accompanied by a tie. I neatly folded the uniform and put it in the bag. I went back to the closet, pulling a pair of pink Kobe Xs and loafers, I dropped the loafers in the bag, then closed it and grabbed it, along with my school backpack as I left my room. I strolled down the hall dropping the bags as I stepped into the bathroom. I ran through the regular routine and exited, clambering down the stairs of the two story house to the living space. I threw my bags to the door and entered the kitchen, making myself a couple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and wolfing them down before my father came down the stairs, indicating it was go time. We left the house and packed into our cherry red Toyota Avalon and were on our way. I plugged in my earphones, bumping to A$AP Rocky while we cruised through the deserted streets. We arrived at the Brendendale campus after forty minutes and headed to the gymnasium, my dad unlocked the gym doors and we headed to the basketball court. There were two hours until school began. For the first hour, we worked strictly on the court, me repeating the same shots over and over until I could hit it fifteen times in a row before continuing. It was constant pull-up middys, threes, and dribbles into layups, having to drill down a couple of combos. Then we got into the static shooting, hitting threes from everywhere, and ending at the edge of the logo. We ended in the post, working on the best post fadeaway from any High School in the world. The first portion of the workout was over, some other teammates filtered in. I saw Derrick, Davey, Angelo and of course, Brenden with dear old dad by his side. We brushed shoulders as I exited, prompting an exchange of dirty looks. I headed out, going to the weight room. I took a fifteen minute break to recover, trying not to further aggravate my beat up limbs. It was followed a short cardio session for thirty minutes before I had to hit the showers. I was on my way when I heard a sharp yell, I turned towards the basketball court, where BPZ Jr was laying in a heap, grabbing at his ankle.
  7. 8.2 to 3.9, God I’m good
  8. Prologue I stared past the hoop as I always did, ending my gaze just below the back iron and setting a target for my shot. I took a breath, my fist rested on my hip and the ball was nestled into the crevice left by my bent arm. Everything came to a stop for a moment as I grabbed the ball and straightened my arm, bringing my left hand to the ball as well. I flicked the ball in front of me, spinning so that it’d come back to me. In the moments before it did, I wiped my hands on the front of my jersey, leaving the sweat smeared across Brendendale. I caught the call as it bounced back to me. I took another breath. I bent my knees slightly, then pounded the ball into the court, once, then twice, and bent my knees even more. I lifted my eyes, then shot like I was did, left elbow tucked, right arm straight, raise the ball over my right eye, shoot up into the sky, and flick the wrist. The ball fell threw, seamlessly. I would’ve been disappointed at any other result. I walked from the free throw line to the baseline where the rest of the team swarmed me, overjoyed that they wouldn’t have to run another suicide, doing their usual ‘hail the King’ shtick. I cracked a small smile and allowed myself to remain in the moment for a while. Coach Playz joined the group and broke us down, ending the practice. I said my goodbyes to the rest of the guys and took a moment to catch my breath and let the rest of the team funnel out to the showers. We had South Garland in two weeks, and I promised myself I’d make a showing fit for a king. So I grabbed the ball, tucked it under my elbow, and marched back to the free throw line. Then I stared past the hoop as I always did.
  9. Coming Soon To A Forum Near You Name: Year (Sophomore - Senior) :  Height: Weight: Looks: Archetype (or Player Model) :  Position:
  10. Jonathan


    We’re jerked away from the Carnage action as the titantron abruptly cuts to black. We navigate through wings of a home, assuredly the lavish palace of Royal Flush. As the cameraman maneuvers through a seemingly mile long wing of the house, the destination is seemingly met. It isn’t one of the bedroom doors of Sheridan or Jonathan, instead, the cameraman twists the doorknob and swings the door open, revealing a spacious field unraveled in front of us. The cameraman steps out the corridor and through the doorway, panning the camera to show the brightly lit garden of the Royal Flush Manor. He continues through, finding two vignetted figures amongst the meadow, as he approaches, he finds Jonathan and Sheridan... bickering. Jonathan is dressed in a slim navy suit, looking all business and drastically opposing Sheridan, who is cosplaying Jesse of Team Rocket. As the camera approaches, the words begin to be transmitted. Sheridan: “You said that you would dress as James and we would be Team Rocket!” Jonathan: “I told you that it was a horrific idea and I refuse to dress up as Pokémon’s perpetual losers.” Sheridan: “I recall you explicitly saying, ‘sure Sher, whatever you want’!” Jonathan: “Because you wouldn’t shut up about how cute it would be if we did it, think about the message we’re sending by dressing as losers before our chance of redemption!” The bickering stops for a moment, and Jonathan turns his head to see the camera. With a sigh, he puts his head in his hands and turns to face the cameraman, also alerting Sheridan to the cameras presence. Jonathan lifts his head, jutting his chin out and puffing his chest as he adjusts the suit, pulling down the sleeves and toying with the buttons. Sheridan narrows her Cerulean eyes, pursing her lips as she stands besides Jonathan, who starts to speak. “A show of unity. That’s what caused this comedic miscommunication. It was an attempt to show that Royal Flush remains on the same page regardless of the result of the encounter two weeks ago, that our momentum will not be undercut by one failure. I suppose that the message failed to come across as fully intended due to this situation, how could a group bickering over small details amongst themselves defeat the powerhouse of this company’s owner who’s on the warpath and Mr. Money in the Bank?” “I’d invite you to read into this situation as much you want, say that the pair of us are off kilter, no longer matching strides and doing anything to show our willingness to defeat the both of you. Brenden, Sameer, there’s no wardrobe malfunction, no illness, nothing in this world that could tear the focus to Royal Flush away from the titles fastened around your waist. Our singular focus is more binding than any thoughts on Team Rocket, were formed to take away those titles you hold so close. Our mission statement hasn’t been altered whatsoever.” Sheridan and Jonathan interlock hands, a smile creeps onto the face of Jonathan and spreads to Sheridan, Jonathan runs his free hand through his hair and speaks once more. “Underestimate our drive, underestimate our insatiable desire to become our tag team champions. And it’ll be the Big Ballers blasting off again.”
  11. Jonathan


    We’re brought once more to Royal Manor, hours after Sheridan delivered her promo in bed. The cameraman stands, lens pointed at the door of Sheridan’s bedroom. There’s a murmur emanating from the room, though the voices are to hushed to understand. The whispers cease and the door is swung open, Jonathan enrages through the doorway. He pauses at the sight of the camera, narrowing his eyes as he turns his head back towards Sheridan, muttering something before slamming the door close. Jonathan looks towards the camera again. “I guess this is happening now.” Jonathan leads the camera to his own bedroom, the darkroom is arranged neatly, nothing out of place except the bedspread. Jonathan rushes out of sight of the camera, approaching a white board that he wipes clean. He comes back towards the camera, pointing to the front of his bed. Jonathan takes a seat, folding his hands and dropping his head. We see Jonathan for the first time since his tragic night at Mayhem, where he failed to claim the tag titles and defeat Julius in the Power Trip Cup. As he lifts his head, disillusion is paramount in his eyes, you can see the aura of disappointment surrounding him; a lack of that killer focus he’s adopted in past weeks. He massages his ring finger, twisting his Hall of Fame ring back and forth before his lips curl into a smirk. “You almost believed it. That I was the same weak Jonathan from before, that one bad night would drive me completely off the trail. Is this what you wanted, a depressed Ace, one who doesn’t think that he has it anymore. You think that I have one foot in the door and one loss will make me pull it across. No, that won’t suffice.” “Big Ballers escaped. That’s the fact at hand, there’s no more explanation needed. They were pushed to their absolute upper limit and almost shattered, but there was salvation. Sloppiness, emotion, inattentiveness, not enough focus. Sheridan and I allowed ourselves to become to immersed in the narrative they crafted, we failed to see that this was just the first of many conquests pertaining to the title we would hold after the match. They were so wounded, and we failed to capitalize.” Jonathan rises, striding to the curtained window, he pulls the curtains aside, looking out to the expanse in front of him, a bay in the distance, past the rolling meadows kissed with every bright shade and hue imaginable. He placed his hands behind his back as he looks to the cameraman, the animalistic stare once more captured by his pupils, the focus he was seemingly lacking restored in a matter of instants. He lowers his voice, to a cutting whisper as he speaks again. “There’s no escape the next time we meet. There will be nothing but relentlessness, no survivors from this battle. The thirst of the Royal Flush will not be quenched until the leather of those belts are fastened around our waists. There’ll be nothing left for Big Ballers... but a scorched earth.”
  12. The camera focuses on Josh Trenton, shooting over the shoulder of the subject of this interview, “The Ace” Jonathan Kerse. Josh welcomes us to another exclusive BPZ Interview with the man slotted to face off against the Intercontinental Champion, Julius, in the Power Trip Cup Semifinals as well as take on the Tag Team Champions, The Big Ballers, alongside Royal Flush partner, Sheridan. The camera cuts to a relaxed Jonathan, who thanks Josh with a gracious smile, extending courtesy before the interview officially gets underway. Trenton poses the first question. Josh Trenton: You’ve noted a fair amount of history between you and Julius set to culminate in this match, and this match is as personal as any match you’ve ever participated in. How has preparation for your match against Julius been different than any other match? “I’ve never gone into a match expecting to fail, I train every time to win plain and simple and allow myself to get into the cliched “Kill Mode”. I’ve pushed past that, the unique motivation I’ve been presented with has forced me to work more, wanting to not just be satisfied with victory, but continue to be a dominant force, I’m here to exact vengeance, just winning won’t be enough. I’m as focused as possible, I know what I have to do tonight.” Josh Trenton: With other matches in mind, how do you plan to participate in two matches this evening, with your impending tag title match? “Luckily for me, I’ve been gifted the most capable partner I could ever desire, I know that I can lean on her when it comes to this tag match, but I won’t hesitate to put everything on the line to realize the dreams that the two of us share. Brenden and Sameer are capable, but I know that the pairing of Sheridan and myself are more than willing and able to take the titles they have around their waist.” Jonathan finishes with a smile, reassured in his words. He leans back in his chair, getting comfortable as the interview continues, Josh looking through his journal before finding another question to ask. Josh Trenton: This confidence you exude, it’s a far cry from the heroic Jonathan that you were formerly. How has this new attitude affected your resurgence? “It’s allowed me to recognize exactly how good I am. I desired recognition from everybody I shared air with. I allowed other people to influence what I believed I could accomplish. It was an idiotic mindset, I rectified it. I’m the one of the best person to step into this company and don’t give a damn whether people feel like agreeing to that statement.” A pause ensues after the answer, Jonathan still remaining the almost arrogant superstar he’s began to portray himself as, him and Trenton lock eyes, one can almost see the wheels turning for the renowned interviewer, the pause breaks as Trenton asks his next question. Josh Trenton: What does this match mean to you? “It’d be an exaggeration to say everything, this match is more desired than almost any other matchup, it’s something I have to do to continue. I can’t keep my self destructing on repeat, I have to beat him.” Josh Trenton: So what happens if you don’t? Jonathan neglects to speak, keep his gaze on Trenton after the question. He finally drops his eyes, allowing more time to pass before he defiantly lifts his head. “Next question.” He says nothing further, leaving Trenton perplexed. He continues forth, breaking eye contact with a belligerent Jonathan to flip through his journal of prepared questions, he looks up, ready to speak when Jonathan stops him, looking down as he starts speaking again. “You want yo know what happens if I lose? I didn’t plan for that. Can’t be anything good, what positive spin could there be for failing to redeem myself? There’s no option but victory for me, it has to be impossible for me. Julius is one of the most dangerous men in this industry and if I even had an inkling of a fall back plan it’d be all she wrote. I won’t be content to claim some sort of moral victory, to resign myself to a lesser competitor, I’ve said it every week, I’m here to win.” “I need to know that this is everything here, that the approach I’ve taken got me here and failing to make good on this opportunity would be tragic. I need to know that I have to do as promised, I have to rip his heart out. I have to avenge myself, and if I can’t do that...” Jonathan trails off, his uplifted head eventuated by the fire blazing in his pupils. The frenzy “The Ace” is in is rather apparent, fail now and the road ahead becomes bleak. He doesn’t seem to be shying away from his fate, his chin protruding, prepared for a battle ahead, it’s all or nothing now.
  13. We’re placed in the screen room of the Royal Flush manor, all lights dimmed, but enough remain to cast light on the brooding Jonathan, piercing eyes placed on the camera as he begins to speak. “Your omission was an interesting one Julius. Well-intentioned as though you wanted to keep the proceedings respectful. I think it was something else.” Without warning, the projector springs to life, shining past the lens of the camera to the screen. The camera sweeps around to capture the image being displayed in the room. Jonathan and Julius come into the picture, nose to nose as they look to find the new BPZ Champion. The result of the clash of the Titans has been well documented, the camera pans back to Jonathan, whose fists continue to clench tighter and tighter until the red of the knuckles turns to white. His eyes are glued on the motion picture, watching the back and forth that ensued in the early moments of the match. He finally pries his eyes from the contest, looking back at the camera as he begins to speak once again. “You feel it too don’t you? Each goosebumps ticking upwards on your arm, leaving you shivering in awe when you watch this match. The unadulterated emotion it leaves you with. You get that same, unparalleled feeling of pure adrenaline as you revisit the match. You become more and more aware of your beating heart until all you can hear is the rhythmic clanging against your rib cage. But then it settles, you get the feeling of comfort, knowing what you did and what you’re capable of doing, it reassures you, lulling your adrenal gland and restoring your “Death Machine” disposition.” “I can feel it too, each uptick on my forearm as I revisit the match. I could recount it without the video aid, but I force myself to witness the self-destruction, knowing what it can accomplish. Julius, I live in this moment each and every waking second. Seeing the insufficiency of everything I did to get myself to that moment, understanding that I wasn’t the same man I used to be, it presents me with a choice. To accept this reality and whimper to a halt, leaving without a fight but retaining the memory relatively unblemished by losses to the leaders of this industry, or I can press on, trying to redeem something deep inside of me.” “That thing, I can’t name it. It pushes me forward in every moment, regardless of whether or not I desire that. It creates restlessness within, every thought goes back to the men who were responsible for my downfall. I’m unable to resist this Julius, and right now, it’s telling me that the next step in my path to Redemption is repaying the deed down here Julius.” Jonathan pauses, refocusing on the matchup set to be revisited in days time. Anguish is spilled on his face, his jaw clenching tighter as every vein present in his forehead is unveiled. The camera turns to see Julius gaining control of the match, slowing the match to use his noticeable size advantage more efficiently. As the camera reverts, Jonathan rises from his seat, approaching the camera as he begins to take more noticeable breaths, pausing to collect himself before a smirk spreads across his lips. “I orchestrated as much as I could, I defeated Echo and dispatched of FD, I began a conquest of another division with Sheridan by myself to put the unsettling demons to rest but they remain. There’s no escape now, all roads lead through June 2nd, where our paths cross once again. It won’t be like before, it won’t be solely in the desire of a gilded belt to wear around my waist, this means far than any championship can satisfy alone.” “One reality remains, one man continues on through this tournament, losses avenged with path leading to everything that’s being fought for. One man crowned victor and the other trying to rationalize the events that have occurred, and this is the truth Julius, that when I beat you it won’t be due to some “Ace in the Hole”. It’ll simply be due to the Ace standing over you.”
  14. “You wanted me campaigning isnt that right Brenden, in the middle of this square addressing you and Sameer, and only the two of you. I’m granting your request, my solely on you two, no mentions of any other pursuit shall arise tonight, I have enough to say about the Big Ballers.” “Bemusing is a word that comes to mind instantly when I consider exactly what it is that these men try to preach. It’s so incredibly egotistical, yet they’re adored, so uncompromisingly self-centered, each and every narrative supposedly crafted around them. The world, in their view, is out to get them. Brenden, Sameer, it’s with all so respect that I admit that your names mean nothing to me. It’s not about you, we just want what’s fastened around your waist.” “This isn’t the BPZ of old, where everything revolved around what The Authority did, where the changing of the guard only came when somebody could dethrone Brenden and company, this isn’t the world you created. But I didn’t have to tell you that did I? Perhaps it’s simple coincidence that you take months off after being pushed to the brink by this new generation who concern themselves less and less with the weight your name carries, but view you as just more competitors trying to stop them. You can feel it in every strike, every slam, the Ruthless Aggression coursing through every person that takes the ring with you. They just want what you have, and you’re the only people preventing that. No longer the unstoppable forces capable of being BPZ to their knees, you’re just another tag team, holding onto the world you knew for dear life.” Jonathan smiles up at Sheridan, the two intensely locking eyes as Jonathan tugs the microphone out of her grasp, moving towards the entrance ramp, directing his next words to the back, wherever the Big Ballers could be coupes up. “The two of you come out here, perform the charade that nothing has changed, that you’re the same two men from this company’s infancy. Your half hearted battle cries won’t save you, your promises to endure and endure like it’s a Rocky movie will be unable to rescue you from the situation you’re in. Perhaps it is a Rocky, perhaps it’s Rocky 4 and Drago is comprised to two of us in the ring. How confident are you that you’re Mr. Balboa, because it’s be quite the shame if there was nobody there to throw the towel in for you.” Jonathan allows the microphone to fall to the mat, retreating back to the corner with Sheridan, clearly satisfied with the message the Royal Flush delivered.
  15. Jonathan


    The Carnage Center is enveloped in black. Only a dim backlight from the titantron provides some sort of reasonable lighting. The titantron is as dark as everything in the arena, the only thing visible is an outline of a shrouded figure. Silence ensues. It’s not a silence of peace, but one filled to the brim with anticipation and anxiety, goosebumps begin to trickle down the arms of everybody in attendance, the expectation continues to build past every potential climax as people begin to become impatient, wanting nothing more than to be released from the wait. Finally, their request is obliged as the shrouded figure’s words roll through the arena. “I wanted nothing more than to secure my place in the history of the company.” The voice belongs to Jonathan, but there are no protests to his words. There’s a certain desperation that line his words, one borne out of disappointment. This desperation is what drove Jonathan mere months prior, pushing him to his breaking point where he radically transformed from champion of the people to champion of his own heart. The words rattle in the midst of the attendees, echoing what Jonathan would ramble about, his desire to be immortalized not only in the eyes of the people but undisputedly by each and every record book, that nobody could ever refute his impact on the industry. The desire to be good enough to be remembered that led him to run headlong into every title match he could, despite loss after loss. The shadowy silhouette of Jonathan drops it’s head, as he begins to speak once again. “You could say that you killed me, Julius. You did what I proclaimed no man would ever be able to accomplish, you took my spirit and snapped it into innumerable pieces. After my chance encounter with you, there was nothing left but a decrepit husk to challenge Bart and Echo and lose twice over. I couldn’t cope with the staggering reality of the situation, that when I most needed vindication from my peers and devotees, I wasn’t good enough to gain it. You took everything I built and turned it to smoldering ashes because I couldn’t make good of my promises. That shattered every narrative I’d grown to believe, that made me realize that my best was nothing in the grand scheme of things, that I was yet another flash in the pan, sharing in the same fate as the rest, not an incredible sendoff which captivated the mass but just like every other goddamn wrestler, violently fazed out a business that I was no longer capable of competing in.” “That was my Death Julius, three hundred and trout days ago. Buried underneath the feet of a new era of captivating talents that ran circles around the generations of old, I was just the last to stand of the equally disappointing, not transcendent assembly of talent. Unfortunately, Julius, the story didn’t come to a close there.” Jonathan lifts his head, and rummages through his pockets, producing a lighter that he holds in front of him. It small flame irradiates the face of Jonathan. There’s a new level of focus displayed in his features, no smile nor smirk but an aura of absolute self-assurance. “Julius, you took something from me far more precious than any gold plated belt. You took everything I thought I was as part of your conquest and tossed it aside, this no longer angers me. You snatched the soul from my body and left me for all but dead, and I would’ve done the same. But now Julius, I get to strip you of the same when I dismantle you Julius; piece by piece, brick by prick, limb by limb, I will pull you apart until I find myself in possession of the one thing I needed. I’m going to rip your goddamn heart out when we see each other Julius.” For the first time in what feels like a century, the riveting words spoken by “The Ace” send the audience into a frenzy, the battle cry spoken by the former hero causing a clamor for what can only be an absolute war to come on in two weeks time.
  16. Jonathan


    As the trap drums begin to boom through the bass of the arena speakers, the infamous figure of Jonathan emerges from the guerrilla, hailed by a thick chorus of boos. Jonathan continues down the ramp, as usual, head hoisted proudly above his shoulders with his devilish grin intact, strutting to the ring as the fans voice their hatred for the once beloved superstar. Jonathan makes it to the ring, receiving a microphone from a crew member. He pauses though, as the fans grow louder in the expression of their displeasure for “The Ace”. His grin fades as his eyebrows tilt downward, he looks out to those in attendance with the hatred painted across his face as he pulls the microphone to his mouth, sending a hush across the crowd, as he launches into his tirade with a growl. “I’d hope that you all understand the nature of choice. It’s one of the more straightforward doctrines, that you are in control of your own actions, you cannot be prompted to act against your nature unless you choose to. Nobody can make you do anything. I say this to say, I don’t think that Prince grasps this simple concept. That nobody made him throw his name into the hat for this tournament, nobody forced him to seal his fate by advancing and booming himself a match against me. I’ve waited for him to produce any self-pitying message, some narrative to spew about how he’ll prevail in a way that nobody has before. Instead, he chose to all but forfeit the match.” “Why would you bring yourself to this point? You believe that this will make you better in some twisted fashion, recognizing your lack of chance against me? Why would you put yourself through this whole ideal when you recognize that there’s hardly of a sliver of a chance that you’ll find yourself the victor when the match ends? You could’ve said no, you could’ve waved the metaphorical white flag. But instead, you wanted to be heralded for trying? Prince, I will have no trouble kicking your ass. Beating you to the point where you feel like you have no choice but to give up. All your hoping will be useless in the end.” Jonathan pauses as the crowd begins to drown him out, the hate on his face begins to fade through his lips stay curled downwards, he pulls the microphone close, raising his voice to bypass the ruckus crowd. “You want to know my choice? I’ve chosen to pull myself up by my own accord, to guarantee my success without ratification in the process by anybody else. I’ve chosen to match my way through this tournament with the knowledge that there’s nobody involved that can shine my shoes. I’ve chosen to realize exactly how good I am, exactly who I am. I’m the accumulation of nightmares, the antithesis of things wished for. I’m the one you prayed wouldn’t realize their potential because you understood that they couldn’t be stopped when they did. No matter who you pray to, where you run, or what you seek to believe, I’m the nagging realization stowed in your heart. The one that regardless of what you do, just: Never. Dies. Some could say I’m inevitable, I just say I’m the Ace of the goddamn universe, you’ll see soon enough.”
  17. We’re taken back to the spacious property of Jonathan, where the “Royal Flush Castle” is sprawled out. As the cameraman walks through the door, he finds Sheridan, obviously occupied. She notices the camera and cocks a brow, then points the man wielding the camera down a hallway, assuring that he’ll know where Jonathan is. He moves through the wing, walking past countless doors when he finds one ajar. He enters to find a Jonathan and Bart murmuring about something, shrouded in darkness. Jonathan nods towards the camera and Bart rises from his seat, taking his leave and leaving Jonathan alone in his home theater, the only light provided from the projected images. “The Ace” motions the cameraman forward as he leans forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the lens. “Did it surprises you that my gospel rang true? Were you hoping, praying even, that I would lose myself in the idea of what’s to come that I neglect what’s right in front of me? There’s nothing I’ll do to jeopardize any opportunity that falls to my feet. Despite the obvious success I’ve attained whilst in this company, I have to continue to work twice as hard for half the credit, having the deck stacked against me makes me remember that. So I’ll put whoever I have to through the mat to take what I want. I’ll put in a mile more to take what I should be given.” Jonathan reclines back into his seat as he lifts his eyes towards the match on the screen. The video dances across his face, and though only illuminated by the blue light, the snarl on his face is visible. The cameraman pans around to find the battle between Prince and Josh on screen, “The Ace” gives an exasperated sigh as the camera turns back towards him. “Then we have the man who advanced out of this shit heap, Prince. It’s not be long since your Golden One days, has it now? I can almost remember, Bailey’s infatuation with you that led him to guarantee that you were the one destined to guide Carnage into the future, so many things promises with him at your side. You were supposedto be one all superstars envied, the Golden One of One. Instead, you waited hat in hand for more guidance, to be handed everything, you never even thought to take what you desired. How do you let the world slip through your fingers?” “You haven’t changed Prince, you’re still the same promised Messiah with nothing under his belt but the key of disappointing those who already lost faith, that’s quite an ability to have. To be so complacent yet so reckless in the check you write with your mouth, to not even care to settle for a prize, but instead, fade to black. I’ll show you what taking your career into your hands looks like, to have even a shred of responsibility for how your career is viewed when it’s all wrapped up.” “It’s all but settled that you’ll fall at my feet and get pinned like so many before you, yet another underwhelming performance to notch on your belt as continue through the tournament. You can watch on, examine, study, see how I cut through any semblance of competition on route to the final, were I’ll be crowned as the winner of the Power Trip Cup. You could even stop earlier, watch the incredible duo of myself and Sheridan pull Big Ballers apart at the seams and be the ones to end that tumultuous partnership. You can see what being a true One of One is, see what a day in the life of an Ace is, and maybe at the end, you’ll find that you no longer want to be a colossal disappointment, then again, you probably wouldn’t even know how to make a jump even that big. This was supposed to be your World, Prince, but now it’s Johnnywood, and you’re living in it.”
  18. 1. How old are you? 20 2. Where are you from? (What Country) Poland/England/Ireland 3. What is your favourite colour? Pink 4. What is your natural hair colour? Brown  5. How many pets do you have? 1 6. What is your favourite food? Idk what vegans eat 7. When is your birthday? (Month) March 8. What is your favourite music genre? What does Disney music qualify as? 9. What is your biggest interest/hobby outside of the forums? Astronautical Engineering 10. What is your favourite sport to watch? UFC 11. What is your dream job? Astronautical Engineering  12. What is/was your favourite subject at school? Engineering 13. What is your favourite soda? Sprite 14. What animal would best represent you? Penguin 15. Who is your favourite current day wrestler? Mandy Rose
  19. Jonathan no longer remains expressionless, as a smirk works its way across his lips as he watches on as Costa nears the curtain. He brings to microphone to his lips one more time and speaks, freezing the charismatic Costa in place. “Delusions of grandeur aren’t only a you problem Costa. It’s how you were raised, a special snowflake no doubt. Your parents probably echoed every self-help book ever written, teaching you that if you Wish It, Want It, And Say It, it’ll happen. This ill-found confidence is fascinating. You have to balls to address me in my ring, telling me, in fact, not how the match will be tightly contested but instead, how I’ll fall at your hands and succumb to your narrative. It’ll be my pleasure beating this confidence out of you.” “Perhaps I told you too much to soon, shattering ones world view tends to drive them off the deep. Maybe you found it so offensive that you felt that you needed to speak against me, have your mic drop with all these people in attendance chanting your name to invigorate you, something— anything to grant you enough confidence so when we enter the ring together in days time, that you’ll be convinced that I’m not the model BPZ Superstar, that the heights I’ve reached didn’t reflect my genuine ability. You needed this moment didn’t you? Telling my your plans to scratch and claw your way to victory as if this idea is foreign to me. Your philosophy is ill-fated, attempting to reduce me so the impending reality doesn’t seem quite so scary. I’m the monster you don’t want to admit I am Alex, your fears are precisely right.” Jonathan approaches the ropes, staring daggers to the part of the stage Costa occupies. No amount of jeers or support of Costa from the BPZ Universe can even rattle the focus in his eyes, his smirk grows into a psychotic grin as he pulls the microphone to his mouth once more. “I have to show everybody that I’m the same man who scratched and clawed his way past five other stars to pull that Money in the Bank briefcase down, that I’m the same man who caved Nebakos’s head in. That I deserve the Hall of Fame ring. I’m far past tired of having to prove my worth, prove that I’m who I say I am. You think I’ll allow these bastards to be right? Show all these fans they were right about me all along? I will NOT lose to you. All this momentum you think you garnered will be gone in a flash, and you realize that you’re placed back in start. Pray to whatever gods you even think could exist, that you receive some semblance of mercy before I pin you, 1…2…3.”
  20. Jonathan


    Jonathan swaggers into the view of the crowd, who've already begun their high volume boos, much to the delight of Jonathan. "The Ace" continues his strut down the ramp, composed in spite of the harsh reaction of those in attendance. He receives a microphone as he clambers atop the apron, and enters the ring, still unfazed by the deafening boos. He wastes no time before beginning his tirade, swelling his voice to subdue the combined volume of the crowd. "Underdogs are so very overrated. The same story of undying perseverance and gritty spirit trumping talent and preparation just because somebody really, really wanted to win. It's the story of the belief that everybody deserves a happy ending, that we should ALL experience a taste of victory because of our humanity. It's the story, Alex, that you've attempted to tell. Bragging about how you aren't supposed to win as though that's uniquely impressive solely to you. Attempting to paint me as the hare, whose oversight will be his undoing. This fable, like your narrative Mr. Costa, is an attempt to breath new life into the failures of this world, and it always produces the same result, utter decimation." The roar of the crowd grows louder as Jonathan enunciates his final syllables, no inkling of an expression crossing his face. There's an absence of cockiness to his words, as well as any sense of arrogance. Despite this, there's also no doubt, no small sign of fidgeting or tapping, just the absolute certainty of self-assurance. "This isn't anecdotal. This is a certainty. Underdogs have never prospered, they're the first to have their lights snuffed because they will never realize what they are. So content on hanging back, enjoying what they're told is "success" and never aspiring for anything greater. It's a horrendous existence, too afraid to take so you allow the crumbs to satisfy you. Perhaps one day down the line you'll lament on your wasted opportunities and realize every word I spoke never strayed from the truth. But allow yourself to be humble for now, pray that I have mercy on you when we step in the ring together and you realize that I can't be beaten by you." "I refuse to have my throat stepped on by the supposed champions of this company. Big Ballers and many of the sort attempt to weaken my resolve with claims of my true intentions. They expect that they know who I am, that they know what I'm thinking. It's always funny when they find that they weren't anywhere near right. Brenden, how many times have you heard the shallow shouts that brand me a usurper of the youth, seeking only to glorify myself. It won't save you. It won't save you, Alex. I won't allow chances to slip through my grasp, won't stop at the first sign of trouble. Call my bluff Brenden, and when you realize that I had the Ace in hand, you won't have to wait for your suffering to end. I have the Queen right by my side."
  21. The greatest diary of all-time: Rise of the Tyrant. Once I can actually hold myself to some form of discipline, I'll return the Reboot which is written much better and more human, but the original will always hold a place in my heart for how much I loved writing every second of it. It was a grind, but each episode being posted put a smile on my face, I'll never forget the support it got nor how ridiculously bad I was at writing when I was 12.
  22. Jonathan


    Jonathan is in the middle of the titantron, seated on the steps of his home, staring out to a hodgepodge of exercise devices. His chest heaves as he seems to be recovering from a workout, sitting in nothing but a pair of shorts and shoes, every vein in his body on full display, his faraway look melts away as the camera comes into his view. He motions for the cameraman to come closer, staring through the lens with a measure of displeasure as a smirk dances across his lips before he opens his mouth, launching into his tirade. “This injection of new talent into BPZ is something. These upstarts attempting to make an honest name for themselves through admirable measures, sacrificing tooth and nail in order to break into the clump of established superstars. I’d imagine seeing a rejuvenated BPZ Wrestling with fresh faces is enjoyable for all of you, whether you like them or not. They aren’t happy settling for being next, they want to be now. They’re brash, bold, and most of all, idiotic.” Jonathan’s tone of voice dramatically shifts at the end of his sentence. He’s no longer exhibiting a sense of pride in the new faces wrestling around him but now grimaces at the camera, a fiery temper blazing wildly in the eyes of the “Ace” as he beings to speak once note. “Yet another one of these supposed professionals is set to match up against me, this one isn’t like the two in the SSW Club, he knows to respect me. In fact, he believes he knows a lot about me. Alex, I’m sorry to inform that your idolization of me will not spare you from your fate of Friday. There’s no advantage to be gained by watching my tape time and time again, seeing my ascension, or making note of any weaknesses that seem apparent. Unfortunately for you, the last thing I’d do is overlook you. I’d much prefer to show you exactly where having nothing to lose gets you against me, I want to teach you how a man in a corner falls at the feet of a man on a mission.” “You’re right. You are nothing in my sight. You’re a distraction, a pest in my path of redemption and like Bulldozer and Birdman can attest to, those directions are disposed of with the utmost prejudice. I don’t have time to waste battling competitors that don’t deserve to tie my boots up. I’ll enjoy every moment of showing you that your desperation energizes me, that talking your last shred of good gives me immense joy, that you couldn’t touch me on my worst day. Mayhem is a long time from now, which doesn’t help your cause. I’ll dismantle you with no thought on the match that I and my “little girlfriend” will no apart of. Perhaps I’ll even let her fight you in my place, it’ll show you that your arms are too short to box with gods.”
  23. Fans do not randomly select people who they want to see succeed. Fans cheer for the people who can engage them the most, tell them stories which interest them, give them a reason to cheer/boo, and are talented. This obviously isn’t equal between superstars, some people like Becky Lynch, Daniel Bryan, CM Punk, etc, do this marvelously and the fans enjoy them. They cheer wildly for the people who can engage them and don’t stop when WWE begins pushing them. Not every superstar can do this as well as others, so when WWE pushes those who shouldn’t be at the top quite yet to the top? They garner an opposite reaction. Roman Reigns is the perfect example, he’s grown in time but when WWE stubbornly attempted to push him down our throats, it wasn’t received because he wasn’t doing the things that stars did. He didn’t have classics every match like AJ Styles, he didn’t have an iconic Pipebomb or Shield Betrayal, not even a Yes or The Man movement. He didn’t do anything to garner a reaction for the push he was receiving and people voiced their opinion, the very thing they’re supposed to do. Getting mad at the fans for addressing the shortcomings of a superstar is hilarious in my opinion. Would you be cheering if WWE pushed Eva Marie to be a Woman’s Champion? Despite the fact that she isn’t as talented as others, isn’t compelling which is the entire point of wrestling? Blaming fans for WWE pigeon holing talents is so lazy. There is no other entertainment outlet where the fans are blamed for not enjoying bad content. It falls on WWE to give us reasons, and it also falls on the wrestlers to continue to intrigue us enough to keep cheering them PS: It’s funny that you mention Cesaro and Rusev like fans didn’t try their damndest to push them with massive reactions week in and week out, like attempting to say the fans didn’t care about them is blatantly dishonest.
  24. Renders: Hiroshi Tanahashi & Mandy Rose Name: Royal Flush Color Scheme: dealers choice

BrendenPlayz Forums "PPV Events"

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