by marty

Marty Said Knock You Out

Marty’s up to no good once again in Beach City – this time his plans involve pitching the idea of a successful wrestling career to Jasper. She takes up his offer and wins many matches against other overmatched opponents. Will Peridot and Steven be able to warn this stubborn Gem that Marty’s just using her abilities for his own gain by taking all her winnings to keep the dreaded Guacola production plant alive?

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A few interesting surprises on this episode of Being the Elite

As is rapidly becoming tradition, a shot of my view from tonight’s WCPW Event from Motherwell.

A very solid show, overall!  I still don’t like Grado very much, but I will admit he gets a crowd involved in his matches expertly well.  Also I can scratch off seeing Will Ospreay and Marty Scurll wrestle live off my List O’Stuff’n’Things.  Thumbs Up.

(apparently the show will be shown on WCPW’s YouTube Channel on the 31st of March, so watch out for that!)

heeyyyihavenoideawhoiam  asked:

OMG I MET WILL OSPREAY AND MARTY SCULL TODAY THEY WERE BOTH SO NICE AND KIND AND I GOT MY PHOTO TAKEN WITH THEM. ALSO MARTY BROKE CHARATER AT THE END OF THE SHOW TO THANK EVERYONE. IT WAS GREAT NIGHT I CANT STOP SMILING

IAM SCREAMING WITH YOU BB

OMG

Okay so hockey is like, rife with superstitions and ritual.  

Each player has their own pre-game rituals, which are honestly on par with religious sacraments. You do not fuck with a man’s pre-game ritual.  Also, the inability to practice one’s pre-game ritual is deeply emotionally destabilizing.  Like, we’re talking serious repercussions here.  If a player is unable to complete their sacred ritual, there will be hell to pay.

Just as famous as Crosby’s famous pre-game plate of spaghetti, or Jack Zimmerman’s pre-game PB&J, is Snowy’s pre-game application of eyeliner.  It is not only essential to his game play; it is essential to the current alignment of our space-time continuum.  

Which brings us to Snowy, currently in the throes of an emotional breakdown, in seat 15C on the Falc’s bus, clutching desperately to his last remaining tube of La Nuit, Nior de Nior eyeliner as though it were the cooling body of his only son.

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This took me a week to make but atleast I finished just in time before the new episode airs :V

Eric Bittle enters the Falconers team dinner. It is moodily lit, the silhouettes of many enormous hockey men looming on the other side of the long dining room table. Jack holds his hand slightly tighter besides him and sighs, swearing softly in French.

“Tater, the lights!” Bitty hears someone hiss from across the table.

“Oh! Sorry!” The lights come on and Bitty is faced by an entire team of NHL players, doing their very best to look as intimidating as possible. And given that a few of them have put much larger men in hospital with hits on the ice, some of them are doing a very good job.

Tater slides past him, thumping him on the back. “Hello Itty Bitty!”

“TATER!”

“Sorry!”

Jack has gone from disapproving to very clearly trying not to laugh. Georgia is sitting on the end of the table, rolling her eyes affectionately at her players.

Thirdy and Marty are sitting in the middle of the line of players, in a tableau vaguely reminiscent of the Last Supper. They lean forward, and Bitty feels the nerves rising in his chest. He wasn’t even this nervous going to dinner with Bad Bob and Alicia.

Thirdy clears his throat, and they lock eyes with Bitty.

“Eric Richard Bittle.”

He pauses, clearly intending to do so for dramatic effect, but Bitty is just a touch too nervous to appreciate the dramatics.

“Yes, sir?”

Jack scoffs besides him and squeezes his hand in his.

Marty leans forward to join his fellow captain. And then, in perfect unison, exhibiting the synchronisation and teamwork that had led to many a tumblr post about their partnership, they opened their mouths and said,

“What are your intentions with our son?”