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16 June 2024 Madelaine Petsch vs Ariana Grande

Page history last edited by neon 5 days, 2 hours ago

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN' THREE-WAY STABLE WAR, DAY 3

Posted by caspian on 16 June 2024 at 10:07 am

(Results: Lookout!, Words: Countrymouse)

California Dreamin’ Three-way Stable War - Night Three

2. Madelaine Petsch vs. Ariana Grande - (QoA vs. FFC Match #3)

Pre-Match Interview

"Hey folks, we're here with the inimitable Ariana Grande! Look at you, dazzling in that vintage bikini! Seriously, you make vintage look so modern and chic!"

Ariana smiles, twirling slightly. "Thank you! It's from Victoria's Secret's new vintage line. I have to get the smallest size possible, or it's too big on me."

Ellie leans in, her energy electric. "Of course, the shortest girl in the FCBA, right? You're like a pint-sized powerhouse!"

Ariana chuckles, used to the banter. "Yep, that's me!"

Ellie’s smile turns playful, eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, about your last fight with Jenna Ortega. She really handed your ass to you, didn't she? What happened there?"

Ariana’s smile tightens, the memory of that beating still fresh. "Jenna's tough. I respect her a lot. She had my number that day. It happens to the best of us."

Ellie, not missing a beat, teases further. "Respect, huh? Because she stripped you bare-ass naked! I mean, do you have a secret exhibitionist kink we don't know about?"

Ariana’s eyes widen in shock, but she quickly regains her composure. "Maybe you should step into the ring with me and find out."

Ellie laughs, a sharp, dismissive sound. "A match with me? Sweetheart, I'm a foot taller. You're literally not in my league."

Ariana's glare is icy. "We'll see about that."

Round 1

The bell rings, echoing like a death sentence. Ariana's eyes, wide with fear, replay the brutal beatings she’s taken this year, Jenna Ortega’s fists being the latest nightmare. Critics have torn her apart for caring more about her looks than her fighting shape. Every step, every breath, is driven by sheer desperation to avoid another public thrashing.

Madelaine senses Ariana’s fear, her nostrils flaring like a predator. She launches into a savage assault, her fists a flurry of violence. “C'mon, you little b*tch!” she snarls, each miss amplifying her rage. Ariana ducks, bobs, weaves, but it’s clear she’s running scared, not fighting.

The yacht crowd, packed with Femme Fight Club and Queens of Absolution members, is a frenzied mob. They scream, taunt, and cheer, their bloodlust palpable. Madelaine’s relentless pursuit inches her ahead, her punches grazing Ariana’s guard.

Madelaine takes the round by a sliver, her aggression barely overshadowing Ariana’s terrified evasion. It’s clear: Ariana’s in the ring, but her mind’s still shackled by the ghosts of her defeats.

Round 2

Ariana decides enough is enough. She channels her fear into aggression. She comes out swinging, jabs and hooks landing on Madelaine's face and body. Madelaine's caught off guard, underestimating Ariana's fight. Every punch stings, her defense falters. The crowd roars, sensing the shift in momentum. Ariana wins the round on points, her newfound aggression paying off.

Round 3

Ariana's confidence grows. She moves with a grace that belies her fear, her punches a blur of motion. Madelaine's getting hammered, her face a canvas of bruises. She swings wildly, desperate, but Ariana's too quick, too precise. The crowd's split, some cheering Ariana's comeback, others yelling for Madelaine to fight back. Ariana takes the round by a wide margin, her strategy flawless.

Round 4

Madelaine’s had enough of this cat-and-mouse bullshit. Her eyes zero in on Ariana’s soft, toned abs, a superficial glamour fit for the stage, not a boxing ring. With a predator’s grin, she moves in, fists cocked.

“C’mere, you weak little diva,” Madelaine taunts, her voice dripping with contempt. “Your fans love watching your pretty tummy get destroyed. Do you enjoy it, too?”

Ariana sees the punch coming, but it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion. She’s powerless, frozen by fear and fatigue. Madelaine's fist drills into her stomach, the impact like a sledgehammer against wet clay. “Ouph!” The air explodes from Ariana's lungs, her body folding around the intrusion.

Madelaine doesn’t let up. Another punch finds its mark, smashing into Ariana's solar plexus. “G-uuh!” Her muscles, just for show, provide no defense. Ariana's legs buckle, her eyes wide with shock and pain. She tries to stagger away, but Madelaine is relentless, shadowing her every move.

“Hoof!” Another punch sinks into her liver. Ariana’s body convulses, a puppet on broken strings. “Woof! Oof!” The punches are methodical, each one driving deeper, testing the limits of her endurance.

“You like that, don’t you?” Madelaine sneers, her breath hot against Ariana’s ear. “Taking it in your soft belly, over and over.”

Ariana’s response is a guttural moan, her body limp, offering no resistance. Another punch, below the belly button, and she crumples to the canvas. “Ooooh!” The sound is a mixture of agony and defeat.

The crowd roars, a savage chorus as Madelaine stands over her fallen opponent. Ariana’s mind flashes back to Jenna Ortega, to every humiliating defeat. The ref’s count is merciless, and she knows she’s done.

Madelaine wins by knockout in the fourth round. Ariana lies there, gasping, her “hot girl” fit body a useless façade against real power. She works out to look sexy on stage, but in the ring, it’s nothing but a liability.