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Match 01 - Arm Wrestling
By: BadAssBunnies Date: September 30, 2025, 9:48 am
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The Final Verdict
Round 1 - Arm Wrestling
HTML https://i.imgur.com/yZ7SZ9n.png
The MGM Grand’s Grand Garden Arena was packed to capacity, the
crowd’s roar vibrating through the rafters as camera lights
swept over the sea of spectators. The air buzzed with
anticipation, not for a boxing match or an MMA fight, but for
the start of a five-event war between two of Hollywood’s
fiercest rivals.
For nearly four years, Dove Cameron and Laura Marano had been at
each other’s throats—trading wins and losses in brutal
catfights, boxing matches that left them battered and bloodied,
apartment wrestling in lingerie, oil wrestling in bikinis, MMA
cage fights, and outright brawls that required teams of trainers
to pry them apart. The rivalry was the stuff of legend: former
best friends turned bitter rivals.
Two beautiful, talented women with egos as big as their star
power, each convinced she was superior in strength, skill, and
grit. Tonight, under the bright lights of Las Vegas, they would
finally put that question to rest with a best-of-five
competition. The stakes were high: $1 million for the winner and
another million for her favorite charity. But beyond the money
and headlines, this was about pride. This was about dominance.
The booming voice of the announcer echoed through the arena,
commanding attention as the crowd erupted.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the MGM Grand Garden Arena!
Tonight’s standing room only event is the first in a five-match
series between two women whose rivalry has shaken Hollywood to
its core! They’ve faced off in every way imaginable, but
tonight, they begin their ultimate showdown… and it all starts…
with ARM WRESTLING!”
The audience roared in approval, their energy electric.
The spotlight swung toward the tunnel as the announcer’s voice
boomed again.
“Introducing first… standing five feet two inches tall, weighing
in at one hundred fourteen pounds of steel and fury… Dove
Cameron!”
The opening beats of a bass-heavy anthem hit the speakers, and
out from the tunnel stepped Dove Cameron. She moved with sharp
precision, her jaw set, her icy blue eyes scanning the arena
with laser focus. There was no smile, no wave to the fans—this
was all business. She wore a sleek black sports bra and matching
yoga shorts, the outfit simple but flattering, showing off the
sculpted definition in her arms and legs. Dove looked carved
from granite—her body tight, toned, and ready for war.
The crowd screamed her name, but she barely acknowledged them,
keeping her attention locked on the arm-wrestling table at the
center of the stage. Every step she took was deliberate,
confident. She rolled her shoulders as she walked, loosening
them up, then shook out her arms, bouncing lightly on the balls
of her feet as if she were stepping into a boxing ring instead
of approaching a table. Her blonde hair was tied back into a
high ponytail, sleek and no-nonsense, not a strand out of place.
“She looks locked in tonight, folks,” one of the commentators
murmured over the PA system. “Cameron has been training
intensely for this series. Word is, she’s been doing grip
strength exercises and arm training like a professional
powerlifter for weeks.”
Dove reached the table and planted her hands on either side of
it, leaning forward slightly as she surveyed the setup: the
thick elbow pads, the sturdy grips, the unforgiving centerline.
The table itself looked like a battleground waiting to happen.
She inhaled deeply, exhaled through her nose, and gave a subtle
nod.
Her trainer stepped up beside her—a tall, lean man in a
tracksuit—and whispered something in her ear. Dove gave him a
curt nod, her gaze still locked forward. She rotated her wrists,
flexed her fingers, then gripped her trainer’s hand for a quick
warm-up squeeze, testing her power. The trainer winced slightly,
shaking his hand out as Dove smirked.
“Strong tonight,” she muttered, her voice low but confident.
The crowd’s cheers shifted to loud applause and whistles as the
announcer’s voice rang out again, the spotlight swinging back
toward the tunnel.
“And her opponent… standing five feet two inches tall, weighing
one hundred twelve pounds of pure fire… Laura Marano!”
The arena erupted as Laura emerged from the tunnel, her energy a
stark contrast to Dove’s icy demeanor. Laura wore a bright smile
as she strutted down the walkway, slapping hands with fans and
radiating confidence. She was dressed in a red sports bra and
matching sweats that hugged her toned physique perfectly, her
brunette hair flowing freely behind her. Unlike Dove, she seemed
relaxed, at ease, almost playful—at least until her eyes locked
onto her rival.
The moment Laura saw Dove standing at the table, her demeanor
shifted in an instant. The smile vanished, replaced by a sharp,
venomous scowl. She stopped slapping hands and strode forward
with purpose, her expression radiating disdain. She climbed onto
the stage and reached down to peel off her sweatpants, revealing
her long, lean, toned, muscular legs. She tossed the sweats
aside and stood tall, glaring at Dove.
Dove met her gaze with equal intensity, her lips curling into a
faint, cocky smirk. Neither woman said a word instead choosing
to mutter under their breath. The tension between them was
intnese, thick enough to cut with a knife. The cameras zoomed in
on their faces, capturing the icy exchange.
“Cameron and Marano have been rivals for years, but this… this
feels different,” a commentator whispered dramatically. “You can
see it in their eyes—neither is here just to win. They’re here
to humiliate the other.”
The announcer moved between them, microphone in hand, grinning
wide for the cameras.
“Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the competitors for tonight’s
arm wrestling match! To my left, the blonde bombshell with a
reputation for cunning and strength—Dove Cameron!” The crowd
cheered, and Dove raised her right arm, flexing her bicep
slightly for the fans before bringing it back down, her gaze
never leaving Laura.
“And to my right, the fiery brunette whose determination and
grit are second to none—Laura Marano!” Laura raised her arms and
flexed hr biceps in acknowledgment, her confident smirk back for
just a moment before she turned to lock eyes with Dove again.
The announcer gestured toward the referee—a stern woman with a
short haircut and a commanding presence—who stepped forward to
take control.
“Alright ladies,” the referee barked, her voice firm and steady,
“you know the rules. Right arm first. Grip must be locked within
two minutes, or we go to the strap. Elbows stay on the pads at
all times, no lifting off. When I say ‘Ready, Go,’ that’s when
the match starts. You’ll go best two out of three. Understood?”
Both Dove and Laura nodded silently, their eyes locked in mutual
hatred.
“Step up to the table.”
The tension in the arena was electric as the women moved
forward. Dove right arm shot out her fingers flexing wide, ready
to lock up. Laura mirrored her, reaching out but quickly
grabbing Dove's hand squeezing down hard on three of her
fingers. Dove pulled back sharply shaking out her hand. The two
women leaned over the table, their faces just feet apart, eyes
boring into each other’s.
“Hands out,” the ref instructed. “Let’s see a clean grip this
time.”
Both women shot their hands forward, fingers splayed wide,
immediately twisting and turning, trying to secure a dominant
position. Their hands slid against each other’s, palms slick
with anticipation as they fought for leverage before the match
had even begun. Dove’s jaw tightened as she adjusted her grip,
her thumb pressing hard against Laura’s. Laura countered with a
twist of her wrist, forcing Dove to shift.
After ten seconds of struggle, Dove abruptly pulled back,
shaking her hand out, her eyes narrowing. Laura smirked, clearly
pleased with the mini mind game.
They stepped back in and engaged again, this time Laura pulling
away after twenty seconds, shaking out her wrist. The crowd
roared with excitement as the two rivals circled their hands
over the table, testing each other’s strength and grip as their
eyes stayed locked.
“Come on, ladies, let’s get that grip locked!” the ref barked.
They returned to the table again, both determined to establish
dominance. Ninety seconds had passed, and neither had given
ground. Finally, they both lunged forward simultaneously, their
hands locking tightly around each other’s thumbs, their fingers
squeezing with crushing force. The sound of knuckles grinding
echoed faintly through the mic as they dug in.
Laura suddenly yanked back hard, dragging Dove’s shoulder
slightly over the table edge, a sly grin flashing across her
face. But Dove wasn’t fazed; she yanked back just as hard,
resetting their positions. The referee stepped in quickly.
“Alright, alright, settle down! Elbows on the pads!”
She placed her hands over their clenched fists, guiding their
elbows back into perfect alignment. Both women were already
pulling and twisting hard, their biceps bulging, forearms
twitching under their skin.
“Relax,” the ref barked. “RELAX!”
With a deep breath, both women eased their grips slightly,
loosening up, though neither broke eye contact. The crowd hushed
in anticipation, sensing the imminent explosion of power.
The referee raised one hand, eyes flicking between them.
“Ready…”
Dove’s muscles tensed. Laura’s jaw clenched.
Round 1 – Right Hands
“GO!”
The referee’s voice booms like a gunshot, and in an instant,
both women slammed into each other’s grip with raw power. Their
muscles tensed like coiled springs; the veins in their forearms
stood out as they strained against each other, elbows pinned to
the padded bases, wrists locked in a brutal tug-of-war. The
crowd roared, the sound swelling through the MGM Grand arena
like a wave, but neither Dove nor Laura heard them. Their entire
worlds had narrowed to the single point where their hands
connected.
Dove’s face was pure focus, her jaw tight, lips slightly parted
as she exhaled through clenched teeth. Her right bicep rippled
with tension, her shoulder muscles bunching beneath her sleek
black sports bra as she drove every ounce of strength into her
arm. She wasn’t going to let Laura get the jump. Not tonight.
Laura’s expression was equally intense, but there was fire in
her dark brown doe eyes, a fierce determination that radiated
even through the tight grimace on her face. Her red sports bra
clung to her torso as she leaned into the table, her brunette
hair swaying forward, strands sticking slightly to her temple
from the heat of the lights and the early adrenaline rush.
The two women were perfectly matched in this opening moment,
their wrists deadlocked, knuckles trembling as neither gave an
inch. The table creaked slightly from the tension, the sold wood
frame groaning beneath their combined power.
“Good lock, ladies, good lock!” the referee barked, crouching
slightly to watch their elbows and wrists.
Dove’s trainer shouted encouragement from ringside. “Settle in,
Dove! Find your grip! She’s tight but you’ve got this!”
Laura’s coach countered, his voice sharp. “Breathe, Laura! Curl
your wrist in! Don’t let her roll you!”
Laura gritted her teeth, tilting her head slightly, her eyes
narrowing on Dove’s hand. She adjusted her grip subtly, rotating
her wrist just enough to test Dove’s control. Dove felt the
shift instantly and countered by curling her wrist, forcing
Laura to pause her maneuver.
“Uh-uh,” Dove murmured softly, just loud enough for Laura to
hear. “No way b!tch.”
Laura’s lips curled into a smirk despite the strain. “We’ll
see.”
Their wrists trembled, muscles firing, but neither woman had
gained any advantage. The crowd’s cheers built as the match
stretched past the thirty-second mark, the tension at the table
almost unbearable.
Then, Laura made her move. With a sharp grunt, she shifted her
weight and drove her shoulder forward, her wrist angling
slightly downward. Dove felt the sudden surge and her arm was
yanked slightly toward Laura, slightly towards the pad. The
crowd roared as Laura gained the first visible advantage, her
arm pressing Dove’s closer to defeat.
“Come on, Laura!” her coach shouted. “Drive it home!”
Dove’s eyes widened slightly, her face twisting in effort as her
arm hovered just inches from the table. Her elbow trembled
violently, her bicep straining as she tried to halt the
momentum. Her teeth clenched, her breath coming in sharp bursts.
She was dangerously close to being pinned.
“Stay with it, Dove! Stay with it!” her trainer yelled.
Laura’s lips curled in triumph as she pushed harder, her muscles
rippling with effort. “You’re going down,” she hissed.
Dove shook her head, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her as
she let out a guttural growl. “Not… a . . . . chance.”
With a sudden surge of power, Dove wrapped her left leg around
the corner post, driving through her legs and core as she pulled
back. The crowd erupted as she halted Laura’s progress, stopping
the brunette’s downward push just inches from the pad. Laura
snarled in frustration, her arm muscles trembling from the
effort.
“Come on, Dove! Don't stop!” her trainer urged.
The blonde dug deep, her entire body shaking as she fought her
way back to center. Slowly, agonizingly, she pulled Laura’s
wrist upward, her forearm muscles flexing like steel cables.
Laura gritted her teeth, refusing to give ground easily, but
Dove’s strength was undeniable.
The table creaked again as they returned to dead center, their
wrists once again locked in a trembling stalemate. Sweat
glistened on their foreheads, their breaths coming faster and
heavier now. Both women’s faces were masks of determination,
their brows furrowed, lips tight as they exhaled sharply with
each surge of power.
The referee crouched lower, her eyes darting between their
elbows and wrists. “Keep it clean, ladies! Elbows down!”
Laura’s breathing quickened, but her eyes burned with fury. She
shifted her stance slightly, digging her toes into the mat for
better leverage. With a sudden roar, she launched another
attack, this time twisting her wrist sharply and rolling her
shoulder forward. The move caught Dove off-guard, and Laura
managed to slam her wrist forward again, driving the blonde’s
hand back toward the pad.
The crowd gasped as Dove’s hand dipped dangerously close to
defeat. Her arm quivered, her muscles straining under the
immense pressure. Laura bared her teeth, her face flushed with
effort as she bore down with all her strength.
“Almost there, Laura! Finish it!” her coach yelled.
Dove’s trainer pounded the edge of the stage. “Hold, Dove! Hold
it!”
Dove’s face twisted in pain as her arm hovered just inches from
the pad. Her eyes squeezed shut, and a guttural growl escaped
her throat as she summoned every ounce of strength she had. The
crowd erupted, sensing the dramatic turn as she dug her heels
into the floor and roared, forcing her arm back up. Inch by
agonizing inch, she fought her way back from the brink of
defeat, her bicep bulging as she countered Laura’s assault.
Laura’s eyes widened in disbelief as Dove clawed her way back to
center yet again. Sweat dripped down both women’s temples, their
forearms trembling violently.
“Jesus, look at this!” a commentator exclaimed. “Neither woman
will give an inch! Laura had her twice, almost pinned, but Dove
is refusing to quit!”
Laura gritted her teeth and leaned in, their faces now only
inches apart. “Stay down,” she snarled through clenched teeth.
Dove’s icy blue eyes snapped open, blazing with fury. “You
first,” she hissed back.
With a sudden roar, Dove shifted her weight and twisted her
wrist sharply, catching Laura off-balance. The brunette’s eyes
widened as her wrist was forced upward, and suddenly Dove had
the advantage. The crowd exploded as Dove drove Laura’s arm
toward the pad, her muscles pulsing as she poured on the
pressure.
“Come on, Dove! Press her!” her trainer screamed.
Laura grunted loudly, her breath ragged as she fought to hold
her ground. Her arm trembled violently, her elbow barely
clinging to the pad as she resisted with every ounce of strength
she had. Dove’s bicep popped, sweat dripping down her arm as she
pushed Laura’s wrist lower and lower.
For a moment, it seemed Laura was about to be defeated. Her arm
hovered dangerously close from the pad, Dove’s face twisted in
determination as she leaned in, putting her entire body into the
push. The crowd screamed, the arena shaking from the noise.
But Laura wasn’t done. With a roar that echoed through the
arena, she dug deep, her body shaking violently as she stopped
Dove’s momentum. Inch by inch, she rocked her way back, her arm
rising from near-certain defeat.
“Unbelievable!” a commentator shouted. “Laura’s coming back!
What a show of strength!”
Dove snarled in frustration, her own muscles trembling from the
effort. Both women were breathing heavily now, sweat dripping
down their cleavage, their faces flushed red from exertion.
Their eyes were wide with desperation, neither willing to give
an inch.
“Dig, Laura!” her coach shouted. “You’ve got her!”
“Stay on her, Dove!” her trainer barked. “Don’t let her
breathe!”
The battle raged on, each woman taking turns pushing the other’s
arm closer to the pad only for the other to summon a miraculous
burst of strength and fight back to center. The crowd was on
their feet now, chanting and screaming as the women grunted and
groaned, their bodies trembling with effort.
Laura’s eyes widened in sheer panic as her arm quivered,
trembling violently under Dove’s relentless pressure. “No… no… I
can’t lose—” she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice
cracking as sweat poured down her temple. Every fiber of her
being strained to hold the line, but Dove’s right arm was an
unbreakable vise, grinding her down inch by inch, forcing her
wrist closer and closer to the mat.
Dove leaned in, her face lit with a feral, almost triumphant
grin. “It’s over, Laura. Feel it.”
Laura shook her head wildly, her body shaking, the last of her
resistance flickering like a dying flame. “You’re… not…
stronger… than me!” she screamed, veins bulging along her arm as
she fought against the inevitable.
But Dove only bared her teeth in a grin that promised no mercy.
“Watch me.”
With a guttural roar, Dove unleashed every ounce of strength she
had — shoulders locking, core tightening, arm surging forward
like a piston. Laura’s resistance shattered, her wrist
collapsing as Dove drove it down in a brutal arc. The smack of
flesh and bone against the pad echoed like a gunshot, the sound
of total defeat.
Laura’s cry was drowned out by the eruption of the crowd as Dove
stood tall, victorious.
The referee immediately raised Dove’s hand. “Winner of Round
One: Dove Cameron!”
The arena erupted in deafening cheers as Dove ripped her hand
back and flexed her trembling right arm, her sweat drenched
chest heaving as she glared down at Laura. Sweat glistened on
her skin, her biceps still twitching from the monumental effort.
Laura pulled back, gasping for breath, her face flushed with
frustration. She slammed her fist onto the table, her eyes
blazing as she glared up at Dove.
Dove leaned down, her smirk dripping with confidence. “One
down,” she whispered. “Want to quit now, and save the
embarrassment?”
Laura snarled in response, grabbing a towel from her trainer to
wipe her face. “Don’t get cocky,” she spat. “You got lucky.”
Dove chuckled, flexing her right arm again for the crowd. “Luck
had nothing to do with it, sweetie.”
The crowd roared again as the announcer’s voice boomed over the
speakers.
“What a first round, ladies and gentlemen! Dove Cameron takes
the lead with an incredible comeback victory! But don’t count
Laura Marano out yet—this is just the beginning of the first
bout!”
Round 2 – Left Hands
The referee motioned for both fighters to switch sides as the
crew reset the arm-wrestling table. Dove grabbed her towel,
wiping sweat from her face and neck. She leaned forward,
adjusting her black shorts and shaking out her arms, her breath
still heavy from the grueling first round. Her trainer crouched
beside her, murmuring encouragement.
“That’s one,” he said. “You’re looking good. Just keep your
cool.”
Dove nodded but didn’t smile. She was laser-focused. Winning the
first round had been huge, but she knew Laura wasn’t going to
fold. Laura Marano never folded.
Across from her, Laura leaned into the opposite side if the
table her scowl deep enough to cut glass. Her jaw was tight, her
nostrils flared, her chest still heaving as she glared across
the table at Dove.
“You know you got lucky,” Laura snapped loud enough for Dove to
hear. “I had you. TWICE.”
Dove smirked, rolling her shoulder slowly. “Had me. Didn’t
finish me. That’s the difference between us. You're all talk,
I'm all action.”
Laura’s eyes narrowed, the burn of frustration clear. She ripped
her towel from her trainer’s hands, wiped her arms, and leaned
in over the table, placing her left elbow down. “Not this time,”
she hissed.
The referee stepped in, hands raised. “Alright ladies, second
round. Left arms. Same rules.”
But Laura wasn’t cooperating. As Dove calmly set her elbow down,
fingers wide and ready to lock, Laura deliberately held her hand
back, hovering it in the air. She twisted her wrist back and
forth, making a show of “getting ready.” Dove raised an eyebrow,
irritated.
“Come on, Laura,” Dove taunted. “What’s wrong? That weak little
left arm a little nervous?”
Laura’s lips curved into a sharp grin. “Just savoring this. I’m
about to embarrass you.”
The referee sighed. “Hands forward, let’s get a grip.”
But Laura still didn’t comply. She hovered her hand just out of
reach, circling Dove’s. The crowd began to buzz, sensing the
mind games. Dove leaned forward, her frustration flashing in her
eyes.
“Quit stalling,” Dove barked.
Laura tilted her head, her grin widening. “Make me.”
That was the last straw. With a sharp motion, Dove reached
across the table and gave Laura a hard shove to the shoulder,
pushing her back in her chair. The crowd gasped, the tension
spiking instantly. Laura snapped her head back toward Dove, her
eyes blazing.
“You wanna go right now?” Laura spat, shoving her chair
backwards aggressively.
The referee stepped between them, raising her voice. “Hey! Back
off! Both of you! Elbows on the pads NOW!”
Trainers on both sides yelled for their fighters to calm down,
but the energy was boiling over. Laura slammed her elbow back
onto the pad, and this time Dove mirrored her immediately, her
expression dark and intense. Their left hands shot forward,
palms open, fingers wide, but Laura wasn’t letting Dove settle
easily. She twisted her wrist sharply, trying to break Dove’s
positioning, forcing the blonde to twist and adjust.
The referee stepped in, grabbing their wrists. “Alright, you two
wanna play dirty? Fine. Strap.”
An official quickly stepped forward with the strap—thick, heavy
nylon designed to bind their wrists together so neither could
slip away. Laura smirked at Dove as the strap was wrapped
tightly around their hands and cinched into place.
“Now you can’t run,” Laura said under her breath.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dove shot back, leaning forward until
their foreheads nearly touched.
The referee checked the strap, pulling hard to ensure it was
tight. “No slipping now. Keep those elbows down. You two ready?”
Neither woman answered, their eyes locked in silent fury as
their biceps bulged..
“READY… GO!”
The moment the referee’s hand dropped, the table rattled under
the sudden explosion of force. Both women slammed against the
strap, their muscles straining, shoulders rolling forward as
their wrists twisted violently in opposite directions.
Dove had been right—her left arm was stronger, and it showed
immediately. She gained a slight edge early, forcing Laura’s
hand backward toward the pad. Laura gritted her teeth, her face
twisting as Dove drove her closer and closer to defeat.
“Come on, Dove!” her trainer yelled. “Finish this! Put her
down!”
The crowd roared, sensing another dramatic pin was imminent.
Laura’s arm trembled violently, her elbow sliding to the very
edge of the pad. Sweat dripped down her temple as she let out a
guttural growl, her whole body shaking with the effort to hold
Dove off.
But Laura Marano didn’t know how to quit. With a sudden jerk,
she yanked back hard on the strap, using her whole body weight
to snap Dove’s wrist back just enough to halt her momentum. Dove
snarled, leaning forward, but Laura had already shifted her
weight, digging her heels into the floor as she fought back to
center.
“Good, Laura! Good!” her coach yelled. “Don’t let her bully
you!”
The brunette’s face was a mask of concentration as she clawed
her way back, inch by agonizing inch. Dove’s eyes widened as she
felt Laura’s power surge through the strap, halting her progress
entirely.
F%ck!” Dove grunted through clenched teeth. You B!tch!”
Laura’s response was a feral growl as she drove forward again,
sending the match back to center. Both women were now trembling
violently, their arms slick with sweat, muscles bulging under
the bright arena lights. The strap creaked as it stretched tight
between them, their wrists bound together like two gladiators
shackled in combat.
Dove pushed again, leaning forward, her left bicep straining as
she drove Laura’s wrist downward a second time. Laura’s arm
dipped again, her face twisted in agony. The crowd erupted,
sensing another finish.
But Laura wasn’t done, she never was. She jerked hard against
the strap again, this time twisting her wrist inward taking
Dove's wrist with her. That adjustment was all she needed; she
clawed her way back to neutral once more, simply refusing to let
Dove end it.
The referee leaned in close, shouting over the roar of the
crowd. “Keep those elbows down! Don’t slip!”
Laura was snarling now, her breaths ragged as she fought tooth
and nail. Dove slammed forward again, pushing Laura’s hand down
a third time, sweat dripping off her face as she leaned over the
table, trying to force the brunette’s wrist flat.
“Stay DOWN!” Dove roared, her ponytail whipping behind her as
she poured every ounce of strength into the push. “Why don't you
just STAY DOWN!”
Laura let out a scream of defiance, her eyes blazing. “NEVER!”
In a display of sheer willpower, Laura surged upward a third
time, her entire body shaking violently as she halted Dove’s
momentum yet again. The crowd was on their feet, screaming,
sensing they were witnessing something special.
“Unbelievable resilience from Laura Marano!” a commentator
shouted. “Dove has had her on the brink THREE TIMES and still
hasn’t finished her!”
Laura’s trainer was clapping loudly. “Now, Laura! Now! Take
her!”
Laura’s teeth clenched as she shifted tactics, adjusting her
grip on the strap. Instead of relying purely on brute strength,
she began using a series of sharp pulls and jerks, leveraging
her whole body weight to destabilize Dove’s arm. Each squeeze of
the strap forced Dove to adjust, her left arm shaking violently
as she tried to keep control.
Dove grunted, sweat dripping down her arms as she fought to hold
her position. “Dirty… fighting,” she panted.
Laura smirked through the strain. “Smart… fighting.”
She jerked again, this time catching Dove off-guard, pulling her
wrist slightly off-line. Dove snarled, but the shift gave Laura
the opening she needed. Slowly, steadily, Laura began pumping
her arm in short jerky pumps pushing Dove’s back. Closer and
closer to the table.
The crowd roared as momentum shifted entirely. Dove’s face
twisted in disbelief as she realized she was being overpowered.
She dug her heels in, her arm trembling violently, veins bulging
as she tried to hold her ground and stop the assault. But
Laura’s fury was unstoppable. Inch by inch, she drove Dove’s
wrist closer to the pad.
Dove’s trainer screamed from the sidelines. “Fight it, Dove!
Fight it! Lock your arm! Don’t let her!”
But Laura was in total control now, her face twisted into a
fierce snarl as she leaned all her weight into the match. Dove’s
wrist hovered just inches from the pad, her arm quivering
violently, her wrist bent painfully backwards.
“Not so tough now, huh?” Laura taunted through gritted teeth.
“How’s it feel, Dove? About to lose your little lead?”
Dove let out a guttural growl, her eyes closing as she summoned
every ounce of strength she had left. Her entire body shook as
she tried to surge back, but Laura had her locked in and all she
could manage was to gain back an inch or less.
The brunette held Dove’s wrist inches from the pad for several
agonizing seconds, grinning down at her rival. “Say it,” she
hissed. “Say I’m stronger.”
Dove’s eyes snapped open, blazing with defiance. “What? Never.”
Laura chuckled darkly. “Then watch this.”
With a sudden, dramatic slam, Laura drove Dove’s wrist flat
against the pad, the strap jerking tight with the impact. The
referee immediately raised Laura’s hand.
“Winner of Round Two: Laura Marano!”
But Laura wasn’t done. She yanked on the strap, pulling Dove’s
hand back up into the air while they were still tied together.
Dove winced, jerking her arm instinctively as Laura twisted the
strap tight, forcing her hand upward in a mock display of
dominance.
“Flex for me,” Laura sneered, curling her arm slowly and flexing
her bicep right in Dove’s face. “That’s one apiece, Sl*t.”
Dove yanked hard on the strap, trying to free herself, but Laura
held her there for a moment longer, savoring the humiliation,
before finally letting go. The referee jumped in and the strap
was removed as Dove ripped her hand back, shaking it out
angrily. She glared across the table, her breathing ragged, her
face flushed with fury.
Laura stood up and raised both arms high, flexing for the
roaring crowd. Her trainer leapt onto the stage, clapping her on
the back.
“That’s how you do it!” he shouted. “That’s how you answer
back!”
Dove’s trainer moved to her side, whispering calming words, but
Dove’s glare never left Laura. The brunette was walking around
the table now, flexing her arms and shouting into the cameras.
“One to one!” Laura shouted. “You’re not better than me! NEVER
were!”
Dove stood slowly, meeting Laura chest-to-chest in the center of
the stage. For a moment, it looked like a fight might break out
right then and there. The referee immediately stepped between
them, shouting for order.
“Back off Ladies!” she barked. “Both of you, BACK OFF!”
The crowd was deafening, the energy electric. The series was
tied 1-1, and both women were glaring at each other with pure
hatred, sweat dripping down their flushed faces, their chests
rising and falling rapidly from exertion.
The announcer’s voice boomed over the chaos.
“WHAT A SECOND ROUND! Laura Marano answers back with a
three-minute war, refusing to go down despite being on the edge
three separate times! This rivalry is EVERYTHING we hoped for!”
Laura smirked as she stepped back, her arms raised again.
“That’s right!” she shouted to the crowd.
“Look at her! She's weak! Round three’s going to be mine too!”
Dove wiped sweat from her brow, her glare unwavering. “You
wish.”
Round 3 – Dove's Choice
The MGM Grand’s arena is electric. The audience, a sea of
flashing cameras and excited whispers, knows they’re witnessing
something special tonight. Now, tied 1–1 in this best-of-three
arm-wrestling opener to their five-part competition, the entire
event teeters on this deciding fall.
Since Dove won her round in 90 seconds and it took Laura a full
3 minutes, Dove gets to decide which arm to use in the final
round.
Dove leans against her corner of the arm-wrestling stage, chest
heaving from Round 2’s brutal three-minute grind. Sweat glistens
on her shoulders and neck under the bright lights, and her
blonde hair sticks in damp strands against her temples. Her jaw
is tight as her coach, a broad-shouldered man in a black polo,
kneads her forearm with quick, practiced motions.
“Left hand is your power side,” her coach murmurs in her ear,
low enough that the cameras can’t catch it. “You almost had her
three times. We stick with that. Go left.”
Dove shakes her head, biting down on her bottom lip. “But she
beat me with my left. She dragged me for three minutes before
pinning me. My right’s faster. I can blitz her.”
Her coach frowns, but Dove’s eyes burn with determination. She
wants this win — not just for herself, but for the statement
it’ll make. Dove has been labeled the “pretty technician,” the
cerebral fighter of this rivalry, but tonight she wants to prove
she’s got power, grit, and killer instinct to match.
“Right arm,” Dove says finally, loud enough for the ref to hear.
Laura, toweling off sweat with her corner man rubbing her bicep,
immediately freezes, then bursts into a wide grin. “What a
stupid move, Dove,” she says loud enough for the front row to
hear. “You’re so getting the back of your hand buried in the
table.” She claps her hands together twice, a sharp crack that
echoes through the mic’d stage, and the crowd roars at her
confidence.
Dove’s face flickers, just for a second — doubt. She swallows,
sets her jaw, and rubs her aching right arm. Laura sees that
flicker and smirks, shaking out her fingers.
The referee motions both women forward. “Final round of this
event, ladies. Winner takes the lead in this rivalry series.”
Laura and Dove approach the small stage table. The table itself
looks small compared to the weight of this moment — two elbow
pads, two small rectangular grip pads, and a leather strap
hanging at the side for tie-ins.
The women step up and place their right elbows on the pads,
hands open, fingers splayed. The arena seems to hush as cameras
zoom in close. Their eyes lock. Blonde vs. brunette. Four years
of history flashing in their stares.
“Grips!” the ref commands.
They clasp hands, their fingers interlocking tightly. Dove’s
hand feels dry and strong, knuckles white with tension. Laura’s
grip is smaller, but iron-hard, her nails digging into Dove’s
skin. They twist and torque, each trying to gain leverage
without fouling.
Dove’s face is unreadable; Laura’s is curled into a cocky
half-smile.
“Wrists straight. Shoulders square,” the ref says. “Ready…”
The women freeze, muscles coiled like springs.
“…GO!”
Dove explodes forward with pure aggression, her right bicep
bulging, forearm veins standing out as she drives Laura’s hand
back a third of the way in one shocking surge. The crowd gasps,
cheering wildly.
Laura’s smile disappears instantly. Her arm trembles, muscles
locking tight as she stops Dove’s momentum dead. The brunette
digs her toes into the stage, sliding her body closer to her
elbow pad to create leverage. Her jaw clenches as she fights
back, her arm rigid as steel.
“Come on, Dove, bury her!” Dove’s coach shouts.
Dove growls and pushes harder, body arching over the table, but
Laura’s defense is airtight. For nearly fifteen seconds, Dove
pours everything she has into that first blitz, her breath
hissing through clenched teeth. Sweat drips down her face as
Laura refuses to budge, her bicep trembling but unyielding.
“Stop trying to rush me,” Laura hisses, her voice low but sharp.
The surge stalls. Dove exhales sharply and readjusts her stance,
trying to find a new angle. Laura seizes the opening. With a
sudden grunt, she twists her wrist inward, curling it toward her
chest. The motion pulls Dove off-balance and yanks her arm
across the centerline of the table.
“Whoa!” shouts the ref, leaning closer but letting it play out.
Dove digs her feet in, arresting Laura’s attack just inches from
center. The crowd’s cheers grow deafening. Every second feels
like an eternity.
For a full minute, the match becomes a deadlock. Their clasped
hands shake violently in the center as their bodies rock and
sway over the table, each trying to read the other’s next move.
Dove’s breathing is controlled but heavy, nostrils flaring.
Laura’s brow furrows, lips curling back as she grits her teeth.
Their shoulders flex, their forearms like stone, tendons popping
under taut skin. Sweat drips down their arms and soaks into
their sports bras.
“Pump her, Laura! One pump at a time!” Laura’s coach screams
from her corner.
Laura obeys. She jolts her arm forward in sharp, rhythmic
bursts, trying to break Dove’s angle. Each pump pushes Dove’s
hand closer to the mat. Five inches. Four inches. Three. The
crowd roars as Laura’s face contorts with effort, eyes closed
now as she strains every muscle.
Dove’s coach shouts desperately. “Don’t let her! Anchor, Dove!
Anchor!”
Dove snarls and leans back, pulling Laura’s arm up and stalling
her momentum. The two women freeze again, locked in a shaking
stalemate. Laura opens her eyes, glaring at Dove from under
sweat-soaked bangs.
“You’re… not… beating me,” Laura growls.
“Watch me,” Dove hisses back, voice dripping with venom.
Dove changes tactics. Instead of brute-forcing Laura’s arm down,
she rolls her right shoulder forward, pressing Laura’s hand into
a more uncomfortable angle. She pumps her arm in smooth,
deliberate jolts, each one prying Laura’s arm back toward
center.
Laura grunts with each pump, her body trembling. The brunette’s
feet skid against the stage as Dove drags her closer to the
table edge.
“Back to center! Good, Dove! Now go to work!” her coach yells.
The blonde’s face is flushed red, her teeth bared in a grimace
as she pushes Laura’s hand halfway down. The crowd is on their
feet now, screaming with every movement.
“Down! Take her down!” Dove’s corner screams frantically.
Laura’s arm is trembling uncontrollably. Dove senses weakness
and grins. “So Arm Wresting was your idea, huh? Thought you were
stronger than me?”
Laura’s eyes close again, her lips pressed together in a tight
line. Sweat drips from her chin onto the table. Her entire body
shakes as she fights to hold the back of her hand off the pad.
At the two-minute mark, Dove is on the brink of victory. Laura’s
hand is a mere inch from the table. The referee leans in close,
ready to call the pin.
“Come on, Dove!” her coach yells, voice cracking. “One more
surge!”
Dove roars and throws her weight forward, but Laura, with sheer
desperation, slides her elbow subtly closer to the table’s edge
until it slips off the edge.
“ELBOW DOWN!” the ref shouts, smacking the table. “Back to
center!”
The reset saves Laura, and Dove slams her free hand against the
table in frustration.
“She cheated!” Dove screams, pointing an accusatory finger. “She
was about to lose and cheated!”
The ref shakes his head. “No foul. Reset.”
Laura says nothing, but her arm dangles limply at her side as
her coach massages it rapidly. The brunette’s face is pale, her
lips trembling as she shakes out her fingers. She knows her
right arm is going numb. Time is her enemy now.
“Right arm, Marano,” the ref orders as Laura hesitates, trying
to stretch her left arm forward.
Laura scowls, then thrusts her right hand forward. Dove snatches
it violently, locking fingers tight.
“Ready… GO!”
Laura shocks everyone by attacking first, curling her wrist
inward and dragging Dove’s arm across the table. The crowd gasps
as Dove is forced back into defense, her arm almost parallel to
her chest.
Laura can’t pin her — not yet — but this buys her precious
seconds to recover her strength. Laura locks in, their hands
trembling inches from Dove’s side of the table.
“Hold her there! Make her sweat!” Laura’s coach yells.
For nearly a minute, neither woman moves. The arena is filled
with their ragged breathing and they wrap their legs around the
posts as they shift for leverage.
Then Laura lets out a primal growl, her entire body surging
forward. Dove’s eyes widen as her hand is forced closer to the
pad. Inch by inch, Laura pumps her arm in jolting bursts, her
tendons standing out like cords.
“Take her! She’s fading!” Laura’s corner screams.
But Dove isn’t done. She plants her feet, leans back, and with a
ferocious twist of her wrist, drags Laura’s arm back to center.
Now it's Dove’s turn. Her shoulder rolls forward, her back
muscles rippling as she leans over the table. She rocks Laura’s
arm in steady, relentless pumps, forcing Laura back. The
brunette’s mouth falls open in silent agony as Dove retakes
control.
Three minutes in, they’re back to neutral. Sweat pours from both
women, soaking their sports bras and shorts. Laura’s hair is
plastered to her cheeks; Dove’s face is flushed and streaked
with perspiration.
Laura’s bicep twitches violently. Dove smirks, sensing blood.
“Not so cocky now, huh?” she pants.
Laura snarls but says nothing, focusing every ounce of energy on
holding Dove back.
Dove goes for the kill. She leans in, arm trembling with
exertion, and pushes Laura’s hand down inch by agonizing inch.
The crowd is deafening as the brunette’s fingers graze the pad.
“Go down, damn it! Go down!” Dove screams, voice hoarse.
But Laura won’t quit. She never does. Eyes clenched shut, she
locks her arm, refusing to be pinned. Dove’s frustration grows
as she throws her entire bodyweight forward, but Laura remains a
wall of stubborn resistance.
Dove’s coach yells, “You got her!”
“Go down, damn it! Go down!” Dove screamed, her voice raw with
exhaustion and rage as their locked arms shook violently between
them.
But Laura refused. She always refused. Eyes screwed shut, teeth
grinding, her arm locked like iron, defying every ounce of
Dove’s power. Her entire body trembled, but she would not let
her wrist fall.
Dove snarled, sweat dripping from her chin as she leaned in with
all her weight. Nothing. Laura was still there, unmovable, a
wall of stubborn defiance.
“Change it up! Change it up!” Dove’s coach roared from the
corner.
For a split second, Dove’s eyes narrowed. Then she shifted. She
stopped pressing and, with a violent yank, ripped Laura’s arm
upward, dragging her opponent’s wrist six inches off the table.
Laura’s eyes flew open in shock—
“What the f^ck?”
And that was the opening Dove needed.
With a guttural roar, Dove slammed forward, every muscle in her
body detonating at once. Their clasped hands smashed down
against the table with a thunderous THWACK! that echoed through
the arena.
“PIN!” the referee shouted, slapping the table. “We have a PIN!”
The crowd exploded, the roar deafening as Dove collapsed
forward, still pressing Laura’s arm flat to the pad for several
extra seconds, refusing to release her dominance. Finally, she
yanked her hand back, gasping, her chest heaving.
Laura slumped over the table, her damp hair falling across her
face, her right arm dangling limp and useless at her side. Her
glare, though blurred by tears and sweat, still burned holes
into Dove.
The referee grabbed Dove’s trembling wrist and hoisted it into
the air. “Your winner of Round 3… Dove Cameron!”
Dove raised her free arm high, forcing a weary grin through the
exhaustion, savoring the sound of her name on the announcer’s
lips. Laura sat slumped, jaw tight, hatred radiating even in
defeat, knowing she had come within inches of breaking Dove—yet
tonight, Dove had broken her instead.
Dove staggered back from the table, chest heaving, every limb
trembling from the war she’d just endured. She lifted both arms
weakly to the crowd, her smile breaking through exhaustion as
thousands of voices thundered her name. Tears glistened in her
eyes—relief, triumph, vindication all crashing together.
But before she could even catch her breath, a sharp shove rocked
her forward.
Dove stumbled, spinning around just in time to see Laura, face
twisted in rage, shouting above the roar.
“You cheated! You damn cheater!” Laura’s voice ****, raw with
fury and heartbreak.
The referee immediately stepped in, arms outstretched, but Laura
lunged again, trying to get at Dove. Dove backpedaled with her
hands raised, still grinning through her exhaustion as if to
taunt her fallen rival.
Pandemonium erupted. Coaches and teammates swarmed the
table—Vanessa Marano straining to lock both arms around her
younger sister’s waist, dragging her backward as Laura kicked
and fought, screaming to be let go. Ariana Grande was at Laura’s
side, shouting at the officials, while Katherine McNamara tried
to push between them, eyes darting nervously toward Dove.
On the other side, Dove’s team rushed in—Olivia Holt shielding
her best friend, Olivia Rodrigo waving off the chaos, and Debby
Ryan holding the cage door shut in case things boiled over even
further.
“Keep that weak-ass loser away from me!” Dove barked, still
smiling, her voice hoarse as she raised her arms again, basking
in the adoration of the crowd. The image was perfect—one fighter
basking in victory, the other thrashing like a caged animal in
defeat.
Laura’s screams carried over the noise. “Fight me again! Right
now! You didn’t beat me fair!”
The officials swarmed, separating both teams as the arena shook
with deafening chants. Dove blew one last kiss toward Laura
before climbing onto the edge of the table, arms stretched high,
as Laura’s team hauled her away kicking and swinging, still
desperate to break free and throw herself at her rival.
The rivalry had not ended. If anything, it had just been set
ablaze.
Dove Cameron wins Match-01 2 pins to 1
Written by the Badass Barbies
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