"Okay, okay! I-I get it! You win, okay, I give up, I yield, I yield! I can't fight back like this, you won!" His hand shot in front of his face, shielding him from any more hits, and more realistically, the cameras. Fisk couldn't believe he were giving the producers more fuel to drag him through the mud, but if this worked...
It'd be worth it.
"I'm sorry for what we did to you, okay! We were on SOTF-TV, right? It was nothing personal, just-just putting on a show, getting our good first impressions in, you know!" Fisk gave his best attempt at a sheepish, apologetic smile. If he weren't missing some of his teeth, nor the remaining ones yellowed from being coated in blood, it'd be easy to imagine a starry little glimmer coming from them.
"I... I couldn't read the room okay, we took things too far! I'm... I'm neurodivergent okay, like, I'm not good socially, I just, I just pretend and we were doing things we thought would look cool, okay, we never, we never intended it to get this far, and I'm sorry okay!"
He took a breath. These long winded rambles were much harder when you didn't have much wind to give anymore. "Look, you're mad, you all are, I get it, you're going to kill me, b-but isn't this a little bit gratuitous? W-we've gone way beyond what would be considered cinematic you know! It's- the, it's the optics of it!I'm... I'm not well okay, like in the head, right! I mean, when you win, aren't you worried about getting canceled? I mean, think of the opt-
haha, look at me, I'm rambling again about social media and filmography, and you're going to kill me!"
There was a pause. Right now, Fisk detested himself. He'd been reduced to groveling. Groveling for his own demise at that. But he had a plan.
"Y-You offered to make it quick?" Fisk looked up at Ivan and Anthony, Liv somewhere in the backdrop. He sat on his knees, one arm dangling limp at his side, elongated like a stretchy cartoon character, the other shielding his face from whatever the next blow would be.
"Y-you said t-that i-if I wrap my mouth around your shotgun, you'd end it there..."
This Confession Has Meant Nothing
*CONTENT WARNING* Zoo Wee Mama
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
"Your argument is what, that you're fucking neurodivergent and also a minor?" Anthony started softly chuckling. That was just- fucking Fisk, the high and mighty leader of the Respects and murderer, had no excuse but 'I'm neurodivergent and also a minor'?
"Get the fucking glass. Shotgun's too quick."
"Get the fucking glass. Shotgun's too quick."
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The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 907
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- Location: Got it? Good, now get inside.
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
"Liv?" Ivan said, and gestured to Olivia, his other arm coming up towards Anthony.
"He isn't worth the glass cuts. Liv? You want to do it?"
"He isn't worth the glass cuts. Liv? You want to do it?"
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carduinal-cyn
- Posts: 324
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2020 5:56 pm
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
Olivia heard what he said.
Fisk Bateman, the moustache-twirlingly evil tyrant of SOTF television, was on his knees, begging for mercy. What's more — if she'd been listening right, and she didn't doubt her ears — he wanted desperately to suck on another man's shotgun. Yeah, right. "Shotgun." Anthony Golden was right for once. It really did sound like flirting. Olivia snorted, not realizing all eyes were on her until she closed the barrel back together...
Wait.
I'm the one with the shotgun, a little voice inside her said.
Her fingertips practically danced across the barrel. At long last, Olivia del Rio wasn't playing a coward's game. She was the one on offense. She was the terror. She was the winner. And all thanks to the great big dangling weapon in her hands... This was it. Destiny was hers to seize.
"My pleasure."
Liv sauntered over to Fisk with an overconfident, teasing smirk. The blubbering, bloody mess of a boy wasn't even trying to be subtle. She tugged at the zipper of her jacket just enough for the swimsuit underneath to show as she leaned forward. Her free hand pointed the shotgun barrel at Fisk from a low, awkward angle.
Aside from lacrosse, getting a rise out of adults was one of the things Liv lived for most. She knew how this looked to the audience watching at home. It was the sort of trashy reality-TV spectacle that drove ratings through the roof and sent stodgy old boomers clutching at their pearls. She'd be lying if she didn't get a kick out of it. She felt bad. "Seven minutes in heaven" bad. "My parents warned me about that boy, but he's so fucking hot" bad. Her reputation at school would never survive this, but Olivia didn't care. She wanted Fisk to choke on shotgun and she wanted him to like it. And when she was done, she'd turn the spit-soaked Tenga on Anthony and blow a hole through his axe-murdering heart.
She lowered the barrel to Fisk's lips. She prodded his cheek very gently with the tip.
"Well, come on."
Fisk Bateman, the moustache-twirlingly evil tyrant of SOTF television, was on his knees, begging for mercy. What's more — if she'd been listening right, and she didn't doubt her ears — he wanted desperately to suck on another man's shotgun. Yeah, right. "Shotgun." Anthony Golden was right for once. It really did sound like flirting. Olivia snorted, not realizing all eyes were on her until she closed the barrel back together...
Wait.
I'm the one with the shotgun, a little voice inside her said.
Her fingertips practically danced across the barrel. At long last, Olivia del Rio wasn't playing a coward's game. She was the one on offense. She was the terror. She was the winner. And all thanks to the great big dangling weapon in her hands... This was it. Destiny was hers to seize.
"My pleasure."
Liv sauntered over to Fisk with an overconfident, teasing smirk. The blubbering, bloody mess of a boy wasn't even trying to be subtle. She tugged at the zipper of her jacket just enough for the swimsuit underneath to show as she leaned forward. Her free hand pointed the shotgun barrel at Fisk from a low, awkward angle.
Aside from lacrosse, getting a rise out of adults was one of the things Liv lived for most. She knew how this looked to the audience watching at home. It was the sort of trashy reality-TV spectacle that drove ratings through the roof and sent stodgy old boomers clutching at their pearls. She'd be lying if she didn't get a kick out of it. She felt bad. "Seven minutes in heaven" bad. "My parents warned me about that boy, but he's so fucking hot" bad. Her reputation at school would never survive this, but Olivia didn't care. She wanted Fisk to choke on shotgun and she wanted him to like it. And when she was done, she'd turn the spit-soaked Tenga on Anthony and blow a hole through his axe-murdering heart.
She lowered the barrel to Fisk's lips. She prodded his cheek very gently with the tip.
"Well, come on."
Fisk had to struggle with all his might to hide the smirk that was trying to form on his face as he watched Olivia's little act. Spent all this time as the damsel in distress, and now she was going to get her time to shine. Drama kids at heart, right? Well, lucky for her, she would get that time. She'd get the attention she craved.
She'd get it getting carved up like a slasher blonde once Fisk was done with Ivan and Anthony over here, or she would if he had time. As she sauntered over, making a show of things, his eyes trailed between her, Ivan and Anthony, not moving directly obviously, his pupils stayed glued to Olivia, didn't want to give away the act, but he paid attention to his peripherals. It was like watching a movie on a tv screen, all the background hints going on you'd only see on a second viewing, he'd trained himself to watch. always trying to catch the twist before it happens.
He noticed their eyes were on her as well. Buncha freaks. Were it not for the excruciating pain he was in, it would be impossible to smirk, method acting be damned. He forgot how easy it was to play to their egos. Bastards only focused on themselves, they couldn't see the bigger picture. That's why they'd never be capable of what Fisk was, they'd never lead their own form of The Respects, just a twisted little parody, if that. Second they finished him off they'd tear each other apart, no loyalties. None but his demise.
Behind his blonde hair dyed red with blood, Fisk's eyes were full of hate, a fitting look for one who's about to die. Unbeknownst to them, he wasn't. At least not yet. He had so much, so so so much work to be done. No eyes on him, or they'd have noticed his hand grasping the firehose by his thigh. He pinned it to his hip, gripping the handle. The pressure would be rather strong. It'd equally send him flying along with everyone else.
His eyes glanced down at the two barrels in front of him. His chest rised in a shaky breath. Now or never. If this didn't work, he was done for. His body shook as he brought one leg up, looking as if to propose to Olivia, in reality to keep his grip when the hose goes off. The barrel pressed against his cheek.
"I just... I just played this for the sake of my friends."
There was a legitimate sadness in his eyes. He wished they were here, they'd have had this won by now, he'd never have had to escalate the ways he did to do what was needed. Fisk sighed.
The hose was pointed right at Olivia's wrist.
"But you..."
He spoke as if to admonish them, as if he would call them out on their barbaric hypocrisy. The clincher was he wanted them to realize they lost, mere milliseconds before it happened. His hand grasped the handle, began to pull back as the hiss of water droned into audibility.
"I played you perverts like a super-nintendo."
Fisk dropped back, a mad grin stretched across his lips as he prematurely blew his load of hyper-pressurized water into the gang braying for his blood.
She'd get it getting carved up like a slasher blonde once Fisk was done with Ivan and Anthony over here, or she would if he had time. As she sauntered over, making a show of things, his eyes trailed between her, Ivan and Anthony, not moving directly obviously, his pupils stayed glued to Olivia, didn't want to give away the act, but he paid attention to his peripherals. It was like watching a movie on a tv screen, all the background hints going on you'd only see on a second viewing, he'd trained himself to watch. always trying to catch the twist before it happens.
He noticed their eyes were on her as well. Buncha freaks. Were it not for the excruciating pain he was in, it would be impossible to smirk, method acting be damned. He forgot how easy it was to play to their egos. Bastards only focused on themselves, they couldn't see the bigger picture. That's why they'd never be capable of what Fisk was, they'd never lead their own form of The Respects, just a twisted little parody, if that. Second they finished him off they'd tear each other apart, no loyalties. None but his demise.
Behind his blonde hair dyed red with blood, Fisk's eyes were full of hate, a fitting look for one who's about to die. Unbeknownst to them, he wasn't. At least not yet. He had so much, so so so much work to be done. No eyes on him, or they'd have noticed his hand grasping the firehose by his thigh. He pinned it to his hip, gripping the handle. The pressure would be rather strong. It'd equally send him flying along with everyone else.
His eyes glanced down at the two barrels in front of him. His chest rised in a shaky breath. Now or never. If this didn't work, he was done for. His body shook as he brought one leg up, looking as if to propose to Olivia, in reality to keep his grip when the hose goes off. The barrel pressed against his cheek.
"I just... I just played this for the sake of my friends."
There was a legitimate sadness in his eyes. He wished they were here, they'd have had this won by now, he'd never have had to escalate the ways he did to do what was needed. Fisk sighed.
The hose was pointed right at Olivia's wrist.
"But you..."
He spoke as if to admonish them, as if he would call them out on their barbaric hypocrisy. The clincher was he wanted them to realize they lost, mere milliseconds before it happened. His hand grasped the handle, began to pull back as the hiss of water droned into audibility.
"I played you perverts like a super-nintendo."
Fisk dropped back, a mad grin stretched across his lips as he prematurely blew his load of hyper-pressurized water into the gang braying for his blood.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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carduinal-cyn
- Posts: 324
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2020 5:56 pm
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
"What the hell are you—"
A horrible gurgling filled Olivia's ears.
She held onto Tenga for dear life as a deluge of water blasted her across the room.
A horrible gurgling filled Olivia's ears.
She held onto Tenga for dear life as a deluge of water blasted her across the room.
Grinning ear to ear, Fisk sprayed the room from left to right, swaggering around like he was Reagan in Point Break. He curved the beam of water towards Anthony next.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
“Fuck-“
Anthony had seen it coming a second too late, and his dive at Fisk was interrupted by the tsunami coming to bear on him. At least the water provided a brief relief from the burning in his face.
Sending him flying on his ass and skidding down the corridor, the journey was interrupted by the same support pillar Fisk had flown into. He’d lost a knife, the shorter one, but the long thin one remained clutched in his grasp.
Anthony had seen it coming a second too late, and his dive at Fisk was interrupted by the tsunami coming to bear on him. At least the water provided a brief relief from the burning in his face.
Sending him flying on his ass and skidding down the corridor, the journey was interrupted by the same support pillar Fisk had flown into. He’d lost a knife, the shorter one, but the long thin one remained clutched in his grasp.
Fisk turned to Ivan next, as he painted him as the beam locked on to him. He felt the hose lurch and a cascade reeled him back, but he held his ground.
Fisk couldn’t help but laugh maniacally. This was a literal Bond moment for him, holy shit!
Fisk couldn’t help but laugh maniacally. This was a literal Bond moment for him, holy shit!
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
“Hehehehehnyehehehahaahaihaiii~”
Fisk continued with the spraying reveling in the fact that he was just yeeting around his supposed killers with water like physgunned Garry’s Mod ragdolls. Absolutely helpless, yes!
“WHERE’S YOUR SHOTGUNS AND YOUR GLASS TO FEED NOW, YOU STUPID FUCKING BASTARDS- AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”
Fisk was enjoying himself for the first time since his friends were here.
Fisk continued with the spraying reveling in the fact that he was just yeeting around his supposed killers with water like physgunned Garry’s Mod ragdolls. Absolutely helpless, yes!
“WHERE’S YOUR SHOTGUNS AND YOUR GLASS TO FEED NOW, YOU STUPID FUCKING BASTARDS- AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”
Fisk was enjoying himself for the first time since his friends were here.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 907
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:47 am
- Location: Got it? Good, now get inside.
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Water burned.
It burned his skin as he braced his feet against the floor and leaned forward into the blast, forearm out to protect his face as the water was a flame licking across his skin, spattering around the point of his elbow and soaking his clothing (his jeans were once again soaked, the colour would be bled out of them by the end of all of this).
Ivan took a step forwards, a second step, fought against the spray of the hose, one arm extended, aiming to snatch it from Fisk's grip.
But then he succumbed to the blast, was tilted backwards, and staggered until his back slammed into the metal support column, trapped between the water and steel. He slid around it until it was between him and Fisk, the water splashing around him in a cone, wiping water from his face as he took a deep breath.
Ivan grimaced, slid lower, back against the column.
"I'm going to feed you that hose, Fisk!" Ivan roared over the water.
It burned his skin as he braced his feet against the floor and leaned forward into the blast, forearm out to protect his face as the water was a flame licking across his skin, spattering around the point of his elbow and soaking his clothing (his jeans were once again soaked, the colour would be bled out of them by the end of all of this).
Ivan took a step forwards, a second step, fought against the spray of the hose, one arm extended, aiming to snatch it from Fisk's grip.
But then he succumbed to the blast, was tilted backwards, and staggered until his back slammed into the metal support column, trapped between the water and steel. He slid around it until it was between him and Fisk, the water splashing around him in a cone, wiping water from his face as he took a deep breath.
Ivan grimaced, slid lower, back against the column.
"I'm going to feed you that hose, Fisk!" Ivan roared over the water.
“Still talking shit, are ya?!”
Fisk sprayed at the beam Ivan was now wrapped around. Jagged grin hung open, laughing at the audacity of Ivan’s bullshit. Still talking like he won.
“Did I give you amnesia or something when I caved your skull in? You already forgot the first lesson we taught you back when the Respects trussed you up day one! Something something ‘Don’t talk like you won until you won’ don’t ring a bell?! FUCKING IDIOTS!”
Another cackle.
“All three of you should be thanking me! Despite all the available amenities, THIS is the only shower you GROSS fucking troglodytes had all game! You creatures are disgusting!” Fisk valued his hygiene, and even more so, hated the unhygienic. If you couldn’t even take care of yourself, what use were you to anyone else?
Of course Fisk knew he couldn’t pressure wash these bastards forever. His eyes glanced at tenga. He needed it. That plus his revolver, three guaranteed shots, three kills, Ivan, Anthony, Olivia.
He could win this. He could still win this!
Fisk sprayed at the beam Ivan was now wrapped around. Jagged grin hung open, laughing at the audacity of Ivan’s bullshit. Still talking like he won.
“Did I give you amnesia or something when I caved your skull in? You already forgot the first lesson we taught you back when the Respects trussed you up day one! Something something ‘Don’t talk like you won until you won’ don’t ring a bell?! FUCKING IDIOTS!”
Another cackle.
“All three of you should be thanking me! Despite all the available amenities, THIS is the only shower you GROSS fucking troglodytes had all game! You creatures are disgusting!” Fisk valued his hygiene, and even more so, hated the unhygienic. If you couldn’t even take care of yourself, what use were you to anyone else?
Of course Fisk knew he couldn’t pressure wash these bastards forever. His eyes glanced at tenga. He needed it. That plus his revolver, three guaranteed shots, three kills, Ivan, Anthony, Olivia.
He could win this. He could still win this!
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 907
- Joined: Sat Aug 25, 2018 4:47 am
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The water died down, and Ivan kept low, inhaling, exhaling. Nice and steady. Breath can be controlled - breath can be measured. One foot at a time, one step at a time, get Liv across the finish line.
Breath can be controlled - inhaling, exhaling.
Ivan growled, whirled around the steel pillar, and his breath whooshed out of his lungs as a bullet slammed his shoulder, sending him spinning back against the pillar, head cracking against it.
Breath can be controlled - inhaling, exhaling.
Ivan growled, whirled around the steel pillar, and his breath whooshed out of his lungs as a bullet slammed his shoulder, sending him spinning back against the pillar, head cracking against it.
The second he dropped the hose, his hand reached for the gun hidden in his waistband. Nothing good lasts forever, and as much fun as Fisk was having putting these bastards in their place, it was time to finish this game. Ivan popped out from behind his cover like Fisk knew he would. One shot, one chance to finish it up. If he missed now, it was all over. If he hit, it was all over.
He aimed down the sight and fired.
A jet of blood, Ivan smashed into the pillar, sliding down. Fisk-
Fisk didn't actually think it'd work. His lips curled up as a low giggle escaped. The giggle exploded into a roar of cacophonous but exhausted laugher.He wanted it to work, desperately, oh so desperately, but he expected the worst. Ivan would tank the shot and rush him down, or Liv would blast him up the ass or, more realistically, Fisk would just miss, but no. Everything was leading up to his curtain call here. This was it for him. The Respects, his friends, everything he's fought and killed for, all rendered meaningless. But no.
None of it happened. No buckshot enema, no missing, and Ivan fell back. He beat him. Fisk beat Ivan. He felt relieved. He won. That weight left his shoulders as he realized that this weren't in vain. This win was his. VIVA LA RESPECTS! He avenged his friends...
No, not yet. Bastard was still breathing. Fisk's laughter stopped. His eyes glanced back over to tenga, as Fisk hobbled over to Liv, snatching it from her grasp. He pointed the barrels at her, "Don't go anywhere now-" As he limped back to Ivan, before swiveling and aiming both barrels right at his head.
"-And don't touch that dial, viewers, what you're seeing is real."
He cocked the levers back, both barrels will do it for this bastard. He could just get more from Liv. Anthony probably ran away by now if he was smart, but he wouldn't get far. Bastard was just as fucked up as Fisk was, but unlike Anthony, Fisk had reasons beyond himself to push forward.
"You're looking at the winner of season sixty-seven, leader of The Respects, Fisk Bateman. Against all odds, he stands defiant against the game that pit everything against him. Not even a second later, he'll eradicate the producer's pet, and move on to finishing off the rest of this fodder." He glanced from camera back to Ivan.
"Buddy I'd ask you your last words, but truthfully I don't give a damn to hear them."
His finger wrapped around the trigger.
He aimed down the sight and fired.
A jet of blood, Ivan smashed into the pillar, sliding down. Fisk-
Fisk didn't actually think it'd work. His lips curled up as a low giggle escaped. The giggle exploded into a roar of cacophonous but exhausted laugher.He wanted it to work, desperately, oh so desperately, but he expected the worst. Ivan would tank the shot and rush him down, or Liv would blast him up the ass or, more realistically, Fisk would just miss, but no. Everything was leading up to his curtain call here. This was it for him. The Respects, his friends, everything he's fought and killed for, all rendered meaningless. But no.
None of it happened. No buckshot enema, no missing, and Ivan fell back. He beat him. Fisk beat Ivan. He felt relieved. He won. That weight left his shoulders as he realized that this weren't in vain. This win was his. VIVA LA RESPECTS! He avenged his friends...
No, not yet. Bastard was still breathing. Fisk's laughter stopped. His eyes glanced back over to tenga, as Fisk hobbled over to Liv, snatching it from her grasp. He pointed the barrels at her, "Don't go anywhere now-" As he limped back to Ivan, before swiveling and aiming both barrels right at his head.
"-And don't touch that dial, viewers, what you're seeing is real."
He cocked the levers back, both barrels will do it for this bastard. He could just get more from Liv. Anthony probably ran away by now if he was smart, but he wouldn't get far. Bastard was just as fucked up as Fisk was, but unlike Anthony, Fisk had reasons beyond himself to push forward.
"You're looking at the winner of season sixty-seven, leader of The Respects, Fisk Bateman. Against all odds, he stands defiant against the game that pit everything against him. Not even a second later, he'll eradicate the producer's pet, and move on to finishing off the rest of this fodder." He glanced from camera back to Ivan.
"Buddy I'd ask you your last words, but truthfully I don't give a damn to hear them."
His finger wrapped around the trigger.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
Anthony was still fucked up from the initial stream and his landing against the wall. At first, all he could do was watch. Ivan would kill Fisk. It seemed like that was the conclusion to this fight. But Fisk defied that, and now he had the shotgun and he was primed to kill Ivan. And then who next? Olivia, or him? Anthony didn’t give a shit if Ivan was going to get his head blown off, but if he was next in the firing line, things changed.
Either way, there was one thing he could do. He had no gun, not now, and the knife didn’t seem like it would be a good one to throw.
Quickly pulling the axe out of his bag, Anthony closed his eyes, said a Hail Mary, and then Hail Maryed the axe in Fisk’s direction. Maybe it’d distract him, maybe it’d fucking kill him. Either way, Anthony started to slowly push himself up. Everything still hurt.
Either way, there was one thing he could do. He had no gun, not now, and the knife didn’t seem like it would be a good one to throw.
Quickly pulling the axe out of his bag, Anthony closed his eyes, said a Hail Mary, and then Hail Maryed the axe in Fisk’s direction. Maybe it’d distract him, maybe it’d fucking kill him. Either way, Anthony started to slowly push himself up. Everything still hurt.