#alt no holds barred beatdown

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

No Holds Barred Beatdown

From the Mutant AU post Convience Store. The rescue mission doesn't quite go according to plan and desperate people do desperate things.

Remus nearly collided into Dana as he rounded the corner.

"Give me the kid," He ordered.

"Took a shot to the shoulder," Dana explained as they passed off both E23 and the initial memory if the shot.

Remus nodded. "We've got back up en route. We're headed up to New York."

"New York?" Dana ducked under Logan's arm again and began guiding him behind Remus toward their exit.

"X-Mansion's closer than the Foundation," Remus answered. He flicked his wrist upward sending out a line of flames that sent the squad agents fleeing back the way they came. "Guess your dad had some connections."

The fire seemed to extinguish itself as Remus jogged down the corridors, trying to move quickly without jostling his patient too much. He glanced toward his baby brother. "You hanging on for me?"

Logan nodded. "Getting better."

"Charging up?"

"Trying," he panted.

"Logan!" Roman raced up the corridor. "We gotta go now! A fire started in one of the labs-"

"Hey, don't look at me, I've been putting all of mine out. Think you can make me a wheel chair?"

Look out!" Logan shouted and shoved Dana aside. The man who materialized in front of them lunged.

Dana shook her head, trying to clear the sudden fog. "I'm okay," they assured Roman, who had rushed to her side.

Logan hit the ground and slid when Hezekiah tackled him to the ground, pinning his arms by his head.

"Who said you could leave, huh?" He demanded.

Logan growled in frustration and thrashed, struggling to try to break the hold on him.

He laughed at Logan's helplessness. "What's the matter too weak to defend yourself? Or too much of a coward? It's almost a shame you're already so easy to control, it's gonna make it such a waste to keep your partner captive. May as well just kill her now."

The man went stumbling off of Logan with a sickening crack! as a baseball bat struck him across the arm. He screamed, clutching his broken arm.

"Roman, wait!" Dana shouted, tackling him before he could swing again.

Logan dove at the same moment and would have been struck had Dana not intervened.

Armed only with adrenalin and rage and fear Logan gripped fistfuls of Hezekiah's shirt and raised him off the ground before slamming him down again.

Logan struck again and again, despite his lack of defense.

Each blow jarred his arm, reminding him of the chains that had bound him, of the needles and and machinery he'd been attached to, of being tossed around and manhandled like a doll, of being looked like animal or-

"Logan, stop!" Remus barked and shoved E23, screaming into Dana's arms. He ran forward, grabbing his little brother around the chest, and dragging him from the bloodied body he'd been crouched over. Logan kicked wildly, screaming to be let go of, shrieking that Remus didn't understand, he didn't know who that was, what he had done. He struggled against his big brother trying to get back at the still form on the ground that he could barely see beyond the veil of tears over his eyes as he sobbed.

"He's dead!" Remus snapped and Logan finally went still. "He's already dead," he said quietly and held Logan to his chest. "He can't hurt you anymore. He's dead."

Logan collapsed, tears of fear and rage turning into relief and exhaustion, nearly dragging Remus down with him.

Remus held his little brother tightly and he sat on the cold laminate floor, rocking him gently. "You're safe," he murmured into Logan's hair. "You're safe, Lo, it's okay. It's over now. We can go home."

[nopoodles]

Who Was He To Refuse A Challenge? - Whumptober Day 13 Alt Prompt

*Aias can’t live in battle rage forever.*

Prompt: Alt Prompts – No Holds Barred Beatdown + RegretWorld: The IcarusCharacters: Aias Spoilers?  Nope

Aias really did know better than this. In some part of his mind he knew better than to let himself get riled up, better than to watch the focus of his rage wrapping their knuckles while his own muscles twitched with the need to move, to hit, to cause…

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #24

A/N: This contains (fairly vague?) spoilers for season 4

xxx alternate prompt: no-holds-barred beatdown

River doesn't enjoy grocery shopping, especially not at the big chains. There are too many options and too many people, and they always play the same shit songs over the tinny speakers. He's recently gotten the urge to cook a proper meal, though – something he hasn't felt the desire to do since he made the decision to move the OB to the nursing home. Cooking was something he usually did at his granddad's house, for the two of them, and it feels weird to go through the trouble of shopping for and cooking a meal that only he's going to eat. But the last few weeks have been...difficult, and he thinks maybe this'll be good for him. And if it isn't, he can go back to eating takeaway.

He's browsing the pasta aisle when he hears someone shout, "Bertrand!" He glances up from the box of pappardelle he's holding and catches a glimpse of a man stalking down the same aisle he's in. He's huge and he looks pissed. Whoever Bertrand is, River feels bad for the poor bastard. And then he glances up again and realizes that the giant angry man is coming toward him.

"Oh, shit," River says, shoving the pappardelle back onto the shelf right as a fist flies into his face. It connects with his nose with a loud crunch and stars burst across his vision as the back of his head smacks against the shelf behind him. Blood gushes from his nose and his eyes are watering like crazy and he blinks rapidly, raising his hands as the man winds up again.

"Wait-" he begins, but it's like asking a tornado to stop and expecting it to listen.

The next blow is right to the solar plexus. It forces the air out of his lungs and paralyzes his diaphragm. Knowing what's happening, and that it's temporary, doesn't help the panic that comes with being unable to breathe. River's too focused on trying to inhale to offer any resistance when the man grabs him by the arms hard enough to bruise and throws him to the ground. People are starting to take notice, if the noises around him (gasps and murmurs and a loud shriek) are anything to go by.

The man doesn't seem to give a flying fuck.

He's on River in a second, straddling him, so that even when River's body remembers how to breathe again he can't draw a proper breath because of the weight on his torso. He throws his arms up in an attempt to protect his face, but the man grabs River's left arm and shoves it down, pinning it to the ground with his knee. There's a constant stream of angry words coming from the man's mouth, and it takes River a moment to recognize it as profanity-laden French.

French.

Bertrand.

His mind flashes back to the angry mob in Lavande. The men had wanted to kill him – or, had wanted to kill Bertrand, anyway. And now one of those men is here, in a Tesco in London, because of course he is.

Fuck.

River's been punched before, a lot. His balls still ache at the memory of the beating he'd taken at the hands of Duffy and Hobbs. But even in that instance, they'd practiced some restraint.

This man doesn't.

Blow after blow comes. He feels a gash open across his cheekbone, and immediate swelling. His teeth cut the inside of his cheek, filling his mouth with blood. He doesn't want to swallow it so he chokes on it instead, coughs and lets it spill from the corners of his mouth. I'm not him he wants to shout, but he can't. The man won't give him the chance. There's shouting now, and he hears words like stop and police and you're killing him repeated over and over by different voices.

Oh, god.

This man, whoever he is, is killing him.

River going to be beat to death by a Frenchman in the rice and pasta aisle of a Tesco.

And then, a familiar voice.

"What on earth are you doing?!"

The man stops, panting, and looks up at Catherine Standish. No one else has been brave enough to do anything but shout at him from afar, but now here she is, this older woman standing right in front of them in simple floral dress and sensible shoes and looking for all the world like a guardian angel.

"Pardon me, madam," the man says, breathing heavily, "but you do not know what this salaud has done to me. To my family."

"Who, River?"

The man frowns. He blinks. "Who is River?"

"Well, he is!" Catherine says, gesturing at River with the shopping basket in her hand. The man looks down at River, the frown deepening.

"I did try to tell you." The words are garbled by blood, and River forces his head to turn to one side so he can spit some of it out. Even that small movement is dizzying and he closes his eyes with a groan.

"But--" the Frenchman sputters.

"Bertrand is dead," River rasps. "You're welcome."

"Merde," the man swears. He runs his bloody-knuckled hands through his hair and climbs off of River, sitting back heavily. "I thought you were – I'm so sorry. Je suis désolée. I-I can help."

He reaches toward River and River can't help but flinch, wincing as the action sends little bursts of agony stabbing through his head.

"I think it'd be best if you left him alone," Catherine says, kneeling next to River, who has never felt more grateful and more embarrassed to see someone in his life. "There's an ambulance on the way, River."

River doesn't want to attempt a nod, so he lets out a small grunt of acknowledgment. "What're you doing here?" His words are starting to run together, and they come out slow and clumsy.

"I was buying some coffee for the office."

All River can think to say is, "Oh."

The office. God, Lamb is going to have a field day with this when he finds out. Roddy, too, and maybe even Shirley as well. Getting his arse kicked was bad enough, but having it saved by Catherine...He sighs, forcing his eyes (eye – the left one is swollen shut) open.

"Thank you, Catherine."

"Hm? Oh, that's alright. No need to thank me, River."

"I mean it," he slurs, and he feels a hand on his own.

"Don't try and speak," Catherine says, patting the back of his hand gently. "Just rest until the paramedics get here. It'll be alright."

The tenderness is almost enough to bring tears to River's eyes.

xxx

[psychologeek]

Whumptober #18+Alt 7

Alt 7: No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

No. 18: REVENGE | Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

~

"He should have stopped after the last one got himself killed!" Screams the crime lord and takes the shot.

"What are you talking about?" Robin asks and dodges the bullet. 

(He can't hold much longer.)

"No. More. Dead. Robins." The deep growl echoes in the dark building like bullets.

Not to be confused with the actual bullets Tim is currently avoiding. He thinks Dick would love that punchline. Or not, actually. He's always weird about Robin and near-death-experience. Quite hypocritical, if you ask Tim. But no one ask him, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"Dude," he hides behind the kitchen aisle and tries to de-escalate  the situation.  "Do you really think Batman made me do anything?"

The man doesn't reply.

From his hiding place, Tim can see him approach.

"What happened to the 'no more dead Robins', you said before?"

But it's his last resort, and they both know that. 

(He takes a moment to wonder who will find his body. He hopes it won't be Bruce.

He shouldn't face another broken Robin.)

Red Hood raises his hand, and Tim prepares himself for the strike. 

(It doesn't hit.)

Instead, there's an electronic beep as Hood takes off his helmet.

"Don't talk to me about dead Robins, Replacement," says Jason Todd with glowing green eyes. "You know nothing about it."

And Tim-

Tim.exe just. Stops working for a little while. (Because it's robin it's Robin it's ROBIN.)

"Still believe that Batman is coming for you, Robin?"

And his hand is on Tim's neck. Slowly cutting his air supply

"It's not- Batman," the child whispers in his last breath.

The hand around his neck loosen up a little. "Oh yeah? Than what was it? Do just you make a habit of wearing the skin of the dead?"

(This close, Tim can smell something acidic and sweet in his killer's breath. Like rotten cucumbers and expired syrup. It makes him feel sick.)

"GNU," he says. "I- I believed in you, Robin."

(Like it? I have more mini-fics Whumptober index | And full size fics on ao3. )

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

What Have They Done?

Tim expected to find a serial killer. No one told him anything about superhuman strength.

---

They don't have a name for him. Not officially, anyway. He’s been sneaking around Gotham, killing people left and right. He's careful but brazen, leaving behind no fingerprints but always pinning the victim to the wall with steel knives and leaving a bloody message beside them:

BEWARE THE COURT OF OWLS.

So at this point, they call him the Owl Fanatic. Birdbrain, sometimes. Damian once referred to the killer as “MP.” (“It's short for Member of Parliament, Drake,” Damian had explained, rolling his eyes. “Groups of owls are called parliaments, so a member of the Court of Owls would be an MP.”) This did not catch on.

But regardless of what they call him, he's strong, dangerous, and smart. It's a bad combo for a criminal, especially when there's yet to be a surviving witness.

So when Tim is cornered by a guy with eerie round goggles and knives strapped down his chest and up his back? When the guy says in a dead monotone, “Timothy Drake, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die,” and charges at him?

Tim is pretty sure he's going to die.

Throwing a smoke bomb, Tim grapples up to a bell tower and engages his comm. “Red Robin to Cave. Requesting immediate backup to Gotham Cathedral.”

Oracle is in his ear immediately. “Cave reads you, RR. Batman and Robin are on their way. What's your 9-2?”

“Owl Guy is at it again. And he knows my name.”

“... your real name?”

“Affirmative.” Tim dodges a knife, and it just barely misses his ear.

“Hood’s in the area. I’ll send him too. Standby.”

Tim tries his best to stand by. It gets tricky when the owl man gives up on ranged attacks and goes in with a ferocity to rival a starved tiger in a petting zoo. With a blade in each hand, he delivers a flurry of attacks, going for Tim’s head, his chest, his hands. Tim keeps up, blocking each attack with his staff, but only barely.

“ETA?”

“Five on Hood. Ten on B&R.”

Tim jumps back but earns himself a graze across the cheek. “Any chance there's someone closer? Spoiler or Batgirl or- I know Signal is a morning guy but-” He's cut off by the owl man’s vicious overhead swing. He has to brace the staff with both hands, feeling his shoes slide back from the force.

“Spoiler and Batgirl are still covering Blüdhaven.”

Right.

“Signal’s at the Cave. It’d take even longer for him to get there.”

Tim doesn't have time to be disappointed. He's too busy trying to keep his head attached to his shoulders. He's blocking and dodging so much that there's no chance to even get a hit in, much less hurt the guy.

“Is this a Justice League-level threat?”

“No.” The answer is automatic, though Tim wishes he could say yes. This guy isn't slowing down for anything. Without backup, Tim may lose this one. “Just tell everyone to hurry up.”

“Copy.”

Tim ducks a sword slash, sweeping his staff out in the same motion. But rather than fall, Owl Dude backflips away.

And that's when Tim is overtaken by the sense that something is not right. The owl person’s fighting stance. His lighter-than-air defensive strategy. The build, the height, the fighting style. It's all familiar. (Impossible, but familiar.)

“Who are you?” Tim demands, landing a blow to Owl Guy’s stomach but instantly retreating before a sword cuts him down the middle.

“Timothy Drake,” he says, which definitely isn't true. “The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.” And then he's back at it, kicking and swinging and fighting with the strength and speed of a metahuman. Tim considers that this may actually be a metahuman, but he doesn't have long to think about it before a blade catches his thigh, carving a deep wound across the front.

Tim stumbles. He tries to fight through it, but the best he can do is defend. The best he can do is survive. At the beginning of the fight, at his best, Tim couldn't do much more, so now, with a heavily bleeding leg, Tim is feeling particularly helpless.

The owl man knows this. He raises the blade over his head for the killing blow.

And then a bullet tears through Owl Guy’s skull. He pauses, then topples to the ground.

“You good, man?” Jason crouches beside Tim, eyeing his bleeding leg warily. “I keep telling you guys to carry guns, but nooo. No one listens to me.”

“Who… Who was that guy?” Tim scooches over to the dead man and pulls off his goggles and hood.

“No,” Jason murmurs.

Tim swallows back bile, shaky fingers hesitating over the face. Over the familiar cheekbones and distinct nose. Over the undeniable lips and angled jawline.

Tim is staring at the corpse of his missing brother.

The first, immediate difference, however, is his eyes. They look similar, sure. The patterns of his irises remain the same. But what was once blue is now a deep yellow. Almost amber-like.

His complexion is different too. The warmth is gone, leaving behind a chalky pallor. Like he’d been dead for weeks.

“Fuck,” Jason mutters over and over. “Fuck, I… Shit. I didn't know it was… I didn't mean to… Fuck.”

“What happened to him?”

“I shot him in the head,” Jason says, voice tight. “That's what happened to him.”

And then Tim realizes that Jason hasn't looked at Dick since Tim pulled the mask off. He saw the face and had to look away.

“No,” Tim insists, batting Jason’s leg with his free hand. “Look. Dick doesn't look… There was something wrong with him before you… before he died.”

Begrudgingly, Jason crouches down, tilting Dick’s head with a frozen reverence, searching for abnormalities. “He's cold already. And what’s…” He scowls, pushing Dick’s hair aside to find the bullet entry wound. It’s rough. Circular. Almost normal-looking.

Almost. Because the dark red welling in the hole isn’t dark red at all. It’s black.

A brief check of the other side of Dick’s head confirms this. The exit wound is oozing black goop.

“What could turn someone’s blood black?”

Tim has no answer. He just holds out a hand. “Look, just help me up, okay? He got me pretty good, and we need to figure out how to tell Bruce.”

Jason nods. “Yeah. Okay.” He starts to stand when a knife embeds itself in his shoulder. “Wh-?”

Tim isn’t sure if the head rush is from blood loss or emotional turmoil.

“Timothy Drake. Jason Todd. The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.” Without the hood in the way, Dick’s voice is obviously his. But as he staggers to his feet, Tim has to wonder what kind of monster this thing is. What kind of creature can take on Dick’s appearance and survive a bullet through the brain?

There’s no time to ask questions, of course. Dick grabs his swords and slashes at Tim. Adrenaline thrumming, Tim jumps to his feet and limps back, just missing the blade. Jason recovers much quicker, emptying a clip in Dick’s chest.

Dick doesn’t even flinch. He flips over Jason’s head and cuts across Jason’s back. He knocks Jason down with one boot to the knee and lets Jason slam into the rooftop.

“Hood!” But Hood doesn’t stand up. Dick turns, yellow eyes flashing, and stalks towards Tim. He knows Tim is injured. He’s taking his time. Playing with his food.

“Shit. Oracle. Cave. Do you read??”

There’s a hissing, so loud that Tim doesn’t hear what Barbara says over the comms. And it doesn’t matter what she says, really, because Dick has fallen to his knees, hands clawing desperately at his chest. Then the strength leaves his eyes, and he lands solidly on his shoulder.

The hissing doesn’t stop, freezing air continuously directed at Dick. It’s Bruce, finally arriving with what looks like a cold gun in his hands. He passes the gun off to Damian and approaches Tim.

“Keep pressure on your leg. Get to the Batmobile.”

And then he’s gone, shaking Jason’s shoulder.

Tim gives Dick one last glance before grappling down to the car.

---

Bruce might have expected this. He should have expected this.

… well, he expected half of it, anyway. He correctly identified the killer as a Talon of the Court of Owls. He properly incapacitated the Talon.

But he never expected it to be Dick.

The clues were there. Dick going missing, no trace left behind. Dick’s family history with the Court of Owls. The murderer being intimately familiar with Batman’s patrol route and everyday operations.

Maybe Bruce really didn't expect it. Or maybe he just didn't want it to be true.

But here's the proof, right in front of him. Dick Grayson in a containment chamber, the air hazy with frost. He's slumped against the wall, watching Bruce with half-lidded eyes.

(Eyes once so bright and hopeful and determined. Now warped into the sickly yellow of a predator.)

Bruce holds the button of the intercom. “Who are you?” Because Bruce must exhaust all possibilities. (Because Bruce really doesn't want this to be true.)

Dick’s expression is unchanged - drained and confused. “B-B-Br-Bruce W-Wayne…” he stutters. “Th-The C-Court has… The Court h-has…” He doesn't finish the thought, the cold slowing him so severely that he's barely aware of anything.

“Who are you?” Bruce presses.

“Talon.”

“What is wrong with him?”

Bruce sighs, looking over at his youngest. “Damian, go help Alfred.”

“Alfred is finished. Drake and Todd are recuperating. I’m here to help Grayson.”

Bruce snaps. “You can't-!” And then he cuts himself off, trying to keep calm. “You can't help him,” he says quietly.

As expected, Damian takes this poorly. “There's always a way,” he bites. “What did they do to him, Father? Why is he…?” He waves a hand at the containment unit.

“You're familiar with the Court of Owls?”

A scoff. “Of course. You taught me about them.”

“And you know about their champion soldiers? Their assassins?”

“The Talons.”

“Right.”

Bruce doesn't elaborate. Damian puts the pieces together but is, understandably, baffled.

“So Grayson is a Talon? That's what you're saying?” He sniffs. “Talons aren't human. Grayson is.”

He’s sporting a fair bit of denial there, considering Dick is currently trapped in a small box pumped full of liquid nitrogen and has yet to choke and die, but Bruce tries to give him grace. “I didn't say they aren't human. I said they're inhuman.”

“Same difference,” Damian snaps. “Grayson isn't a Talon.”

“We ran tests, Damian.” Bruce kneels so he's at eye level with the boy, but Damian looks away. “DNA from the skin cells are a perfect match, but his blood… It's not blood, Damian. It's electrum.”

Damian won’t look at him, arms folded.

“The Court of Owls has been reanimating the dead with electrum for centuries. Dick… We need to do more testing, but… odds are good that Dick died a while ago. The Court killed him or found him dead. Either way, they swapped his blood with electrum. He's not… He's not himself anymore.”

This time, when Damian speaks, it's tense. The words barely squeak out of his mouth. “So he's gone. And he's not coming back.”

“Not the way he was. We might…” He shakes his head. He’ll discuss this with the others later. This is not a conversation to have with a child.

Bruce stands, staring at the sunken figure in the containment unit. “Let me know when Jason and Tim are awake. We need to talk.”

---

“You gave me a concussion, you know.”

“J-J-Ja-s-son T-”

“I mean, I shot you in the head, so I guess I’ll give you a pass. Just this once.”

“The… The C-Cour-”

It's hour forty-two since they found Dick. Not much has changed.

“Bruce said you're stuck like this. Physiologically, you're… He said there's no coming back from it.”

And silently, Jason hates the Court all the more. How dare they. How dare they take his brother and-”

“I know you want to kill us,” Jason continues. “Which is new for you, but I get it, I guess.” He sighs. The cold of the containment unit's glass makes his back numb, but Jason stays where he is. It's the closest he can get to Dick without inciting violence. “Bruce thinks we might be able to undo the psychological effects. Remind you who you are. He's probably being optimistic for Damian’s sake, but…”

“J-Jason.”

Jason waits for the “Todd, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die,” but it doesn't come.

“We’ll keep trying,” Jason swears. “We’ll get you back. I promise.” He turns around, trying to judge Dick’s expression.

Dick is staring at him. Maybe he's been staring this whole time. “J-J-Jas-Jason.” He doesn't try to say the rest.

“I know,” Jason says sullenly. “I know. Just hang in there.”

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in And the Balloon will Return

He deserves it

[thefootnotes]

when i scream, you're my echo, will you cry if i let go? a fic by @thefootnotes for @whumptober

Of course, when everything happened with the illegal boxing ring years ago, Buck was angry. At Eddie for getting mixed up in it, at Lena for her involvement, at himself, for not knowing what was going on. Eddie was putting Christopher’s last remaining parent in danger, but he was also putting Buck at the risk of losing one of the most important people in his life, and the latter didn’t know whether he was even allowed to be mad at him for that part of it all. It was frustrating, and it was overwhelming, and it was the kind of anger that sat inside Buck, like rust growing over every part of his life until all of his loved ones were red with his pain.

Or the one where Christopher’s gone, Eddie returns to fighting to cope with his frustration, and the anger in Buck’s chest changes form, but doesn’t ever quite leave him.

T | evan buckley & eddie diaz | 1.5k whumptober day 10 - blow to the head; slurred words, passing out from the pain, "i can't think straight" + Alt. 7: no-holds-barred beatdown

read on ao3.

[fandomscraziness22]

a pirate city? no problem for young Fabian he’s got a missing eye and his father’s eyepatch and good name to fit right in

until he doesn’t until Whitclaw takes his heart and crushes it

~~ a little Fabian poem that takes place during sophomore year episode 6! sorry my man. written for @whumptober day 24 alt prompt: no-holds-barred beatdown

[viva-la-whump]

Whumptober/Whumperless Whump Event (WWE) - #4

The fists and feet kept coming, flooding Ezra’s body with pain at the same time his ears were flooded with the bullies' jeers, taunts, and insults.

He tried to fight back. He really did. Kallus had taught him how to win a close-quarters fight, but that had been one-on-one. This was an entire group teaming up on him to deliver a not-holds-barred beatdown. And all because Ezra wouldn’t get off the boardwalk onto the muddy street to let them pass. It wasn’t even as if there wasn’t enough room. They just wanted to make Ezra’s life miserable, just like they always had.

He threw a punch and felt the gratifying contact of his fist on the main bully’s nose. The group stopped for a moment, collectively stunned along with their leader. Ezra saw his opportunity and tried to duck past them, but a beefy hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back, tossing him to the ground.

“You’re not getting away that easy,” growled the leader, and delivered a vicious kick to Ezra’s gut.

The beating began again in earnest and this time all Ezra could do was curl up as small as he could and try to protect himself against the onslaught of kicks and punches.

He didn’t know how long they beat him and he must have lost consciousness at one point because the sound of a gun being fired nearby jolted him awake. One eye was completely swollen shut and he had to blink the other to try and clear the blood that was dribbling into it from a cut on his brow. He couldn’t breathe through his nose, which he suspected was broken, and he could taste the blood streaming from it as he wheezed through clenched teeth.

The beating had stopped and he could faintly hear the sound of hurried footsteps running away. Then a single set of footsteps came closer and a shadow fell across him.

“Lost another fight, I see.”

Ezra groaned and rolled onto his back, closing his eye. He’d almost prefer the lecture to Kallus’ judgment.

“Come on. Let’s get you home and cleaned up.” Ezra felt firm but careful hands lift him and steady him on his feet. “And when you’re well enough, I can teach you how to win a fight when you’re outnumbered.”

[walker-extended-universe]

For My Love

Relationship(s): Kai/Tom Davidson

Tags/Warnings: Crime Boss AU, Mod Boss Tom Davidson, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Established Relationship, Organized Crime, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Kai hates wasting his time with these hits, but there's nothing he wouldn't do for his love.

Written for @whumptober Alt Prompt 7: No-holds-barred Beatdown

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

----------------

The crack of Kai’s knuckles against Donovan’s nose echoed in the warehouse. “You really thought you could screw over Tom Davidson?” he hissed, punching him again and knocking him to the ground. “I thought you would’ve learned after what happened to your brother.”

The coward tried to stand up, but Kai stomped on his chest. “See, Mr. Davidson doesn’t take kindly to backstabbers. If you had just done what you were supposed to do, I wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here. In fact, you’d be getting a nice paycheck right now. But….” Kai sighed and stomped on his chest again, smirking when he heard his ribs crack, “instead, we’re here. And believe me, neither of us want to be here.”

Donovan tried to argue but a swift kick to his chin shut him up. Kai straddled his chest and punched him a few more times. “You see, people got this misconception about me. They think that because I’m good at beating the shit out of punks like you, that means I like it.” Hs trailed a hand down to Donovan’s throat and squeezed. “But, really, this is just a job for me. I get paid, and that makes it fun, but I don’t particularly enjoy it.”

He waited until the bastard’s eyes started to cross, then stopped and abruptly stood up. In a quick movement, he grabbed Donovan’s shirt collar and rammed him up against the wall. “These are just survival skills that happened to get me a paycheck. A cushy paycheck, but that’s all this is to me.” He cracked Donovan’s skull against the concrete wall a few times, then tossed him on the ground and kicked him in the stomach.

“See, if I liked doing this,” Kai knelt down and got into his face, “I would do it a lot more often. But, I only do it when I have to. See how it works? I do what I’m told, no matter how much I might dislike it, and I get rewarded. You could learn something from that.” He booped Donovan’s nose, stood up, delivered a few more swift kicks to his stomach, and finished off by kicking him in the head.

“You get to live, for now,” he said before walking away. “Take this as a kindness. Mr. Davidson won’t be so merciful next time.”

Kai exited the warehouse, rubbing his sore knuckles, and called Tom’s driver. He wanted to go home.

—---------------

Tom was in his office, as usual. Even when he technically had the day off, he was always working. Usually, there was a standing order to never bother the boss when he was working. Fortunately, being the boss’ right hand man meant such orders didn’t apply to Kai, so he waltzed right in. “I took care of Donovan. He shouldn’t cause us any more problems.”

“Good. Did you get the- Jesus Christ.” Tom took one look at his fists and dropped the papers he was looking at. “Why do you always do that? I give you weapons for a reason, Kai,” he lectured, rushing for the first aid kit on the wall.

Kai sighed and took a seat. “I’m not made of glass, you know. And I don’t need weapons to make a point.”

“I know but I hate it when you get hurt on these calls. Last time you broke your hand!”

“Still did the job,” he muttered, but he let Tom fuss over him. It was unnecessary, but it was nice being pampered every once in a while.

“I happen to like these hands,” Tom murmured as he bandaged Kai’s bruised fingers. He pressed a gentle kiss to the bandages before kissing him on the mouth. “And I would like it if you took better care of them.”

“Worrywart,” Kai muttered.

“Daredevil.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

Kai kissed him again. “I know.”

He should say it back. But he couldn’t. He’d never been that brave before, and it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. But he knew Tom knew, and that was enough.

[forcebookish]

whumptober no.3: (alt) no-holds-barred beatdown

[whump-my-dear-watson]

"they call it ptsd in a bottle"

WHUMPTOBER 2024 NO.23 ALT. PROMPT "NO-HOLDS-BARRED BEATDOWN"

[amonthofwhump]

What: AMonthOfWhump's March Trope-a-Thon is a week-long whump event for all! Choose a prompt from our list for each day, or give us your own spin on the theme.

Where: Share your creations here on Tumblr. @ us to get your entry reblogged here!

When: March 15-22

Who: All are welcome! Writing, art, gifs, playlists, edits, cosplay, anything you want to create.

Tagging example: #amow tropeathon2024, #day1, #duel, #your tags here

Text of the prompts under the cut.

1. Fantasy Setting

- Locked in a Tower

- Victim of a Curse

- Duel

2. Gore

- Impalement

- Bleeding Out

- Nonconsensual Body Modification

3. Environmental

- A Long Cold Night

- Miles To Go

- Flash Flood

4. Nonhuman Whumpee

- Mundane Object is Poison To Me

- "Monster! Monster!"

- Caged

5. Spy/Military

- Interrogation

- Cover Identity

- Battle

6. Captivity

- Kidnapping

- Escape Attempt

- Hunger

7. Team Whump

- "Alright, let's get a headcount"

- Filling in for Another Team Member

- Mutual First Aid

8. Violence!

- No Holds Barred Beatdown

- zoutmatched

- Blackout Rage

Alt Prompts:

Abandoned

Doorstep Collapse

"It's not that deep"

Pursuit

"Take me instead"

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No. 13 & No. 28

Prompt 13: Multiple Whumpees

Prompt 28: No holds barred beatdown (Alt)

Warnings: Violence

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Your head snapped to the side with the next punch, a splatter of blood painting the wall. You couldn’t deny the pain, but it came secondary to your worry for your family experiencing the same treatment. Especially Daryl. You could hear his grunts and moans, as well as each impact that elicited them.

“Leave them alone!” You pleaded, earning another kick to your ribs.

“Then tell us what we want to know!” Your captor demanded. You heard Maggie cry out, Rick spitting his own threats, Michonne and Daryl attempting to fight back. “Otherwise, we just beat all of you to death and wait for someone else in your group to come looking for you.”

“She ain’t tellin’ ya nothin’!” Daryl spat.

“None of us will!” Michonne followed up.

A boot connected with your forehead. Your vision whited out. Daryl called your name, his voice distorted. Your mind was hazy, a fog surrounding it that was so thick, it concealed any coherent thought onto which you might try to latch. He called your name again, a bit clearer this time. Sight and sound began to return, blurry and full of static.

“Y/N, hey. Wake up, woman.” You felt Daryl’s calloused hands on your face, your skin almost too numb, too impaired by the pain to really register his touch. “Aaron’s here. Abraham. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

His bloodied face, dark with bruising and exhaustion, was slowly coming into focus. You smiled, tasting the iron of blood on your tongue.

“You—you look like shit.”

Daryl chuckled. “Guess ya think ya look like the prom queen.”

“Maybe—Carrie.”

Shaking his head, Daryl began to tenderly scoop you into his strong arms. “S’go home, Sunshine.”

[atimeofyourlife]

Whumptober 2024 masterlist

Total wc: 19,100 | Also on AO3

Hold me through my panic (day 1: panic attack | bucktommy)

Let me take care of you for once (day 2: role reversal| Maddie & Buck)

It turns out I was set up for failure (day 3: set up for failure| Buck)

I can't get you out of my mind (day 4: "you're still alive in my head| Maddie)

Soothe my burning skin (day 5: sunburn | bucktommy)

It comes crashing down (day 6: Not realizing they're injured & "its not my blood" | bucktommy)

I'm all busted up, broken bones and nasty cuts (day 7 alt: no holds barred beatdown| tommy)

Sleeping in the light (day 8: "leave the lights on." | bucktommy)

Where the obsession leads (day 9: obsession | Buck)

Worried about your love (day 10: blow to the head & slurred words | bucktommy)

I still feel I'm walking alone (day 11: loneliness | buck)

I'll make you better (day 12: "just a little more." | bucktommy.)

Losing a family (day 13: team as family | buck)

Fighting back to you (day 14: left for dead | maddie&buck)

We can share our pain (day 15: childhood trauma | bucktommy.)

Falling from the sky (day 16: "No, I can't feel anything." | bucktommy)

Searching a sinking ship (day 17: shipwrecked | buck&eddie)

Don't misplace your anger (day 18: revenge | buck&the 118)

Following the trail of blood (day 19: blood trail | bucktommy)

Skeletons come to life in my closet (day 20: emotional angst | tommy&bobby)

The pain lingers in my dreams (day 21: body horror | buck)

I'll make you safe (day 22: bleeding through bandages | maddie&buck)

Hiding my past from my future (day 23: secrets revealed | buck&the 118)

Flying you to safety (day 24: equipment failure | bucktommy)

Worried about me, you're hurt worse (day 25: surgery&stitches | bucktommy)

Looking for the whole story (day 26: communication barrier | chimney&buck)

Speechless and redundant (day 27: voiceless | buck&bobby)

Suffering together (day 28: exposure | buck&eddie&hen&chimney)

So tired but I can't sleep (day 29: fatigue | bucktommy)

Broken glass inside my head (day 30: recovery| buck&hen&bobby)

Next stop is therapy (day 31: therapy&asking for help | bucktommy)

[bucknerdycore]

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

whumptober 2024 prompt list

Day 1 - Panic Attack [Buddie] | Focus on my voice

Day 2 - Trust Issues [Bucktommy] | You have to trust me, Evan

Day 3 - Alt prompt: No-Holds-Barred Beatdown [Buddie] | “I thought we talked about you calling me Evan" 

Day 4 - Sensory deprivation [Bucktommy] | Focus

Day 5 - Sunburn [Bucktommy] | Sunscreen

Day 6 - "It's not my blood" [Buddie] | Where the Smoke clears

Day 7 - Unconventional weapon [Bucktommy] | Bow and polaroid

Day 8 - Sleep deprivation [Bucktommy] | Burnout

Day 9 - Broken window [Buddie] | Through Glass

Day 10 - Blow to the head [Buck & Eddie] | Under falling beams

Day 11 - Loneliness [Buddie] | Rooftop

Day 12 - Secrets Revealed [Buck & Eddie] | Out in the 118

Day 13 - Team as a family [Buck & Eddie] | Family Matters

Day 14 - Communication barrier [Buddie] | Misunderstandings

Day 15 - Childhood trauma [Buck & Eddie] | Knowing Buck

Day 16 - Wound cleaning [Bucktommy] | Gentle Touch

Day 17 - Nowhere else to go [Bucktommy] | Finding home in you

Day 18 - Loss of identity [Buck & Eddie] | Rebuilding Buck

Day 19 - Blood Trail [Bucktommy] | In his foosteps, Red

Day 20 - Shoulder to cry on [Bucktommy] | In the Safety of Your Arms

Day 21 - Let the bedsheet soak up my tears [Buddie] | Let Me Be Your Anchor

Day 22 - Reopening wounds, tourniquet, bleeding through bandages [Bucktommy] | Love Stiches

Day 23 - "I'm doing this for you" [Bucktommy] | Protecting Tommy

Day 24 - Collapsed Building [Bucktommy] | Echoes in the Rubble

Day 25 - Stiches [Bucktommy] | Threaded With Care

Day 26 - Nightmares [Bucktommy] | Through the Nightmares

Day 27 - Motion Sickness [Bucktommy] | Road trip

Day 28 - Voiceless [Bucktommy] | No Words

Day 29 - Burnout [Bucktommy] | After Work

Day 30 - Hospital Bed [Bucktommy] | Great job

Day 31 - Therapy [Buck & Frank] | A Conversation with Frank