#unconventional weapon

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #7: "Unconventional Weapon" Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2017) | Civil War Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[aceofwhump]

Whumptober 2024 - No.7 UNCONVENTONAL WEAPON

Hawaii Five-0 6x18 Danny faces down a suspect with a bow and arrow when he is without his usual weapon

@whumptober

[brucewaynehater101]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPT #7

Only for emergencies, unconventional weapon, magic with a cost, "It's us or them"

Brief synopsis: Tim has a plan that Bruce can't find out about

Bruce would rather die than kill. It's his ironclad belief and a boundary he seemingly will never cross.

This is why he and Jason scream themselves hoarse or pummel each other on Gotham's rooftops. The younger man claims this is why so many of the Bats have died. Bruce's unwillingness to accept murder by his own hands or those of his children is ultimately their downfall.

This is one of the several reasons why Tim has contingencies Bruce is unaware of. That, and the man's consistent effort to shape Tim’s paranoia even against their family.

During a month-long JL space mission where Batman's presence is necessary, the other Bats stay behind to cover Gotham. Their relationships to each other and Bruce are wobbly, but at a higher point. They even have the occasional hangout and casual interactions.

Tim will initiate individual or small group gatherings, but he's never tried to jam all of the batkids into one room together. Not before this, anyhow.

Due to this reason as well as their current friendliness with each other, all of them agree to meet at Tim's Nest. He prepared a meeting table, chairs, snacks, pizza, drinks, and a projector in his version of the batcave.

He spends three hours lecturing them on several plans that Bruce is never to hear about. He starts off soft with stuff like safehouses, vehicles, and weapons Bruce doesn't know about. He then goes into truth serums, media strategies, and extreme force measures.

He ends the meeting with the one procedure he was nervous about.

“I could have kept this from you. In fact, you should be aware that I have contingencies some or none of you are aware of. Plans I hope to never initiate.”

He sighs as his eyes flicker back to the slide. “This would be the absolute worst case scenario with no other options. I would expect each of us to exhaust all methods before we try this.”

He glances at each of the batkids despondently. “I don’t care if you'd rather sacrifice yourselves. I can't lose you. I won't. Not again.” His eyes linger on Dick, Steph, Cass, Jason, and Damian specifically, but he tries to nonverbally communicate his unwillingness to lose Duke or Barbara either.

The others may not agree or be happy with the plan, but they allow Tim to have it. They accept their role in it as well. Given their work, all they can do is hope the need never arises.

~~~

Of course, the time occurs like they all feared it would.

Their father, Bruce Wayne, stares at his kids with open fear. He can't see a way out of this and he's already envisioning his children dead and dying. The World's Greatest Detective can't find a way out of this.

He would willingly sacrifice his life for his kids, but even that is not an option. His death would afford them mere minutes.

He’s watched all of his children, officially or not, throw themselves at the issue again and again. Each came up with more erratic and desperate plans. All of the plans failed or wouldn't work.

He also notices when each member finally gives up, as they, one by one, turn to Tim. Red frantically shakes his head and types faster, eyes flying over multiple computer screens as he tries to find any other answer.

“Red Robin.”

The vigilante refuses to acknowledge Nightwing. There must be another way. He will not utilize that spell, the one that will obliterate thousands of lives, unless he's absolutely sure there are no other avenues. They are running out of time, but surely there's another way.

“Tim-”

“No! I can find a way. I can!” He's not even looking at Dick as his eyes scour over the multiple computer screens. If he can just figure this out, he will soothe the dejected lines in Dick's face as well.

A hand settles on Tim's shoulder. “We're going to die.”

Finally, Red’s hands pause. He's frozen as the weight of the words and their hidden meaning cause his shoulders to slump in defeat. “Fuck.”

The others in the room refuse to make eye contact as they come to terms with their decision. Bruce's eyes dart between his kids with a puzzled frown. He's analyzing the situation but doesn't have all of the clues.

With the grave expressions on all of his children's faces, he is not expecting Red Robin to pull a pink rubber duck from his belt. Tim approaches Bruce with pressed lips and a guilty gleam to his eyes.

“This will help us stop the invasion.”

Although Batman doesn't move an inch, Tim nods at the man's incredulity.

“It's completely harmless to humans but lethal to their species.”

And now Bruce understands the guilty and hesitant stances around him. Batman can not and will not approve of murder, even to save the ones he loves.

Considering that all of the other Gotham vigilantes have deemed this the only road, Bruce will need to find a non-lethal option by his lonesome. He will need to secure the weapon and fight his way out.

Batman quickly performs a nerve strike on Tim's arm and swoops up the tiny pink duck. Only once it's in his grasp does he realize his mistake.

No one moved to stop him.

Batman's lens covered eyes glare into Red Robin's.

Red's stare bears down on him as Batman's knees give out.

“I'm sorry, Bruce. If I have to choose between the ones I love and an enemy, I will always choose my family. No matter the cost. I don't expect you to forgive me.”

As the sedative drags him under, Bruce falls asleep knowing his kids will be safe covered in the blood of their enemies.

[cartwrong]

Whumptober Day 7 - Unconventional Weapon

River was a mistake.

Isobel could admit that now as she drove down the familiar roads that led to her childhood home, her son dozing in the backseat.

Not a mistake in the sense that Isobel didn't mean to get pregnant, no, she knew precisely what she was doing. River was wanted in that sense. She wanted—desperately wanted—to have Frank’s child, be his wife, raise River and the other children of Les Arbres together. She spent weeks painting the mural in the nursery, envisioning her child growing up in that room with his brothers.

But then her father destroyed it all like a child stomping another child’s sand castle. He stomped his foot and that was that, Isobel was to return home, her father deemed it so. He forced Frank’s hand, made him an offer he couldn't refuse, simply so he could show Isobel there was no escaping David Cartwright’s reach.

David Cartwright, legendary MI5 agent, could reach out and pull his daughter to heel no matter how far she ran. He could convince the man she loved to throw her and their child aside as easily as tossing a discarded newspaper. He could leave her trapped with a child who suddenly no longer had a purpose.

So, yes, in Isobel’s most authentic moments she would admit River was a mistake, if only to herself.

She didn't know how to raise him alone, how to raise the son she created to one day help destroy her father and the only thing he truly cared about, Her Majesty’s Government. River and his brothers had a higher purpose, to be weapons of destruction and change, guided by Frank, but now he was nothing more than an unsharpened knife in her care.

“Mummy, where are we going? Are we almost there?”

He blinked at her in the rear view mirror, his enormous blue eyes almost startling in their size and curiosity. He was always looking at her like that: studying, appraising her the same way David did. It was unsettling.

“Somewhere fun, darling. Go back to sleep.”

Isobel took a deep breath when she pulled into the drive an hour later. She chanced one last look at her son and reminded herself this was the only way as she gently roused him from sleep, smoothing his hair and pressing a final kiss to his forehead.

David wanted to control her life, and if he wanted to pull her away from the man she loved, well he could reap what he sowed. If she gave River willingly then her father couldn’t take him from her. Attachments were meant to be purged. Better River learned that now than similarly to how she had; pregnant and deliriously in love, the man who she thought hung the moon shoving her out the door and back to her father like an unwanted stray cat.

If she didn’t have River then she could never lose River. David would have nothing left to weaponize against her.

Isobel didn’t look in the rear view as she drove away.

River was a mistake.

Leaving him was not.

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 7- Only For Emergencies | Unconventional Weapon

The fire spread rapidly across the city, the flames licking up buildings and engulfing everything in its path. City Park became a charred mess, its trees and bushes quickly reduced to ash. The one responsible, Supervillain, cackled from their place in the sky, letting more of the blaze erupt from their hands.

“If we don't stop them soon the whole city is gonna be gone,” Vigilante said.

The team had their hands full coordinating evacuation efforts while Superhero and Supervillain tussled in the air. Even some of the villains were helping out.

“There isn't going to be a city to come back to if they don't hurry it up,” Villain said bitterly.

“Superhero's got this,” Hero said, “they'll take care of it and-"

Superhero crashed to the ground, out cold. This elicited another laugh from Supervillain.

Hero looked around nervously. No one else had the power to match the pyromaniac's. Hero coughed up the smoke in their lungs and shakily reached up to remove their pendant. The few times it had come off, the effects had been… well… they hadn't been pleasant. That didn't matter now, this was the ultimate emergency, and they needed all their power to handle it.

The power-suppressing pendant bounced on the ground, and Hero's hair turned white, their eyes taking on an icy hue. Their lips turned blue, and their fingertips became a tinged purple.

Hero scowled up at Supervillain. They unleashed a blast of icy wind and propelled themselves into the air.

“Oh ho, Elsa, you've been hiding something~” the master criminal said.

“And you're done here,” Hero growled, throwing a small beam of ice.

Well, it was supposed to be small. It actually came out as a powerful blast, knocking Supervillain out of the sky. Hero summoned all of their power, and a blizzard ripped out of them from every direction. Cold storm clouds swirled up above the city, and snow began to fall, dousing the flames and cooling everything down.

Hero landed on the ground and stumbled. Villain and Vigilante went to steady them.

“You crazy little ice cube,” Vigilante scolded.

“Did I do it?” Hero asked weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, you did.”

“Superhero? Are they-?”

“They're fine,” Villain said, “where’s your necklace thingy?”

Vigilante pulled the pendant out of their pocket and draped it around Hero's neck. Their hair and eyes returned to their normal color, and their skin became a more normal shade of pale.

“Cool. Cool cool cool…” Hero mumbled.

Their eyes rolled into the back of their head and fluttered shut. Nobody's shouting did anything to rouse them.

…

“…saved the entire city…”

Hero stirred in a warm cocoon.

“…Supervillain's in custody…won't be hurting any…again.”

Hero groaned, willing their eyes to open.

“…waking up…”

“Hero?”

Hero opened their eyes. Their team stared down at them, relieved smiles on their faces. Even Vigilante looked happy. Hero slowly sat up in a med bay bed.

“Superhero!” Hero said.

The crime-fighter approached them, their arm in a sling.

“Hey Hero,” they beamed, “you did it. The city is safe, and the fires are out.”

“What about Supervillain?” Hero asked.

“In custody, they won't be lighting so much as a match.”

Hero nodded.

“Gotta say, if I had known you had that kind of power I would've never so much as shoplifted,” Villain said.

Hero chuckled.

“Well, I try to keep it under wraps,” they admitted.

Outside, a light snow still fell. The city's people had come out to admire the sudden cold snap. Children played in the white powder while adults gathered outside the hero base in hopes of thanking Hero and the others for saving the day.

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@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 7 - unconventional weapon

Warnings: red room violence, child death, minors fighting,

Word Count: 2.1k (gif not mine - from @notahammer form this gifset- I hope it’s okay that it’s borrowed)

Summary: Natasha tells a story of her past.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

A/N: this one delves into Natasha’s past, it’s not a happy chapter and sits heavier. Also, thank you for all the comments on the last chapter - I will reply to them - also dw in this house we love Maria Hill (she just has some distrust to work through) <3

.

Dostoevsky sits on the table and Natasha wonders at Maria’s choice of Crime and Punishment.

A Russian author and a title that mirrors herself seems a little too on the nose.

She appreciates the gesture though.

She didn’t know what had happened in the day between Maria seemingly wanting to torture her for information, to not asking her questions at all.

Debrief hadn’t touched on Odessa, but instead moved to code words and languages.

This she could easily talk on.

This was something she gave up readily.

She appreciated the reprieve.

Clint had returned to find her and Maria eating breakfast in her cell, as they had done for the three days prior. The mood more comfortable than the first time and, seeing Clint, she had smiled a genuine smile. She’d missed him.

With Clint back, he would resume the role of handler, changing the routine once again.

Whilst Natasha would miss the fresh air of the morning shooting range with Maria, she prefers Clint and the safety that his presence entails.

Will the debrief continue to avoid Odessa?

She’s sure Maria told him what had happened.

For now her voice had been heard, when she said that she couldn’t talk about it. But she’s not ready to trust they’ll avoid it forever, especially when she feels it could be used against her.

Today’s debrief looms.

Clint glances down at her in the elevator, catching her eye and smiles.

As usual, they enter the small office and sit with the two way mirror on the left.

He hands her two pictures.

Natasha’s blood runs cold.

“Who is that?”

The woman in the picture on the left has her black hair pinned back.

Memories flash.

“Stand straight.”

“Again.”

“Widows are marble.”

“You will not break.”

There’s a taste of poison in Natasha’s mouth and she wants to spit.

“Um,” she says swallowing, “she runs the widows. Trains them. Keeps the girls in line.”

She moves her hands under the table, clenching hard to keep herself present.

“What do you know of her?”

Clint asks the question slowly, like he knows what it will cost.

“The trial of the silent knife.”

Natasha doesn’t want to talk about this.

She looks at the second picture.

The branding mark embossed on skin.

“What is the trial of the silent knife?”

Natasha forces herself to calm. Forces air in her lungs and her mind to clear, even as images assault her, the cut of the knife and scar on her calf glisten.

“How did you learn to fight?” she asks, voice low.

Clint smiles easily.

“Back yard fights with my brother. My father, school, the military. You could say my learning was… eclectic.”

Natasha hears him in what he doesn’t say.

“How do you think I learned?”

Clint doesn’t answer straight away.

A question he’s likely never considered.

She sighs.

“We are trained in very specific ways. Ways to make prepubescent bodies strong. Running in mountains, strength training, exercises in multiple martial arts by different teachers. Each with their own style of reward and punishment.”

Natasha considers the questions about the woman and wonders where to start.

“Once we reached a certain age, the skills we learnt were tested.”

She knows he wants to ask more.

“I was 8.”

“The trial of the silent knife is the test.”

.

Natasha stands with the other girls.

She feels excited, adrenaline running through her body, as she wants to show her skills.

She feels ready.

The other girls look cocky. No one looks scared except Sasha, who always looks like she’s going to wet herself.

Natasha’s not sure how she hasn’t been kicked out yet.

There had been other girls who’d left. Bed empty after being injured, or crying, or talking back in ways that, even to Natasha, had felt rude.

The wind is cold. Though the ice has melted the world still holds a chill.

They’d been to this clearing before, fought here before, and Natasha was accustomed to fighting bare footed and without weapons.

“Line up,” the command comes.

The girls do as ordered.

Natasha exchanges looks with Freya, her friend looking determined and fierce.

She notes her friend’s bravery and uses it to calm her own fluttering heart.

It’s different today and they all know.

The twenty four girls are made to spar, lightly until they’re warmed up, going through the motions of hitting and being hit.

Four adults stand to her left, and she sees Madam and Dreykov standing behind them.

Her body feels cold, fear of both of them allowing one of the girls to sweep her legs.

She falls heavily.

Helped up, she whispers to her what she saw, and the message gets passed down the line.

Natasha often feels targeted by the two adults. They stare at her and she feels frustrated at the higher standard she’s seemingly held to.

She stands straighter as the round ends and they’re lined up again.

Now separated, they stand on either side of two lines marked in the dirt.

The adults move closer and Madam claps twice.

The girls stand straighter, eyes forward just as they’ve been trained.

“This is a test,” she announces. “You will fight until one of you wins.”

She walks between the lines to look at all of the girls.

“How you do that is up to you. You will be marked on how you do this. This will be done in silence. You must not scream, or cry or ask for help. Once in the arena, you are on your own. No one will help you except yourself.”

Natasha’s nerves rise.

She’s glad she’s not at the front of the line.

Briselle, one of the older girls, steps forward; her opponent is Sasha.

Natasha knows the outcome before they even fight.

A single knife is thrown in the middle of the arena.

Madam steps forward and Dreykov and the other four sit on chairs set up for them.

The girls sit along the outside, still in their lines, legs tucked under, fists on top of knees.

Briselle smiles as Sasha lunges for the knife.

She lets her pick it up and then kicks out at her.

Sasha moves back, using her momentum to feint left and swipe right.

The knife passes close to Brisselle’s neck.

The shock on her face pronounced, as Sasha presses her advantage.

Natasha had fought Sasha before. When Sasha was scared, she became desperate.

Briselle shouldn’t underestimate her, just because she looks like a scared little girl.

Briselle kicks out and makes contact with Sasha’s chest.

The kick is clearly winding, as Sasha gasps, her fist tightening harder around the knife. Brisselle presses the advantage, throwing another kick at her prone body on the floor. Sasha scrambles up, blocking it with her forearms, grabbing at a leg and attempting a throw without conviction.

Briselle’s weight seems an advantage as she holds her ground, her held foot flips up, catching Sasha under the chin.

The girl’s body sprawls, knife flying from her hand.

Briselle picks it up, kicks her and points it at her neck.

“Until one of you wins,” Madam reminds.

Briselle’s smile falters.

She doesn’t know what that means; but Sasha seems to. The crack of Briselle’s leg is loud, she shouts in pain. Sasha’s movements are quick. The first cut along her thighs and the second along her neck. Bloor pours from the wounds.

Natasha looks on in shock.

Sasha’s desperation to win had come at the cost of Briselle’s life.

The girl was dying in front of them.

Natasha feels sick.

An adult that Natasha doesn’t know pulls Briselle’s broken, gasping body away. Sasha looks at her bloody hands and is ordered by Madam to line up.

The girls hear a gunshot and all know what it means.

Sasha’s eyes go wide as she watches, her mouth opening with an outward breath. Tears leak from her eyes.

Two girls look wildly around and cry out.

Natasha’s head doesn’t move, but her eyes scan the other girls, some of whom were also crying, their predicament clear now. The years of training culminating in this.

The next two opponents stand, legs shaking, fear on their faces.

“Fight.”

Madam’s voice breaks the silence.

An endless minute seems to pass before one of the girls lunges for the knife.

The fight is short.

Clearly overpowered, the younger girl sobs as the other girl cries that she’s sorry.

The arena is bloody by the time it is Natasha’s turn. She rises on heels but doesn’t look at the girl in front of her. She knows her, but in those moments, she knows that she cannot acknowledge her.

“Fight.”

The knife is the obvious play, but the other girl is taller and reaches it quicker.

Natasha runs through the knife defenses, anticipating the lunge forward. She sidesteps, bending the girl’s wrist, and using her momentum against her. The angle of the wrist weakens her hold onto the knife and it drops to the bloody floor.

She kicks it out of the way, and slaps her heavily, knowing if she punches she’d hurt herself.

Her palm stings.

Avoiding the next punch, then kick, Natasha fights back, returning with a kick to the girl’s head.

It hits with a resounding thud.

The girl stumbles back, tripping on the knife.

Natasha lunges for it and the girl wrestles her for it.

Then arms back, the girl reaches for something that Natasha can’t see.

Natasha grabs the knife, but a rock smacks her in the head.

Natasha collapses.

Dazed, Natasha's vision blurs. She feels the girl climb on top of her, raising the rock again, readying to hit Natasha a second time.

But Natasha’s holding the knife upward between them, and as the girl leans forward it sticks between her ribs, killing her with a quiet “oh”.

The rock drops.

The unconventional weapon falling next to Natasha’s head as she huffs breaths.

Panic.

She has no thoughts in her head as she’s told to stand, her opponent dragged back.

Blood drips from her forehead and she touches it blankly.

The rest of the battles finish without Natasha registering who is still alive.

All she can think of is the knife pushing into the girl’s body.

Her chest feels so tight. Only the slightest amount of air seems to break through.

Her hands shake and she sits on them to hide it.

Natasha wants nothing more than to be left alone.

The knife.

She focuses herself by biting the inside of her mouth.

Her head hurts.

Still bleeding, she blinks it away from her eyes.

Madam stands in front of them.

“Do you know why it’s the silent knife?” Madam asks, picking the weapon up.

Twelve girls, bloody and bruised and traumatised, stare into space.

The four adults stand, Dreykov in front of them.

“You are part of the Red Room. Silent killers. You must know how to kill; friends, family, foe.”

She paces.

Placing a knife in front of each of them, Madam motions to it.

“You have passed this test. From now on, this knife is yours. Your right to own. From now on, the training will only get harder.”

Natasha eyes the bloody knife in front of her.

Sniffing, and wiping her face, she decides it was a friend and not a foe.

She picks it up cleans it with her clothing.

.

Clint sits back, his heart hurting at her story.

“Once we passed, we had to mark ourselves. The first kill. The mark, the one you see there, that’s the brand. That woman was a widow.”

She bites her lip.

She hates the story.

Telling it felt like it was someone’s else’s story.

“Can, uh, can we stop?”

Clint nods, not asking any more questions.

She’s sure it’s been recorded, but in that moment she doesn’t care. She wants to return to her cell. In that moment feeling, more than ever, like she belongs in one.

She’s made peace with most of her other kills.

But that first one…

Natasha clenches her fists and lets them go in time with her breathing.

She just feels old and tired.

.

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No.7

Only for Emergencies

Unconventional weapon // magic with a cost // "It's us or them."

*~*~*~*~*

“Leader,” Medic cried, the usually stoic man so flustered as he half dragged a semi-conscious Rogue through the streets and into cover. “We’re not going to outrun them. Not like this and they’re gaining on us.”

Second strayed to the alleyway across from Medic and Leader, firing shards of ice like a canon at the enemies, crafting a thick wall of ice and making some cover. Even Leader could see they were tiring too, and their eyes, despite themselves turned to Whumpee.

Whumpee, sensing the weight of Leader’s gaze, raised their head. “No,” they said, shaking their head. “No, Leader, you promised.”

“I promised it would only be for emergencies, Whumpee. This is an emergency.”

“We can still—”

“We can’t do shit!” Medic cut in, growling. “I am at my limit. So is Second, Rogue is barely conscious and the enemy don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.”

Whumpee stepped back away from them, as if slapped. The betrayal that crossed their expression pulled at Leader’s heartstrings, but they couldn’t disagree with Medic. He was right. They were at their limit. They didn’t expect Villain to come to the exchange with an entire army.

“This is Villain we’re talking about,” Whumpee whispered, tears pricking their eyes. “If I— If I…”

“If you don’t then we’re as good as dead,” Medic snapped.

Leader, always the gentle touch, walked over to Whumpee, taking their hands in theirs and getting on their knees. Whumpee stiffened as Leader looked up at them with tears in their eyes.

“It’s us or them, Whumpee,” Leader whispered. “Villain chose their side. They chose to betray us and they chose to lie to us about this exchange and their numbers. They don’t care if we live or die!”

They care if I live or die, Whumpee thought, and the guilt speared their heart. They couldn’t hold their life above the lives of their team, above Rogue and Medic and Second and Leader. Then they’d be no better than Villain.

But still… Villain loved Whumpee, they would never ask this of them.

Whumpee pulled their hand from Leader’s. Leader closed their eyes, their chin dropping to their chest defeated.

“You know what it will do to me,” Whumpee whispered, but they felt like they were screaming, every breath was an effort. Leader slowly rose to their feet. They dragged their gaze up to Whumpee’s, apologetic and guilty.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Whumpee swallowed the lump in their throat.

They were… they really were just going to let Villain win, out of their own pathetic selfishness but— if Whumpee unleashed their ability it wouldn’t just be Villain and their army in danger, it would be their team too, the world if they didn’t stop Whumpee in time, and Leader knew that.

Medic held his head in his hands, fisting his hair and yelled a long, low guttural: “FUCK!”

Leader placed a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder and Whumpee met their yellow gaze. Whumpee recoiled, jolting back but it was too late. They were under Leader’s command now, and their body wasn’t their own.

“Whumpee… I need you to use your power so we can escape,” Leader said. Whumpee’s expression bled blank until they were just staring like a zombie at Leader.

Medic raised his head, eyes wide. “Leader? Leader! What did you do?!”

Whumpee walked past Leader, past Medic and Rogue and out into the open as the ice wall broke, a green, ghoulish hue overtaking their body. Leader set their jaw.

“What I had to. Now, let’s go.”

[whumptober]

Hi! Can you please explain more about the prompt "Unconventional Weapon" from Day 7?

So an unconventional weapon is something that wasn't created as or is typically used as a weapon. Something that you have to use in a pinch because there's nothing else and you're desperate.

Examples of this could be strangling someone with the sleeve of a jacket, hitting someone with a crutch, throwing a shoe at someone's head, stapling someone, stabbing someone with a pencil, etc.

There are so many more examples than this! Basically anything that isn't your typical knife, gun, sword, etc etc