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« on: July 12, 2025, 02:24:32 am »Sin City Slugfest VI
Blind Fold Match
Dakota Fanning vs Sydney Sweeney
Fighter Profiles & Tale of the Tape
Dakota Fanning
Odds: Sydney Sweeney (-120) vs. Dakota Fanning (+115)
Analysis: Sydney's combat sports background and physical strength give her a very slight edge in this matchup. Dakota's reach, speed, agility and strategic mindset could counter Sydney's aggression if she effectively manages distance and timing.
Strategic Considerations
Round 1:
The bell rang — and the crowd held its breath. The blindfolds had only come off seconds earlier, and when Sydney Sweeney and Dakota Fanning locked eyes for the first time in the center of the ring, the realization hit both women like a thunderclap. They immediately knew that they were from rival stables and without any encouragement they each knew what was expected of them. Completely destroy the other woman. No words were exchanged. No smirks. No glares. Just pure, focused fury — the kind that can only simmer beneath the surface until it explodes in a slugfest.
And Sydney exploded first. With a grunt, she launched herself forward like a bullet from a gun, her gloves snapping up in front of her face, her movement crisp and deliberate. Dakota, caught slightly flat-footed, managed to get her guard up in time, but Sydney was already in her face, cutting the ring in half, walking her down with utter confidence.
Hooks to the ribs, uppercuts into the solar plexus, and a short overhand right that clipped Dakota on the ear and made her stumble back two steps. Sydney was bullying her — plain and simple. Dakota tried circling, tried keeping distance, but the busty juggernaut kept her grounded with relentless body work. Her gloves thudded into Dakota’s sides like a drumline.
Dakota’s jab flicked out in retreat — not meaningless, but not enough to slow Sydney’s charge. A couple landed flush, but they were range-finders, not damage dealers. Sydney kept slipping them, ducking low and digging to the body. Two minutes in, it looked like Dakota was already getting overwhelmed.
Laura Marano was in Dakota's corner and shouting instructions — “Stick and move! Circle out! Don’t trade inside!” — but Sydney was pressing, pounding, punishing.
Then, with under a minute to go, everything changed. Sydney stepped in with another right to the ribs — but she over committed. She leaned just a little too far forward, her weight coming off balance. Dakota, retreating, paused — and let fly.
A lightning-fast straight left. It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t even part of a combo. It was a desperate, instinctive, textbook-perfect counter punch. Sydney’s eyes widened as it landed square on her chin right on the button. Sydney's head jolted back. Her knees buckled. Her arms froze. And just like that, the unstoppable force collapsed.
Sydney fell straight to her backside, blinking at the lights overhead, mouth slightly open in shock, her legs splayed as if someone had yanked the power cord. The arena exploded in disbelief. Dakota stood frozen, eyes wide, staring down at the woman she had barely been surviving against for most of the round.Sydney blinked, shook her head, and slapped the canvas once before pushing herself up to her knees. The ref was counting.
“Four... Five...”
“Six... Seven...”
She took a breath, then stood at Eight — arms up, jaw clenched, nodding to the official.
“I’m good,” she growled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
The ref gave her a hard look, then waved the fight back on. Dakota surged forward, her corner screaming at her, “SUGAR T!TS IS DONE! FINISH HER!”
But Sydney wasn’t out of it — not by a long shot.
She circled, gloves tight, footwork firm, and weathered Dakota’s last push. Dakota, trying to close the gap, didn’t have the speed or power to capitalize. She let her hands go, but Sydney covered up, clinched, tied her up, and burned the clock as Dakota pounded away with everything she had until the bell rang. Dakota raised her arms and Sydney took a step back her left leg almost collapsing still reeling from the after effects knock down.
The crowd was split — some screaming for Dakota’s miracle punch, others in awe of Sydney’s early destruction. Both corners were frenzied. Dakota’s team shouted with glee, slapping her shoulders, yelling about how she just stole the round. Sydney’s crew got ice on her neck, barked about staying composed, and reminded her she had nearly knocked Dakota out for two full minutes.
Back in their stools, both women stared across the ring — breathless, bruised, and now very aware of exactly who they were up against. This was far from over.
Score: 10-8 Dakota Fanning (with knockdown)
Damage: Dakota — swelling left cheek, sore ribs starting; Sydney — still groggy after the knockdown
Round 2:
The bell rings and Dakota Fanning, still energized from the unexpected knockdown she delivered in the first, looks to build on the momentum. She bounces lightly on her toes, gloves up, trying to keep Sydney Sweeney at bay with a flurry of fast combinations.
Dakota lands a couple of crisp jabs that snap Sydney’s head back, drawing gasps from the crowd. She seems to be finding a rhythm—in and out, circling left, popping the jab. But Sydney is done playing games. She narrows her eyes, keeps her chin tucked, and absorbs the shots with minimal reaction. Then, like a loaded spring finally releasing, she explodes forward.
A brutal right cross detonates on Dakota’s cheek, rocking her back on her heels. The blonde’s head snaps violently to the side, and her knees wobble. The crowd roars. Before Dakota can retreat, Sydney is already inside, punishing her midsection with a thudding left hook that buries itself into Dakota’s ribs.
Dakota grunts, mouthpiece flashing as she doubles over slightly. Her gloves drop. Sydney doesn’t hesitate. She steps in and fires a savage right uppercut, launching Dakota’s head backward. The punch lifts Dakota’s feet an inch off the canvas before she crashes to the mat on her back, her limbs sprawled, blinking up at the lights. The crowd is on its feet.
The ref is immediately down, counting.
"One! Two! Three!"
Dakota blinks, eyes fluttering. She rolls to her side, then to her knees. She grabs the middle rope and pulls herself upright by the count of eight, but she’s clearly dazed. Her ribs are heaving. Her cheek is swelling.
The referee looks at her closely, asks her to raise her gloves. She does—barely. The ref waves the fight back on, and Sydney storms forward again. But Dakota, to her credit, survives. She backpedals, clinches when necessary, and throws just enough counter jabs to keep the ref from stepping in. Still, the round is all Sydney. The bell finally rings, saving Dakota from further punishment.
Back in their corners, Dakota’s team scrambles to work on her ribs and cheek, shouting encouragement while applying ice and checking her vision. Meanwhile, Sydney’s corner is calm and confident, pouring water over her back.
Damage: Dakota — bruised cheek, sore ribs, heavy breathing; Sydney — slight redness on jaw.
Score: 10-8 Sydney Total 18-18
Round 3:
The bell echoes through the arena, and surprisingly, Dakota Fanning comes out looking sharp. The earlier knockdown doesn’t seem to have broken her spirit. With her guard tight and feet light, she establishes distance and begins working her jab slipping back and staying just out of range. Fast, clean, and accurate. Sydney backs away. Takes in a long deep breath then resets.
Dakota flicks two stiff jabs into Sydney’s face, both landing cleanly and snapping the blonde’s head back. Sydney blinks, and suddenly the faint mouse under under her left eye begins to swell. The crowd reacts with appreciative murmurs—this was not what they expected. Not what Sydney expected.
For the first thirty seconds, Dakota controls the range. She steps to her right, peppering Sydney with jabs and the occasional straight right. It’s not fight-ending power, but it’s effective and controlled and she is scoring in bunches. Sydney resets, narrowing her eyes, lets out a feral groan and starts closing the distance.
Then it shifts.
With a sharp feint, Sydney gets Dakota to freeze just enough to step inside and dig a brutal left hook to the body. The sound echoes—a meaty thud against soft flesh. Dakota’s mouth opens in a silent gasp. She tries to move, but Sydney throws her against the ropes. A right hook to the ribs. A left to the liver. An uppercut splits Dakota’s guard and jolts her head back. Now she’s covering up, leaning back, trying to spin away—but Sydney is in predator mode.
A left hook crashes under Dakota’s left arm then an uppercut to the chin sends sweat and spit flying. Her knees buckle, but she stays up. Sydney drills a right into Dakota’s stomach, forcing a wheeze from her lungs. Then a left to the temple. A hook to the body. A cross to the nose. Dakota’s defense quickly begin to unravel.
Sydney has her pinned in the corner, and with each shot she throws, Dakota seems to shrink a little more. The crowd roars as Sydney pours on the pressure—a 5-punch combo: hook to the ribs, cross to the cheek, uppercut to the solar plexus, jab to the nose, hook to the right breast. Dakota finally clinches, but even there, Sydney is punishing. Short rabbit punches to the ribs. A sneaky uppercut to the chin and a left cross to the side of the boobs. Laura is screaming foul as he ref steps in to separate them. Dakota stumbles slightly as they part.
With less than thirty seconds to go, Sydney barrels in again, throwing punches in bunches. A looping right cross lands flush and turns Dakota’s head violently. Another uppercut follows, and for a moment it looks like she might go down again—but somehow, Dakota holds.
The bell rings, mercifully and Dakota staggers back to her corner, ribs heaving, face red and puffy. Sydney returns to her side with a satisfied nod.
Score: 10-8 Sydney Sweeney
Damage: Dakota — swelling eye, bruised ribs, starting to limp slightly; Sydney — minor swelling jaw – swelling under her left eye.
Total:28-26 Sydney
Round 4:
The bell rings and there’s fire in Sydney Sweeney’s eyes. She’s found her rhythm now, and Dakota Fanning knows it. Dakota emerges from her corner looking unsteady—her body aching and sore, still heaving for air after the brutal punishment she took in Round 3. Sydney wastes no time. She launches forward like a predator, gloves up, chin tucked, feet gliding smoothly as she cuts off the ring. Dakota tries to stay long, flicking out a desperate jab, but Sydney parries it with ease.
Then the real punishment begins. A deep, sickening thud echoes through the arena as Sydney buries a left hook into Dakota’s ribs, just under her bra line. Dakota gasps, her knees buckling slightly. She tries to retreat, but Sydney is relentless. Another hook—this one lower—slams into her right side, folding her over. Sydney drives a straight right into the pit of Dakota’s stomach, just above the waistband. It lands flush. Dakota throws an overhand right but Sydney duck and buries an uppercut under Dakota's right armpit then drives a hook into her navel.
THUD.
Air blasts out of Dakota’s lungs. Her mouthpiece flies out like a cork from a bottle, bouncing across the canvas. Her jaw hangs open as her hands instinctively cradle her belly, eyes wide with pain. Sydney backs her into the ropes and leans in, her chin brushing Dakota’s shoulder, her body weight pinning her there. Then she starts chugging away—left, right, left, right—fists pounding the same spot on Dakota’s midsection again and again. This isn’t boxing. This is pure punishment.
Dakota’s arms drop. Her legs lock. Her body sags.
“Break!” Laura Marano screams from the Aries’ corner, her voice cracking with desperation. “F&cking Break, dammit!”
The referee finally steps in, eyes scanning Dakota. She isn’t defending. She’s barely upright. He waves Sydney off and begins the standing eight count.
1… 2… 3…
Dakota leans heavily on the ropes, arms still wrapped around her stomach, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Sweat drips from her chin. Her knees threaten to give.
4… 5… 6…
She nods that she wants to continue, but there’s no fire in her eyes.
7… 8…
The referee gives her a final long look. Dakota raises her gloves—weakly.
“You good?”
She nods.
“Fight!”
Sydney doesn’t hesitate. She presses Dakota into the ropes again and unleashes another savage barrage: looping hooks to the ribs, short uppercuts to the abs, and a crushing left to the liver. Dakota’s legs buckle. She crashes to the mat, curling into a fetal position, arms once again wrapped around her midsection.
The referee starts another count.
1… 2… 3…
Laura is screaming from the corner. “Get your ass up! Awesome Aries NEVER QUIT!”
4… 5… 6…
Dakota remains on her side, her face twisted in agony.
7… 8…
She groans, then plants her gloves on the canvas.
9…
Somehow, she stands. She’s swaying, trembling—but standing. The crowd explodes with cheers. The referee walks over to the timekeeper, glancing at Laura, clearly about to wave the fight off.
“Your girl is done,” he mouths.
“NO SHE’S NOT!” Laura roars, leaping onto the apron. “Give her a second!”
The delay buys Dakota precious time. Her legs are still shaky, but there’s a flicker—just a flicker—of fire back in her eyes. When the referee shouts “FIGHT!” again, she’s ready enough with her gloves up in a high guard.
But Sydney rushes in too fast, too eager to finish. Dakota sidesteps and, with pure instinct, drives a tomahawk right into the back of Sydney’s head as she stumbles past into the ropes.
“FOUL!” the ref screams, leaping between them.
Official Warning: Illegal Blow – Dakota Fanning
Sydney’s face twists in fury. The shot wasn’t devastating, but it was deliberate—and that made it unforgivable.
“That’s how you want to play it?” she growls.
When they reset, Sydney explodes. A hook smashes into Dakota’s jaw. She stumbles. A vicious left crashes into her breast, making her shriek in pain. Then an uppercut snaps her head back, lifting her off her toes. A straight right follows, tearing open her nose. Blood sprays from her nostrils, streaking down her lips, staining her chest.
Dakota is slammed back into the corner. Sydney unloads. Hooks to the ribs. Crosses to the breasts. Uppercuts to the solar plexus. Dakota’s body jerks with each hit. Her legs go rubbery. She slumps deeper into the turnbuckles, almost seated, her body absorbing every vicious blow.
The referee jumps in.
It’s over.
Dakota’s back slides down the ropes, her body collapsing into a trembling heap on the mat. Blood seeps from her nose. Her belly is visibly bruised and heaving. Her limbs twitch. Her face is vacant.
“That’s it!” the ref says, waving off the fight and pulling Sydney away.
TKO – Sydney Sweeney – 2:41 of Round 4
Laura Marano dives into the ring, lifting Dakota to her feet.
“You’re okay,” she whispers, holding her close. Laura turns, furious, and storms toward the official. “You stopped it too early! She had more fight in her! She wasn’t done!”
But Dakota’s legs give out again, and she crumples. Medics and the ref rush in. As Laura rages, Dakota lies on her back, arms draped over her aching belly, eyes fixed on the lights above. The crowd erupts as Sydney climbs the ropes, arms raised, her glistening body bathed in sweat and triumph.
Summary:
Sydney’s superior boxing skill and power dominated from the start. Dakota showed courage but was overwhelmed by Sydney’s accurate, heavy punches, resulting in four knockdowns that forced an early stoppage. Sydney’s crisp combinations and relentless body attacks broke down Dakota quickly.
Badass Barbies Locker Room – Post-Fight
Reporter: Sydney, congratulations. That was one of the most convincing turnarounds we’ve seen in a long time. You were knocked down in Round 1 but came back to dominate. How did you pull yourself together?
Sydney: (smirks) You don’t stay down just because you get caught. Dakota landed a clean shot, no doubt. I was too eager, leaned in too far, and she took her chance. Props to her for that. But that’s not enough to stop me. I’ve trained for real damage. The second I hit the canvas, my brain clicked back on. I remembered who I am. And she paid the price the next three rounds.
Reporter: A lot of fans forgot that you played Christy Martin in that biopic, but tonight felt like we were watching the real thing. Did that role change the way you fight?
Sydney: Oh, it did more than change it—it defined it. Christy Martin fought like she had something to prove every time she stepped in the ring. That energy, that grit? I studied it, lived it, became it. That wasn’t acting. That was me transforming. The movie taught me how to stay composed under pressure and hit with intent. I’m not some Hollywood chick throwing pretend punches. I know how to break down a fighter now—mentally, physically, and piece by piece. Just like I did to Dakota.
Reporter: Speaking of breakdowns—those body shots were brutal. Did you know she was done when you started digging into her midsection in Round 4?
Sydney: The moment I landed that liver shot, yeah. She bent over like someone pulled her spine out. From that point on, it was just about forcing the stoppage. I didn’t need to knock her out cold. I wanted her to feel every single punch. Make her question whether she ever belonged in the ring with me in the first place.
Reporter: Let’s talk about Laura Marano. She was in Dakota’s corner tonight, screaming for the ref to let the fight continue. What’s your take on her?
Sydney: (laughs) Laura? She's loud. She’s dramatic. And she’s delusional if she thought Dakota was coming back from that beating. I get it—she’s loyal to her stable and the girls is too stupid to quit. But screaming from the apron won’t save someone from a body beating like that. Nobody around here really likes Laura. She stirs the pot, throws tantrums, and acts like she’s above the rest of us. It’s pathetic if you ask me.
Reporter: Would you fight Laura?
Sydney: Hell yes, I’d fight her. I’d love to. And I’m very confident I’d put her down faster than I did Dakota. She runs her mouth, but I’ve seen her fights. She’s never gives in – I'll give her that but she has her weaknesses. She flails when she’s pressured. She wouldn’t last two rounds with me. Not unless the ref steps in and throws her a life preserver. If you ask her I think that Laura knows it.
Reporter: That comment will definitely get a reaction from her.
Sydney: Good. Let her come at me. She wanted attention, right? Well, here it is. Laura Marano—step into my ring. But be ready to eat every word you’ve ever said about my stable. I won’t just beat her—I’ll humiliate her.
Reporter: Switching gears—your name’s now being mentioned in the same breath as Katharine McPhee. That’s a whole different kind of fight. Is that one you’re ready for?
Sydney: Katharine is a problem. She’s strong, experienced, and she’s beaten some real heavy hitters. Am I ready? I don’t know. But I want it. I want to test myself against the best. She’s the benchmark. If I’m going to keep climbing, I’ve got to go through her eventually. And when that day comes, I’ll be sharper, smarter, and stronger than I was tonight. Believe that.
Reporter: So let’s get this straight—Sydney Sweeney is calling out Laura Marano and eyeing Katharine McPhee?
Sydney: Absolutely. I’ve already handled Dakota. Laura’s just noise—I’ll shut her up if she wants to step up. And Katharine? She’s the mountain I want to climb. Because once I beat her, no one will question where I stand in this division.
Reporter: Final thoughts?
Sydney: Just this—tonight wasn’t luck. It wasn’t a fluke. It was earned. Anyone who steps in there with me from now on better know what they’re signing up for. I’m not here to play nice. I’m here to end careers.
Reporter: Sydney Sweeney, victorious by TKO in Round 4. Loud. Clear. And calling names.
Sydney: (winks) Print that. I want Laura to see it first thing tomorrow morning.
Awesome Aries Locker Room – Post-Fight
The energy in the room is low, the silence thick. Dakota Fanning sits on a bench, slouched forward, her arms resting on her knees, a towel draped loosely around her neck. Her cheeks are puffed, her nose is still bleeding slightly, and there's a heavy bruise already blooming along her ribs and abs. Every breath she takes is shallow, painful. Her body is battered, but it’s the weight on her shoulders that seems heavier than anything else.
A medic quietly checks her blood pressure while Laura Marano paces like a caged animal just a few feet away, her eyes burning with frustration.
Reporter: Dakota, first of all, are you okay? That was… a brutal four rounds.
Dakota: (softly) I don’t know. I mean… I’ll live. It hurts to breathe. My ribs feel like they’re filled with broken glass. But yeah, I think I’ll be okay. Eventually.
Reporter: Sydney landed well over 150 punches on you—body, head, chest, everything. Did it feel like she was just overwhelming you?
Dakota: Yeah… I mean, from the second round on, I felt like I was drowning. I’d land a couple jabs and think, okay, I’ve got this, and then bam—she’d be in my body, just drilling me. She didn’t give me any space to think. It was like being in quicksand. Every time I moved, I sank deeper.
Reporter: You dropped her in Round 1, though. That was a clean shot. Did you think she was out?
Dakota: (nods slowly) For a second? Yeah. Her eyes went blank and I thought lights out for Sweeney. She hit the mat hard. I thought, This is my moment. But she got up fast. Too fast. And after that, she was... different. Like I’d woken something up in her. She wasn’t just boxing after that—she was hunting me.
Reporter: Looking back… do you think you were prepared?
Dakota: (sighs) Maybe not. Maybe I should’ve trained more. Spent more time sparring. I don’t know. Sydney had this energy—like she knew she was going to beat me. She didn’t just want to win. She wanted to humiliate me and send a message to my stable. And for the last two rounds, she kind of did.
Reporter: Laura, you were screaming at the ref. Do you think the stoppage came too soon?
Laura Marano: (whips around) Too soon? Are you kidding? Dakota was still standing. She took everything Sydney threw and she stood. Yeah, she went down, but she got up. She looked the ref in the eye. She raised her gloves. She wanted to fight. That fight should have gone to Round 5.
Reporter: Sydney had some pretty harsh words after the fight…
Dakota: (frowns) What kind of words?
Laura: (coldly) Let me guess, she called you soft. Said you didn’t belong in the same ring as her.
Dakota: (winces) Figures.
Laura: Did she have anything to say about me, too.
Reporter: (shrugs, trying to look casual) You’ll find out in the morning.
Laura: (sits up straighter) Tell me now, what did that over-inflated **** say?
Reporter: (snaps) She said she’d whoop my ass. That your're all talk. That you wouldn’t last two rounds with her.
Laura: (takes a step toward the door) And I swear, I'm two seconds away from walking down that hallway and planting my fist in her mouth.
Reporter: Laura—do you think that fight might actually happen?
Laura: If Sydney keeps running her mouth? Oh, it's happening. I don’t care what promotion wants it. I don’t care where it is. She wants to see what a real fighter looks like? I’ll show her.
Reporter: Dakota… do you think what Laura said is true? That you could’ve made it to the fifth round?
Dakota: (quietly) I think so. I wasn’t done. My body was wrecked, yeah—but I wasn’t mentally out. I still believed I could land something again. One more round, maybe I could’ve slowed her down. Maybe not won… but survived.
Laura: (nods fiercely) We’re Aries. We don’t quit. You hear me?
Dakota: (manages a faint smile) Right. We don’t quit.
Reporter: If you could do it again—would you change anything?
Dakota: I wouldn’t let her walk me down so easily. I’d stay off the ropes. I let her bully me, and I gave her my body. That’s on me. I’d fight smarter. Train harder. She hurt me in a way I didn’t expect—but I’ve learned now.
Reporter: Laura, if you do get in the ring with Sydney, what happens?
Laura: I shut her up. I beat her to the body, slow her legs down, and then I pick her apart. She thinks she’s some queen because she mauled Dakota while she was already hurt? Let her try that on me. I’ll knock that smug look off her face and flatten those annoying **** she flashes in everybody's face. The second she gets punched by someone who doesn’t break? She’s in for a very rude awakening.
The air thickens in the locker room as Laura storms off toward the back, her fists clenched, eyes glowing with fury. Dakota leans her head back against the wall, eyes closed, still aching—but her spirit a little more intact. The fire that defines the Awesome Aries may have flickered—but it’s far from out.
And somewhere down the hallway, Sydney Sweeney is still celebrating.
But she won’t be alone in that spotlight for long.
Written bu The Badass Barbies
Blind Fold Match
Dakota Fanning vs Sydney Sweeney
Fighter Profiles & Tale of the Tape
Dakota Fanning
- Age: 30 (born February 23, 1994)
- Height: 5'4" (163 cm)
- Weight: 121 lbs (50 kg)
- Reach: 65" (163 cm)
- Background: Dakota is an accomplished actress known for her roles in various films and series. While not publicly known for athletic pursuits, her dedication to kick boxing suggest a strong work ethic and mental fortitude.
- Style: Likely to rely on agility and strategic movement, using her reach to maintain distance and capitalize on counterattacks.
- Age: 27 (born September 12, 1997)
- Height: 5'3.5" (161 cm)
- Weight: 119 lbs (54 kg)
- Reach: 62" (160 cm)
- Background: Sydney has a background in combat sports, including boxing and MMA training, which she has pursued for roles and personal fitness.
- Style: Aggressive and powerful, utilizing her combat training to deliver strong punches and maintain pressure on her opponent.
Odds: Sydney Sweeney (-120) vs. Dakota Fanning (+115)
Analysis: Sydney's combat sports background and physical strength give her a very slight edge in this matchup. Dakota's reach, speed, agility and strategic mindset could counter Sydney's aggression if she effectively manages distance and timing.
Strategic Considerations
- Dakota's Approach: She should focus on maintaining distance, using her reach advantage to land counterpunches and avoid close exchanges.
- Sydney's Approach: Utilize her strength and combat training to close the distance quickly, applying pressure and aiming for powerful body shots to wear down Dakota.
Round 1:
The bell rang — and the crowd held its breath. The blindfolds had only come off seconds earlier, and when Sydney Sweeney and Dakota Fanning locked eyes for the first time in the center of the ring, the realization hit both women like a thunderclap. They immediately knew that they were from rival stables and without any encouragement they each knew what was expected of them. Completely destroy the other woman. No words were exchanged. No smirks. No glares. Just pure, focused fury — the kind that can only simmer beneath the surface until it explodes in a slugfest.
And Sydney exploded first. With a grunt, she launched herself forward like a bullet from a gun, her gloves snapping up in front of her face, her movement crisp and deliberate. Dakota, caught slightly flat-footed, managed to get her guard up in time, but Sydney was already in her face, cutting the ring in half, walking her down with utter confidence.
Hooks to the ribs, uppercuts into the solar plexus, and a short overhand right that clipped Dakota on the ear and made her stumble back two steps. Sydney was bullying her — plain and simple. Dakota tried circling, tried keeping distance, but the busty juggernaut kept her grounded with relentless body work. Her gloves thudded into Dakota’s sides like a drumline.
Dakota’s jab flicked out in retreat — not meaningless, but not enough to slow Sydney’s charge. A couple landed flush, but they were range-finders, not damage dealers. Sydney kept slipping them, ducking low and digging to the body. Two minutes in, it looked like Dakota was already getting overwhelmed.
Laura Marano was in Dakota's corner and shouting instructions — “Stick and move! Circle out! Don’t trade inside!” — but Sydney was pressing, pounding, punishing.
Then, with under a minute to go, everything changed. Sydney stepped in with another right to the ribs — but she over committed. She leaned just a little too far forward, her weight coming off balance. Dakota, retreating, paused — and let fly.
A lightning-fast straight left. It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t even part of a combo. It was a desperate, instinctive, textbook-perfect counter punch. Sydney’s eyes widened as it landed square on her chin right on the button. Sydney's head jolted back. Her knees buckled. Her arms froze. And just like that, the unstoppable force collapsed.
Sydney fell straight to her backside, blinking at the lights overhead, mouth slightly open in shock, her legs splayed as if someone had yanked the power cord. The arena exploded in disbelief. Dakota stood frozen, eyes wide, staring down at the woman she had barely been surviving against for most of the round.Sydney blinked, shook her head, and slapped the canvas once before pushing herself up to her knees. The ref was counting.
“Four... Five...”
“Six... Seven...”
She took a breath, then stood at Eight — arms up, jaw clenched, nodding to the official.
“I’m good,” she growled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
The ref gave her a hard look, then waved the fight back on. Dakota surged forward, her corner screaming at her, “SUGAR T!TS IS DONE! FINISH HER!”
But Sydney wasn’t out of it — not by a long shot.
She circled, gloves tight, footwork firm, and weathered Dakota’s last push. Dakota, trying to close the gap, didn’t have the speed or power to capitalize. She let her hands go, but Sydney covered up, clinched, tied her up, and burned the clock as Dakota pounded away with everything she had until the bell rang. Dakota raised her arms and Sydney took a step back her left leg almost collapsing still reeling from the after effects knock down.
The crowd was split — some screaming for Dakota’s miracle punch, others in awe of Sydney’s early destruction. Both corners were frenzied. Dakota’s team shouted with glee, slapping her shoulders, yelling about how she just stole the round. Sydney’s crew got ice on her neck, barked about staying composed, and reminded her she had nearly knocked Dakota out for two full minutes.
Back in their stools, both women stared across the ring — breathless, bruised, and now very aware of exactly who they were up against. This was far from over.
Score: 10-8 Dakota Fanning (with knockdown)
Damage: Dakota — swelling left cheek, sore ribs starting; Sydney — still groggy after the knockdown
Round 2:
The bell rings and Dakota Fanning, still energized from the unexpected knockdown she delivered in the first, looks to build on the momentum. She bounces lightly on her toes, gloves up, trying to keep Sydney Sweeney at bay with a flurry of fast combinations.
Dakota lands a couple of crisp jabs that snap Sydney’s head back, drawing gasps from the crowd. She seems to be finding a rhythm—in and out, circling left, popping the jab. But Sydney is done playing games. She narrows her eyes, keeps her chin tucked, and absorbs the shots with minimal reaction. Then, like a loaded spring finally releasing, she explodes forward.
A brutal right cross detonates on Dakota’s cheek, rocking her back on her heels. The blonde’s head snaps violently to the side, and her knees wobble. The crowd roars. Before Dakota can retreat, Sydney is already inside, punishing her midsection with a thudding left hook that buries itself into Dakota’s ribs.
Dakota grunts, mouthpiece flashing as she doubles over slightly. Her gloves drop. Sydney doesn’t hesitate. She steps in and fires a savage right uppercut, launching Dakota’s head backward. The punch lifts Dakota’s feet an inch off the canvas before she crashes to the mat on her back, her limbs sprawled, blinking up at the lights. The crowd is on its feet.
The ref is immediately down, counting.
"One! Two! Three!"
Dakota blinks, eyes fluttering. She rolls to her side, then to her knees. She grabs the middle rope and pulls herself upright by the count of eight, but she’s clearly dazed. Her ribs are heaving. Her cheek is swelling.
The referee looks at her closely, asks her to raise her gloves. She does—barely. The ref waves the fight back on, and Sydney storms forward again. But Dakota, to her credit, survives. She backpedals, clinches when necessary, and throws just enough counter jabs to keep the ref from stepping in. Still, the round is all Sydney. The bell finally rings, saving Dakota from further punishment.
Back in their corners, Dakota’s team scrambles to work on her ribs and cheek, shouting encouragement while applying ice and checking her vision. Meanwhile, Sydney’s corner is calm and confident, pouring water over her back.
Damage: Dakota — bruised cheek, sore ribs, heavy breathing; Sydney — slight redness on jaw.
Score: 10-8 Sydney Total 18-18
Round 3:
The bell echoes through the arena, and surprisingly, Dakota Fanning comes out looking sharp. The earlier knockdown doesn’t seem to have broken her spirit. With her guard tight and feet light, she establishes distance and begins working her jab slipping back and staying just out of range. Fast, clean, and accurate. Sydney backs away. Takes in a long deep breath then resets.
Dakota flicks two stiff jabs into Sydney’s face, both landing cleanly and snapping the blonde’s head back. Sydney blinks, and suddenly the faint mouse under under her left eye begins to swell. The crowd reacts with appreciative murmurs—this was not what they expected. Not what Sydney expected.
For the first thirty seconds, Dakota controls the range. She steps to her right, peppering Sydney with jabs and the occasional straight right. It’s not fight-ending power, but it’s effective and controlled and she is scoring in bunches. Sydney resets, narrowing her eyes, lets out a feral groan and starts closing the distance.
Then it shifts.
With a sharp feint, Sydney gets Dakota to freeze just enough to step inside and dig a brutal left hook to the body. The sound echoes—a meaty thud against soft flesh. Dakota’s mouth opens in a silent gasp. She tries to move, but Sydney throws her against the ropes. A right hook to the ribs. A left to the liver. An uppercut splits Dakota’s guard and jolts her head back. Now she’s covering up, leaning back, trying to spin away—but Sydney is in predator mode.
A left hook crashes under Dakota’s left arm then an uppercut to the chin sends sweat and spit flying. Her knees buckle, but she stays up. Sydney drills a right into Dakota’s stomach, forcing a wheeze from her lungs. Then a left to the temple. A hook to the body. A cross to the nose. Dakota’s defense quickly begin to unravel.
Sydney has her pinned in the corner, and with each shot she throws, Dakota seems to shrink a little more. The crowd roars as Sydney pours on the pressure—a 5-punch combo: hook to the ribs, cross to the cheek, uppercut to the solar plexus, jab to the nose, hook to the right breast. Dakota finally clinches, but even there, Sydney is punishing. Short rabbit punches to the ribs. A sneaky uppercut to the chin and a left cross to the side of the boobs. Laura is screaming foul as he ref steps in to separate them. Dakota stumbles slightly as they part.
With less than thirty seconds to go, Sydney barrels in again, throwing punches in bunches. A looping right cross lands flush and turns Dakota’s head violently. Another uppercut follows, and for a moment it looks like she might go down again—but somehow, Dakota holds.
The bell rings, mercifully and Dakota staggers back to her corner, ribs heaving, face red and puffy. Sydney returns to her side with a satisfied nod.
Score: 10-8 Sydney Sweeney
Damage: Dakota — swelling eye, bruised ribs, starting to limp slightly; Sydney — minor swelling jaw – swelling under her left eye.
Total:28-26 Sydney
Round 4:
The bell rings and there’s fire in Sydney Sweeney’s eyes. She’s found her rhythm now, and Dakota Fanning knows it. Dakota emerges from her corner looking unsteady—her body aching and sore, still heaving for air after the brutal punishment she took in Round 3. Sydney wastes no time. She launches forward like a predator, gloves up, chin tucked, feet gliding smoothly as she cuts off the ring. Dakota tries to stay long, flicking out a desperate jab, but Sydney parries it with ease.
Then the real punishment begins. A deep, sickening thud echoes through the arena as Sydney buries a left hook into Dakota’s ribs, just under her bra line. Dakota gasps, her knees buckling slightly. She tries to retreat, but Sydney is relentless. Another hook—this one lower—slams into her right side, folding her over. Sydney drives a straight right into the pit of Dakota’s stomach, just above the waistband. It lands flush. Dakota throws an overhand right but Sydney duck and buries an uppercut under Dakota's right armpit then drives a hook into her navel.
THUD.
Air blasts out of Dakota’s lungs. Her mouthpiece flies out like a cork from a bottle, bouncing across the canvas. Her jaw hangs open as her hands instinctively cradle her belly, eyes wide with pain. Sydney backs her into the ropes and leans in, her chin brushing Dakota’s shoulder, her body weight pinning her there. Then she starts chugging away—left, right, left, right—fists pounding the same spot on Dakota’s midsection again and again. This isn’t boxing. This is pure punishment.
Dakota’s arms drop. Her legs lock. Her body sags.
“Break!” Laura Marano screams from the Aries’ corner, her voice cracking with desperation. “F&cking Break, dammit!”
The referee finally steps in, eyes scanning Dakota. She isn’t defending. She’s barely upright. He waves Sydney off and begins the standing eight count.
1… 2… 3…
Dakota leans heavily on the ropes, arms still wrapped around her stomach, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Sweat drips from her chin. Her knees threaten to give.
4… 5… 6…
She nods that she wants to continue, but there’s no fire in her eyes.
7… 8…
The referee gives her a final long look. Dakota raises her gloves—weakly.
“You good?”
She nods.
“Fight!”
Sydney doesn’t hesitate. She presses Dakota into the ropes again and unleashes another savage barrage: looping hooks to the ribs, short uppercuts to the abs, and a crushing left to the liver. Dakota’s legs buckle. She crashes to the mat, curling into a fetal position, arms once again wrapped around her midsection.
The referee starts another count.
1… 2… 3…
Laura is screaming from the corner. “Get your ass up! Awesome Aries NEVER QUIT!”
4… 5… 6…
Dakota remains on her side, her face twisted in agony.
7… 8…
She groans, then plants her gloves on the canvas.
9…
Somehow, she stands. She’s swaying, trembling—but standing. The crowd explodes with cheers. The referee walks over to the timekeeper, glancing at Laura, clearly about to wave the fight off.
“Your girl is done,” he mouths.
“NO SHE’S NOT!” Laura roars, leaping onto the apron. “Give her a second!”
The delay buys Dakota precious time. Her legs are still shaky, but there’s a flicker—just a flicker—of fire back in her eyes. When the referee shouts “FIGHT!” again, she’s ready enough with her gloves up in a high guard.
But Sydney rushes in too fast, too eager to finish. Dakota sidesteps and, with pure instinct, drives a tomahawk right into the back of Sydney’s head as she stumbles past into the ropes.
“FOUL!” the ref screams, leaping between them.
Official Warning: Illegal Blow – Dakota Fanning
Sydney’s face twists in fury. The shot wasn’t devastating, but it was deliberate—and that made it unforgivable.
“That’s how you want to play it?” she growls.
When they reset, Sydney explodes. A hook smashes into Dakota’s jaw. She stumbles. A vicious left crashes into her breast, making her shriek in pain. Then an uppercut snaps her head back, lifting her off her toes. A straight right follows, tearing open her nose. Blood sprays from her nostrils, streaking down her lips, staining her chest.
Dakota is slammed back into the corner. Sydney unloads. Hooks to the ribs. Crosses to the breasts. Uppercuts to the solar plexus. Dakota’s body jerks with each hit. Her legs go rubbery. She slumps deeper into the turnbuckles, almost seated, her body absorbing every vicious blow.
The referee jumps in.
It’s over.
Dakota’s back slides down the ropes, her body collapsing into a trembling heap on the mat. Blood seeps from her nose. Her belly is visibly bruised and heaving. Her limbs twitch. Her face is vacant.
“That’s it!” the ref says, waving off the fight and pulling Sydney away.
TKO – Sydney Sweeney – 2:41 of Round 4
Laura Marano dives into the ring, lifting Dakota to her feet.
“You’re okay,” she whispers, holding her close. Laura turns, furious, and storms toward the official. “You stopped it too early! She had more fight in her! She wasn’t done!”
But Dakota’s legs give out again, and she crumples. Medics and the ref rush in. As Laura rages, Dakota lies on her back, arms draped over her aching belly, eyes fixed on the lights above. The crowd erupts as Sydney climbs the ropes, arms raised, her glistening body bathed in sweat and triumph.
Summary:
Sydney’s superior boxing skill and power dominated from the start. Dakota showed courage but was overwhelmed by Sydney’s accurate, heavy punches, resulting in four knockdowns that forced an early stoppage. Sydney’s crisp combinations and relentless body attacks broke down Dakota quickly.
Badass Barbies Locker Room – Post-Fight
Reporter: Sydney, congratulations. That was one of the most convincing turnarounds we’ve seen in a long time. You were knocked down in Round 1 but came back to dominate. How did you pull yourself together?
Sydney: (smirks) You don’t stay down just because you get caught. Dakota landed a clean shot, no doubt. I was too eager, leaned in too far, and she took her chance. Props to her for that. But that’s not enough to stop me. I’ve trained for real damage. The second I hit the canvas, my brain clicked back on. I remembered who I am. And she paid the price the next three rounds.
Reporter: A lot of fans forgot that you played Christy Martin in that biopic, but tonight felt like we were watching the real thing. Did that role change the way you fight?
Sydney: Oh, it did more than change it—it defined it. Christy Martin fought like she had something to prove every time she stepped in the ring. That energy, that grit? I studied it, lived it, became it. That wasn’t acting. That was me transforming. The movie taught me how to stay composed under pressure and hit with intent. I’m not some Hollywood chick throwing pretend punches. I know how to break down a fighter now—mentally, physically, and piece by piece. Just like I did to Dakota.
Reporter: Speaking of breakdowns—those body shots were brutal. Did you know she was done when you started digging into her midsection in Round 4?
Sydney: The moment I landed that liver shot, yeah. She bent over like someone pulled her spine out. From that point on, it was just about forcing the stoppage. I didn’t need to knock her out cold. I wanted her to feel every single punch. Make her question whether she ever belonged in the ring with me in the first place.
Reporter: Let’s talk about Laura Marano. She was in Dakota’s corner tonight, screaming for the ref to let the fight continue. What’s your take on her?
Sydney: (laughs) Laura? She's loud. She’s dramatic. And she’s delusional if she thought Dakota was coming back from that beating. I get it—she’s loyal to her stable and the girls is too stupid to quit. But screaming from the apron won’t save someone from a body beating like that. Nobody around here really likes Laura. She stirs the pot, throws tantrums, and acts like she’s above the rest of us. It’s pathetic if you ask me.
Reporter: Would you fight Laura?
Sydney: Hell yes, I’d fight her. I’d love to. And I’m very confident I’d put her down faster than I did Dakota. She runs her mouth, but I’ve seen her fights. She’s never gives in – I'll give her that but she has her weaknesses. She flails when she’s pressured. She wouldn’t last two rounds with me. Not unless the ref steps in and throws her a life preserver. If you ask her I think that Laura knows it.
Reporter: That comment will definitely get a reaction from her.
Sydney: Good. Let her come at me. She wanted attention, right? Well, here it is. Laura Marano—step into my ring. But be ready to eat every word you’ve ever said about my stable. I won’t just beat her—I’ll humiliate her.
Reporter: Switching gears—your name’s now being mentioned in the same breath as Katharine McPhee. That’s a whole different kind of fight. Is that one you’re ready for?
Sydney: Katharine is a problem. She’s strong, experienced, and she’s beaten some real heavy hitters. Am I ready? I don’t know. But I want it. I want to test myself against the best. She’s the benchmark. If I’m going to keep climbing, I’ve got to go through her eventually. And when that day comes, I’ll be sharper, smarter, and stronger than I was tonight. Believe that.
Reporter: So let’s get this straight—Sydney Sweeney is calling out Laura Marano and eyeing Katharine McPhee?
Sydney: Absolutely. I’ve already handled Dakota. Laura’s just noise—I’ll shut her up if she wants to step up. And Katharine? She’s the mountain I want to climb. Because once I beat her, no one will question where I stand in this division.
Reporter: Final thoughts?
Sydney: Just this—tonight wasn’t luck. It wasn’t a fluke. It was earned. Anyone who steps in there with me from now on better know what they’re signing up for. I’m not here to play nice. I’m here to end careers.
Reporter: Sydney Sweeney, victorious by TKO in Round 4. Loud. Clear. And calling names.
Sydney: (winks) Print that. I want Laura to see it first thing tomorrow morning.
Awesome Aries Locker Room – Post-Fight
The energy in the room is low, the silence thick. Dakota Fanning sits on a bench, slouched forward, her arms resting on her knees, a towel draped loosely around her neck. Her cheeks are puffed, her nose is still bleeding slightly, and there's a heavy bruise already blooming along her ribs and abs. Every breath she takes is shallow, painful. Her body is battered, but it’s the weight on her shoulders that seems heavier than anything else.
A medic quietly checks her blood pressure while Laura Marano paces like a caged animal just a few feet away, her eyes burning with frustration.
Reporter: Dakota, first of all, are you okay? That was… a brutal four rounds.
Dakota: (softly) I don’t know. I mean… I’ll live. It hurts to breathe. My ribs feel like they’re filled with broken glass. But yeah, I think I’ll be okay. Eventually.
Reporter: Sydney landed well over 150 punches on you—body, head, chest, everything. Did it feel like she was just overwhelming you?
Dakota: Yeah… I mean, from the second round on, I felt like I was drowning. I’d land a couple jabs and think, okay, I’ve got this, and then bam—she’d be in my body, just drilling me. She didn’t give me any space to think. It was like being in quicksand. Every time I moved, I sank deeper.
Reporter: You dropped her in Round 1, though. That was a clean shot. Did you think she was out?
Dakota: (nods slowly) For a second? Yeah. Her eyes went blank and I thought lights out for Sweeney. She hit the mat hard. I thought, This is my moment. But she got up fast. Too fast. And after that, she was... different. Like I’d woken something up in her. She wasn’t just boxing after that—she was hunting me.
Reporter: Looking back… do you think you were prepared?
Dakota: (sighs) Maybe not. Maybe I should’ve trained more. Spent more time sparring. I don’t know. Sydney had this energy—like she knew she was going to beat me. She didn’t just want to win. She wanted to humiliate me and send a message to my stable. And for the last two rounds, she kind of did.
Reporter: Laura, you were screaming at the ref. Do you think the stoppage came too soon?
Laura Marano: (whips around) Too soon? Are you kidding? Dakota was still standing. She took everything Sydney threw and she stood. Yeah, she went down, but she got up. She looked the ref in the eye. She raised her gloves. She wanted to fight. That fight should have gone to Round 5.
Reporter: Sydney had some pretty harsh words after the fight…
Dakota: (frowns) What kind of words?
Laura: (coldly) Let me guess, she called you soft. Said you didn’t belong in the same ring as her.
Dakota: (winces) Figures.
Laura: Did she have anything to say about me, too.
Reporter: (shrugs, trying to look casual) You’ll find out in the morning.
Laura: (sits up straighter) Tell me now, what did that over-inflated **** say?
Reporter: (snaps) She said she’d whoop my ass. That your're all talk. That you wouldn’t last two rounds with her.
Laura: (takes a step toward the door) And I swear, I'm two seconds away from walking down that hallway and planting my fist in her mouth.
Reporter: Laura—do you think that fight might actually happen?
Laura: If Sydney keeps running her mouth? Oh, it's happening. I don’t care what promotion wants it. I don’t care where it is. She wants to see what a real fighter looks like? I’ll show her.
Reporter: Dakota… do you think what Laura said is true? That you could’ve made it to the fifth round?
Dakota: (quietly) I think so. I wasn’t done. My body was wrecked, yeah—but I wasn’t mentally out. I still believed I could land something again. One more round, maybe I could’ve slowed her down. Maybe not won… but survived.
Laura: (nods fiercely) We’re Aries. We don’t quit. You hear me?
Dakota: (manages a faint smile) Right. We don’t quit.
Reporter: If you could do it again—would you change anything?
Dakota: I wouldn’t let her walk me down so easily. I’d stay off the ropes. I let her bully me, and I gave her my body. That’s on me. I’d fight smarter. Train harder. She hurt me in a way I didn’t expect—but I’ve learned now.
Reporter: Laura, if you do get in the ring with Sydney, what happens?
Laura: I shut her up. I beat her to the body, slow her legs down, and then I pick her apart. She thinks she’s some queen because she mauled Dakota while she was already hurt? Let her try that on me. I’ll knock that smug look off her face and flatten those annoying **** she flashes in everybody's face. The second she gets punched by someone who doesn’t break? She’s in for a very rude awakening.
The air thickens in the locker room as Laura storms off toward the back, her fists clenched, eyes glowing with fury. Dakota leans her head back against the wall, eyes closed, still aching—but her spirit a little more intact. The fire that defines the Awesome Aries may have flickered—but it’s far from out.
And somewhere down the hallway, Sydney Sweeney is still celebrating.
But she won’t be alone in that spotlight for long.
Written bu The Badass Barbies