#How To Write a Fight Scene

[unboundprompts]

Hii!! I came across your blog and immediately followed since I thought I might needed some help with my fanfics, and if there's one thing I'm bad at is describing fight scenes with like guns or magic, I've been struggling to write it and did some practices and didn't like how they came out, I'm hoping if you can do some fighting prompts, I hope this isn't too much!!

How to Write Fight Scenes

-> check out @howtofightwrite , they are an excellent resource for writing realistic fight scenes.

Set the Stakes Early

Why are they fighting? Establish the stakes of the fight clearly before it begins. If the reader understands what’s at risk, they’ll feel more invested. Stakes could be personal (revenge, survival), emotional (protecting a loved one), or strategic (achieving a mission).

Use the Environment

Incorporate the setting to add depth and realism. Are they fighting in a cramped alley, an open field, or a crowded city street? Describe how the environment affects movement, line of sight, or weapon use.

Vary Sentence Length for Pacing

Short sentences create tension and speed, while longer sentences allow for brief moments of reflection or description.

Incorporate Sensory Details

Highlight the senses beyond sight to ground the reader in the fight. Describe the smell of sweat, the metallic taste of blood, the weight of a sword, or the deafening roar of a gun.

Example: “Her ears rang as the blast reverberated around the alley. Smoke filled her nose, thick and choking, but she ignored it, tightening her grip on her weapon.”

Focus on Key Moments, Not Every Movement

Avoid blow-by-blow descriptions. Instead, highlight critical moves, reactions, and turning points to keep the scene flowing and avoid overwhelming the reader.

Show Physical Strain and Fatigue

Fights take a toll, especially over time. Show characters struggling to keep up, panting, sweating, or even stumbling as exhaustion sets in.

Example: “Her arms ached, each swing feeling heavier than the last. Her breathing came fast, ragged, but she couldn’t stop now.”

Capture Emotions and Mindset

Mix action with glimpses of your characters’ thoughts and emotions. This adds depth and reminds readers why the fight matters.

Describe Injuries Believably

Injuries impact the pace and intensity of a fight. Showing injuries realistically adds tension and makes victories feel hard-won.

Example: “She hissed as pain flared in her side where his blade had grazed her. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stand, one hand pressed to the wound.”

Build Up to a Climax

As the fight progresses, increase the stakes and bring tension to a peak. This could be a devastating blow, a risky last-minute decision, or a surprising twist.

Example: “He was backed against the wall, nowhere left to run. She raised her hand, a final spell crackling in her palm, the light casting a fierce glow in her eyes.”

Conclude with a Realistic Aftermath

Show the immediate aftermath of the fight: physical exhaustion, injuries, and the character’s emotional response. If they won, are they triumphant, relieved, or traumatized? If they lost, what happens next?

Fight Scene Prompts (with Magic)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

As they crept down the dim hallway, the flash of gunfire exploded from behind, forcing them to dive to the ground, bullets ricocheting off the walls around them. She barely had time to pull her weapon, pressing her back to the wall as footsteps drew closer. With a steadying breath, she waited for the right moment, then spun, firing off two rounds that hit their marks with surgical precision. The hall fell silent, the smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.

Electricity crackled around his hands as he stalked toward his opponent, energy building in his fingertips. She mirrored his stance, blue flames licking up her wrists as her gaze narrowed. He made the first move, sending a bolt of lightning in her direction, but she countered with a quick flick of her wrist, sending the flames forward like a living shield. Sparks flew as their magic collided, the force of it rattling the metal beams around them.

He ducked behind the dumpster as gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the conjured barrier that surrounded him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the strain as his shield flickered with each impact. His opponent advanced, shouting taunts over the noise, but he focused, raising one hand to push the barrier outwards, turning it from defense to offense. With a growl, he flung the shield forward like a battering ram, the force slamming his opponent back against the alley wall.

They ascended into the night sky, wind whipping around them as spells flew between them like streaks of fire. He could barely keep up, dodging her relentless attacks as the city lights twinkled below. Finally, he unleashed a burst of energy from his hands, the force spiraling outward in a shockwave. She managed to deflect it just in time, retaliating with a beam of light that sliced through the night like a comet, forcing him into a desperate mid-air roll to avoid it.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Ten.

The dragon slumped forward, the newly formed cavity in its chest inadvertently sucking Hollyberry's fist in even deeper as it did so. A bottomless well of blood sprung forth from the mortal wound, soaking her leather gauntlet through and staining it - and many other parts of her person, as the sticky, foul-smelling life essence was blindly spat at her - a hideous dark color. Quickly and unceremoniously, she yanked her hand back out, allowing gravity to take back control and force the dragon's fresh corpse to the ground. The hole in its chest was far from its only injury, but it was the most grievous one. And with all of them together, the creature was slain; vanquished by a fellow predator that ultimately proved herself superior.

Hollyberry stared down at the remains of her prey, as cold and stoic now as she'd been when their battle had first started. The telltale glimmer of life in its eyes was long gone; it dimmed rather quickly, fading almost in tandem with the stream of blood that drained from its body with each erratic pulse of its dying heart, vanishing completely with the slam of its head against the tarnished earth. Once a mighty beast, now beaten and broken at her feet, its face now forever frozen in incomprehensible agony.

That's ten. Ten dragons slain. If memory served, ten was the amount of dragons that had been plaguing this area and terrorizing the nearby village. At last, she had gotten them all.

She wiped some of the blood off of her shield - just enough to allow the gem at the center to enjoy the sunlight again. Taken in by its renewed shine, she drew the shield closer, gazing into the pretty, polished jewel and the grim, unkempt reflection gazing back into her.

She didn't look any different.

She didn't feel any different, either.

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"A tragedy, really. A doughy little Cookie, carried off by a dragon... Tsk tsk."

Never did that singular phrase ever stop replaying inside of Hollyberry's mind. Never did her mind rest; never did her thoughts grant her a moment's peace. Never. Not once. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day has just been this; this terrible memory that her mind and heart and soul simply could not, would not perish. The monster hunter's countenance, as real as though he yet stood before her. The monster hunter's voice, crystal clear as a berry juice glass.

If only she'd had it in her in that moment to punch the sneer right off of his godsforsaken face.

But it was fine. It is fine. It will always be fine, if she can help it... and she can. She will. She already has. Just a messenger, he was; not worth the ammo nor the aim. There were better targets out there. Tougher ones. More deserving ones. All in far more dire need of punishment than he.

After the village had been cured of its draconic sickness, she moved on. One last day was all she chose to afford the villagers, with all of their cheers and tears and now remedied fears. They made her a feast; a hearty sampling of their finest culinary selections, the cream of what little remained of their crop. The dragons had done a number on them in more ways than one: fields torched, loved ones devoured, homes and businesses reduced to smoking ruin. But it was fine now. They are fine. And now, they shall continue to be fine, without the monsters prowling around. Without her.

What was it they'd served her again? Pumpkin soup? Roasted quail? A smorgasbord of fruits and vegetables? Even as she ventured back through the houses and streets and reached the village gates after bidding them all farewell, she scarcely recalled a single morsel. In fact, she scarcely recalled sitting down at the table at all. Life and all its contents blended together and disappeared into the fog more often not nowadays - all but her hunts. Her battles. Her cullings.

...Juice. The elegant scarlet lettering painted onto the village welcome sign, carved and decorated in such a way as to draw one's eye and heart in at a glance, awoke a single memory of the night before: a goblet of juice, eagerly set beside her plate. Their last bottle, one villager said; the dragons had either drank or destroyed the rest. A gift, one of many, for her heroism. They admired its gorgeous color, yearned for its sweet yet tart taste - but for their savior, they would happily part with it. They would be remiss and horrendously rude not to.

She made up for their politeness by being rather rude herself, and turning the juice down wholesale. "But why?" they had asked her, in such overwhelmed surprise that it was almost comical. "Is it not to your liking? Please, won't you have even a sip? We only wish to honor you! We beg!"

"I can't accept such a gift," she answered them. "You have sacrificed enough already. Don't give up any more for my sake."

"But we insist!" Of course they did. Insistence is the foundation of all gratitude, and the fuel for all celebration and merrymaking. In a different time and place, she would've obliged without question. But not this one.

"No." Her tone was cool, her words clipped; painfully firm as her grasp on her silverware had suddenly become. "I need to keep focus. Juice would get in the way of that. All of you, keep it. You deserve it more than I."

How amusing it had been, in a morbid sort of way, when their rosy-cheeked insistence withered at the sound of her harsh voice. In a different time and place, she would've apologized. In a different time and place, she would've laughed and said they fell for her joke, her act, and perhaps then she would've down the whole glass in one fell swoop to the sound of applause.

But not this one.

Her shield provided much needed protection from the morning sun's glare. Light is always welcome, but not when it dares to overtake the lines on the map. She couldn't afford to lose track of her next destination.

"A tragedy, really..."

No. She needed to keep focus.

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What might they be doing now, Hollyberry wondered?

Who "they" were, she could not tell you. Who "they" were, she knew all too well. "They" were those clouds that drifted in and out of sight on a windy afternoon. "They" were those shadows cast on the wall by the dance of the torch light, too ethereal and erratic to keep any proper shape for too long. "They" were those wandering reflections in the windows, in her shield, in the all of those berry juice glasses she shunned. "They" were a mystery. "They" were a paradox.

She wondered if there had been a search party. If the Crown had spared no expense, no soldier, no single second of time, in hunting their targets down. She wondered if her son tore his robes and dirtied his hair pacing through the jungle, parting every bush and overturning every stone himself. She wondered if her daughter-in-law could see through her veil of tears or speak past the lump in her throat; if her strength waned with each passing day, little by little, until her knees buckled and bent and she finally collapsed, howling her grief into the earth below until her voice failed her for good.

She wondered if there had been a funeral. Might as well have. From the clutches of dragons, even great warriors seldomly escaped. No exception would have been made for a child, especially one so small and feeble. Easy pickings.

She wondered if the other child felt her sister's absence. Never for a moment were they apart, those two; not in the womb, not in the crib, not even in the playpen or the bathtub. One so loud and vibrant, the other calm yet curious. But no matter their differences, it was plain as day that they loved one another. Before they knew of the world, before they even knew their own names, they knew and loved and trusted each other. Partners in crime, they were. Or, they were supposed to have been.

She wondered what the others would have said - to her, to the king and queen, whoever, it didn't matter much. The ghostly memory of a voice, sad but serene, drifted through her ears; there was never a shortage of heartfelt prayers with him. Perhaps, in the face of a tragedy like this, even his staff would have wept. Two weapons were drawn before her mind's eye, one great and powerful sword and one sleek and dazzling spear; he would proclaim that such an injustice could not stand and he and his warriors would gladly pursue retribution on their behalf, and she... she would likely say something similar, Hollyberry thinks. She would have, if she knew her well enough. Never mind that she probably didn't know what happened. Never mind that Hollyberry didn't even know where she was now.

In the corner of her thoughts sprouted a lily, small and thin and so unsure. She paid it little mind. Before all of this, Hollyberry might have imagined her gazing upon them all with such an overwhelming sorrow, even setting her staff aside so she may offer a proper hug. But now, she wasn't so sure. Nowadays she isn't so sure she ever knew her at all.

They were the sharp cries the dragons let out when her fist collided with their snouts: agonizing, deafening, piercing through her skull and haunting her thoughts well into the night. They were the droplets of blood that ruined her clothes and her hair when she rended the flesh from the bones, and bashed the heads into the rocks: small and bright and numerous, washing away in the river and rain and always leaving her behind. They were the reflections in their wide eyes, colored first with rage and then with panic, growing cold and still as their vitality slowly faded away.

She wondered what they were doing. She wondered if they wondered the same of her.

She wondered if any of them could hazard a guess.

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Ten. Ten dragons slain this week. Or, at the very least, Hollyberry believed so.

Back and forth across the world, she continued her endless trek: through the woods and across the lakes and over the tallest mountains. Wherever she heard whispers and wails of dragons being a blight, she went. And she killed them all, one by one, until their extinction in the area was all but guaranteed. And then her endless trek resumed, with hardly so much as a brief pause.

Interesting, really, how many of them there proved to be. As she trudged through the mud and snow, she racked her brain for answers - has is always been this way? Could she remember a time when dragons weren't there, appearing as the black marks on society and history they always were? Ten, twenty, thirty, forty - she was starting to lose count of them by now, to the point that she'd begun keeping tally with her shield itself, whittling a slash mark into the wood with each conquered beast.

An occasional glance into its back told her she'd run out of space soon. Pity.

She was in Beast-Yeast, somewhere in the north. There were dragons there, too. No one had called her there - no one ever called Hollyberry to Beast-Yeast, save for fun and adventure and the pain tucked away deep in her heart, still knocking on the walls - but she set out for it anyway. Always some unholy creature of some sort skulking around in that place, making it worse than it already is. A revisit or two or three or ten or one thousand to clean house never did any harm. Fewer dragons in the world at the end of the day.

She was back in Crispia, near the Cream Cake Mountains. An overheard report detailing an ice dragon beginning to circle the outskirts of a snowridden village brought her there quick; a day of preparing a trap and a lure brought the dragon out quicker. Some small, unfortunate part of her almost lamented the creature's demise; countless snowflakes of all shapes and sizes took the place of its scales and icicles of a shimmering, semi-translucent beauty made up its many spines. From above, it appeared as a sentient aurora, streaking across the night sky. It was almost a shame that that sky had to be darkened for eternity. Almost.

She was near the Crème Republic. She was in somewhere in Wholegrainia. She was meandering around some old, worn path that stretched into both ends of the horizon - the Sugar-Free Road or some such nonsense. She was everywhere. She was nowhere.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

Fifty.

One hundred.

One thousand.

She ran out of space on the inside of her shield.

She didn't care. She simply stopped counting after that.

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"Sweet Pinkyberry! It's been so long!"

Fighting the urge to wince at that old, silly name, Hollyberry dredged up a smile, hoping against hope that it actually bothered to reach her eyes this time.

"What brings you back to Dragon City this time around, hm?"

"What always brings me back here, my friend," Hollyberry said. "I'm here to hunt some dragons."

"Fair answer, haha! Not too much else to do here." Tapping on the side of the empty bowl in front of her, the Innkeeper's smile turned a bit wry. "Besides helping yourself to some of my famous stew, isn't that right?"

"Isn't that right, indeed," Hollyberry tried her best to play along.

"Let me get you some, then! And a mug of fireade to go with-"

"That won't be necessary."

"Eh?" The Innkeeper blinked. "Are you sure about that? You look thirsty to me. And you never say no to my fireade."

"I'm sure."

"Alright then, chum... If you say so."

She only half-heard her old friend call out to one of her sons to ready a bowl of dragon's head stew. She only half-noticed when it was placed before her a few minutes later, the hot steam wafting from it only somewhat snapping her out of her daze.

"The dragons have gotten quite rowdy these days," the Innkeeper remarked. "Moreso than usual. It's been a bit of a pain for local hunters."

"Oh?"

"No one's quite sure what's got them so spooked. But there have been rumors of a slayer running around the continent, culling their numbers awfully quickly."

"Maybe that's what it is, then," Hollyberry murmured into her spoonful of stew.

"Maybe, but... There's hardly anything to go on, save for the rumors. If that slayer is real, then they don't seem to want any attention. All that's ever been left in their wake are dragon corpses. Nothing else. Not even a name or a face."

The Innkeeper slowly leaned forward, propping herself up on her elbows, eyeing Hollyberry in a way that made her feel as though a thousand eyes were suddenly upon her, trying to dissect her. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

"...No," Hollyberry eventually answered, the agonizingly slow sip of her stew having done nothing to soothe her nerves. "I can't say I have."

The Innkeeper raised an eyebrow at her, but ultimately shrugged. "Alright then. I'm surprised to hear you say that, in honesty. But it's understandable. Elusive fellow, that fabled slayer seems to be."

Hollyberry nodded slowly, feigning agreement long enough to appear convincing before safely turning her full attention back to her meal.

"In any case... Have you heard what happened in the Hollyberry Kingdom recently?"

It took everything in Hollyberry's power not to choke on her stew.

"That poor girl," the Innkeeper lamented. "I can hardly imagine what the royal family is going through. I don't know what I'd do if something like that happened to either of my boys, especially with their father leaving me alone to hunt so often. It's a tragedy."

Everything looked, sounded, felt so, so far away now. Blurry. Incomprehensible.

"Those damned dragons," the Innkeeper muttered. "Whoever that slayer is, I wish them all the luck and give them all the thanks in the world. Who knows, maybe they'll even take down whichever one of those devils took the princess."

The sudden screech of the bar stool legs nearly deafened them both.

"Wha- Pinkyberry? You alright? Where are you off to so soon?"

"I have somewhere to be," Hollyberry spoke quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "I could never stay long, anyway. Forgive me."

In the blink of an eye, a rather hefty looking coin pouch appeared from Hollyberry's pocket, being all but slammed on the table before she made a heel-turn and began hurrying to the inn's front door.

"Wait! Sweet Pinkyberry!"

Biting back a sigh, she turned and looked back over her shoulder one final time.

"Be careful!" the Innkeeper warned her. "Dragons here are more hostile than ever thanks to the goings-on! Promise me you'll take care of yourself!"

Hollyberry nodded, a bit impatiently.

"And don't you forget! The only good dragon is a dead one!"

"How could I?" Hollyberry called back to her, before leaving the inn for good.

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It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy.

Was there nowhere she could go to escape this? This- this word? This feeling? This bitter, endless mourning, corroding her bones? Devouring her soul?

Stray embers and volcanic ash particles lazily rained down upon her, dusting her head and shoulders and shield as she steadily hiked up the volcano's slope. The Dragon's Valley today was the same miserable, heat-stricken, inhospitable wasteland it had been yesterday, and would be tomorrow, and would be the day after that. Simply abominable in every conceivable fashion - most of all in how it so brazenly housed dragons of all kinds.

...But it wasn't the fault of the valley itself, now was it.

All manner of creature came for Hollyberry as she traversed that hellish landscape, practically the moment her feet first touched its cursed ground. Dragons, wyverns, lesser reptiles big and small. Perhaps her visage was too obvious, framed against the rich browns and dull oranges of their surroundings, even after generously allowing ember and ash to dress her in their likeness and offer her a free disguise. Perhaps her scent was too unique, too cloying, just enough to rise above all those hideous, overpowering smells wafting through this godsforsaken place.

Perhaps they sensed her anger, and their impending doom along with it, and sought her, and thus, their destiny, out of their own accord.

Whichever one was the real answer... she did not know, and she did not care. Regardless, she appreciated it - all of her enemies delivering themselves to her right on her doorstep. Easy pickings.

Ten, twenty, thirty, forty- oh, what did it matter. What difference did keeping count make. What mattered was that they all fell before her. That she left behind a slew of dragon corpses in her wake.

The more blood she spilled, and the more viscera she lavished upon these lands, the more likely it would be that they would come out.

In all of her long years, Hollyberry never succeeded in finding Pitaya Dragon's nest. Her usual excuse was that challenging a foe to a battle in the foe's own house was unfathomably rude - but, the truth of the matter was that she simply didn't know where their house was in the first place, and all of her long years of adventuring and tracking expertise did far less to remedy this than she'd hoped they would. Ah well, it was nothing Hollyberry couldn't otherwise overcome; the next option was to draw that old lizard to her instead.

The so-called "legendary" Red Dragon. Undisputed lord of the Dragon's Valley since time immemorial. They had answers, didn't they? Surely, in all of their timeless and impeccable wisdom? The dragons that came to terrorize her kingdom and people always hailed from the Dragon's Valley - never anywhere else.

Pitaya Dragon has to know something. They must. They will. She won't entertain any other option.

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Tendrils of steam whispered and coiled around Hollyberry's ankles. The air surrounding them crackled with heat and energy, born from both their godlike power and the valley itself.

"Pitaya!" she called out, daring to take another step forward. "What happened?! Where is she?!"

"What doesss it matter?" Pitaya Dragon drawled, lips curling to form a dry, mocking smirk. "She'sss gone. Ssso much for a hero."

Overcome with rage, Hollyberry lunged forward with a battle cry. Pitaya Dragon stayed where they were, feet firm and arms crossed, obnoxiously cruel expression only being wiped away with the hard swipe of her fist against their cheek.

Their fight lasted only minutes. Their fight lasted for an eternity. She blocked, parried, threw back every swing of their greatsword with terrifying ease - and a hideous smile of her own had begun to bloom as their little war raged on, growing bigger and brighter with every snarl and yelp of pain she managed to knock out of their lungs.

Yet still, something was missing. Yet still, her words and actions rung hollow. Yet still, through all of the blows they exchanged, in every hit she landed, she found no peace. No resolution. No respite.

Yet still, the voices wouldn't stop.

"Wouldn't you know it? Soon after the queen left the Hollyberry Kingdom, dragons began to roam freely, terrorizing the land!"

Carefully, she tried to step- careful not to trip over the dragon corpses. The beaten, broken, bloodied remains of those slimy, pathetic, cold-blooded cowards she dutifully removed from the face of the earth. Everything that happened, everything she did- it was deserved. It was destined. It was justice.

"And in all the chaos and confusion, those lizards kidnapped one of the twin princesses!"

Pitaya Dragon's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions, each more contemptible than the last. Smugness. Derision. Anger. Shock. Confusion. Realization. Betrayal. Terror. All the sight of them did was stoke the flames of Hollyberry's wrath even more.

"A tragedy, really. A doughy little Cookie, carried off by a dragon... Tsk tsk."

Ember and ash, fire and brimstone rained down upon them as their terrible duel shook and tore apart the heavens and earth. Red as blood, blinding as the sun, searing through skin and flesh and bone. Slowly, their color and texture changed; a new element was added to this hellish mixture. Ember and ash, fire and brimstone - and dark flour, mountains of it, turning the heavens and the earth and Hollyberry's eyes and lungs pitch black.

"Terrible, terrible stuff... Too bad the queen abandoned her duties and her land..."

In a last ditch effort to turn the tides of war in their favor, Pitaya Dragon transformed. The strain was great, Hollyberry could tell; as scarlet and emerald flames engulfed their person, hisses and howls of pain rung out from within, culminating in one skull-splitting roar as the dragon's true form came back into being. At this, Hollyberry barked out a laugh. A waste of time and effort. It meant nothing in the end.

"I bet she would've never allowed the dragons to do what they please!"

Pitaya Dragon fought frantically, mindlessly, beating and clawing anything and everything within reach, spitting fire every which way with little regard to what they actually hit, flapping their wings with such force that entire boulders were swept away in the wind. But every attack proved fruitless; Hollyberry was too quick, too tough, too clever. She had waited too long for this moment. She'd be damned before she let it pass her by.

"So much for a HERO!"

Eventually, they slipped up for the final time, and Hollyberry struck back for the final time. When they made the fatal mistake of flying too too low and too close, Hollyberry seized the opportunity and every last bit of her strength to jump up, shield outstretched and aimed at that precious gemstone, that window and key to their heart. The gem embedded in Pitaya Dragon's chest shattered on impact, blazing red shards splintering and exploding every which way. Their mouth fell open in a silent scream, eyes wide as the moon, blood staining their teeth and spurting from their mouth and nostrils. Quickly and unceremoniously, Hollyberry shoved them backwards, watching them collapse with a loud thud, blood oozing from their many wounds and pooling all around them, dyeing the soil an uglier shade of red than it already was. In a smoking crater in the middle of the Dragon's Valley thus lay the legendary Red Dragon. Beaten. Broken. Dead.

In their eyes, Hollyberry thought she had seen tears. It must have been a trick of the light.

She marched forward, making her way around her slain opponent's body until she at least reached their face. Wedging her hands between the teeth of their lower jaw and gripping them tight, she pulled, pulled, pulled; slowly but steadily prying their massive jaws open, until Hollyberry could all but stroll into their mouth with ease.

She didn't have to search for long. Sitting on Pitaya Dragon's tongue for the whole world to see was a cream-colored swaddling cloth, with a tuft of teal hair poking out of the top.

"Tiger Lily!" she shouted, rushing forward and kneeling and gathering the princess in her arms. "Tiger Lily, I-I'm here! I've got you! It's alright!"

She cradled her, rocked her, but the girl did not stir.

"Tiger Lily? Tiger Lily, please, I'm here now! Look at me! Come on!"

Nothing.

"Tiger Lily..." Her vision blurred in an instant, her whole body trembling with such force that it was a miracle she remained upright. "Tiger Lily, p-please- Please, I, I-I'm sorry, I know this is my fault, I'm sorry, I-I'm here now, see? See, everything is alright now. Please, p-please look at me, wake up, look at me, please-!"

Tiger Lily's skin felt freezing cold to the touch, startling Hollyberry when she brought her hand to her cheek. Cold, clammy, with a faint blue tint. Her eyes were closed and nothing Hollyberry said or did opened them. No matter her efforts, no matter her pleas, the little princess lay still. Silent.

Dead.

"No." Hollyberry's came out so small. So feeble. Warm tears began streaming endlessly down her face; she clutched at her chest, a deep, sharp pain suddenly striking her heart. The world blurred and spun all around her, the heavens and earth and her old friend's lifeless body melting together into a single abhorrent mess. All that remained within her comprehension was her dear granddaughter, and the tears soaking through her face and clothes, and the dark flour still floating down from the sky.

Hollyberry woke up with a start, clutching at her chest and gasping for air as though someone had tried to drown her. Frantically, she looked over her surroundings - everywhere her eyes were met with walls of cool obsidian, save for the opening a ways off to her right that offered an escape to the outside world. She'd taken shelter in a cave the night before, after slaughtering her way through the valley and ending up nowhere, with no Pitaya Dragon in sight all day. The night looked young still. The moon shone bright from a gap in the clouds, offering her a single source of precious light.

Still reeling from her nightmare, Hollyberry stared down into her lap, at her trembling hands. Caked in dried dragon blood, as were the rest of her clothes. Specks of gore could still be seen on her person, clinging to her vest and boots and even strands of her hair. Instinctively, she reached for her shield; polishing off the jewel in the center, she gazed into her reflection and stayed silent as it gazed back into her.

...Who is she? What is she doing? Who has she become?

Setting her shield aside and burying her face in her blood-soaked hands, Hollyberry began to weep.

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Ten.

She slammed the crystal glass down onto the table - quite carelessly, sure, but who could blame her? It's hard to keep control of such things after a while.

"Care for another shot, miss?"

"Would I ever! In fact, I'm disappointed you'd even bother asking instead of just pouring! Haha!"

Ten shots in ten minutes. Was this a new record? She thinks it is. She hopes so.

Every day, Hollyberry sunk a little bit lower. But, at the very least, if nothing else at all, she could choose where she sunk. She could choose not to sink into rage and death and depravity. She could choose to sink into a tall, cold, delicious glass of beer or two instead.

The Hollyberry Kingdom, though renowned throughout the world for its berry juice, was far from the only kingdom with a fine drinks selection. The Crème Republic, for example; now there was a place and people that knew how to brew. And such friendly barkeeps, too! Polite, charming, well-versed in their trade. Perfect to buy a round from. As many rounds as they'd indulge.

The beer went down crisp and fresh, warming her throat and her stomach and her aching soul with each gulp. Delicious. Almost a rival to her own people's wares, even. She would have to leave the barkeep an even bigger tip than she'd already planned.

She hardly thought about that night in the Dragon's Valley, that she'd spent sobbing her heart out. She hardly thought about her nightmare, of her imaginary duel with Pitaya Dragon and its implications. Of the grave truth underlying her motives. The truth that she had not come looking conversation or civility from her old friend. She sought something far, far worse.

She hardly thought about the Innkeeper, or the fact that Hollyberry had fled the valley altogether as fast as she could at the first sign of morning, without stepping foot in Dragon City again to see her or say goodbye.

She hardly thought about the mountains of bodies she dumped practically everywhere she went. Almost every region of the world, littered with slaughtered dragons. In her quest to punish savagery, she became a savage herself.

She hardly thought about her newfound, twisted sense of justice, and the brutal nature of her one-woman crusade.

She hardly even thought all that much about her granddaughter now.

No, now it was back to her old routine; the only routine she ever should have known or abided by, that of fun and adventure and the illusion of freedom from her burdens. Though she was a connoisseur of poison, that which vengeance provided was simply too strong for even the likes of her. Her beloved drinks, and her beloved adventures, and the crystal clear reflection of her carefree smile captured within her glass made for a much finer alternative. One vice traded in for another.

It tasted less bitter than her shame.

[please-read-the-manga]

Was thinking about an 'alternate universe' where a young Sasuke, in the absence of guidance on how to carry out his clan traditions, tries to connect to his fractured identity by spending time in the Naka Shrine and accidentally summons the ghost/spirit of Izuna who hears his cries of injustice and grief from the other side.

Truthfully, I don't know why it would be Izuna in particular, but I'm kind of playing around with the idea that his death was viewed as so unjustifiable and horrific by Madara that Madara's devastation over it prevented Izuna's spirit from properly/completely passing over into the Pure Lands. So, Izuna's spirit remains in this unaware-but-restless state and one day it materializes to answer the call of another Uchiha (who also just so happens to be an Indra transmigrant, like Madara, if we want to go there... maybe their emotions carry extra weight and power within the spiritual world) now trying to process his own unimaginable grief, this time over the death of his entire family, bloodline, and culture. Thus they become bound to one another (for better or worse) and Izuna is, from then on, always there, carried by (and only visible to) Sasuke on his journey...

Maybe they both come to believe that if they get justice for the clan (which they initially believe is by killing Itachi, 'the kinslayer') then Izuna will finally be freed and Sasuke will have done right by his family and avenged them. But really, I think what would actually be keeping Izuna 'stuck' is the plan that evolved (at least partially) from Madara's grief over his death, Project Tsukuyomi... thus their quest expands and the two then need to figure out how to alleviate Madara's guilt/sense of loss over Izuna's death and rekindle his feelings of hope in the world once more (ie. stopping the plan). Somehow, lol.

And I think Izuna would be a fun character to do with this with because there's so little we truly know about him, but so much we can infer due to his impact on other characters' actions/story events.

Idk, in my opinion there's just a lot of opportunity here for a good mix of heart and comedy, especially with Izuna as a more defined character that has a little more freedom than other characters to be molded. I also think having someone Sasuke can connect to, that's from his clan (but is also still deceased and a reminder of how alone he is, ie. end of the day Izuna is still a ghost, an ancestral relic of the now-dying clan) would have a profound effect on him.

It'd almost be like his own inner Kurama voice except Izuna provides no chakra or power amps, only scathing commentary on how much he hates the injustices of the village (and its Senju leadership) lol. Also, I like to think his reactions to all the in-universe stories about 'Madara's deeds' (which is really Obito) would be entertaining.

A sketchy comic since I like the idea so much haha:

[feroluce]

Not to make everything about my ship, but if I don't do it no one will, so today we are making meta analysis of Boothill's faceoff match about henghill, because the differences between Boothill's stand off with Luka and his one with Dan Heng- and what you can infer about Boothill himself and what catches his eye in a person- makes me chew concrete.

JUST. I loved the scene between Luka and Boothill so much. I love how wildly unrestrained Boothill is. He really just shoved the barrel of his gun in his opponent's face and put the fear of death into him as a way to test Luka's resolve. I utterly adore him. I hope he does it again. Anyway.

When confronted with all this, Luka freezes. His stress-induced hallucinations were already bad, but you can see how they really ramp up in this match, because before, they were always something familiar. Previous enemies became Silvermanes, or Belobogian automatons, or even Cocolia. Luka is far from home for the first time in his life, and he's so terribly homesick his brain is making everything familiar, because that is what he's desperately craving right now.

But Boothill.

Boothill is something so new, and unique, and horrific and terrifying, that he becomes something entirely unknown to Luka. His hallucination manifests as Something Unto Death, as the very fear of death itself.

And this stand off (which I love so much that this is how this match progressed, because like that's literally just Boothill's in-game skill; he locks the enemy into a one-on-one duel, so this was extremely in character for him) lasts long enough that Owlbert starts having to fill in the silence over the loudspeaker,

and even Boothill himself starts trying to push Luka into making a decision one way or the other.

Given that Boothill is a hunter by trade and is proven to have all the patience to track his prey and then some, this was more for Luka's sake than any impatience on his part, to try to shove him out of his freeze reaction.

And Boothill isn't really hard to read throughout this whole exchange, he all but says outright what he's looking for.

Boothill wants to see him surpass this test and come at him! You can see it in his face when Luka finally takes a step! And in how he congratulates him!

And then he fucking shot him snxhsjksjsn

Boothill admires courage, and bravery, and decisiveness. He admires a person's ability to put their life on the line and still fight in the face of danger and overwhelming odds. Those are the things that catch his eye.

And Luka does kind of get there eventually, but it is a stalling, halting motion that gets him there, and he fell to pieces immediately afterwards. This is his first time with this, and he's still figuring it out.

Dan Heng, on the other hand.

Boothill's stand off with Dan Heng from 2.2 is so fucking far in the total opposite direction that it is HILARIOUS.

Boothill literally breaks into the Astral Express, ambushes Dan Heng, and Dan Heng still has the balls to not only demand info out of Boothill- like doesn't even ask nicely, demands it- he also just straight up calls Boothill a liar. Right to his face! And he still isn't nice about it!!

By the way, that entire conversation? This is how it takes place.

Boothill, phrasing!!

Boothill has him at gunpoint! Dan Heng does not have his weapon with him! He does not flinch, and even stands there with his arms crossed seeming simultaneously pissed and utterly unimpressed. He looks like he should be irritably tapping his foot and looking down his nose at him. Dan Heng could not give less of a shit.

For that matter, Dan Heng even turns his back and walks away from Boothill- right in the middle of him talking, too! Not a single attempt to be considerate of the man who could decide any moment he feels like decorating the wall with Dan Heng's brains.

Dan Heng is brave and courageous and completely unflappable in the face of danger. He is ruthless and decisive in how he conducts himself, even when staring down the barrel of a gun. And through his efforts in Penacony, he shows the ability to put his life on the line and fight through overwhelming odds to save his once-in-a-lifetime companions.

No wonder Dan Heng caught Boothill's eye the way he did, no wonder the two of them were working together and bantering not even minutes after Boothill pulled a gun on him haha

[blueskittlesart]

foxboy has been forcibly made ambidextrous due to blueskittles' forgetfulness

all characters are ambidextrous when im writing them (< guy who doesnt know the difference between left and right)

[thousandyearphantombunker]

"we want more mentally ill/disabled characters with ugly symptoms!"

You guys can't handle lapis lazuli tony stark or hank pym! You guys can barely contain your ableism toward the hulk! You guys hate the good doctor for all the wrong reasons! You made fun of his speech patterns and his meltdowns wtf like I'm sorry the only autistic person you've supported have been the perfect non annoying type- but too many of especially as children are like shawn- they talk weird and don't understand what's so offensive about what they said

You guys keep saying Lapis should just be rewritten into a villain! I don't like how the show handled her but like your really gonna make the girl who shows ugly bad symptoms of ptsd into villain? You guys keep trying to make hank into a villain or rewrite his past- god forbid a character have really sevre ugly symptoms that causes them to make decisions that permanently effect the story but have them still be heroes! God forbid Ironman have npd and be a hero! Let's shame MCU Bruce for his mental illness for being unable to do things because of it! God as soon as a character with a mental illness or developmental disorder or low IQ shows actual symptoms and behaviors (ei: acts like how someone with the disorder in question acts- you know the main part of having a fucking disorder) you get pissy and pile on the shame- yeah jen you do control your anger better than bruce- you can also stand better than Charles fucking Xavier! Yeah your smarter than a guy with a low IQ want a cookie?

I'm never gonna be one of those people who tell others to stop writing disabled villains or that writing a character that deals with internalized ableism (disabled people like any group of people can be total prices of shit, and I'm sorry not everyone is content and accepting of their disabilities and some of us take comfort in characters that struggle with being angry because of their problems) but Jesus Christ when a heroic character with ugly symptoms who makes cruel decisions or has 'bratty' or 'immature' moments can we let them stay heroes? Can we let them have a disorder without piling on the shame that we are inferior because we can't do something everyone else can- because that's literally what a disability is! Can they still be heroes?

Do we have to use intellectual/developmental disability as a shorthand for anti intellectualism and being a gross annoying psycho

Do we have to make every heroic character with aspd or npd into a villain or change their disability to autism because it's 'more sympathetic' as if lack of empathy isn't a goddamned symptom of many disabilities like PTSD and autism- You can headcanon tony as having autism- that's cool by me but it's clear some of y'all do it to make him a 'woobie'- which is infantalizing btw but also it's because some of y'all are ableist toward people with npd

I hate that the only acceptable 'ugly symptoms' are things like forgetting to shower or brush your teeth every once in a while or being a bit irritable and not stuff like burning bridges or having explosive outburts

Also it's not a mental illness unless it effects your behavior?

Im not saying that we should just accept and allow mentally ill/intellectually disabled people/characters to get away with bad behaviors unpunished but can they stay heroes? Can they still be respectable?

"we want more characters with ugly symptoms"

Yet

You people get offended by low functioning autistic people existing! You get mad at them for being incontinent or nonverbal/making strange noises or having scary anger issues or IQs low enough that they will never be independent you get mad at them for not showing the 'appropriate' reactions to things they may or may not fully understand- you hate people with sensory issues -

You don't want mentally ill/disabled characters- you want characters with the labels of mental disabilities without any of the ugly strange or off putting behaviors mental/intellectual deficiencies/issues cause- you want a romantic tragedy!

You shame people with Alzheimer's for FORGETTING stuff and LOSING SKILLS 'yeah yeah you are superior to your uncle because you can remember stuff but can you remember it's a fucking disease! you people are cruel

Yes you are technically superior to disabled people because you are capable of things we aren't and you have better character and you can control yourself but guess what? Those people you hate for being incapable of that shit have disabilities it's not our faults! It's the fucking definition of a disability! Like yeah it is a skill issue and we're just 'worse' than nondisabled with us lacking self control and having lower IQs and bad mental processing- yeah it is because we're lacking in some capacity that's like the definition disability you can't say you support disabled people and then turn around and say shit about how your better than these people because you can talk or take care of yourself

Hank Pym and Lapis Lazuli should get called out for acting like assholes and pieces of shit but I am firmly against turning one of few heroic characters who actively struggle with psychosis and delusions into another 'psycho' villain and I'm firmly against saying Lapis is just as bad as Jasper and using symptoms of her PTSD as signs she should be rewritten into a villain- I want them to be held accountable not turned into straight up evil guys or dear god washing out their problematic qualities until they're palatable/relatable to a neurotypical audience to make them good guys when they are already good guys!

Can people who do bad things because of their disabilities still be heroes? Can they be allowed to get better or do they have to accept that having ugly symptoms means being the bad guy? Fucking hell this is why I side eye anyone who acts like mental illness/developmental/cognitive or mental etc disabilities are more destigmatized than physical disabilities (trust me they aren't)

Tldr let characters with ugly symptoms be heroes let your characters with mental disorders act like they have a disorder and let said characters be heroes inspite of it!

[fagulaa]

Something I really love about the Silt Verses is how, in a world of gods and monsters, how grounded Faulkner's trauma [and relationship with his father] is. Especially as the season moves on, and the stakes amp up [and up] its so unexpectedly piercing to be presented with this exploration of childhood abandonment/negligence, inter-generational trauma, the indignities and stress that comes with unexpected elder care/early onset Alzheimer's. You're so locked in to these grander, more abstract concepts that your defenses are down! Mine were, anyway. TSV is so good at cutting its grand, complex plotlines with simpler [but not shallower] gutpunches, and it just grounds the whole thing.

[delicateartisantrash]

Excerpt: Soundwave's Puppy Eyes

I can't stop laughing at this scene in a fanfic I'm writing, every time I come across it doing re-reads and editing passes.

Just. I lost it when I first saw that scene of Soundwave flashing 'Prime a smiley face emoji.

Imagine trying to convince the big bad Decepticon you're gonna do a thing regardless of his logic on the matter

and then he nails you with just literal #SadFace

[hood-ex]

DC's Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun #1

[writers-potion]

Writing a Siege Warfare

In a siege, the readers' empathies lie with the defenders. If the PoV fihts ont he side of the attackers, give the defenders state-of-the-art technology, have them commit some strocious deeds to justify an attack.

Active Siege

The besiegers use force to get in.

They attack the walls with cannons, catapults and battering rams. They use long ladders to climb the walks. They may build a ramp to reach the top of the walls, or dig a tunnerl to make part of the wall collapse.

The defenders will hurl missiles at the attackers. Arrows, stones, burning pitch, etc. They'll set the battering rams on fire. Women, children and the elderly will hurl rocks and pour boiling oil at the enemy.

The outcome of he siege will depend on state-of-the-art technology: is the siege machinery or defensive mechanisms better? And the preparedness of the defenders in maintaining their walls and stocking resources.

Passive Siege

The besiegers cut off the defenders' supply chain to starve them into submission. This is rather boring for the attackers.

It will end in one of three ways: (1) hunger (2) thirst (3) treachery (someone who can't stand it opens the gate) or the attackers get bored and launch an active attack.

Both sides, but especially so for the defenders, will suffer from a lack of resources. Use the weather (smelting sun, floods, extreme humidity) to make it more painful for both sides.

More suitable as the background of a scene rather than being a scene in itself, since passive sieges can lasts for months.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[fuumiku]

Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

[anactualinsomniac]

How To Write A Swordfight/Fencing Scene✨

by someone who has experience, practicing Olympic fencing

Everyone has a different fighting style. Pick three adjectives that fit and make their actions reflect them.

When your character is fighting someone, you can add depth by making those adjectives contrast each other: offensive, swift, and tactical vs. defensive, patient, and reactive.

If these two characters are similar in styles, force the decided victor to adapt in order to win.

And unless your MC's opponent is less experienced, the same approach for each fight will not work.

Have your character/s play it safe until they can get a grasp on the other's style, strengths, and weaknesses.

This can result in them by making a plan, or adjusting the mix of aggressiveness and passiveness.

Adapting and showing 'battle intelligence' is a good show of a characters' experience.

An experienced character will have a strong concept of distance. This means they know how much they need move to land an attack.

Someone who has never picked up a sword will not win their very first fight. Everyone has a 'flinch response'. This can take weeks, if not months to disable.

They will also not have the speed or reaction time. Most experienced fencers have reaction time of around a quarter to half of a second.

Performing dodges, ducks, jumps, or anything similar should be for characters on the more experienced side.

Spinning is no-no.

Make your character take a step back every time they parry or block, unless they are certain they have the upper hand. If so, make them step forward.

Consider your characters' size, strength, and flexibility.

If there is a height difference, the smaller one will be harder to hit but have an easier time avoiding attacks while the taller will be easier to hit but has a longer reach.

If a character has way greater strength than the other, they can simply force their ways through parries and blocks.

Or in fencing, the character can flick their point from above or around their opponents swords.

Or if they're more flexible, they can use their wrist/s to manipulate their opponent's blade and create an opening.

In fencing, flexibility is also used for ease in lunging.

In the perspective of a character who wears a mask while fighting, the material in their vision will seem to vanish when they get into a fight.

[lotus-pear]

it's not BSD if Asagiri keeps killing all the main characters 😭😭😭😭😭

might aswell be called No More Stray Dogs 🤡😭😭😭💀🔥 (the roof did smth to me ;-; HELP)

asagiri is starting to parallel gege more and more and i’m not sure i fucking like that….

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive come to realise that i dont actually hate kubokai, i just hate the way people write them

[mcclainwilla]

Writing Fight Scenes Part 9 - Training

I'm back, after a grueling hiatus spent working on my current wip, for now referred to as m&m - a prequel to my duology that follows two guys who attend a military academy. In my experience, I see a lot of characters who are 'finished products' in terms of their fighting abilities; today, I'm talking about the process of training.

This one goes out to @pulletandraptor, who was kind enough to include me in their writing references masterlist. I hope you find this useful!

Approaches to Training

I'll be candid, this is going to draw heavily from my own personal experience, but I'll do my best to cover multiple perspectives.

Depending on the circumstances of your story, your character might have a gradual, carefully-timed introduction to various aspects of fighting, or they may be tossed into the ring headfirst. There are benefits and drawbacks to every approach; I'll list them below.

Low-Stress Classroom Environment

Think of a mixed martial arts class with multiple participants of about the same skill level, led by an experienced instructor. In these types of controlled environments, characters will gradually be introduced to aspects of fighting as their skill progresses - they may learn the basic blocks, hand strikes and kicks, then how to escape from various wrist grabs. When they're ready, they may progress to light sparring with plenty of safety gear (discussed in detail below), then learn how to throw an opponent to the ground, and finally how to execute certain blood chokes/cranks/bars/etc (discussed in Part 7).

Advantages:

imo, the safest approach to learning fight techniques, both for your character and for their peers

Builds camaraderie between characters (more coming soon)

More accessible for characters whose stress response is flight, freeze or fawn, as it allows more time for acclimatization to increasingly stressful situations

Your character will likely develop better fighting form, which will make it harder for opponents to find chinks in their armor

Enables character to perform more technical maneuvers like the aforementioned chokes/submissions (as opposed to using brute force)

Disadvantages:

Characters get used to 'playing by the rules'. This comes with two implications:

They never get used to putting their full strength into their hand strikes/kicks, and never follow all the way through on their chokes/submissions

They are not prepared to deal with other fighters who do these things, nor do they know how to defend against illegal hits (discussed in Part 8)

This can be a big problem. A character who has risen to the top of their school of training might be in for a rude awakening when they find themselves facing off against an opponent from another school. (Or, they might mop the floor with them. Who knows)

Mid-Stress Boot Camp Environment

As the title suggests, think military basic training or police academy (at least, if you're in America. Ew, I know)

The most important thing to remember is that main goal of those bitchy drill sergeants isn't to break your character down, it's to prove to them that they can survive stressful situations and still keep their wits about them. It's to build work ethic, discipline, and respect for your character's superiors. And sure, yes, to make your character more physically strong in a relatively short amount of time. I don't know much about the process of teaching fighting techniques in gov't academy settings (I made up my own rules for my book), so I'll be speaking in a more general 'physical exercise' sense.

Advantages:

Faster results than the classroom environment

More representative of the 'real world' (although certain illegal strikes will still be, well, illegal, even in a soulless place like the military!!)

Toughens your character mentally as well (though this is only an advantage if it actually works. Which leads me to...)

Disadvantages:

High-stress at times, characters with flight/freeze/fawn responses will fare the worst. Might even worsen these stress responses

Makes your character more prone to injury. When they are pushing their body to its limits, they might end up pushing a little too far. I used to know a powerlifter who slipped a disc in his spine doing sit-ups during his basic training. Those kinds of injuries stay with your character for a long time, maybe even for life

High-Stress Street Environment

Also known as the 'fuck around and find out' approach. In these kinds of environments, your character may not even have an instructor. They might live in an environment where they have to fight for their livelihood every day, and as they go through the years, they learn what works and what doesn't based on the outcome of the fight, if they even get to walk away. Think of it like growing up with siblings who were much bigger than you, but taken to the next level; these characters are scrappy and can hold their own against imposing opponents, but they're almost entirely self-taught.

Advantages:

Your character is equipped to deal with whatever their opponent throws them, including dirty tricks and illegal hits

Your character might be better at using the terrain to their advantage. Discarded board on the ground near the fence they have to jump to get into the city? Make them smack someone with the side that has the nails in it

I'd argue your character would be more acclimatized to dealing with pain, which would make them more durable in a fight. This is a double-edged sword tho...

Disadvantages:

As the rules are shunned, the stakes get higher, and it becomes increasingly more likely that your character won't walk away from a fight

A character without a formal fight education probably has sloppier fighting form, which gives an opponent more openings to target

As a final note, the Luke Skywalker in the swamp-esque training scenes generally won't do much for your character. I am a proponent of positive stress - your character needs to be pushed an appropriate amount in order to grow in their fighting skills, and telekinetic meditation just doesn't cut it imo

Gear

This will be broken into two parts - common training tools, and common safety gear. The tools at your characters' disposal/the safety precautions they're allowed to take will depend on the aforementioned approaches to training - you'll probably want to allow more training and safety gear in more low-stress approaches.

Training Gear

This is not an exhaustive list, but rather some of my personal favorites. Note that all the names I'm about to give are slang terms invented by my training place. Feel free to come up with your own names to give your story an individual feel!

Kicking pads: thick (about the same length as your palm) rectangular pads a bit bigger than a human torso; meant to absorb the sharp impact* of elbow strikes, knee strikes and kicks. Great for repetitive kicking/hitting drills. Your character holds it like a shield flush against their hip/torso

Blaster pads: just like kicking pads but even thicker/more absorbent; meant for the strongest impacts (mostly kicks)

Wishbone pads: a handle that branches into two partially-joined pads (put your palms together, but keep your fingers apart. Like that). Good for precision kicking drills because they make a nice clapping noise when you hit it just right

Hand pads: kind of like oven mitts that your character's training partner wears on each hand, the padded side over the palm. Good for repetitive punch combination (remember - your character wants to throw punches in bunches) drills. The training partner will move the pads to different locations for different types of strikes/punches, detailed in this post

Punching/kicking bags: exist for the exact purpose you would imagine. No training partner required, although they're helpful for holding the bag still because they tend to wobble/swing after hard hits. There are multiple types of bags - standing bags that have a water/sand-filled base (of these, there are ones with cylinder-shaped bags, upside-down cone-shaped bags, and rubber ones shaped like men. It's an unspoken rule that everyone names their man-shaped bag 'Bob'. Everyone), as well as bags that hang from the ceiling on chains. I have no strong preferences but hanging bags are probably my favorite

Pool noodles! Pool noodles. I'm being deadass. Pool noodles are great discipline tools for teaching your character how to dodge because if they mess up and get hit, it doesn't hurt at all! They're also good for teaching precision - your character's training partner can throw pool noodle hits at intervals for your character to try to punch/kick

*I say 'sharp impact' because, while kicking/blaster pads absorb the 'jab in the gut' sensation, I was once kicked halfway across the mats by a second-degree black belt and football player while holding one. It didn't hurt my stomach so much as it did jar my entire body.

Safety Gear

Here, it's important to note that not all places use the same safety gear. Personally, my safety gear was pretty limited, even though I was taught in a classroom environment. Generally, the lower-stress the setting, the more safety gear your character will be allowed.

Helmets: non-negotiable in classroom settings (I'm not sure what the military allows, and they're probably not common in unstructured environments). This is google-able, but traditional sparring helmets are padded all over, and cover the jaw/around the chin, over the temples/ears, the forehead, and velcro shut at the back of the head. Some come with clear plastic face masks to protect the eyes/nose/mouth - these are nice. I am part of the reason my studio began to require these. Sorry man

Mouth guards: should be non-negotiable in classroom settings but I actually never used one. These serve a dual purpose - they stop your character from cutting their lips/cheeks on their own teeth if they get punched, and they stop your character's opponent from cutting their hand if they accidentally punch your character in the mouth (Again. No one ever purposefully punches someone in the mouth)

Wrist wraps: these are NOT gloves in any capacity! Rather than offering shock absorption, wrist wraps keep the wrists very stiff and immobile so that the impacts of punches don't jar/smush the interior components of your character's wrists over time. Arthritis is no joke. These are more common for boxers/stand-up fighters, as opposed to wrestlers. I never used these

Gloves: as hinted at above, these provide more shock absorption for the bones of the fingers/hand. The amount of padding varies. Typically, stand-up fighters will wear both, gloves over wrist wraps, anytime they're punching anything, including punching bags. You should know that it's still totally possible for your character to break their hand while wearing boxing gloves, tho

Body pads: basically like a padded suit of armor that covers the chest, stomach, sides and back so that it doesn't suck as bad when a character gets hit in the diaphragm/liver/kidneys/ribs. However, it can be a counter-productive suit of armor because some include targets over these regions for training purposes. They also make versions that just cover the breasts because it sucks to get kicked in the titty. I never used either and I took my titty kicks like a champ. More common among stand-up fighters

Shin guards: these are padded, as opposed to armor-y, and either slide on like a tall sock or strap around the calf and ankle. The best ones have flaps that protect the tops of your character's feet as well. I actually did use these because we had a couple of BITCHES who would jab their elbows into my feet/shins

Cups: I wasn't born with a loverman so I don't know the intricacies of this one, but the key takeaway here is that they are NOT invincible. It's like, if you get shot while wearing a bulletproof vest, you won't feel the bullet, but you'll still feel the force with which it was fired. Also it's still possible for your character's opponent to reach around and grab the cup wearer by the nuts (seen it happen). I've known several stand-up fighters who opted not to use one, so it's up to you

The main takeaway: I didn't use nearly as much safety gear as I should've, and it's a miracle I don't have even more chronic pain

Character Behavior

Finally, you may have heard the phrase 'professionals are predictable; it's the amateurs that are dangerous'. This can be true, but there's more to the story. Allow me to elaborate:

Amateurs

In my experience, amateurs are either really, really skittish or really, really bold. The skittish ones are (understandably) afraid of being hit and will throw punches from miles away because they're afraid of getting close to their target. The bold ones have never been hit and therefore have no reason to fear it, so they charge in, eager to get a hit in/win the fight/impress their instructors or peers. It's the bold ones who are the dangerous ones, imo - sometimes they're so bold they do crazy shit you weren't expecting and it knocks you on your ass. It's just that after all that, you know what to expect, and it's a lot easier to counter. Additionally, all forms of fighting/martial arts require balance, flexibility, body awareness, fine motor skills and multitasking skills, which amateurs likely haven't developed yet. The skittish types usually look stiff and uncertain, and the bold types look ragdoll-y and wild

Students

Once again speaking from personal experience, characters who have undergone some fight training but aren't yet good enough to be considered professionals have the widest range of styles. You have skittish, you have bold, you have characters who hammer away and you have characters who pick their punches carefully. Those who favor the techniques they're starting to learn and those who use their strength. What students often lack is situational awareness - there are times when it's appropriate for a character to push, and times to conserve energy. Students are also juuuuust starting to develop an eye for strategy, but don't expect them to be making observations like 'she always drops her left hand before throwing a roundhouse kick, imma get her ass'. They are still very much in flight or fight mode, and much of their internal narration will be centered around the here and now/what they're experiencing or doing in the moment

Professionals

My favorite way to identify a professional is to look for someone who can fuck around in a fight and still not get hit. My old instructor would put his hands completely down, and it would drive me nuts, and yet I never once landed a headshot. Sure, professionals are predictable, because they have a solid understanding of technique and don't usually do stupid shit. But professionals are so in-control of the situation that they're actually the safest people to spar against, because they can moderate their own output so well

In general, think of ufc fighting, where some of the best athletes in the world go toe-to-toe. Two professionals, pitted against each other, and while there's often a clear winner, both parties usually leave the octagon with some bruises. Getting better at fighting means your character will often triumph against characters in brackets below them - students over amateurs, professionals over students. But within a given bracket, it often comes down to narrow differences in skill, circumstance, and even luck. Let your characters struggle.

I know this was a long post, so thank you for sticking with me! I hope this is helpful!

[howtofightwrite]

What is the difference between fencing and actual sword fighting, exactly? If I were to throw an olympic fencer against a master swordsperson, what would the most likely outcome of such a fight be?

The first and most obvious answer is that only one of these individuals is trained for combat.

The second answer is that only one of them uses (and trains with intent to use) a real weapon.

I’m going to assume this question revolves around an Olympic fencer dueling with a master swordsman with a live weapon and not in accordance with Olympic fencing rules. An Olympic fencer’s best chance at winning is a bout with a modern epee/saber under Olympic fencing rules and it’s also the case where (probably) no one dies or is gravely injured.

Olympic fencing is a sport. As a result of its evolution, it’s pretty much unrecognizable as even a martial form today and, in pursuit of the new requirements for winning, has divested itself of the weapon aspect. While much of the terminology remains the same, the key difference to grasp about Olympic fencers is that they’re not trained to fence around the idea that the sword in their hand is a dangerous weapon (because it isn’t.) In fact, the ultimate goal of winning in their sport (score points) is hindered by that mentality. To the Olympic fencer, it doesn’t matter if they get hit so long as they score first and have right of way when they do. If those at the top of the sport were handed a real historical epee, told to fence, and changed nothing in their approach, the end result would be a double suicide. (Which is ironic because that’s one of the reasons why the epee was restricted historically. When it came to dueling, it was a little too efficient.)

There is no caution here because there doesn’t need to be. Tactics and techniques which will cause a fencer to commit suicide against an opponent with a live blade work exceptionally well once the risk of death is off the table.

This isn’t just restricted to Olympic fencing. If you take any martial art that has transitioned to a sport and put the practitioner up against someone who kills people for a living, even if they are one of the best in their field, they will be at an inherent disadvantage. The requirements for winning according to the sport’s rules are vastly different from the requirements for winning in a life or death situation.

And that’s just the first hurdle.

The next hurdle is the weapon itself.

Duels are specifically between weapons of the same type. This rule is meant to level the playing field and ensure the duel is decided on “skill” rather than weapon advantage. Depending on their point of origin (for the purpose of this question, I’m assuming European) a master swordsman would have been familiar with and likely trained in several different sword styles, depending on era would be a master of their own school or in the employ of a noble house. If you need a comparable profession for a master duelist, think of them like lawyers. Except, the victory was decided by skill with a blade rather than a compelling argument. (We could say that skill with a blade is a compelling argument, but I digress.) One doesn’t get to be a master swordsman until after many years of study with the blade and victories under their belt. Depending on the era of history, the duel requirements of the duel could be anywhere between armored or unarmored, to first blood or to the death, and cover a variety of different swords, each with their own developed styles (and that is styles plural.)

Our Olympic fencer will be fucked by varying degrees depending on the live blade in question but, make no mistake, they’ll be pretty much fucked by any option picked. Running counter to their ubiquitous nature in popular culture, swords are not one size fits all. Outside of common principles there’s almost no training crossover. Every sword handles differently. These variations include length of the blade, length of the hilt, location of the crossguard, the weapon’s weight, the weapon’s weight distribution, the location of its balance point, whether it is primarily used with one hand or two, whether it is primarily a weapon for thrusting (the rapier) or cutting (the saber,) etc. Their grip would be off, and  probably wouldn’t be able to hold the sword properly.

The modern version of a fencing “sword” is not equivalent to any of these. Their closest stylistic match up in terms of inherited movement is the 19th century epee, but we’re still miles apart.

Then there’s the mentality issue.

The Olympic fencer hasn’t trained around the idea that death or major injury are accidental. Possible, yes, a risk, yes, but in the same way they are for any other sport. These are surprise, tragic occurrences and not part of regular bouts. For reference, in terms of the dangers of physical contact, a modern fencer faces less risk than a football player. For the master swordsman, the opposite is true. There is no variant of historical dueling which doesn’t risk death in some capacity, whether that’s a confirmed death on the dueling field itself or from an injury or infection later. Those historical circumstances where you see individuals dueling topless is (ironically) for practical reasons and not titillation. Many duelists, victorious or not, died from infection after cloth or other detritus got into their wounds. In this way, our modern Olympic fencer is less prepared than a duelist of average skill, much less a master.

Is the Olympic fencer ready to put their life and body on the line? To risk death, permanent injury, a potential blinding in one eye, in a bout that, at best, involves zero physical protection? I’m not sure. Probably not off the cuff. It requires a different mindset.

Are they ready to inflict damage on another person? Are they ready to kill another person? And even if they’re ready, are they willing to? Are they resolved to? Are they ready to risk their own life in pursuit of it?

The Olympic fencer is on the starting line with these questions.

The Master Swordsman has already answered them.

One of the difficult aspects about writing violence and characters who practice martial disciplines with intent to exercise those skills is internalizing the risks involved and ensuring their a natural part of your character’s mindset and their approach to combat.

Fiction is an illusion. Your narrative’s world is as real as you, the author, choose to make it. Characters are immortal, have infinite stamina, possess skill with every weapon, are unbeatable unless you choose otherwise. Regardless of reality, if you choose to make an Olympic fencer and a Master Swordsman fight exactly the same way with the same skill set, that’s how it is.

I’ve seen plenty of published authors treat swords as universal and modern Olympic fencing like it lends their character any real martial skills. (I mean, beyond excellent conditioning.) You can do it and get away with it if that’s what you want. Personally, I find it less interesting because it cheats the character out of their growth. Also, you don’t need to lean into that approach for “Girls Can Fight” or as a way for a female character to gain combat skills because there were female fencers who trained on the blade.

Ways for the Olympic fencer to win:

Dumb luck.

Yeah. That’s it.

The Master Swordsman should knock the blade out of their hand, take the Olympic fencer under their wing as their apprentice, and wander the world together solving crimes.

10/10.

-Michi

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