As a continuation of my "people are bad at writing training in books" saga, I think there's an impulse especially when writing low-technology fantasy to equate "can fight good as an individual" with "good at military stuff" or even "good at fighting alongside other people" and those are not really equivalent.
Even ignoring that many main characters end up in leadership roles as a result of their good fighting, and the fact that a strategic understanding of military or paramilitary tactics isn't really tied to how good you are with a sword, the goals and requirements for fighting in a military or paramilitary group are often fundamentally different than fighting as an individual.
If your character is really good with a sword, it doesn't necessarily mean that they know how to fight while in close proximity to allies, for example, or how to follow orders, or how to give orders, or how to hold or advance on a position, etc.
What ends up happening with some books is people have their character learn what may be very impressive martial arts such that they can match with any other character--and then drop them in some sort of military or paramilitary setting and just sort of pretend that the character either doesn't need any other skill involved in fighting in a group or gleaned them magically via osmosis.
If you are writing a character who ends up fighting as part of a group, I recommend doing research on things like basic training, law enforcement training, etc. and seeing how people train or have historically trained for different types of fighting.
Your character doesn't need to get that training, necessarily, but it does often read as a little silly when a book pretends that Spars Good is a functional equivalent for it.
Fight scenes are a dime a dozen. Most fiction has it. But good fights are as rare as gold—and just as beautiful too. A good fight scene outshines a million terrible ones.
But what separates the good ones from the bad? Is it… the weapons? The physical descriptions? How the characters react?
The answer's not as clear-cut as you'd hope.
Today I'll be breaking down why your fight scenes suck (and how you can fix them). If this post ends up helping you, give me a reblog so I can help more writers! Share the love.
1). YOU'RE DESCRIBING TOO MUCH
Writers love to over-describe their fights—writing every punch, huff, expression, and micro-movement. You think you're doing a good job, but the truth is: you're slowing your scene down when fights should be fast. When you overdescribe, pacing suffers, and the fight gets boringly technical. Your readers will pick up on that and skip.
Think of it as writing in slow-motion.
A good fight? It's quick. It's dirty. It's written in choppy sentences and minimal verbs because everything's moving so fast. Explain just enough so your readers know where everyone is, who's punching who, whose weapons' hitting what. But if you find yourself describing the individual flecks of sweat on someone's fist as it's charging forward, well… then you've gone too far.
Tips for you:
Do not describe everything blow-by-blow.
Highlight important moments as they come.
Characters can always discuss details after the fact.
Describe just enough for readers to know what's going on.
Most fights end in seconds.
When in doubt: trust your reader to fill in the blanks. (They're good at that.)
2.) YOUR FIGHTS LACK MEANING
Readers read books for a feeling. Fights are no exception.
Give your character something good to fight for. Don't make it about survival, because readers know your main character won't die. So give your fight stakes. What happens if your protagonist loses? Will they be exiled? Will someone else die? Why can't your protagonist walk away?
Make sure we feel the consequences before and during the fight. Foreshadowing is your best friend.
A bad fight scene? It fills white space for its own sake. It meanders—it exists because "fights are cool, y'know". If a fight is meaningless, readers won't waste their time with it.
Ask yourself these questions:
Why should we root for your hero?
What's at stake?
Who has the upperhand?
What are the consequences? ← (!!!)
A fight that's actually meaningful will change the rest of the story.
3). YOUR FIGHTS AREN'T FUN (And you're not having fun with them)
I know what you're thinking right now.
"But my fight has stakes, my fight has just enough detail, aaaand it has meaning!"
But those are all technical things. You're scratching off a list of requirements and calling it a day.
Where's the banter? The plot twists? The power moves? How do the character's backstories and fight history come into play? Where are the injuries? And goddamn it—where are my car keys?!
A well-written fight is passable.
A well-written but fun fight sticks in your mind. Those are the fights you reread over and over—the kind of fight that says, "Look at me. Look at what my characters are capable of."
Have fun with your fights. Add weird weapons, add a crazy-ass plot-twist that changes the upperhand. Write your fight as a game of chess where each move levels the playing field. Or write your fight as a non-stop rollercoaster ride of twists, turns, curves, and loop-de-loops. A fight so intense and weird but undeniably you, that by the end of it, your reader is left breathlessly asking, "WHAT JUST HAPPENED?"
Not every fight should be a cinematic masterpiece. Not every fight needs a plot twist. But I am saying that a fun fight should be your priority.
And if a "fun fight" doesn't fit your gritty and realistic medieval fantasy story? Fair enough, but don't let that stop you from adding something unique.
Different ideas you can steal:
Use your fight as a worldbuilding opportunity (you can get so creative with this!)
Add banter
The protag and antag are unexpectedly related (mentor/student, father/son, mother/daughter)
A secret or important plot device is revealed
Characters use the environment to fight (tossing sand in eyes, releasing a caged animal, etc.)
Reveal that your protagonist is more brutal than you'd have the reader believe
Add realistic injuries that suddenly change the fight (example: an injured arm can't block as well—perhaps your protag uses an unexpected item as a shield)
A special move unique to one character
A stronger third character joins the fight (forcing the two fighters to work together)
Changing locations mid-fight
Both fighters are progressively injured until they're both barely standing
The swordfight ends in a bloody fistfight
4). BONUS TIPS
These tips are just as important as the rest.
A combat injury can easily become a permanent one.
Read your favorite scenes and break down what they did.
Any character can experience PTSD, even if they're an experienced fighter (think: combat vets)
Don't get too flowery or wordy.
A good fight scene is mostly atmosphere and feel.
Make it visceral. Make it uncomfortable.
Keep it real—swords are heavy, armor is heavy. A simple cut may seem like no biggie, until the blood dribbles down and affects their grip.
In sum:
Don't overdo descriptions, give your fight meaning, and make your fights FUN. Oh—and never skimp out on reading! Studying other fiction is just as important as writing it.
Did this post help you? I'm glad. If you're struggling with your fight scenes right now, I offer feedback like this directly to your work.
This post was proudly written without generative AI.
Watching Eliot fight in Leverage has ruined 80% of all other fight scenes for me, both in Leverage and in other shows. Something about the choreography, or the speed, or just the way all the hits sound like bricks on concrete. I can only think of a few shows that have choreography as realistic to a character’s training, with combat moves that HEY—are actually REAL and will cause actual DAMAGE, but even then the blows don’t seem as frickin raw, and even rarer is a fight where it actually looks like they’re moving fast enough to spell an intent to get past their opponents defences.
Writing fight scenes requires a delicate balance of action, emotion, and detail to keep readers engaged and immersed in the moment.
Here are some tips to craft compelling fight scenes:
Know your characters. Understand their fighting styles, strengths, and weaknesses—are they offensive, or defensive? Spontaneous, or strategic? Trigger-happy, or reluctant? Their personalities and motivations will influence their actions and decisions during the fight.
Create tension. Build tension leading up to the fight to increase the stakes and make the action more gripping. Foreshadowing, verbal sparring, or physical intimidation can all contribute to a sense of anticipation.
Use sensory details. Engage the reader's senses by describing the sights, sounds, smells, and physical sensations of the fight. This helps to create a vivid and immersive experience—but make sure not to overdo it. Too much detail can distract from the adrenaline of the fight.
Maintain clarity. Ensure that the action is easy to follow by using clear and concise language. Avoid overly complicated sentences or excessive description that could confuse readers.
Focus on emotions. Show the emotional impact of the fight on your characters. Describe their fear, anger, determination, or adrenaline rush to make the scene more compelling and relatable.
Include strategic elements. Incorporate tactics, strategy, and improvisation into the fight to make it more dynamic and realistic. Think about how your characters use their surroundings, weapons, or special abilities to gain an advantage.
Balance dialogue and action. Intersperse dialogue with action to break up the fight scene and provide insight into the characters' thoughts and intentions. Dialogue can also reveal or support the characters' personalities and motivations.
Keep it concise. While it's important to provide enough detail to immerse readers in the action, avoid unnecessary padding or overly long fight scenes. Keep the pacing brisk to maintain momentum and keep readers hooked.
Show the consequences. Illustrate the aftermath of the fight, including injuries, emotional trauma, or changes in relationships between characters. This adds depth to the scene and helps to drive the story forward.
Funny Fic. A short sequel to my Valentine Fic, but can be read as a one-shot.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you, but you're not actually in it.
Word Count: 1.8k
Summary: A few months after you asked Bucky to be your Valentine, he and Sam are mid-mission and he still can’t stop talking about the knife you gave him.
Trigger Warnings: Marvel-level violence; Knife throwing; Stabbing/slashing; Bullets being deflected by Sam’s wings and sorta by Bucky’s arm; Bucky’s in love. Sam approves, though he kinds wishes he’d shut up about the knife a little. 😆
Author’s Note: Requested (kinda) by @emmathefanficgal, and inspired by some commentary I read about Bucky’s knife fighting in FATWS, how he uses the flat and back of the blade instead of the edge, showing his prowess and hesitation to do harm, as per his therapy and pardon guidelines. He’s not quite as hesitant to do harm here; he’s a Thunderbolt now, after all.
Masterlist
The guy came at him wild, swung from his elbow, not his shoulder.
Bucky sidestepped naturally, boots scraping over concrete dust, and caught the man’s wrist before the punch could land. The impact still rattled up his vibranium arm like a dull bell.
“You telegraph,” Bucky muttered, twisting.
There was a sharp crack and the thug wheezed as Bucky pivoted behind him, drove a knee into the back of his thigh, and shoved him face-first into a stack of plastic-wrapped crates. The warehouse air smelled like oil and old rain. Somewhere behind him, Sam’s wings slammed into something metallic with a resonant gong.
“On your left!” Sam shouted.
“Always on my freaking left,” Bucky replied automatically.
Another attacker rushed him, this one with a pipe. Bucky ducked the first swing; it cut the wind over his hair. The second swing he caught mid-arc with his metal hand. The pipe shrieked as it crumpled under his grip.
The guy’s eyes went wide.
Bucky reached into the sheath at his hip and drew his knife.
Even in the warehouse’s jaundiced light, the Damascus steel glinting as he moved. The red resin handle caught the overhead flicker and rippled like watered silk, deep and glossy. The small heart cut clean through the base of the blade flashed as he turned it.
He couldn’t help his smile.
“My girlfriend got me this for Valentine’s Day,” he told the man conversationally.
The thug blinked. “What?”
The man lunged anyway, as brave as he was stupid.
Bucky stepped in close and dragged the blade in a controlled, precise slash across the guy’s upper arm, shallow enough to avoid anything vital, deep enough to make a point. Fabric split and blood welled.
“Isn’t she great?” Bucky continued calmly, pivoting behind him and nudging him forward with the flat of the blade. “Look at that pattern. Damascus steel. It’s got this perfect balance—”
The thug howled and tried to spin away. Bucky adjusted his grip without looking.
“—weight distribution’s unreal,” he finished, slicing cleanly through the man’s grip on the crushed pipe and sending it clattering across the concrete. “Feels like it wants to land exactly where I put it.”
The guy staggered backward, clutching his arm, staring at the knife instead of the man holding it.
Behind Bucky, Sam landed hard, boots skidding.
“Why are there so many of them?” Sam demanded, breathless.
“Probably a convention,” Bucky said dryly.
The wounded thug made a stupid decision and bolted toward the loading bay door.
Bucky tilted his head slightly as he watched him go.
“Oh,” he told Sam. “You should see how this does at range.”
And he shifted his weight, arm already moving.
The throw wasn’t dramatic, just a smooth extension from the shoulder, a controlled release from his fingers.
The blade spun once, end over end, the warehouse lights flashing along the layered steel, and it hit with a thick, meaty thud.
The thug shrieked mid-stride as the knife buried itself in the back of his shoulder, just below the scapula. Momentum carried him forward another step before he stumbled, crashed into a pallet of boxed auto parts, and collapsed, swearing, in a clatter of cardboard.
Bucky exhaled softly.
“See?” he said, mostly to himself.
Behind him, someone grabbed at his jacket. Bucky pivoted without looking and drove his elbow backward into a sternum. Air whooshed out of lungs. He hooked his boot behind the man’s ankle and dropped him hard to the floor.
Sam flew past in a blur of red and silver, wings snapping out to clothesline two attackers at once. One of them ricocheted into a stack of crates that burst open in a spill of packing foam.
“Focus!” Sam barked.
“I am focused,” Bucky replied evenly.
He stepped over the groaning man at his feet and walked toward the downed runner.
The thug was on his side, clawing uselessly at the knife lodged in his shoulder. Blood seeped around the red resin handle, darkening the shine. The heart-shaped cutout near the base of the blade was visible against his torn jacket.
Bucky crouched beside him.
Up close, he smiled at the precision of the placement. Clean entry, with no unnecessary damage. He felt a quiet, satisfied warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with combat.
“And it works really well as a throwing knife,” he informed the man.
The thug stared at him over his shoulder like he’d lost his mind.
“You—you’re a psycho—”
Bucky wrapped his flesh hand around the handle.
“You know what I love?” he continued, voice calm, almost reflective. “She didn’t even hesitate. Saw it. Said, ‘That’s a Bucky knife, and gave it to me for Valentine’s Day.’”
He braced a hand against the man’s shoulder. The thug made a panicked noise and Bucky pulled the blade free in one smooth motion. The man screamed.
Bucky inspected the steel briefly. The Damascus pattern was unmarred. The edge still clean. He wiped it carefully on the thug’s jacket with deliberate, almost tender attention.
“My girl knows me so well,” he said with pride.
Something whistled past his ear.
Bucky leaned sideways as a crowbar narrowly missed his head and sparked against concrete. He rose fluidly from his crouch, pivoting into the new attacker’s space.
Behind him, Sam groaned.
“Dude,” Sam called out, wing snapping open to deflect a flying wrench. “Again with that knife?”
Bucky didn’t look away from the man advancing on him.
“Of course with this knife,” he said with a smile.
The crowbar came down again.
Bucky stepped inside the swing, too close for leverage, and drove his metal fist into the man’s ribs. He felt something give under the impact. The guy folded with a choked gasp.
Bucky caught him by the collar before he hit the ground and, almost absentmindedly, hooked the blade through the man’s jacket sleeve, slicing fabric to tangle his arms.
“You’re making it weird,” Sam said.
Sam landed beside him hard enough to crack concrete, wings flaring out to shield them both as two men opened fire from the catwalk above. Bullets pinged and screamed against vibranium.
Bucky leaned slightly to peer around one wing.
“It’s not weird,” he replied. “It’s a thoughtful gift.”
He flicked his wrist and sent the knife spinning once in his palm, not flashy, just habit, then lunged forward as Sam retracted his wing.
They moved in a practiced rhythm. Sam vaulted upward, wings out gaining height, while Bucky charged the base of the metal stairs.
A thug tried to block him.
Bucky slashed across the man’s thigh just enough to drop him.
“I’m just saying,” Sam continued from above, voice strained as he grappled with someone on the railing, “you’ve brought it up every single mission since February.”
Bucky mounted the steps two at a time. Another attacker swung a chain at his head. He caught it with his metal hand, yanked the man forward, and drove his forehead into the guy’s nose. Cartilage crunched.
“That’s because,” Bucky said evenly, shoving the reeling man into the stairwell wall, “it continues to be relevant.”
He reached the catwalk level just as Sam kicked one gunman backward over the railing. The man crashed into a stack of crates below in a splintering roar.
Sam stopped for a second, staring at Bucky.
“You stabbed a guy and gave him a product review.”
Bucky advanced on the last shooter. The man’s hands shook. The muzzle wavered.
“It has excellent balance,” Bucky said over his shoulder, stepping closer.
The man fired.
Bucky deflected the gun upward with his metal hand. The shot burst into the ceiling. In the same motion, Bucky drove the knife hand forward and pinned the man’s sleeve to the wooden support beam behind him.
The blade sank deep into the timber.
The shooter froze, breath stuttering, arm trapped.
Bucky leaned in slightly.
“And the grip,” he added, looking at the red resin handle, “is ergonomic.”
Below them, Sam made a strangled noise that was both laugh and despair.
“Dude.”
Bucky twisted the knife free from the wood and stepped back as the man slumped, defeated more by terror than injury.
Sam landed beside him, wings folding in with a metallic shudder.
“Again?” Sam demanded. “We’re doing this again?”
Bucky wiped a smear of blood from the flat of the blade with his thumb, inspecting the steel like a man checking the alignment on a watch.
“Yes,” he said simply.
And across the warehouse floor, two more men hesitated, clearly reconsidering their life choices. One of them charged anyway.
Bucky stepped off the catwalk railing and dropped the ten feet to the concrete below. He landed in a crouch, heels up and knees bending to absorb the impact.
The charging man swung a desperate hook.
Bucky caught the wrist mid-air and twisted, turning the momentum into a sharp pivot. The man yelped as Bucky guided him past, then nudged him down with the heel of his palm between the shoulder blades. The guy sprawled face-first with a slap of skin on concrete.
Behind him, Sam descended in a controlled glide and slammed into the final attacker, driving him back into a stack of barrels. One burst open, rolling across the floor with a hollow clang.
“Listen,” Sam said, grappling the man’s arm behind his back, “I’m happy for you. I am. I like her. She’s great for you. But—”
He grunted as he picked the guy up.
Bucky hauled his own opponent upright by the collar and pressed the flat of the Damascus blade against the man’s throat, not cutting, just in threat. The heart-shaped cutout hovered inches from his skin.
“But what?” Bucky asked.
Sam wrenched his thug’s arm a little higher and the man squealed.
“But this is a tactical operation,” Sam continued. “Not a couples’ showcase.”
Bucky’s brows furrowed in disagreement. “It can be both.”
The man in front of him swallowed hard, mystified, not quite understanding what kind of men would have a conversation like this during a knife-and-gun fight.
Bucky didn’t look away from the knife as he spoke again. “I might not use another knife until I die.”
Sam just stared at him. “That is not normal,” he said flatly.
Bucky considered that for exactly half a second.
“Unless,” he added, casually shifting his grip as the thug tried to inch away, “she gets me another one.”
He tapped the red handle lightly against the man’s collarbone.
“Ooh,” he said, a spark of genuine interest lighting his tone, “if she gets me another, I could have one in each hand.”
There was a pause. Sam looked at him, then at the knife, then back at him.
“You are insufferable,” he declared.
But his mouth betrayed him, the corner twitching upward before he caught it.
Bucky inspected the edge once more, thumb brushing over the Damascus ripples.
“Still sharp,” he smiled, satisfied.
Sam folded his wings with a metallic snap.
“You’re texting her about this later, aren’t you?”
Bucky slid the knife back into its sheath at his hip. “Already drafted it in my head,” he said.
Sam stared at him as Bucky stepped over a groaning thug toward the exit. “You mentally drafted a text mid-fight?”
Bucky adjusted his jacket, expression perfectly calm. “What, you never multitasked before?”
[Cue HTTYD Nerd]: so I was rewatching my teenage comfort show, and I noticed this: THIS COMPLETELY EPIC FIGHT EXCHANGE BETWEEN TOOTHLESS AND THE SKRILL?? Under appreciated for sure!
Like, LOOK at this:
...
wow.
just... wow.
side note: how the heck did hiccup tank that hit?! Spitelout got bonked in the head with lightning earlier in the episode, and he's left illiterate, but Hiccup? He's like, 'nah let's go flying- oh, hey dad! Got room for one more?'
Look at this muffin:
Other side note: Man, the expressions are so good in httyd, even in the series!
I now feel like I have to find the other really visually interesting scenes because my httyd hyper-fixation is BACK!
