Here's A Indulgent Minecraft Head Cannon I've Decided To Share With Y'all.

Things that People Forget About When Writing Sword Fights

You don’t have to dodge by a foot. You only have to dodge by an inch.

Not all swords are made the same way. You wouldn’t fight with a katana the same way you would fight with a broadsword.

You don’t need to aim for the heart or the head. Get the vein in wrist, and you could incapacitate that hand.

Small cuts matter. If you’re cut up enough, you’re going to start suffering from blood loss, and that’ll put you at a disadvantage.

The blade isn’t the only thing that matters. There isn’t some set of rules in sword fighting where you can only stick the stabby end into the other person. Hit them in the head with the hilt, and they’ll feel it.

If there are multiple attackers, you want to incapacitate or kill each one as quickly as possible. Endurance matters, especially when you’re not only swinging/stabbing/aiming something that is 2-5 lbs (ceremonial ones were a lot heavier, but wouldn’t be generally fought with) but also taking/blocking heavy blows from at least one opponent.

sure [benny belongs to @racheldrawsthis]

character designs for a show i dont watch

Hello my friends🫶🫶

donations are few and life is hard💔

for more than 5 days I have been asking for 500€ to reach the short-term goal of 30.5k€,⁉️

but we still need less than 400€ to reach it🙏🚨🇵🇸

I hope you continue to support and participate until the goal is achieved as soon as possible due to the poor living conditions we are living in

🙏🙏🇵🇸🙏🇵🇸🙏🇵🇸

^^^

you are amazing

there is truly nothing like mcrp with people you have never met irl and probably never will to make you say the wildest shit

This has been a PSA.

‼️Helping me means helping 5 members of my family..‼️

🥶We're freezing🥶

Hello, I'm Wasim from Gaza, in Al-Mawasi specifically... My family and I were displaced from Rafah after hardship, bombing, displacement, and hunger.😭😔

Now we have been away from our city and our beautiful home for 9 months. We have lost our house that my father built stone by stone and he worked 24/7 to build this house. But the occupation destroyed it, and no house remained in my beautiful city remained intact.😭💔💔

We are now living in a tent or semi-tent, which does not protect us from the cold of winter or the rain. Our lives are very difficult.😔😭

Thanks to your donations, we have been able to buy food and flour, and now I am asking you for help to buy a tent that will protect us from the cold of winter. We do not know what it means to sleep because of the extreme cold.🥶

This is our tent made of fabric and some nylon, not closed on one side. We are freezing from the cold. Help us to buy a new tent. You are our last hope.😭🥶🥶🙏

I also want to ask for help for my mother, who is the most precious thing in my life. Without her, I am nothing...

She has a back cartilage disease and is in great pain. She needs physical therapy, medicine, and vitamins, and I am unable to provide them. Help my mother receive treatment.🙏🙏😭

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gofundme.com

Donate to Help Wasim's family rebuild their lives, organized by Freya Knarr

My name is Freya Knarr and I live near Chicago, IL. Because Gofundme does not allo… Freya Knarr needs your support for Help Wasim's family r

@gazavetters

waving at you hey hey I don’t know if you remember me but haii! 🦭

HEY!!!!!!!!!!!! Dont worry I still remember !! I missed ya

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

I love it when my creativity spurs other creativity. literally no better feeling as an artist than when someone looks at something you’ve made and goes “I saw this and liked it so much I could do nothing more with myself than turn it into drive for my own creativity” like that’s really what creativity is huh!! an instrument to further human expression and community and connection