the planet is dying.

This goes on for months. He's at a point where he's carving the folds of her skin tight suit. It's shockingly impressive. A real Giovanni Strazza with wood here. Many of the women in the club, (also boomers) have stopped talking to him because they're offended.

One afternoon I see a woman we'll call Karen approach him and have this conversation Her: Wow that is really starting to look like actual fabric. Him: Thanks! It's been a really fun challenge. Her: I bet! She sure is - a lot- huh? Him: Yeah a lot of these comic book characters are really outrageously proportioned! Her: They really are! You know, when I was carving a sign that was political in a way i knew would offend some people here, I just felt so much more comfortable carving it at home. Him: *nodding* Her: Okay? Him: Yeah I get that. Her: Yeah. Okay. Good luck with her!" *she walks off and he looks a little confused.* Next week at the meet up Jims working on it again and Karen's furious. Says to me "He said he wouldn't bring it back! So RUDE." So I go up to him and we have this conversation. Me: Hey Jim Him: Hey Neala Me: Some of the ladies around here are feeling a little uncomfortable with the figure you're carving because of her massive cartoon titties. Him: Ah shit, really? I thought they just thought it was funny. Me: Yeah folks laugh a lot when they're uncomfortable and trying to hide it. Him: Mm, yeah and I can never tell which laugh is which. Me: Me either Him: Well I won't work on this here anymore. I have other projects to do. Me: Hey thanks! I wanna see it when you're done tho so take a pic for me, okay? Him: Haha sure! I go sit down. Karen is shocked. Jim puts the figure away and works on a carving of a crane instead. He is not upset.

A carver who does a lot of work for the group comes in with a stunning leather bag. When I say a lot of work for the group, I mean a LOT a lot. He plans out monthly projects, makes the blanks for them and shows the rest of the club how to do the carvings. Lets call him Harold.

So I'm gushing over the bags, and so are a few others. He tells us he made these bags himself and that he's really gotten into leather working over the last year. Jim is complementary of the bags, and teasingly says "Woodcarving and now Leather? You know what they say? Jack of all trades, Master of none!"

Now this quote takes on a different meaning coming from someone who is literally a master skill level carver ways it to someone who is not. But he says it in a jokey way. Clearly meant to playfully rib. Thing is, I see the tightness in Harolds eyes when Jim says this. Having Adhd myself, I also hobby hop a lot and know how it feels to be teased about it. Maybe I was projecting as i flashed back to every time someone had told me to "Just stick with" something.

I say, "Go on Jim, finnish the poem!" In a playful way. Jim laughs and shrugs and says he didn't know there was more. I quote the whole thing, "Jack of all trades master of none but still always better than a master of one." Everyone laughs in a good-natured way, Harold visibly relaxes.

Later, Jim tells me i hurt his feelings. He says it felt like i was belittling him for only being good at one thing. I apologize and explain that he had inadvertently hurt my feelings and that I suspected he had hurt Harold's because it felt like he was saying we weren't good at anything because we have multiple hobbies.

He apologized and said he was feeling a little jealous that Harold is good at so many things, and all he's good at is woodcarving. He also went on to say that if Harold entered any of his carvings into any competitions, he would probably have the same rank as him. Harold just didn't do competitions.

At this point Harold overheard and thanked Jim for what he had said, and told him that he didn't enter competitions because as soon as he started doing that with the goal of achieving a certain rank the hobby stopped being fun for him and he no longer wanted to do it and internally I was like "Ahhh i also have pathologic demand avoidance! Me too."

And everything is fine now.

Imagine, after decades of your world becoming colder and colder, you are saved. A single Eridian, the only one of twenty three to survive, arrives in an alien ship, accompanied by a creature you can barely conceive.

Everything about the alien is so loud, hinges formed from tissue thumping and stretching in constant movement, even while unconscious. Completely organic, reliant of oxygen and hydrogen. Instead of a protective carapace, it regrows its damaged tissues. It has senses you do not, and technology so unlike your own, both able to utilise a force you have never heard of. The same force that killed almost your entire mission team. Highly adaptable, able to teach itself how to fly its ship in under a week, able to become fluent in the engineer's dialect in less than four years.

And if Erid's best engineer is correct (and there's no reason it wouldn't be), this creature not only managed to breed a predator of the warmth-taker to survive in various atmospheres, including Threeworld's, but also turned around to provide aid when it discovered that the predator could escape xenonite.

And you think: Surely, this creature which protects itself without a carapace, which sleeps so lightly and knows so much and learns so quickly, which saved two planets at the cost of ever returning to its thrum, surely, a creature so extraordinary must have a name to match

And you think: Perhaps it is strength, Mountain-Base or Lonsdaleite-Carapace. Perhaps it is intellect, Diamond-Claw or Lockpick-Mind. Perhaps it is courage, Song-Through-Silence or Path-Carver

And you think: None of these names hold the true weight of what this creature is to them. How do you describe something like that, which aids without expectation of anything in return, which risks its own life for the sake of a species it cannot touch, which performs miracles simply because it was asked.

And it pisses you off because bruh how am I supposed to practice this shit if I can't even do this first couple of fucking lines to make a good cylinder.

And then you start drawing and it sucks and you keep doing it, and you learn new skills and tricks, and you even end up developing an art style naturally (which they told you you would do, and you didn't believe them, but it came free with the constantly drawing in a way that made you comfortable and learning the medium).

like its so painful to see people say wilson's translation is "woke" as well when they clearly Have Not Read It. guys translators are not going to be rewriting the fucking story they're just choosing the english words that they believe best interpret the original. it's not a woke feminist retelling just because she's a woman, her intention was to write something in plain english that matches the line count of the original. you don't have to like her translation but don't make shit up </3

also the complaining about lupita nyong'o is still ongoing despite her having like one singular minute of screentime total, most of which was her as clytemnestra, not even as helen.