I imagine the alien thesaurus must be one hell of a beast. Even digitally, it must occupy gigabytes of space.
Because we, humans, are ridiculous with our languages. Never mind the fact that there are many, many, many languages on Earth (We have 11 official languages here in ZA), but just look at what we do to poor, old, simple, English. No, no; I’m not talking about how the dictionary gets updated regularly to include definitions for words we make up as we go along (twerk and selfie anyone?); I’m not taking local slag (or maybe this counts as slang IDK).
I’m talking about things like this:
Tissue= Kleenex Margarine/Butter= Rama/Flora
Lip ice= Vaseline/Zam Buc/Blistex Nail polish (& remover)= Cutex
Plastic bag= Checkers Petroleum Jelly= Vaseline
Dish washing liquid= Sunlight Soap Bar (clothes)= Sunlight
We call products by their brand name in everyday speech; a brand which differs depending on which country you come from, which isn’t necessarily the brand of the product that you have on hand and which can refer to many other products. And we understand what it is that we are talking about/asking for, to the point of becoming confused when you use the generic product name!
This is confusing enough for someone who is not from that country (how many of these products would you have known if I had typed out this list without the generic names?) Now imagine how confusing this is for an alien who has no background knowledge of what products can be found on supermarket shelves and whose translation device will probably have generic names for human products. Especially if this is not a quirk seen outside of human languages.
a quick doodle I did the other day. it was inspired by this little kid I saw in the park, making soap bubbles. some light was peaking through the tree leaves and made those tiny little flies and particles in the air visible on the background of the dark trees, it was quite magical! and then I realized this is one of the very few such sketches I’ve ever done - ones I’m trying to recreate based on something I saw. I felt so nice for a moment for being able to do that! even tho it could’ve been better but I’ll keep practicing ofc:)
jung hoseok: the warmth of the sun on bare skin, laughter drifting through open windows, fairground rides and fireworks, cloudless skies, the smell of soap and sunlight, toes curling into wet sand, half forgotten memories of childhood summers, popcorn and cotton candy, balloons straining for the sky, a sea of sunflowers stretching into the horizon, the bloom of youth
I’m writing about thunderstorms and fire
and teeth slicing into lips and glass
soaked in gasoline and blood but
darling - here’s what I really want.
Give me gentle.
Give me soft hands and smooth skin
and rosebud hearts ready to bloom
with trust and into the most
earth shattering love.
Give me kind.
Give me kisses that are like raindrops,
kisses that heal rather than tear
apart, kisses that are all
urgency and need but also joy.
Give me tender.
Give me cuddles in bed, late night
conversations, stars bowing down
to touch cheeks, the smattering
of glitter and freckles across noses.
Give me love that’s not destructive.
Give me love that’s not flames, love
that is instead petals and sunlight
and soap. Give me love red not with
blood but with the juice of cherries
sticky between hungry mouths.
Take your lovely and sweet
and stitch them into flowers and tuck
the bouquet into my hair, darling.
(I promise to do the same for you.)
It becomes somewhat of a regular thing between them as time goes on, Jim making his way quietly to Leonard’s room three nights every month and waiting outside until the change has left him shivering and vulnerable behind silver-laced walls.
Every time, it’s a struggle to fight back pure, primal instinct, to keep from leaping across the room and ripping out the intruder’s throat at first sight, but something about the human’s scent stops the wolf every time, long enough for Leonard to wrestle back even the smallest iota of control.
Jim sits on the floor and waits for him to settle down, never making the first move, and the wolf always starts out a few feet away, eyeing him warily. “Hey there, Bones,” Jim says quietly, the scar on his face twisting when he smiles. The wolf doesn’t like the mark, still carrying the scent of another wolf even after all these years, and it’s with the intent of wiping it away that he pads closer and sits next to the human.
Jim laughs in surprise when the wolf licks his face roughly, right across the raised pucker of scar tissue, but the wolf is less wolf with every passing moon and a little more Leonard, and even he’s not sure who’s in control anymore when he knocks Jim down playfully and flops on top of his stomach.
The next morning inevitably finds them both in Leonard’s bed, Jim sprawled on his back and snoring with Leonard’s face pressed against his side or his chest, an arm thrown possessively around the younger man’s waist.
“Jim,” Leonard says hoarsely when he wakes, pushing himself up on one elbow to look down at him, and Jim grunts, peering at Leonard drowsily from under his eyelashes.
“Good boy,” Jim murmurs absently, raising his hand and petting Leonard heavily, running his fingers clumsily through Leonard’s hair and pushing it back from his face. “Now lemme sleep.”
“I’m not your dog,” Leonard tells him mildly, feeling like he ought to be affronted, but…..he isn’t. Not really.
“Nah,” Jim hums. His fingertips scratch lightly across Leonard’s scalp, and Leonard finds himself leaning into the kid’s palm. “More like a……bear. Teddy bear.”
Leonard raises an eyebrow, unwillingly amused. “A bear, huh?”
“Mmm.” Jim’s eyes drift shut again, his hand sliding off the side of Leonard’s face, and he’s out again in seconds. Leonard stares at him, at the way the shadow falls across his face in stripes from the window blinds, the slight rise and dip of his chest as he sighs softly in his sleep.
Jim smells like clean sweat and soap and sunlight, his hand warm where it’s caught on Leonard’s shoulder, and Leonard turns his face carefully, nuzzling against Jim’s palm and breathing him in.
It’s a funny thing, to think he once hated the full moon.
Belle felt as though she was playing with fire, sneaking around Cora this way. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing with Rumplestiltskin–she only knew she couldn’t stop. She’d begun to crave him like oxygen; he had infected her mind and body.
They were careful. He barely gave her a passing glance in Cora’s presence, didn’t even acknowledge her existence. Belle kept her eyes lowered, holding Regina gently, tuning out Cora’s constant criticisms.
But there was no escaping it. She knew he felt the same–she could see the hunger in his eyes, every time he looked at her…