“No Lucy you don’t understand. I’m pretty sure she’s not human. I mean, no human can survive on kale, weed, and water alone and look that good!” Kara’s complaining while she follows Lucy off the field after a less than successful practice. She’s sore and wound up in her own nerves, but relaxing is not something Kara Danvers knows how to do.
“So your hot roommate’s an alien?” Lucy questions, chuckling as Kara loses her bravado at the accusation. “You’re stressed and I swear I’ll bench you if you show up tomorrow playing like you did at practice,” Lucy says simply, pulling her phone out to text Alex. “Oh also Kara, unless you’re dying or dead don’t call tonight. Alex and I are going on an actual date and I don’t want anything to interfere,” Lucy adds, nudging the huffing blonde. “Fine, have fun on your date – don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Kara calls as Lucy jogs towards Alex’s car.
I just got off the phone with mom, and we came to the realization that my family has lived in a series of unplottable houses for a couple generations now.
-The First Unplottable House is on my dad’s side of the family, in Delphi, Iowa. The directions to it are the stuff of Buried Treasure: Turn off the county road with a fraction in it’s name, to the Named Dirt Road, then turn at The Discount Eggs Sign on to the Unnamed dirt road that takes a meandering path THROUGH a corn field, DO NOT take any forks on that road or the farmer will shoot your ass, then take the paved road that dead-ends on ALL the way to the end- No, farther, the road keeps going it’s not a cliff-The only indication that You Have Arrived At The Correct Driveway is that a fat gray pony will charge the car, screaming, then escort you the rest of the way there.
It’s on the side of an enormous river, they’ve owned the property since 1911, and that’s the ONLY route there.
-The Second Unplottable house is in Bedford, Ohio and belonged to my mother’s parents. It’s at the corner of two side-streets, right across from the tiny Italian grocery store. Due to strange development decisions, the house is about 30 feet above street level and rendered invisible by a chestnut tree so majestic Hyao Myazaki would probably put it in a movie. The driveway, however, is VERY visible from any of the surrounding houses, the grocer, or the street.
At least in theory and old photos, becuase if you actually GO there, your eyes slide right past it to the neighbor’s lillac bush, or to the retro neons of the grocery store or up the Chestnut tree. it is literally HARD to look at that driveway, all the world around it wants to pull you away.
-The Third Unplottable house is in Salinas, CA, home of my paternal grandparents. It is the single most BORING house possible- like, if you were to ask a third-grader to draw a prototypical house, they would draw my grandparent’s house. Utterly Unremarkable.
Except for the part where my Grandfather, spurred by his success with the “non-fruiting” peach tree, decided to plant a California Redwood Tree, and it grew to approximately 150 feet over the course of a few short decades. It is the tallest damn thing for miles around, and SOMEHOW deliveries keep being missed, mail is delivered to the neighbors, and any non-blood family that tried to visit would end up on the other side of town.
-The Fourth Unplottable House was the one I grew up in CA. The Directions to it are as follows: It’s the Bright Orange house Right Across From The School. You know, the one with six flamingos and the Volunteer Avacado Tree.
SOMEHOW, we got everyone’s mail but OURS (we still wonder about the letter from Fort Knox for Mr. Thomas Saxophone), the other kids got lost trying to visit and ended up in Mr.Phan’s yard on the other end of the block. Officer Brown, Mom and Dad’s friend, who had GPS back in the early 90′s becuase silicon valley, regularly got lost looking for our place. The Flamingos did nothing.
-My parent’s current house is the second house on the right after two right turns off the state highway that runs through town. Sounds easy, right?
Except that due to a couple small trees and a bend in the road, the house is invisible from the road. I have to stand out in the road if i want my pizza delivered. The Mailman is the only person who could reliably find the box, but he drives a subaru that’s older than my sister from the passenger side by leaning over, and delivers mail based on the aztec lunar calendar, so he’s probably not actually human. I tried to host a party, tied rainbow balloons to the mailbox, and all nine friends had to be waved in from the street.
-My current apartment building Does Not Exist, according to my Bank, medicaid, Google, and City Hall which was a bit exciting when I first moved in and had to call everyone that yes, I was sitting in a building that really exists.
Unless it’s my classmates, becuase they can apparently come to parties I don’t host. This Friday I had a friend telling me she had a great time at my place last Teusday… when I was home alone. She assures me that I held a houseparty with “Those polish things you make” (I make great mini klatchky, but haven’t served them to her) and that “You were definitely there, we talked about Carvaggio and you drive me home”
FAVORITE THINGS: victor von doom doing a mental risk/reward analysis like “you know what? when this girl was fourteen she covered me in squirrels. have i rodent-proofed my shit since then? yes. am i in the mood to get covered in fucking squirrels again? literally never. god knows what new powers she’s found since puberty. let the little devil-imp take the goddamn time machine. fuck it. who cares. she’ll probably just end up using it to go back in time and tell herself to never come here. that’s how 90% of all time travel ends. another 5% ends with me as undisputed ruler of the entire earth. i’m not even giving her the good time machine. it’s the janky one. joke’s on her, the a/c doesn’t even work and the tapedeck is broken. doom, as ever, is the real winner here.”
“Humans are weird” post! What if all aliens actually hatch from eggs and our planet is the only one in the universe that has mammals on it. For an alien, the shell of their egg is a bit like their birth certificate because it’s the proof that they were born, so it’s extremely important for them. To study the development of certain species, they sometimes have to ask some specimen of that species to show them their shell. But then, they visit Earth and meet humans…
Alien: Good morning Human-Nate. I am Xers, an eggshell specialist. In order to study your species development, I need you to show me the shell of the egg that you hatched from. Don’t worry, I am a professional. I can guarantee that you will have it back in the same state as it was when you entrusted it to me. Human: hummmm, I’m sorry but I don’t have any eggshell to show you….. Alien: Could it be that you lost it? If so, please excuse me for my previous request. I am sorry if you thought that it was a rude of me. Human: Don’t apologize, it’s fine! *nervous hand gesture* I didn’t lose it or anything. It’s just that I never had one in the first place. Humans do not hatch from eggs. Alien: W-what? They don’t?! Then how? Human: Well, to put it short, the baby grows inside of the mother’s uterus for 9 months and then, when they are ready, they just…come out…by another part of the the mother’s reproductive system. Alien: Directly from the uterus? With no shell or protection?! Baby humans actually SURVIVE this?! Human: Yup, and I am the living proof! *laughs* Alien: …..what the hell is wrong with your species.
To learn more about what humans call “pregnancy”, Xers went to see a pregnant woman and asked her questions about the singular gestation process of “mammals”. After a few minutes, the woman chuckled softly and put a hand on her round belly.
Alien: *worried* Human-Kate, are you alright? Human: It’s nothing. I just felt a small kick from her. *chuckles* Alien:….Did your growing organism justATTACK YOU?!
****trigger warning for for anxiety/anxious feelings
he can tell when it starts. you’ve got that look in your eye. maybe its an extra uncomfortable jitter in your step or the uncontrollable bouncing of your knee.
he stays nearby like a net, waiting to catch you when you finally jumped out.
if you need to babble it all out until you can’t speak between hiccups of sobs or pace up and down the expanse of your living room or for him to hold you stead, he’d do whatever
makes a clear effort to be comforting but not pressuring. “i’m here, darlin’. Can’t say anything that will change that, yeah? I’m right here.” he hums into your ear for pressing a kiss to your hair
or “i noticed you’ve been acting different, love. you been feeling a bit off? would ya like to talk about it? we can have a nice long chat, i can brew us a cup a’ tea. Be nice, yeah?” he murmurs, hugging you close to his chest
the morning after you talk or have an anxiety attack, he turns off your alarm, letting you sleep in a bit later than normal.
(he can always get an excuse for your tardiness, charming the pants off any employer or professor he come in contact with)
he fixes you a big breakfast of nice, healthy things to set your day right.
he goes with you on long walks, letting your hold tessa’s leash (it’s normally his job) or just cling onto him when your away from the grey lion.
“have you every talked to anyone about this? like a therapist or a doctor?” he asks, without judgement or expectation. he only asks to offer an option of support. he doesn’t press or pretend to know you better than you know yourself. but tom lets you know he cares about you and your mental health and only wants that best for you
on his notes app in his phone, he has a list of the funniest episodes of your favorite TV shows.
he’s cheerful and positive. not overbearingly so. more so that he’s excited to see you. happy to let you crawl up next to him and bury your face in his neck. that he can be a little sunshine on your cloudy day.
he has a whole folder of bookmarks for breathing exercises, calming messages and other tools to help
he lays with you until you fall asleep, hums softly by you or tells a story and his voice, sleepy voice comforts you