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"ways to protect yourself from homosexuals in orbit"

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN…….. HIM

Phobos

Summary: In the 24th century, Alfred takes a long journey out into the final frontier, and almost doesn’t come back. His brother and father are left to tend to the aftermath, and see a not-so-young man take his next steps of maturity. Warnings for mentions of death, PTSD, and alcohol.

Words: 10,782

Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, and alcohol

Special thanks to @draw-a-circle-thats-the-foxhole​, a conversation with whom inspired this entire thing. She also wrote one of Arthur’s better lines in this story, see if you can spot it ;) also, @rainbowfruitpastilles​, you asked to be tagged when I posted this!

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Sometime in the 24th century

The Accident. That’s what everyone had started calling it. Or at least, that’s what they called it when he was in the room. Alfred had no idea if they spoke of it differently when he wasn’t around, though if the hushed tones and timid glances that had reliably followed him since he’d returned were any indication, he’d be shocked if the euphemism wasn’t an attempt at personal courtesy.

He’d regained every one of his 218 pounds on the journey home, and as he’d laid there bobbing in the ocean, boneless and swaddled inside the cramped pod, he’d never been so relieved to feel the crushing burden of gravity. It took a little less than an hour for the welcome wagon to arrive and fish him out of the Atlantic. When they extricated him from the hull, the tears had only partially dried on his face, and not a single person had said anything about it. There’d been several photographers there to capture the occasion, as was typical, but ultimately the only stills released to the media were ones where his face was obscured or turned away. The American public did not need to see their nation puffy-eyed and weepy.

He hadn’t prepared any verbose or witty homecoming remarks as he had for missions past. He thanked the crew and allowed himself to be manhandled into a seat, where he’d be helped out of his suit, buckled in, and sit catatonic while medics reviewed his vitals.

As they approached the shore, Alfred could feel his heart reknitting itself back into his land in more desperate knots than ever before, an ironclad tangle that he felt might never come undone.

“Welcome back, Commander!” The administrator had come in person to welcome him, and was all smiles as he was disembarked. He’d tried to reciprocate, but gravity’s pull on the corners of his mouth outclassed him.

“Thank you, ma'am,” was all he’d said, a paltry grin quivering. His focus was on the solid ground under his toes. “Relieved to be back.” It was an understatement for the ages.

Keep reading

Happy mermay

well at least you didn’t raise a liar mister china

BONUS: 

“ Da Vinki???!”

Source here

I did give them matching sweaters, you’re right!

I've been thinking a lot lately about how the main difference between Alfred and Matt is ambition and it's relationship with faith.

Alfred wants the world. He did on some level want the industrial and economic power that propelled him to the status of power. He resisted it, but he longed for the military might that all but forced his inheritance of the slipping British Empire. He longed for it. Maybe more for the respect at first, the ability to look Arthur in the eye as a man and equal, and only reluctantly for the ability to shape the world but he wanted it all the same. And he has faith he'll have it and that he deserves it. He believes with every ounce of himself that his way, his values, his path was the best one. Not only for him but for anyone around him. First the Americas, and then the world. There are doubts that whisper in his ear that sound like the roaring flames of hell and they nag at his conscience but they disapears under the barrage of success that he desired. He is God's chosen country. Icarus flew too close to the sun, and tumbled into the sea on broken wings when sun-warmed wax melted away. But Alfred swallowed the sun itself, took it into his hands and surpassed all other nations when he became that first nuclear power. He has utter faith that the entire world will dance to the tune he chooses.

Matt has little ambition. If he has any, it is only to survive, to avoid being swallowed whole by the competing empires that gave him breath and the brother he's bound too. He was the second son of the British Empire, Arthur's most dependable child. The First Dominion of Empire. Sounds so grand, like he's so in line with Arthur. It should be that he had faith in imperial dreams, in that world upon which the sun did not set upon his family and an ambition to serve it and prop it up in all things. But there is little of it there. He is the abandoned son of the French Empire. He has no faith in loyalty or in safety or love nor in any ambition too it. Except that innate need to survive. And Matt, well he is the North. Here, survival means warmth. Not the fires of nuclear power but of warmth and community and fire. Matthew's utter devotion to his Father and his family is given without so much expectation as hope that it will be returned when the brink is near and he needs help.

Matt looks softer, kinder than his brother, but he has that same sort of sharp ambition to him under it all. It's so much smaller as he has little faith in anything he gives being returned, but his one small need demands he give anyway. The North American brothers are much the same. It's just Alfred is so much louder and less desperate and more honest than Matt.