fic prompts

[raven]

So, hello, I'm sorry for the spam. But I have a bad case of Sunday night hyperactivity. If you want a ficlet, please say so: fandom, character(s), prompt - I like this list and this list, but anything. Won't promise to write them all, but will try. (forthwritten, this time I will try to do better.)

Comments

[nnozomi.livejournal.com]

I feel like you may have written this already, but I like it and it seems to suit the fandoms, so: Cabin Pressure and/or Star Trek, competence is sexy (literally or otherwise). Oh! Alternatively, Uhura gets mixed up in Cornell linguistics department politics.

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

Alas, I know little of Cornell linguistics dept politics - I was at the law school there; perhaps a different flavour of politics - but I once combined competence, Star Trek and Cabin Pressure into A Short History of Aviation (http://archiveofourown.org/works/472638).

That said, I'm going to cheat a little here and give you a snippet from a Cabin Pressure story I may or may not finish one of these days, that hangs quite well off the competence-is-sexy hook.


They leave Nowhere, Nova Scotia just after sunset, so the last of the natural light is fading. Douglas is pleased: he wouldn't admit to the sentimental side of it in front of the others, but he likes night flights; he likes the sense of the world closing in to just himself, his first officer and his aircraft.

First officer, though. He sighs, looks across at Martin, who actually looks perkier than he's been recently, although with no hat. He's operating out tonight, murmuring softly to ATC. "Cleared for take-off."

"Good." Douglas echoes him and talks quietly into the cabin intercom. "Arthur, Carolyn? Cross-check?"

"Let's go, Skipper!" comes Arthur's voice sepulchrally from the cabin.

"First officer," Douglas murmurs, and then, louder: "Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered."

"Hamlet." Martin looks across at him. "And it's not the first line."

"Humour me," Douglas tells him. And then they're moving. He leans forward, instinctively, and the landscape blurs, the ground speed indicator rising, rising, a hundred, a hundred and fifty….

Then – something. Something large, something with enormous, mad eyes, out on the runway, right in front of them and growing more huge by the second.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Douglas can't breathe. "Moose!"

"Fuck," Martin squawks, and puts his hand on the control column.

"No," Douglas says, eyes on ground speed, "not enough, no, Martin, no…"

Martin pulls back. Douglas breathes in and closes his eyes and clenches his fists and breathes –

- and they're flying. For the last moment Douglas still thinks they'll clip – the bulk of the thing is all menacing shadow below – and then open space, open air.

"Christ," Douglas says. Martin has gone pale. Gertie begins to turn, flattening out into her flight path as smooth and easy as a kiss. They're climbing into the clear sky above the ocean, with the airfield a jewel box of lights spread out below. "Golf Tango India, come in, Golf Tango India!" the radio is shrieking.

Douglas grabs at it and shouts, "Yes, control, was there something you wanted to tell us?" but the effect is ruined by the hysterical note underneath. "Martin, if anyone ever tells you, ever, that you can't, that you shouldn't fly…"

"Boys?" It's Carolyn's voice, sounding a little faint. "Boys, are you all right in there?"

"We're fine," Martin says. He sounds absolutely calm.

Carolyn says, "If we'd had passengers with no seatbelts on, they would have hit the roof like a tonne of bricks hitting the, well, the ground. Not that would necessarily have been a bad thing."

"Oh, look," Arthur calls. "We smashed all our miniatures. Whisky in everything."

"Skipper," Douglas says. The word tastes unfamiliar in his mouth. "You…"

Martin smiles and cuts him off. "All my sins remembered, Douglas?"

"I am turning into a romantic in my old age," Douglas grouses. "Apparently imminent near-death experiences bring it out in me."

"Me, too." Martin grins. "Nymph."

"Oh, shut up."

Below them, the sea stretches out. Douglas wonders how many crashed aircraft it's hiding, and they fly on.

[foreverdirt.livejournal.com]

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3 and maybe even <3

[nnozomi.livejournal.com]

Wonderful. Thank you! There's something very appealing about Martin staying calm and coping while Douglas panics (appealing as far as each of them is concerned, too, it looks like), and the Hamlet line woven all the way through (and I wonder what uniquely Arthury results are going to come of the smashed miniatures...). Now I wish I could see the rest of the story.
(I think I've read all your Cabin Pressure fics, by the way; they're on the long list of "fics I have to go back to and leave kudos/comments sometime soon...").