[identity profile] scifi-spnmod.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] scifi_spn
Like science fiction? Like supernatural? Want someone to finally write that story where Robo!Sam is actually a robot version of Sam? Well then, come join our inaugural commentmeme party!

Fic and art both welcome!

WHEN PROMPTING:

In the Subject Line, please put:
1. PROMPT:
2. Pairing or Characters
3. Basic Idea (one or two words) of Prompt. Your prompts should be somehow related to both science fiction and supernatural, or at least be conductive to a fill in that direction.
4. What type of fill preferences you have-art or writing. If you don't have a preference for whatever type of fill, you can leave this off. Any comment that does not have this information can be filled with art or writing.

If you run out of room, or are using a style sheet that doesn't allow subject lines, put the information in BOLD at the top of your comment.

Within a message, put a more detailed version of your prompt, along with any other preferences you may have.

WHEN FILLING:

In the Subject Line, please put:

1. FILL:
2. Title (if any)
3. Pairing or characters
4. Any sort of warnings and rating. If your work contains underage, dubcon/noncon, or character death, you must warn for it, or say 'choose not to warn'. If the work contains material that is sexually explicit or exceptionally violent, you must have a rating that conveys that (M, R/NC-17, NSFW, ect)

OTHER MISCELLANIA:

1. You can prompt anonymously, or fill anonymously. You do not need a livejournal to participate.
2. You can fill prompts that have already been filled.
3. Don't be a jerk. Don't bash other people's prompts. Don't create prompts that seem like they're created solely for the purpose of riling up others. Mods reserve the right to define what those prompts look like.
4. If you have questions, please feel free to ask the mods below, or pm the mod account.
5. Wondering where all this talk about subject lines is coming from, when you don't have any in your comments? Go here. Uncheck the check box that says 'view in my style'. If you really do not want to give up your current style, you can place the information requested in bold at the top of the comment field.
6. Have fun, guys! ROBOTS. LASERS. SPACE. THE SAMULET AS A TRACKING DEVICE. C'mon. Enjoy yourselves.


This is also a crossposting comm, so if you have any works that you want listed here that you've already written, or any rec lists that you want to compile, go ahead and submit! Tag the work to the best of your abilities; if there are any tags that you this should be added, PM the mods at [livejournal.com profile] scifi_spnmod, and we'll add them for you.

Feel free to pimp us out using the banners here, and check out our FAQ!

FILLS:

Insufficient Interface by [livejournal.com profile] sistabro
Sam, Dean, Castiel; no warnings; prompt by [livejournal.com profile] switchbladesis
Castiel resurrects Dean in an android body.

Long Spiral by [livejournal.com profile] ferricent
Jimmy Novak; no warnings; prompt by [livejournal.com profile] gabby_silang
Angel inside of you, it's kinda like being chained to a comet.

The Time Traveller's Bartender by [livejournal.com profile] architeuthis
pre-Jared/Misha; no warnings; prompt by [livejournal.com profile] affablyevil
Misha is a hapless time-traveler who keeps ending up in Jared's orbiting space colony bar.

Residual Self-Image by [livejournal.com profile] architeuthis
Castiel, the Harvelles, others; violence; prompt by [livejournal.com profile] cordelia_gray
Heaven is the Matrix.

2083 by [livejournal.com profile] monicawoe
Sam, Ruby; R; prompt by [livejournal.com profile] gabby_silang
Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon biotech.

Battle Song by [livejournal.com profile] claudiapriscus
Dean, Sam, OCs; no warnings; prompt by [livejournal.com profile] honeylocusttree
Dean and Sam are immortal. In the distant future, a threat to the Earth forces them and the rest of humanity to evacuate to the stars.
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
This fic needs to be a few thousand words long. I need to run around this meme stuffing prompts into my cheeks like a chipmunk. Because you are tolerant of my flaws as a person, I give you one scene and an IOU for a completed fic.

----

"Do I drink the robot, or is that just garnish?"

This is a weird enough question to catch Jared's attention even during the last of the rush, when the hustle-and-bustle is still high and everyone wants him for something at once. There's a man near the end of the bar with his dark hair windblown and the right side of his face and body splashed with soot, except his eye, which is surrounded by the clean oval created by the goggles he is currently wearing pushed up to his hairline. He's holding a glass of two liquids, one clear, one purple, and there is indeed a miniscule robot in it. The liquids must have the same specific gravity, and mingle freely; the shrimplike undulations of the robot's many limbs send immiscible ripples and globules of them careening off the sides of the glass.

"Uh, I think you probably don't want to swallow it," Jared says. He should be offended this guy has brought a drink into his bar from elsewhere during prime time, but mostly he's just dying to know what's in it and where to buy the little robots.

"You mean you don't know?" the guy says, looking at his drink like it may contain poison as well as potentially dangerous machinery.

Okay, now Jared is a little offended. "How would I know anything about a drink you snuck in? Who made that? Was it Weatherly over at -- no, he's not that good."

"What are you talking --" the guy begins, but stops himself. There's something elaborate and electronic strapped to his left forearm, which he consults via a holographic interface that suggests this device is worth all of the real estate and half of the people in the rim; his brow wrinkles, then relaxes. "Wow, I'm so out of it I lost a whole year in the middle of conversation and didn't even notice. I'll be back, uh -- later." He grabs his drink, flickers, and is gone.

Okay. Either Jared is losing his mind, or he's just had an encounter with the richest man on the station -- no, in the entire system -- who has access to personal teleportation technology decades ahead of the military's wildest dreams. And the richest man in the system is also losing his mind. Nobody else in the bar seems to have noticed what just happened, but then, Jared has been systematically getting most of them drunk for the last several hours.

This should all be extremely worrisome, but as he sets up a line of shots for the group that just came up to the bar, Jared finds that he mostly wants to know how the drink works. Either one of the liquids is non-polar, or some kind of weird surfactant is involved to keep them from mixing. Can he make a liquor non-polar? Would it even be drinkable? He'll have to call Gen tomorrow and pick her chemistry brain. And not explain what inspired his curiosity.

The guy is back an hour and a half later, when things are winding down toward closing. As before, Jared doesn't see him come in; he turns around and the guy is just there, on a barstool, empty-handed this time. He has also bathed, put on fresh clothes, changed his goggles and priceless technological artifact out for similar but differently-styled versions of same, and apparently grown his hair out roughly seven centimeters.

"Hello again," Jared says, and the guy laughs like this is a joke. Jury's still out on which of them should be concerned about his grip on reality.

"Sorry about earlier," he says. "Rough day at the office."

"You looked like you'd been caught in an engine blast."

"It's not an office in the strictest sense. Can I get a drink?"

Jared drapes the towel he's been wiping the bar down with over his shoulder. "I need you to be a little more specific."

"Make me something fancy."

"How fancy?"

"I'd like to be uncertain how to drink it."

Maybe Jared likes him too much to care that he may be a hallucination.
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com


Jared and Adrianne spent a couple of the slow hours earlier making round stuff for shits and giggles, and he's glad now. He fills a highball glass with spheres of ice, brandied cherries, and pea- to grape-sized balls of liquor: rye whiskey, sweet vermouth, a caviarlike sprinkling of bitters. The guy laughs again when presented with this cocktail, and a third time when tipping it toward his mouth just sends the contents tumbling against his nose.

"Okay, you got me," he says and, after visibly considering the problem, plucks a sphere of whiskey out of the glass with his fingers and eats it. His expression announces the moment he discovers that the center of the ball is liquid; he coughs, then eats another one immediately, laughing, delighted. "This is completely worth the terrible breach of table etiquette I'm committing here."

It's the most satisfying experience of Jared's evening, and he's disappointed when he gets pulled away to make a series of boring quasi-martinis and boilermakers for some already-drunk students from the center column, who explain to him three times that they're only in his bar because the bigger, trendier place next door is having some sort of air mix issue and closed its doors early. Then it's time to start breaking down for the night; as much as he would like to just stand around and watch this stranger thrill over his handiwork, Jared has a business to run.

This time, he's sure Teleporter Guy doesn't use the door. Jared's been keeping an ear on it so he can shoo away latecomers; he would have noticed. He turns back from wiping down the far end of the bar, though, and his new fascination has -- maybe literally -- vanished, leaving behind an empty glass and the glowing spot on the bartop that indicates a credit transfer. Misha Collins, his signature says. Under that, he's traced out with his fingertip, It's not a teleporter.

Jared tosses the money to his bank and the note into his inbox, not at all so he can throw it up on the ceiling at home and mull over it later. He sends Adrianne home, and locks up with a puzzled smile and a sense of unfolding possibility.
From: [identity profile] switchbladesis.livejournal.com
:DDDDDD

I got as far as the first line before I started grinning like a madwoman.

This is adorable and fanciful and I love the drinks, and I'm suspecting that Jared's sense of wonder is also my sense of wonder.

Obviously I want more of it, but this is a very tasty morsel on its own.
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
The first line was my authentic, unconsidered first reaction to the prompt (slightly paraphrased), and as soon as I said it I knew I was going to have to write the fic. I'm happy it works on its own! I totally need more too, though.
From: [identity profile] gabby-silang.livejournal.com
"I'd like to be uncertain how to drink it."

I love you like I love chicken wings, root beer, and a new season of Archer all downloaded and ready to watch. I love you like I love the one house where the owners planted only crocuses so that they would be the first fireworks of spring. I love you like I love bourbon cocktails.

Also I want an entire novel set in this universe, JUST SAYING, OKAY. JUST. SAYING.
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
Oh, stop. There's barely any universe here! When I first wrote the ending Misha had actually left cash printed on plastic! Basically what I'm saying is that my ego is hard enough for me to control without you lavishing this level of praise on me.

Don't think for a minute that I didn't intuit that you liked a Manhattan, by the way. It is my cocktail of choice, and I was making one at home one day in an inappropriately large glass and I just knew.
From: [identity profile] affablyevil.livejournal.com
I am incoherent with delight at this, especially the bizarre undrink boba drinks with their ice spheres and graceful shrimp robots that probably have the most amazing drink-mixing filaments! And Misha losing track of time and Jared intrigued by some possibly alien or future tech and trying to impress a guy who doesn't actually teleport and TERRIBLE BARTENDER MICHAEL WEATHERLY.

Asdgajdfbh there already needs to be more of this.
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
I've made a new icon in honor of how charmed I was by this prompt and how totally I am not an alcoholic. More fic soon!
sistabro: (Default)
From: [personal profile] sistabro
This is utterly delightful Jared can be my bartender anyday and Misha, oh Misha, so precocious and adorably soot streaked. :DDDD
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
Thank you! :D  Jared is totally my favorite sort of bartender. "Here, drink this!" "What is it?" "I don't know! I just bought an old medical centrifuge and I'm seeing what happens when I put alcohol in it!"
From: [identity profile] cordelia-gray.livejournal.com
:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

There's going to be a lot more of this, right? And the mystery drink with the robot is going to create a temporal paradox? And there will be shenanigans? THIS MAKES ME VERY HAPPY!
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
IT MADE ME EXTREMELY HAPPY TO WRITE. :D

I do not actually promise any temporal paradoxes or any other sort of legit science fiction thing in this story (though I may employ a small predestination paradox), but the mystery drink will definitely return!
From: [identity profile] slinkymilinky.livejournal.com
I'd probably sell a kidney to read more of this - I love that the bar gives such a rich view of the universe...the possibilities are endless! my brain is already galloping around this fic and plastering little splashes of Mad-Max, Minority report and Firefly up on its walls...awesome awesome.

I really liked this bit:

"How fancy?"

"I'd like to be uncertain how to drink it."
Edited Date: 2012-03-26 09:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
Thank you! That exchange was my favorite part of this. And I must have done something right with the (it seemed to me pretty minimal) worldbuilding, because your references are spot on!
From: [identity profile] rock-chick-333.livejournal.com
You've done your Random Act of Kindness for the day by alerting me to the existence of this comm, and furthermore the existence of this marvellous snippet.

You need to keep writing RPF now you've started; especially Misha, because you have that freaky, fantastic little fucker spot on.

And now I want my Islay single malt to come in bizarre little scifi spheres that pop in my mouth, dammit.
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
It's funny, Mishalecki is my favorite mainlist CWRPF pairing by a mile, and I was sure I'd never be able to write it because I'm not very good at wacky shenanigans -- but once I got rolling, it turned out to be harder to stop writing Misha. His deflectiveness tends to derail conversations into banter that is funny but goes nowhere. XD

And now I want my Islay single malt to come in bizarre little scifi spheres that pop in my mouth, dammit.

Those were made with a molecular gastronomy technique called spherification (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spherification) and you could actually make some right now (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gV_oIuQEmGE) with stuff you bought off the internet. Jared's larger spheres are, well, unusually spherical (they tend to be kind of oblong in practice) but he's a professional who lives on a space station, so, whatever. He's probably got a device that produces a very tight skin.
From: [identity profile] rock-chick-333.livejournal.com
It's possible?? Now??? SQUEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

The quick-march of technology never ceases to amaze me, but then I grew up at a time when visual media could only be watched live at the time of broadcast, and music could only be listened to at home (phonogram the size of a side cupboard) or in the car (8-track). I get all flappyhanded and gleeful whenever I compare that to, y'know, mp3 players and Kindles and DVDs. You youngsters have no idea of just how marvellous it is to be able to carry your entire record collection and a library's-worth of books around with you and access them anywhere.

I'm so old. *brandishes here walking-stick*

He's probably got a device that produces a very tight skin.

[insert smutty joke about the Padacock here]
snickfic: Buffy looking over her shoulder (Default)
From: [personal profile] snickfic
I want you to know that I am sitting here giggling in sheer delight. This was hilarious and adorable.
From: [identity profile] mad-server.livejournal.com
Aaaaahhhh :D :D

MISHA SHOULD ALWAYS BE DOCTOR WHO OR A DOCTOR-WHO LIKE FIGURE. GOD IT'S SO PERFECT.
From: [identity profile] architeuthis.livejournal.com
You are so right. So, so right. I'm not going for the full Doctor effect here, but originally the "long day at the office" exchange was going to include a line in which he gave what he does for a living as "Meddle. Professionally." (This will probably still work its way in later.)

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