Criminal Meme
Stolen from shinealightonme . A random sampling of my many many WIPs. Note: These are all Criminal Minds - I've just about given up on my WIPs from other fandoms lol.
DISCLAIMER: My WIPs go through many revisions before they see the light of day, so please excuse any instances of crappy writing. This is hardly a glimpse of the finished product.
Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations. No more than one sentence!
"No offense, Reid, but I'm really not in the mood for a heart-to-heart," she interrupts, running a hand through her tangled blonde tresses.
"I just think this is a waste of time," he maintained, looking very uncomfortable in the midst of the dark and noisey bar.
"Einstein's got his nose bent out of joint because I borrowed one of his books and didn't use protective gloves while handling it," he replied sourly.
"Can't I be one of those bookish agents who never comes out of his office?"
His eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store as they roamed over the faded chrome bumpers and rusty turquoise siding.
"Leave it to you to use big words when you're wasted."
She knows what Hotch is going to say before he even closes the door.
"I think that you would be best served by listening right now, Reid," he cut in, frowning at the skinny young man as he moved around to the other side of his desk. ( Childish)
"They're just jealous of you, Spencer," his mother said, or would say on the days when she was lucid enough to find him crouched over the bathroom sink, quietly cleaning his cuts or nursing a black eye.
It wasn't how she'd planned on spending her afternoon.
"Later, my pet," Garcia assured him, directing the trio towards a particularly promising row of hangers.
Childish laughter sounded from the family room, and Hotch hurried in that direction, relief flooding him as he found his charge unharmed.
"So, you guys hit the town last night," Emily guessed, eager for some lighthearted conversation to put off the work that lay ahead of them.
The young genius sat hunched over a pile of notes, his nose so deeply buried in whatever he was writing that he hardly noticed her presence until she called his name a third time.
"...We're friends?"
Spencer shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks, looking the very image of confused and awkward.
"Reid, I can't believe you dragged us all the way out here." ( Spook)
The impact of the snowball came unexpected to Reid, who'd been casually explaining Las Vegas' average precipitation records to a half-listening Morgan. ( Garland)
He's been through a lot, she defended silently, trying to squelch the mild feeling of rejection threatening to grow inside her.
Silently, he held the block out, an expectant look on his face. (Potential)
Reid merely whimpered, further burying his head in his arms.
After a really bad case, all that any one of them wants is to stop thinking for a little while.
Morgan hasn't talked to God since he was a child, but a part of him is tempted to pray - pray for some miracle to make Reid breathe again - before he remembers that God is the whole reason for this mess.
Will's not a stupid man.
"Or were you hoping I'd forgotten?"
From observing the awkward youth, he could tell that grace was not on his impressive list of attributes.
"Taking your advice," he replied absently, scratching something out on the page.
Maybe her son will write to her tomorrow.
It is only when Spencer wakes, rushing to the bathroom to cough up his last two meals, that he wonders if Morgan even knew he was dead.
"Well, he gets points for originality, but I think we have to dock a few for style," she commented, a slight quirk to her lips as they paused to survey the outside of the shop itself.
The room itself was easy enough to identify - the blinding combination of computers and colourful knicknacks betrayed it as the proverbial batcave of their resident computer goddess.
"If I'm the UNSUB, the quickest way into this room other than that door is through the window."
The pain helped, for a moment, but the distraction could only last so long.
He had had a friend when he was younger, named Jeff.
He watched as others in the crowd nodded their agreement, and couldn't help but think they were playing it up a bit - death made people remember the departed in a better light.
Derek nodded and turned back to his work, leaving JJ feeling slightly disappointed. ( Sickness)
"Well, sometimes all a case needs is a fresh pair of eyes," Jason remarked distractedly, his gaze drifting over the pages of the file.
Maybe it was for the best that they weren't coming - he wasn't so sure that he could face them after everything that had happened.
He didn't appear to hear her, brushing past her without a glance.
"I'm banned from her office until further notice."
To Spencer Reid, it seemed as if he could never really leave his job at work anymore.
"I'll be eighteen in October," he rushed to add, as if the month he was born would somehow make his situation less bizarre.
Reid shrugged and put the phone back in his pocket as he punched the button for the elevator.
"We've been having this conversation for two months, Hotch."
Her absence from the room had gone unnoticed by the others, who were too wrapped up in Reid to worry about the disappearance of their newest member.
"Reid, man, you still up?" he inquired groggily, stretching the kinks in his neck.
Now, being a reasonable person, Reid knows that the team's misplaced desire to protect him did not spring up out of nowhere.
"I'm afraid the schedule won't allow it," Strauss replied haughtily, sounding less-than-apologetic as she turned a page in the report.
"Agent Greenaway," he greeted congenially, with a slight pull of his lips that might have been a smile.
"What's this for?" he questioned, picking the book up to inspect it.
"Is this the part where I clear the snow off the grave and see my own name written on it?" Reid asked moodily, folding his arms.
Okay, wow. I included a lot more sentences than I intended to. You know, if you read them all together, it sounds like one long, messed-up crack!fic. True story.
DISCLAIMER: My WIPs go through many revisions before they see the light of day, so please excuse any instances of crappy writing. This is hardly a glimpse of the finished product.
Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations. No more than one sentence!
"No offense, Reid, but I'm really not in the mood for a heart-to-heart," she interrupts, running a hand through her tangled blonde tresses.
"I just think this is a waste of time," he maintained, looking very uncomfortable in the midst of the dark and noisey bar.
"Einstein's got his nose bent out of joint because I borrowed one of his books and didn't use protective gloves while handling it," he replied sourly.
"Can't I be one of those bookish agents who never comes out of his office?"
His eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store as they roamed over the faded chrome bumpers and rusty turquoise siding.
"Leave it to you to use big words when you're wasted."
She knows what Hotch is going to say before he even closes the door.
"I think that you would be best served by listening right now, Reid," he cut in, frowning at the skinny young man as he moved around to the other side of his desk. ( Childish)
"They're just jealous of you, Spencer," his mother said, or would say on the days when she was lucid enough to find him crouched over the bathroom sink, quietly cleaning his cuts or nursing a black eye.
It wasn't how she'd planned on spending her afternoon.
"Later, my pet," Garcia assured him, directing the trio towards a particularly promising row of hangers.
Childish laughter sounded from the family room, and Hotch hurried in that direction, relief flooding him as he found his charge unharmed.
"So, you guys hit the town last night," Emily guessed, eager for some lighthearted conversation to put off the work that lay ahead of them.
The young genius sat hunched over a pile of notes, his nose so deeply buried in whatever he was writing that he hardly noticed her presence until she called his name a third time.
"...We're friends?"
Spencer shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks, looking the very image of confused and awkward.
"Reid, I can't believe you dragged us all the way out here." ( Spook)
The impact of the snowball came unexpected to Reid, who'd been casually explaining Las Vegas' average precipitation records to a half-listening Morgan. ( Garland)
He's been through a lot, she defended silently, trying to squelch the mild feeling of rejection threatening to grow inside her.
Silently, he held the block out, an expectant look on his face. (Potential)
Reid merely whimpered, further burying his head in his arms.
After a really bad case, all that any one of them wants is to stop thinking for a little while.
Morgan hasn't talked to God since he was a child, but a part of him is tempted to pray - pray for some miracle to make Reid breathe again - before he remembers that God is the whole reason for this mess.
Will's not a stupid man.
"Or were you hoping I'd forgotten?"
From observing the awkward youth, he could tell that grace was not on his impressive list of attributes.
"Taking your advice," he replied absently, scratching something out on the page.
Maybe her son will write to her tomorrow.
It is only when Spencer wakes, rushing to the bathroom to cough up his last two meals, that he wonders if Morgan even knew he was dead.
"Well, he gets points for originality, but I think we have to dock a few for style," she commented, a slight quirk to her lips as they paused to survey the outside of the shop itself.
The room itself was easy enough to identify - the blinding combination of computers and colourful knicknacks betrayed it as the proverbial batcave of their resident computer goddess.
"If I'm the UNSUB, the quickest way into this room other than that door is through the window."
The pain helped, for a moment, but the distraction could only last so long.
He had had a friend when he was younger, named Jeff.
He watched as others in the crowd nodded their agreement, and couldn't help but think they were playing it up a bit - death made people remember the departed in a better light.
Derek nodded and turned back to his work, leaving JJ feeling slightly disappointed. ( Sickness)
"Well, sometimes all a case needs is a fresh pair of eyes," Jason remarked distractedly, his gaze drifting over the pages of the file.
Maybe it was for the best that they weren't coming - he wasn't so sure that he could face them after everything that had happened.
He didn't appear to hear her, brushing past her without a glance.
"I'm banned from her office until further notice."
To Spencer Reid, it seemed as if he could never really leave his job at work anymore.
"I'll be eighteen in October," he rushed to add, as if the month he was born would somehow make his situation less bizarre.
Reid shrugged and put the phone back in his pocket as he punched the button for the elevator.
"We've been having this conversation for two months, Hotch."
Her absence from the room had gone unnoticed by the others, who were too wrapped up in Reid to worry about the disappearance of their newest member.
"Reid, man, you still up?" he inquired groggily, stretching the kinks in his neck.
Now, being a reasonable person, Reid knows that the team's misplaced desire to protect him did not spring up out of nowhere.
"I'm afraid the schedule won't allow it," Strauss replied haughtily, sounding less-than-apologetic as she turned a page in the report.
"Agent Greenaway," he greeted congenially, with a slight pull of his lips that might have been a smile.
"What's this for?" he questioned, picking the book up to inspect it.
"Is this the part where I clear the snow off the grave and see my own name written on it?" Reid asked moodily, folding his arms.
Okay, wow. I included a lot more sentences than I intended to. You know, if you read them all together, it sounds like one long, messed-up crack!fic. True story.