WIPs
Holy crap but I've got a lot of WIPs on the go at the moment...
Lots of other writerly sorts have been posting snippets from their "in progress" file, so I thought I'd man up and do the same (if only to remind myself NOT to start anything new until I've closed off some of these fics). I'll avoid the truly embarrassing ones, or the ones that I know I will never finish (hey, it happens...).
The Impression That I Get
The first one is an imprint story [Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid]. Yeah, I'm not much for that avoid-the-awkward-relationship-goo-in-favor-of-predestination stuff, but I started reading a CM imprint fic (which went to hell pretty fast, I gotta admit) and I decided that this is a trope I should try. My own way. As an aside, I've decided to open every chapter with fake quotes taken from medical journals and symposium reports because I'm approaching this from a science perspective rather than a fantastical one (plus, I deal with that stuff in my day job and that's just the kind of geek that I am).
“Whenever I remember that initial moment, the first thing that always strikes me is how uncomfortable it was. It’s difficult to imagine where the romantic aspect of the imprinting myth came from when, in actuality, the sensations are almost exclusively negative. I found it disorienting, oppressive, and indescribably frightening.” - Dr. Spencer Reid, imprint profile interview with Dr. Henry Zeigler, Nature’s Lag: A Brief History of Imprintology In America, JAMA [publication pending].
At the time it happened, the science was still relatively new but he’d been aware of the basics just out of curiosity. It seemed to be both logically mammalian in nature as well as being an improbable evolutionary leap: the sudden realization upon meeting a complete stranger that the individual was an optimized match which then triggered a massive and seemingly irreversible biochemical reaction that bound the pair until death. The logical part stemmed from examples already present in nature - the mating habits of wolves, swans, and eagles all lent themselves to the theory. And the pervasive romantic notion of ‘the soulmate’ found in almost every human cultural paradigm made an argument that it existed in the collective unconscious as something yearned for, if not necessarily realized. The improbable part was that verifiable ‘imprints’ only went back forty years and that it was notoriously difficult to quantify an anomalous species characteristic that involved something as subjective as emotions. The biology and the brain chemistry could be measured, but none of the results were predictive, so imprints couldn’t be identified and studied prior to the bonding process, which lessened the breadth of understanding considerably. And since less than one percent of the world population was speculated to be affected by the syndrome, the science was often dismissed as convenient or, for the more cynical and politically minded, a back door way to justify aberrant socio-sexual behavior. It didn’t help that the most famous examples of imprints were traditionally seen as socially unacceptable: couples with significant age differences, mixed race couples, same sex couples etc.
Evolution didn’t really work that way, he’d reminded himself at the time. On occasion it made a huge, noticeable step forward, but mostly nature changed at an achingly slow, millennial crawl that made things considerably less alarming to those involved. So he found the science interesting, but not convincing, and given how mathematically low an ‘imprint match’ was for any individual, he didn’t give it any consideration for himself personally.
Until his first day on the job at the FBI.
Untitled (originally called All It Takes Is A Split Second but I can't use that, soooo....)
The next is a companion piece to a story I've already published (All It Takes Is A Split Second) [Criminal Minds, Hotch + Reid]. Originally, I wrote a TON of that story from Hotch's POV, but ended up clipping out most of it and rewriting it as a time travel story for Reid. I went back and reread the original and realized that I had an interesting idea going, I just couldn't finish it at the time. So, now I'm writing a 'What If' piece where Hotch has to deal with time travel (it's like an alternate version of reality and Reid isn't what he seems to be). It'll all make sense when I'm done, I'm sure ;)
“This is more like… a waiting room of sorts than a hospital.”
“I fell off a rooftop - what the hell am I waiting for, Reid?”
Reid laughed awkwardly and came closer, lifting one long finger as he usually did before launching into something. “Interesting story… you’re actually waiting for yourself - to make a decision…”
“Please try to make sense, Reid. I’m not following…”
Reid straightened and stared, his eyes suddenly darker and more serious than Hotch could ever remember seeing before.
“You fell from a 22 storey roof, Hotch. Look at yourself: no bruises, not a drop of blood, not a single broken bone, no one is here tending to you… Think it through.”
“Am I…” Hotch swallowed once, his mouth now impossibly dry. “Am I dead?”
“Not yet, not completely. We still have a little time here.”
“A little time for what?”
“To chat, Hotch. About your future.”
37b
This next one is the 3rd part to Just Right, and A Little Better [Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid]. Sadly, it's MUCH darker than the previous two stories and I'm concerned about that. They were light and fun - that was part of their appeal. This one is all angsty and yet I can't seem to fix that.
Reid wanted to talk about what they were doing - it had been an ongoing battle since they first started this - but Hotch had failed to see the point telling himself that this was just another unavoidable connection that nonetheless should go assiduously unrecognized. It would end - good things in his life always did - and then where would all of that talk have gotten them? As he thought that, pinpoints on his body heated beneath his suit, places where three nights earlier Reid had marked him with his lips and teeth and hands. They pulsed as one, as if they had a voice, telling him that this was different - the feeling was so much more than conditional comfort. But how could it be when every night he showed up at Reid’s place, his driving impulse was to end it and go back to the way things were supposed to be? It just never worked out that way because Reid was contagious and the way Hotch felt when Reid held him down and worked his rawness to the surface, the look of pure delight on his face as he did it, the satisfaction he felt afterwards curled in Reid’s arms - how on earth could Hotch walk away from that?
But, 37b. And these things weren’t meant to last. And the sanctity of the Bureau might fail entirely if a Unit Chief fell for a subordinate and they still tried to work together. So sayeth the regulations.
Remember that time in the place where we did that thing?
This next one is becoming a monster [Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss]. Part of the problem is that I've spread it out over 4 years and am struggling with how to show time passing using only vignettes. Jesus... I am my own worse enemy when it comes to ideas. The weird part is that I've written the beginning and the end but am having problems getting from one to the other without tons of exposition. I mean, the concept is pretty simple...
Reid opened his eyes and the first thing that hit him was that he had no idea where he was. The drapes were open allowing in a frightening amount of sunlight that felt like a physical assault as he tried to shield himself from the glare. Half turning in the bed, another fact assailed him: he was naked. He never slept naked. And then, as if his bodily senses all came online at once, he realized that he felt awful. His eyes were dry and sandy, and it appeared that he’d slept with his contacts in. His mouth tasted disgusting, stained and parched at the same time, which could only mean that he had been drinking. And then his whole body ached, not from injury, but in a strained way as if he’d hiking or maybe running for his life.
Then he felt that he wasn’t alone. Something was draped over his waist and he carefully lifted the bed sheet to see what it was. An arm, long and tanned curved around him… and there was warmth along the line of his back. Oh no, he closed his eyes and swallowed down his dry mouth. Vegas.
I have three more, but they are all pretty dodgy at this point. I can't really bring myself to admit I wrote them. One of them is so wrong that I'm pretty sure that if I ever complete it, I'll never post it. And then there's the long-awaited third part to the Criminal Minds/Supernatural crossover that I promised to do (except I have NO IDEA what comes next *facepalm*), and I have a zillion little prompts that need attention... Oh, bunnies, stop multiplying, please!
Lots of other writerly sorts have been posting snippets from their "in progress" file, so I thought I'd man up and do the same (if only to remind myself NOT to start anything new until I've closed off some of these fics). I'll avoid the truly embarrassing ones, or the ones that I know I will never finish (hey, it happens...).
The Impression That I Get
The first one is an imprint story [Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid]. Yeah, I'm not much for that avoid-the-awkward-relationship-goo-in-favor-of-predestination stuff, but I started reading a CM imprint fic (which went to hell pretty fast, I gotta admit) and I decided that this is a trope I should try. My own way. As an aside, I've decided to open every chapter with fake quotes taken from medical journals and symposium reports because I'm approaching this from a science perspective rather than a fantastical one (plus, I deal with that stuff in my day job and that's just the kind of geek that I am).
“Whenever I remember that initial moment, the first thing that always strikes me is how uncomfortable it was. It’s difficult to imagine where the romantic aspect of the imprinting myth came from when, in actuality, the sensations are almost exclusively negative. I found it disorienting, oppressive, and indescribably frightening.” - Dr. Spencer Reid, imprint profile interview with Dr. Henry Zeigler, Nature’s Lag: A Brief History of Imprintology In America, JAMA [publication pending].
At the time it happened, the science was still relatively new but he’d been aware of the basics just out of curiosity. It seemed to be both logically mammalian in nature as well as being an improbable evolutionary leap: the sudden realization upon meeting a complete stranger that the individual was an optimized match which then triggered a massive and seemingly irreversible biochemical reaction that bound the pair until death. The logical part stemmed from examples already present in nature - the mating habits of wolves, swans, and eagles all lent themselves to the theory. And the pervasive romantic notion of ‘the soulmate’ found in almost every human cultural paradigm made an argument that it existed in the collective unconscious as something yearned for, if not necessarily realized. The improbable part was that verifiable ‘imprints’ only went back forty years and that it was notoriously difficult to quantify an anomalous species characteristic that involved something as subjective as emotions. The biology and the brain chemistry could be measured, but none of the results were predictive, so imprints couldn’t be identified and studied prior to the bonding process, which lessened the breadth of understanding considerably. And since less than one percent of the world population was speculated to be affected by the syndrome, the science was often dismissed as convenient or, for the more cynical and politically minded, a back door way to justify aberrant socio-sexual behavior. It didn’t help that the most famous examples of imprints were traditionally seen as socially unacceptable: couples with significant age differences, mixed race couples, same sex couples etc.
Evolution didn’t really work that way, he’d reminded himself at the time. On occasion it made a huge, noticeable step forward, but mostly nature changed at an achingly slow, millennial crawl that made things considerably less alarming to those involved. So he found the science interesting, but not convincing, and given how mathematically low an ‘imprint match’ was for any individual, he didn’t give it any consideration for himself personally.
Until his first day on the job at the FBI.
Untitled (originally called All It Takes Is A Split Second but I can't use that, soooo....)
The next is a companion piece to a story I've already published (All It Takes Is A Split Second) [Criminal Minds, Hotch + Reid]. Originally, I wrote a TON of that story from Hotch's POV, but ended up clipping out most of it and rewriting it as a time travel story for Reid. I went back and reread the original and realized that I had an interesting idea going, I just couldn't finish it at the time. So, now I'm writing a 'What If' piece where Hotch has to deal with time travel (it's like an alternate version of reality and Reid isn't what he seems to be). It'll all make sense when I'm done, I'm sure ;)
“This is more like… a waiting room of sorts than a hospital.”
“I fell off a rooftop - what the hell am I waiting for, Reid?”
Reid laughed awkwardly and came closer, lifting one long finger as he usually did before launching into something. “Interesting story… you’re actually waiting for yourself - to make a decision…”
“Please try to make sense, Reid. I’m not following…”
Reid straightened and stared, his eyes suddenly darker and more serious than Hotch could ever remember seeing before.
“You fell from a 22 storey roof, Hotch. Look at yourself: no bruises, not a drop of blood, not a single broken bone, no one is here tending to you… Think it through.”
“Am I…” Hotch swallowed once, his mouth now impossibly dry. “Am I dead?”
“Not yet, not completely. We still have a little time here.”
“A little time for what?”
“To chat, Hotch. About your future.”
37b
This next one is the 3rd part to Just Right, and A Little Better [Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid]. Sadly, it's MUCH darker than the previous two stories and I'm concerned about that. They were light and fun - that was part of their appeal. This one is all angsty and yet I can't seem to fix that.
Reid wanted to talk about what they were doing - it had been an ongoing battle since they first started this - but Hotch had failed to see the point telling himself that this was just another unavoidable connection that nonetheless should go assiduously unrecognized. It would end - good things in his life always did - and then where would all of that talk have gotten them? As he thought that, pinpoints on his body heated beneath his suit, places where three nights earlier Reid had marked him with his lips and teeth and hands. They pulsed as one, as if they had a voice, telling him that this was different - the feeling was so much more than conditional comfort. But how could it be when every night he showed up at Reid’s place, his driving impulse was to end it and go back to the way things were supposed to be? It just never worked out that way because Reid was contagious and the way Hotch felt when Reid held him down and worked his rawness to the surface, the look of pure delight on his face as he did it, the satisfaction he felt afterwards curled in Reid’s arms - how on earth could Hotch walk away from that?
But, 37b. And these things weren’t meant to last. And the sanctity of the Bureau might fail entirely if a Unit Chief fell for a subordinate and they still tried to work together. So sayeth the regulations.
Remember that time in the place where we did that thing?
This next one is becoming a monster [Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss]. Part of the problem is that I've spread it out over 4 years and am struggling with how to show time passing using only vignettes. Jesus... I am my own worse enemy when it comes to ideas. The weird part is that I've written the beginning and the end but am having problems getting from one to the other without tons of exposition. I mean, the concept is pretty simple...
Reid opened his eyes and the first thing that hit him was that he had no idea where he was. The drapes were open allowing in a frightening amount of sunlight that felt like a physical assault as he tried to shield himself from the glare. Half turning in the bed, another fact assailed him: he was naked. He never slept naked. And then, as if his bodily senses all came online at once, he realized that he felt awful. His eyes were dry and sandy, and it appeared that he’d slept with his contacts in. His mouth tasted disgusting, stained and parched at the same time, which could only mean that he had been drinking. And then his whole body ached, not from injury, but in a strained way as if he’d hiking or maybe running for his life.
Then he felt that he wasn’t alone. Something was draped over his waist and he carefully lifted the bed sheet to see what it was. An arm, long and tanned curved around him… and there was warmth along the line of his back. Oh no, he closed his eyes and swallowed down his dry mouth. Vegas.
I have three more, but they are all pretty dodgy at this point. I can't really bring myself to admit I wrote them. One of them is so wrong that I'm pretty sure that if I ever complete it, I'll never post it. And then there's the long-awaited third part to the Criminal Minds/Supernatural crossover that I promised to do (except I have NO IDEA what comes next *facepalm*), and I have a zillion little prompts that need attention... Oh, bunnies, stop multiplying, please!