Down-One-Juice

Sitting in a room as dull as yours had him groaning. There was nothing, no strings, no board to write on. It was hell for him to stare at the dull white walls within the silent home. He was waiting for you, as always. You're ability to stay late at school made him flinch. It was boring. Like your bedroom. He sighs as he glances around, his back flopping onto the bed. It was dull, no colour was anywhere. Nothing interesting. A few years ago there had been pictures, there had been splashes of light and bright blues. He had known you for so long. Something had changed, Allison's death, Scott's anger towards you... But what had hit you the most

They ran around like idiots, believing that they were safe, that they had hope… Oh, but you knew, you knew it all too well. You knew what they feared, and it was just a sound, an intimidating growl in the dead of night. The sunset that called the gates of the giant maze to close, the mouth-like entry and exit that you had watched them scurry between. They were content to living, no, coexisting with monsters that weren’t even remotely alive… Well, they didn’t live their own lives at least. Both species, monsters and prey; they were so alike. Ants that the queen could control. Happy to run their little caves, to keep

Freedom is not what I have earned, it is what I have given to those that cannot strive for it themselves. A wise man had once told you that he never knew what innocence was, that he never got his own freedom. He fought for the freedom of others and never stood down. He was a hero, he was captivating to others, he was a saint; He was your father. Now, as you watch the sun set, as you watch people run and play and laugh, you know what he meant. Being an FBI agent never let anyone have freedom, it was either by the book or go home. It hardly ever allowed families, just ask Aaron Hotchner. But he somehow made it work, he somehow made it all

“No, Please. I command you! Put down the weapon!” The words of her last victim bounced off of the walls of her mind, they flounced and floundered until they came to rest, much like a dying fish, somewhere deep in the depth of her mind. She never did like it when they did, she always got sloppy when they pleaded. For Sontaran clones they were surprisingly good at it. When they pleaded they always got it wrong, she didn’t care about their children. She didn’t care about any family or any sentimental things, especially when they were clones programmed to believe in them. She cared about information. Specific information

Alice, Alice, looking glass, through the mirrors, through the past. Smiles, smiles, stripes and spots, I’m here then, I’m here not. Wonder, wonder, I smell fake, I’m your soul, I’m what you make. Queen, queen, mighty high, tumble low, end is nigh. Glass, Glass, speak to me, scared of mirrors, won’t be free. Tea, tea, hide your face, mad as hat, party race. Rabbit, rabbit, waistcoat watch, speedy gone, drinking scotch. Fear, fear, childhood dreams, scared of sleep, tired of screams. Alice, Alice, into soul, looking glass, far to fall. Watch, watch, constant scowl, looking glass, tasteless foul.

I've been sent to Coventry, the place where I now bleed, the confusion and silence follow my failures with scarce mutters on quiet breeze. Not even nature speaks to me, she lets the leaves die and shrivel, they make no noise as I crumble the delicate things in my hands. I cannot see, the light has abandoned the coward for a better place to shine. The rats and snakes don't want my flesh, even if I offered the lifeless meat to them covered in salted tears. I could mistake the curse as a blessed gift to me, for god knew my judgement would be worse. Even I, the coward in question, calls myself so, but the words had died so long ago. Now they d

“Sean, it’s a game, not a bloody cult.” Sean looks up at (Y/N) angrily from the couch as she closes the fridge. She was smiling, his misery and fear bringing her the kind of joy only Sociopaths understand. “You scared the crap out of me when I was playing a horror game!” He cries picking up a pillow and throwing it at her. Putting up her empty hand she swats it away. “Then don’t be so cute when you cry.” He pouts and looks over at the other side of the room, his determined look making it all the more entertaining. As her body comes into view he turns towards the floor, desperate not to make

Love is porridge. Some too hot, some too cold. When they're hot they burn, it hurts, it stings. you become hardened, you grow resistant. When too cold you feel funny on the inside. Almost as though you had become numb from the other. Cold can refresh the burning for a time, but there's another kind of burn on the way. And then... They're just right; not too hot, not too cold. It's... Right. Then you just have to worry about the bears. Love is porridge...

“Morgan, I swear to what god is left I will kill you. Stand down.” You held your hands out, shielding yourself from the deadly weapon Derek held in his hands. It was the most terrifying thing you had witnessed in all of your years in the BAU… Mistletoe. He held it out above his head as Garcia cackled loudly, her phone in her hand. Of course she’d record your misery. “What’s the matter, BatGirl? Can’t handle the love?” Morgan teases, stepping forward again. As always you were spending Christmas in the office, it wasn’t that bad, considering someone had managed to sneak some form of alco