#12doss

sorry for the bit of a delay. my internet was acting up yesterday x Word count: 2008 Synopsis: The Sides wake up to find Logan is gone. And someone else has taken his place.

"I'll stay awake Cause the dark's not taking Prisoners tonight." -Twenty One Pilots 'Ode to Sleep'

Roman yawned, stretching in the sunlight coming through the window. He rubbed his eyes and trudged out of his room. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"Morning, Virge," Roman glanced at the figure by the coffee machine, wearing a pair of pyjama pants with a leather jacket thrown on. 

The smell of coffee woke Roman up. He did a double take. Virgil doesn't wear leather, he thought, narrowing his eyes.

Not-Virgil turned around, revealing a face identical to Thomas', yet wearing sunglasses and a tired grimace. He had a mug of steaming coffee in his hand.

Roman drew his sword and leaped to not-Virgil. Even with a blade pointed at their throat, the stranger's tired face didn't change. He looked up at Roman, then at the blade and continued walking.

"Stop, intruder! Who are you?" Roman yelled, chasing after the stranger, who sat down at the table. He lifted his sunglasses and looked at him with a bored look. 

"Remy. Why?" he raised his eyebrow.

Word count: 780

Synopsis: Roman's daydream of an alternate world, a Soulmate AU where you see the world in black and white until you make eye contact with them

***

"Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me"

-Wayne King, 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'

Roman found comfort in dreams. They were an escape from the harsh reality and the sad truth. Truth. That's what it was all about. In dreams, lies could become the truth and truth - a lie. The problem with dreams - they revealed your deepest truths, ones you hid as a lie. Your wishes, desires and thoughts, dreams brought them out into the light.

Yet, Roman loved dreams. He especially loved daydreams. They were the best of both worlds; they had the magic of dreams and the lies and control of the real world. Daydreams seemed safe. 

Then there were those dreams that brought nothing to the table, but enjoyment. They didn't reveal the truth or guarantee some breakthrough. They were just a pastime

That was Roman's daydream on one lazy afternoon. He laid on his bed, a steaming mug of coffee on his bedside table, as he tried to come up with a new idea for something. Anything, really, as long as it was creative. Thus, he drifted off into a daydream - the daydream he visited often. 

The world has always been black and white for Roman. After almost thirty years, he almost believed the people who claimed to see the world in colour were lying - that it was all a ruse to make people excited about love again.

The world was built that way from its base. As a child, you heard adults talk about colours, a concept you didn't understand. All you knew was whites and blacks and greys. Then, you learnt that once you find your soulmate you'll see these colours too. Throughout your life you see your friends start to see colour, they meet their soulmates and excite over "blues" and "reds" and "yellows". But your own world remains black and white, all that you've ever known. They try to explain how "green" is the colour of grass and leaves, a cold sort of colour, but warm too. You never understand. Grass has always been a sort of gray for you. They try to explain how "yellow" is the happiest colour in the world, it's the colour of the sun and of bananas and lemons. But to you the sun is a big blob of white that hurts your eyes and bananas are too sweet and lemons too sour.

You live your life looking forward to seeing colours. Every meeting with a stranger is exciting; you make eye contact with every stranger on the street and every time your stomach is all in knots because any second now the world might burst into colour. But you can't even imagine what that'd look like. And it never happens. And you lose hope. And you settle with your black and white world and the weird looks people give you when you say you can't see colour and you try to tune out the conversations about the beautiful colour of the sky in the morning or the colours of leaves in Autumn. 

Roman tried his hardest to tune out his friends' current conversation. They were blabbing about which colour of the dress they saw in a shop window was the prettiest. Amal, who had recently gained the ability to see colour was being bombarded with opinions and suggestions. Maybe that's why Roman couldn't tune out the conversation. Maybe that's why he couldn't get the idea of colour out of his thoughts. If Amal managed to "find her colour" then why shouldn't he. Soon. One day. His soulmate must be around.

His friends' conversation, as well as his thoughts, drilled into his head. Yellow. Red. Burgundy. You're alone. Navy. You'll never see those colours. Violet. Maybe your soulmate is dead. Cream. Or lives on the other side of the world and doesn't travel. Orange. You'll never find him. 

He clutched his face and plugged his ears. He screamed, trying to block out his thoughts. He closed his eyes, blocking out the non-coloured world. He felt a hand on him and thousands of eyes drilling into him. And then he ran. He ran and he ran and he ran until all conversations quieted and his lungs almost collapsed. He leaned against the cold, concrete wall and heaved.

He looked around. He was in a dim alley, completely deserted, graffiti on the walls. Art. In colours. That he couldn't see. Roman slid down to the ground. Hugging his legs to his chest, he buried his head in them. He shuddered with silent sobs. Soon, he felt tears on his cheeks.

"Are you okay?" a male voice sounded from above him.

He looked up at the young handsome man with soft features and short curls and dimples and a tall, confident posture. He made eye contact with him, with his vibrant, bright, blue eyes and the world burst into colour.

***

Taglist:

Word count: 529

warning: anxiety, crying children (lmk if there's any more)

Synopsis: Thomas is a wee little baby and so are the Sides: Princey, Teach and Dad. Suddenly, someone new appears in the Mind Palace.

***

"The blue! Choose the blue!" Princey yelled at Thomas, who sat at the kitchen counter with a colouring book opened in front of him.

"No! The sun is not blue! It's yellow!" Teach shouted in response, "Thomas is seven years old, he should act like it!" 

The Mind Palace was in chaos. Princey and Teach have been arguing for at least ten minutes. Well, Princey was throwing a fit, while Teach was arguing. Or as he'd call it: debating.

Dad (the one inside Thomas' mind not his real one) sat in the middle of the two with a puzzled look. He, too, had a colouring book open on a page with a unicorn and crayons scattered around him. Thomas' were placed neatly in the box; Teach insisted.

"Kiddos, why don't we compromise," Dad said (Thomas' own dad had used that word - compromise), "the sun can be green."

"NO!" The other two Sides said at the same time.

"Green doesn't match the other colours!" Princey added.

"The sun isn't green!" Teach said.

Thomas' eyes moved from one to the other, his hand hovering over the box of crayons.

"Don't choose any colour, Thomas," suddenly a different voice drawled from behind the three Sides, "throw the box onto the floor and cry. Or tear the drawing up and cry. Or just cry."

A figure stood in the corner of the room, dressed in a black cloak with bright red eyes, like a villain from a cartoon.

"Who are you?" Teach stood up, facing the new arrival.

He stepped forwards and smiled a devilish grin. "I'm the common sense here. Everything that keeps you up at night and everything you fear."

Princey shot up. "Dad is the common sense!" He pointed at the Side, who stood up too, fixing the collar of his polo.

"What do you want, kiddo?" He said in a weirdly friendly, soft voice.

The mysterious persona looked as if he was taken aback, although he shook it off and an evil grin appeared on his face again.

"I want to help our little Thomas finally make a choice. I'm tired of the arguing." He said, his voice deepening.

"Go away!" Princey shouted, drawing his sword.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, not flinching at the sudden violence from the opposing end. Then he turned to Thomas, whose eyes were filled with tears, "Go ahead, little Tommy. Go ahead, cry. Cry, throw a fit, let out your feelings." 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Thomas started crying and stabbing the table with a crayon.

The mysterious boy, with a smirk, backed out into the shadowy corner. Before he turned away, he said, "The name's Anxiety. And this isn't the last you've seen of me." And just like that, he disappeared into the darkness.

***

Back in his room, Anxiety sighed and jumped onto the bed. He blinked, his eyes switching back to normal. 

"Villains are useless," he muttered, tearing off the cloak.

He wandered to the small wardrobe and pulled something black from one of the highest shelves - a hoodie. He put it on. Eyeing himself in the long twisted mirror, he pulled the hood up.

***

Sorry for the late and short fic. The beginning of December is a busy time for me, but longer fics are coming.

I hope you enjoy my take on Young!Sides and let me know if you want me to write more of them - I might in the near future

taglist:

Hiya!

I thought I'd do something like the 12 Days of Christmas thing with Sanders Sides fanfiction!! I've wanted to get into writing for SS after I got so much great feedback for Fangs and this is my chance.

Basically, I'll be writing one fanfic (short, long, AU, in-world, etc) every other day of December up until Christmas. Feel free to suggest any fanfic prompts and let me know if you want to be tagged in the works.

Hope you enjoy and feel free to join!!

word count: 773

synopsis: Mind Palace AU where Thomas has many emotional issues

warning: emotional breakdowns, anger (let me know of there's any more)

***

"And its raining

Thank goodness for the roar

As it comes pouring down

I can kick, I can scream, I can shout

Let it rain on."

-Dodie Clark "Rain"

The rain drummed against the window in an uneven beat. Patton didn't like rain. The sound it made against the glass gave him a headache. Still, he had no control over the weather. You'd have thought that in the Mind Palace you'd at least be able to control the weather. But it was as random and natural as emotions. It came and it went and it changed. 

Still, Patton sat on the bed in his little neat room, staring out of the window into the fuzzy haze. The wall of constant rainfall blocked the faraway view of the mountains, which were conjured by Thomas - the Host.

He sighed and walked over to the door. It creaked as he opened it, the light from his room flooding the hallway. Usually, it was filled with the other Sides, chattering and laughing or arguing and shouting. Patton was glad for the silence. He was glad he was alone. 

He didn't enjoy solitude too much. Except on rainy days.

He switched on the kettle and grabbed a tin from the top shelf in the kitchen. The metal lid scraped against the box as he opened it. He grabbed a handful of the chocolate chip cookies and put the rest back on the shelf. He threw some cocoa into the hot water and, his snacks in hand, left the kitchen.

He sat on the green couch, leaning back into the soft cushions. He closed his eyes and directed his thoughts to Thomas. He could hear him more clearly now. His voice echoed in Patton's ears, as well as three other voices. They were arguing. As always. He usually blocked out the discussions. He wasn't ever needed for them anyways, so why listen. It only upset him. The voices overlapped and the words stumbled around, but he understood the general gist of the conversation. Thomas was ineffective in his work.

"You're supposed to be working, not breaking down every second of the day." That was Logan.

"Well, he wouldn't have to break down all the time if you just laid off him, Nerd," Roman trilled.

"Wow, that's an uncreative insult," Logan said, then a crash sounded in Patton's ears.

"Alright, both of you," the deep voice of Anxiety sounded for the first time, "Lay off each other. Roman, stop throwing a fit every time Logan tries to fix Thomas' attitude. And Logan, you and I both know," Patton set down his cup of cocoa, "Thomas isn't really in control of his-" Patton closed his eyes and snapped his finger. He felt a breeze pass over him, "-emotions."

"You called?" Patton drawled, eyeing Logan, Roman, Anxiety and Thomas. Anxiety's eyes, full of hatred, drilled into him, while Logan crossed his arms and sighed. 

Roman spoke up first. "No one needs you, Go-rality."

"No need for nicknames, kiddo. You talk of emotions - I am emotions - so I must be present." 

"He is right," Logan said.

Anxiety growled, retracting into his black hoodie.

"No, he's not. We don't need a useless personification of our enemy in our army," Roman said.

"You can't fix Thomas until you accept that I am part of the team!" Patton shouted, glancing at the Host, who stood, looking at the scene before him, his eyes filled with shock.

"Just go," Roman stomped his foot.

Patton rolled his eyes. "Fine," he lifted up his hand, "but mark my words. You will come back to me." He smiled and snapped his fingers.

He found himself back on the green couch in front of a window. The rain poured harder than ever, but Patton couldn't hear it over his ragged breathing. His hands shook and his voice quivered as he muttered to himself. He clenched his hand and kicked the coffee table before him. It shook, spilling the liquid from the cup. Patton bit his lower lip and with one hand, slammed the cup off the table, shattering it on the wooden floorboards.

He shot up, throwing any item near him at the window - at the rain. A lamp shattered against the glass, shards of the fabric and the lightbulb fell onto the heap of thrown items by the wall.

His energy faltered. Patton collapsed onto the couch again, tears filling up his eyes. He hugged his legs to his chest. Sobs escaped his mouth. He grabbed at his polo shirt, as if trying to tear it off. He screamed and shouted and cried until his voice went hoarse. 

"What's going on, Pat?" A drawling voice above him caught Patton's attention. He looked up at the scales, the yellow gloves and the black cloak. Deceit.

"Help," he croaked.

***

Tag list:

Word count: 440

TW: mentions of death and suicide, scars

Synopsis: When you fall in love, a red tally mark appears on your skin. When the love is requited, it turns black. When your love dies, it turns into a scar. Virgil feels a new mark appear.

!!! Analogical (first and only time writing a SS ship into one of the 12DoSS fics, because I was too lazy to create a new character)

***

Virgil drank another sip of his water. He was drenched with sweat underneath his black hoodie. Even though the theatre group was indoors, it was still summer and the hall had no air conditioning. It was hotter than hell.

He had had almost half of the group ask him whether he wasn't too hot in his sweatshirt. He said no, of course. It was a lie. They all seemed to go through with it. He wished they didn't.

A guy, one of the actors, walked up to him. He was a cute guy, tall, usually wore glasses, a button-up and a tie. Virgil was surprised he was in the theatre group. For a guy so athletic looking, yet so nerdy at the same time, he didn't seem like the theatre type. His name was Logan.

"Aren't you hot in that hoodie?" Logan asked, nudging his head towards it.

Virgil's heart fluttered, his stomach twisting.

"N-no," he managed to utter, "not really."

The guy eyed Virgil slowly (and subtly.)

"You look hot to me," he said.

Virgil tried not to blush, but he did anyways. He suddenly felt a searing pain, as if a painful paper cut, underneath his black sleeve.

"Sorry, I have to go," Logan smiled, the rest of the theater group calling him, "they're restarting act two rehearsal. You should get to your place too."

"Yes, I should," Virgil looked after him as he jogged away and left towards backstage.

Practice ended early and Virgil was delighted. Even though he felt like his flesh was being burned off in the direct sunlight, he walked slowly. The bit of skin on his arm still prickled. As he walked on, he watched the people pass. They all had tally marks. At least the adults did. Every one of them had at least one red mark, like semi-healed stab wounds on their arms. Some had black marks, visible and as if radiating heat. There were those who had a scar too. He saw an older lady pass with four scar marks on her wrinkled skin.

Reaching his apartment, he pulled of the hoodie and let his skin breathe. His marked skin. Tally marks dotted his arms; most were red, unrequited young love. There were quite a few scars. Each one had a story. One was a childhood love; died in an accident. One was a teenage love; killed himself. He remembered all of them. Their faces, their voices, their smiles. Each scar was an echo. Each hurt too much.

He looked at the brand new black mark, the first one in years, standing out starkly against his pale skin. It shone, dimming the other tally marks. But all his loves were unlucky. This one wouldn't be much different.

He rubbed at the mark, as if hoping it would go away. Even so, he pulled his phone out of his backpack and dialled Logan's number.

***

taglist:

@a-lexicon-of-words

So... I missed a day. I'm sorry. I did write a fic for yesterday, but I'm not at all proud of it. I think I will revise it and rewrite it and post it on another day, but for now the next one is tomorrow. Just wanted to put it out into the world so there's no confusion (and i feel less guilty)

Word count: 676

Synopsis: A mysterious door appears in the Mind Palace and it seems to be locked. But what does it contain? Where does it lead to?

***

The door wasn't there one second and then it was there the next. It appeared out of thin air. Virgil was sure it wasn't there before. He knew the 'Light-Sides' Mind Palace like the back of his own hand, mostly because he spent many hours walking around it and taking in every bit of it when he first got settled in and accepted by the others.

The door was made of dark-painted wood - Logan said it was oak. It was simple, without any extra decorations with a small round metal knob. The door felt firm at touch and heavy, though it still wobbled when all four Sides pushed against it.

That was the problem with it: it was locked and the key was nowhere to be found. They had looked for it, the first few days the door was there. The key seemed to be non-existent.

At first, it wasn't much of a bother. Weird items appeared and disappeared every day. Although they usually only stayed for a maximum of four days. After a week, the door was still standing. 

That day, Virgil went up to it and put his ear against it and immediately jumped away, cowering in fear. Behind the door he heard noise, as if billions muffled screams echoed inside. When Roman arrived to check what was wrong, he put his ear against the door, too. Unlike Virge, he said he heard whispers. As if inside were hundreds of people, talking in hushed voices.

Virgil decided to leave it alone. For now.

The next day, a keyhole appeared just below the knob, and inside it a key. Virge called his friends, but for nothing - the key seemed to be stuck, as if with glue, to the inside of the hole.

That night, Virgil woke up to loud banging in the living room. He bolted out of his room, Roman, Patton and Logan running out of theirs, too, all in their onesies. The mysterious door was rattling in its frame. The whispers Roman claimed he heard were louder now, as if they came from somewhere between the Sides. They filled their ears and drilled inside their brains. The door shook and the knob twisted. And then... It died down. 

The night after that wasn't great either. Virgil woke up, thinking the day had come and the sun had risen, to remember his blinds shut off any outside light sources. The light didn't come from the outside anyways. It came from the living room.

It was a blinding sort of light, the one you'd imagine decorated the halos of angels or the eyes of gods. It was whiter than white, though gold at the same time, and seemed to snake underneath the door, though it wasn't a fire. It wasn't hot. It seemed to make the room quite cold. Or maybe Virgil was shivering from fear. He hid in his room, while Patton, Logan and Roman guarded the door until the light was gone.

That morning, during breakfast, a note slid underneath the door. It was a folded piece of old newspaper. There were three words on it: 'Green to Purple' and a disturbing smiley face on the other side. Virgil burnt the note above the sink when no one was looking.

That night, Virgil thought he'd die from a heart attack. He woke up, dread in his bones and his heart beating faster than humanly possible. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. He could hear every creak of the bed. Even the blood rushing in his veins.

Suddenly, a noise, as if a door slamming against concrete filled Virgil's ears. He covered them and curled up on his bed. Only when he heard three pairs of footsteps in the corridor did he manage to slip out of his room and creep towards the mysterious creepy door.

The door was closed by the time he arrived and the three Sides were staring at it with shock. Logan said it was already closed by the time they got here. 

Virgil just hoped no one escaped into their Mind Palace.

That morning, the door was gone, as if it had never existed in the first place. The wall was cracked in all the places it had been before the door appeared and it had multiple stains. One thing was out of place, a vase of flowers stood atop their dining table. A vase full of violets with a note that just said: 'Soon.'

***

This is most likely the beginning of something so... stay tuned ;P

Taglist:

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(lmk if you want to be tagged in future 12DoSS fics)