#projectdarkstache

We've got a couple things we want to mention and see if there's any interest in them!

1) is there any interest in a Darkstache Week discord server? A space for everyone to get together and discuss the prompts and/or share wips?

2) we're tempted to revamp the blog and change the profile picture and header, is there any interest in a little competition? We'd find a week down the track and you guys can submit entries. We'll pick winner for the header and for the icon. Providing credit to your blog/preferred username in our bio, of course.

Let us know!

Thanks!

Let Yancy say fuck

Prompts by @projectdarkstache

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“I can’t believe you got us into this mess!” Dark hissed, careful to keep his voice a whisper as they were shuffled down a long, white hallway by a trio of mean-looking guards, toward a receptionist’s desk manned only by an aging woman Dark knew on instinct would speak as if she’d been smoking three packs a day for the past decade. “Why must you be such a fool?”

    “Oh, take that stick outta your ass and go fuck yourself with it,” came Wilford’s retort.

    Dark only grunted in response, his mood too foul to bother coming up with anything else to say. He’d been arrested, manhandled, stripped of his clothes and his dignity and forced to don the disgusting black-and-white striped jumpsuit he wore now. And, to add insult to injury, someone had had the gall to name this place “Happy Trails Penitentiary.” As if any part of it could be called “happy.”

    Of course, he could always leave; warp himself away right then and there, or even take the time to slaughter every miserable denizen of that pathetic prison.

    The idea was growing more and more appealing as they handed over their possessions to the woman behind the counter-- who mispronounced their names in her growling, smoke-laden voice-- and entered the common room, and Wilford must have guessed what he was thinking because he grabbed his arm and bit out, “don’t you dare. We’re in this together.”

    Dark groaned inwardly, but nonetheless followed Wilford into the common room, keeping his eyes down and his shoulders hunched to avoid any unnecessary contact with the inmates.

    Inmates who were blatantly staring; some had twisted grins on their faces, while others simply glared. One, a woman, was kneeling in a rocking chair, rocking it back and forth maniacally.

    “Wilford, perhaps we should-” 

    “Youse motherfucker!” Boomed a voice from all the way across the room. Moments later Yancy appeared, freshly uncuffed and wearing an incredulous grin. “How the fuck did youse end up in here again?  It’s okay, guys,” he added, motioning to the other inmates, “theyses good. Theyses friends.”

    The effect was immediate: glares and grimaces melted, and soft chatterings filled the air as most inmates continued on with seemingly normal conversations.

    A few of them, however, followed Yancy, drawn to him like moths to flame as he approached Dark and Wilford.

    “Yancy,” Wilford greeted him happily, throwing his arms around the inmate in a tight hug. “Still rejectin’ parole?”

    “Nah,” Yancy replied. “Waitin’ on it now.” He rubbed at the back of his head. “Turns out I gots somethin’ worth gettin’ to on the outside.”

    “No shit!” Wilford guffawed, while Dark only crossed his arms and scowled.

    This attracted Yancy’s attention. “Whatsa matter wit’ you?” 

    “He’s just pissy that I landed us in jail for a little bit,” Wilford shrugged, and wrapped an arm around Dark’s shoulders, completely immune to the resulting death glare.

    Yancy’s eyebrows rose, and so did the eyebrows of several other prisoners who’d drifted over to eavesdrop. “What did youse do?” He asked.

    “He robbed a candy store,” Dark chimed in, before Wilford could answer, “shot the store attendant by accident on his way out, and used me as a getaway driver against my will.”

    “Seriously?” Yancy’s voice rose in disbelief, then he burst into laughter, his cadre of prisoner friends following suit. 

    “It was a lot more badass than it sounds,” Wilford promised, abandoning Dark in favor of launching into a detailed rendition of the frankly embarrassing experience. 

Darkstache Week - Day 2

Day 2 of Darkstache Week 2019 by @projectdarkstache

The prompt today was “Past and Present”

               Dark could feel the cold before she woke, stirring in his chest and behind his eyes. He had locked himself in his room, wondering if he should fight to keep her asleep—and how would he? It hadn’t been long. Was she even rested? He closed his eyes for barely more than an instant, and he woke up in the cabin, with the damnable storm outside. “Celine?”

               “Damien. How are you holding up? You look terrible.”

               Dark scowled, “I’m not… Celine, I’m fine. You don’t have to wake up.”

               Celine looked up, her dark hair hanging in her eyes, “Damien, you can’t carry hatred like I can. You’re too soft. You’ll fall apart. You can’t do this alone.”

               “I’m not Damien,” Dark said. “And I’m not alone.”

               Celine opened her mouth to reply, but a voice outside caught her attention.        

               “Dark! I’ve got a surprise for you!” Wilford called, barging into his room. “I made pancakes!”

               Celine snarled and wrestled control over Dark’s body, dragging him to his feet. Dark struggled, but there was no stopping her; she was ten time stronger. The auras blazed red, and she reached out to slam Wilford against the wall. He yelped, dropping his plate, “Dark! That was supposed to be your breakfast! What’s gotten into you?” Wilford folded his arms, working up to one of his famous pouts, but Celine had other ideas.

               “William!” she roared. “I’ll kill you where you stand!”

               “Celine?” Wilford’s eyes glazed over, and his jaw went slack as he froze in place.

               “STOP!” Dark shouted, picking up one of the logs from the cabin’s blazing fireplace and tossing it through the small window. Glass shattered and the cold swept in, shocking Celine out of control.

               Dark stumbled away from Wilford, holding onto his desk, “Get out, Wilford! Run!”

               Wilford hesitated, but another red flash of Dark’s eyes sent him scrambling out of the room; inside of Dark, they were struggling in that stupid cabin. “Celine you don’t know what you’re doing! Wilford didn’t do anything!”

               “You can’t keep coddling him, Damien! That’s how it’s always been! You make all of these little allowances for him and he leaves you holding the bag! Every time!”

               “It isn’t like that now!” Dark growled. “We work together. He’s helping me with Mark.”

               “Please!” Celine laughed. “Helping you with Mark! Nobody’s ever been able to touch Mark aside from me. You expect me to believe that William and you are going to kill him?”

               “You don’t know me anymore,” Dark said. “You don’t know him. You’ve been asleep for too long to wake up and take over.”

               Celine folded her arms, “So you’re in charge now? The younger sibling surpasses the older?”

               “I am not Damien!” Dark roared. “Get that through your head! I’m not Damien and he isn’t William! And you… you’re not the strongest anymore.”

               “What’s so different now?”

               “I love him,” Dark said. “I love him and if you hurt him… I’ll kill you. I don’t know how, but I swear-”

               Celine laughed again, but there was no bitterness in it, “Oh my god. How many of our hearts does he need to tear through?”

               “Just mine,” Dark said. “Go back to sleep, Celine. When I need you, I’ll wake you up.”

               “You don’t even know what you’re doing,” Celine said. “You’re just… playing Mark’s games.”

               “I’ve made my choice,” Dark said. “I make the choice every day. We all chose the game, and I’ll keep all of us safe until he’s dead.”

               Celine sat at the broken table and sighed, “And how many are there?”

               “Maybe a dozen now,” Dark said. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

               “How many are you going to let him ruin?”

               Dark walked to the door, “Just me. Now go back to sleep.”

               Celine looked at him, and suddenly she looked tired. She gave him a small smile, “Goodnight, little brother.”

               Dark watched the cabin—and Celine’s wasteland—melt away around him, and he was in full control of himself again. He sat heavily on his bed and adjusted to the shifting of the auras again, balance—more or less—restored.

               Wilford peeked his head in the door and spotted Dark sitting on the bed, “Celine?”

               Dark jumped and wiped his eyes, “She’s sleeping… again.”

               “Right,” Wil said. He stepped into the room and walked over to sit next to Dark. “Good… it was nice to see her.”

               Wilford smelled like caramel corn and cotton candy, like younger days spent at the circus, laughter and soft looks and camaraderie. Dark leaned against him and inhaled just a bit of his humanity back, sighing around a mouthful of painful nostalgia. Wil lifted a hand and squeezed Dark’s shoulder, “Well, at least she didn’t try to carve your heart out.”

Every November, Dark takes a week off. This year, Wilford gets to go with him. Both are reminded that even love can be cold if it’s meaningful.

Word Count: 966

I’m really proud of this one.