#darkwood chomper

[lizrdkix]

soo ummm um uh how do we feel abt banshee homura and chomper madoka..

[sketchygabz]

BABE WAKE UP DARKWOOD IS TRENDING AGAIN

[mannequinentity]

I don't have a physical example for his 2nd form yet, but tethering between human and mannequin.

Do have his 3rd and final form where he's completely mannequin monster like.

[tanblaque]

Hello! First of all, I love your artwork and animations you made currently about OFF. Second, while I was in youtube I've found an animation from Darkwood, recently I've played this game (I enjoyed it that played for many hours to understand the dinamics) and when you made that animation it's was like gem you've spent to make the scenes where the stranger's tension to be chased by the chomper was neat!!

Thanks! <3

YES! I love Darkwood so much!!! And I glad you like that animation <3 Such an underappreciated game!

[red-tea-lover]

Всякие вещи которые я нашла в файлах Дарквуда [ часть 7 ]

Stuff I Found in the Darkwood Files [ Part 7 ]

Картины грибной леди с болот, которые можно найти в её оригинальном доме.

Paintings of the Mushroom Lady of the Swamps that can be found in her original home.

Фотографии из 2 главы где мы можем увидеть как выглядела грибная леди при жизни, и её дочь ака мама Слоников, ну а так же один из детей. На ещё одной фотографии её старшие сыновья что в игре встречаются как Троица. На локации с сожженым домом можно найти две фотографии леса и деревни в судя по всему начало эпидемии, что стала причиной голода из-за сожженых домов, животных и полей.

Photos from Chapter 2 where we can see what the mushroom lady looked like in life, and her daughter aka mom in the family Elephants, as well as one of the children. In another photo, her eldest sons, who are found in the game as The Three. In the location with the burnt house, you can find two photos of a forest and a village in what appears to be the beginning of an epidemic, which caused famine due to burnt houses, animals and fields.

Банка с образцом собранным 21 группой, верёвка с частями защитного костюма а так же один из резиновых сапогов что был частью костюма. Ну и да, голова Торговца ака легендарнейший лут (я бы хотела пошутить про Darkest Dungeon и то что там тоже можно свою голову с собой носить)

A jar with a sample collected by Group 21, a rope with parts of a protective suit, and also one of the rubber boots that was part of the suit. And yes, the head of the Trader, aka the most legendary loot (I would like to joke about Darkest Dungeon and the fact that you can also carry your head with you there)

Радио, сигареты и ключ от тоннеля 21 а так же их копии созданные лесом и его странной субстанцией.

Radio, cigarettes and the key to tunnel 21, as well as their copies created by the forest and its strange substance.

Две куклы которые можно найти у сумасш��дшей женщины на руинах дома а так же у маленького пожирателя. Игрушечные цыплята встречающиеся во всех местах связанных с птичницей. Самодельная скрипка и проигрыватель пластинок что принадлежат музыканту а так же сделанные им из листьев и разных орешков открытка, игрушка и кулон

Two dolls that can be found at the crazy woman's house ruins and also at the little chomper. Toy chickens found in all places connected with the Chicken Lady. A homemade violin and gramophone that belong to the musician as well as a postcard, a toy and a pendant made by him from leaves and various nuts.

Различные кресты что можно найти в игре. Сайдквестовая шкатулка, ключ и кулоны, что в какой-то мере раскрыают лор сразу нескольких персонажей в том числе и Охотника а так же причину того почему именно в волка (на дел�� собаку ахахах) он превратился. Ну и колокольчики, которые есть у Троицы и ещё парочки персонажей которые судя по всему были причастны к тому что радиовышка опустела.

Various crosses that can be found in the game. Sidequest box, key and pendants, which to some extent reveal the lore of several characters at once, including the Hunter, as well as the reason why he turned into a wolf (in fact, a dog, ahahaha). Well, and bells that The Three has, and a couple of other characters who, apparently, were involved in the fact that the radio tower was empty.

Сифон и подсвечник а так же комично нужная для развития сюжета отвёртка. На деле всегда забываю что в этой игре правда есть эти предметы. Ну а так же немного золотых, игра с персонажем "Ну погоди" и мячик который можно забрать у Музыканта во второй главе.

A siphon and a candlestick, as well as a screwdriver that is comically necessary for the development of the plot. In fact, I always forget that this game really does have these items. And also some gold, a game with the character "Well, just you wait" and a ball that can be taken from the Musician in the second chapter.

Крупное изображение блестящего камня и камня с каменоломни а так же мягкая пуля. Ну и не оставлю без внимания дневник одного человека из 21 отряда, в котором есть зарисовки похожие на собранный образец в банке.

A large image of a shiny rock and a quarry rock, as well as a soft bullet. And I won't leave out the diary of one man from the 21st detachment, which contains sketches similar to the collected sample in the jar.

Талоны на еду использовавшиеся (судя по наименованиям с таблетками ) группами аутсайдеров. Пустое приглашение на свадьбу (мне нравится то что на открытке очень много пририсованых невест и на самой свадьбе в лесу их тоже много) ну а так же книга "грибы в домашнем хозяйстве ". Мясорубка которая является подтверждением того что если вы хотя бы раз похилились фаршем из банки, то это значит что вы схавали кого-то из деревни. Ну и не отходя далеко от темы деревни свиноматка и чувак с которого лутается часть кода для сейфа. Отдельно решила поставить пустую рамку от трофея, что был мутирующей собакой и судя по пустой рамке и тому что находим мы её возле тела охотника, хочу предположить что Волчара на деле просто собака. Ну и да, шаль прекрасной леди которую тебе может отдать Волчара.

Food coupons used (judging by the names with pills) by outsider groups. An empty wedding invitation (I like that there are a lot of drawn brides on the postcard and there are also a lot of them at the wedding in the forest) and also a book "mushrooms in the household". A meat grinder which is a confirmation that if you have at least once been healed by minced meat from a can, then this means that you ate someone from the village. Well, not going far from the topic of the village, a sow and a dude from whom part of the code for the safe is looted. Separately decided to put an empty frame from a trophy, which was a mutating dog (sidequest lore in the church) and judging by the empty frame and the fact that we find it near the hunter's body, I want to assume that Wolfman is actually just a dog. Well, yes, the shawl of a beautiful lady that Wolfman can give you.

Кассета с радиовышки и свадьбы, на последней написано "веселье". Военный жетон брата Птичницы, который ранее выпадал в прологе а не в доме. Пустая банка от шоколадной пасты, варенье и рассольник.

A tape from the radio tower and the wedding, the latter says "fun". The military token of Birdwoman's brother, which previously dropped in the prologue and not in the house. An empty can of chocolate spread, jam and rassolnik.

[naawisi]

I'm feeling that Darkwood passion welling up in me. Who would be interested in me streaming that at some point?

That gif is from a chomper study I was doing in 2017. It has been so long...

The study done by the devs from the artbook <3 my favourite page

[itsmelloww]

Re some of the names in Darkwood (*silent forest spoilers)

Speaking as a non-Polish person so feel free to shoot me if im wrong, but Im a huge name nerd and was looking up the names from Darkwood and I noticed that few of the names end in '-ek'.

e.g. Piotrek, Janek, Stasiek, etc.

So apparently, when applied to first names (male), adding the suffix '-ek' is a way of softening the name, and indicating smallness or endearment/affection. Wont get into the historics, but it's 'tradition' that's believed to have originated from the Protoslavic period, and then formalised during Old Polish period (believe 'Janek' was recorded as a name around this time)

So, there's Piotr + '-ek' -> Piotrek

and, Jan + '-ek' -> Janek.

Stasiek is not as intuitive (*to an english speaker) - I believe it comes from Stanisław + '-ek'.

Janek is actually referred to as 'Mr Jan' by the Musician, which I had originally misinterpreted as the Musician shortening the name out of endearment??? So wrong lol. But anyways, the Musician's a child, so of course he wouldnt be using such diminutive terms, whereas the Chicken Lady, for example, is his older sister so there you have it.

___ Now this is interesting on its own, but what I found even more interesting is that the same suffix is applied to Antek's name, Antek being the Red Chomper owned by the Village Leader in Silent Forest.

The Chomper's actual name ought to be: Antoni + '-ek' = Antek.

Which i find very interesting. The Villagers are very polarising. I seriously wonder about Antek's true origins. Being he was used like a 'guardian', I am guessing that's where the 'endearment' is coming from, perhaps. We know they trapped the baby red chomper in the well, instead of killing it, so wonder if that's a way of ... training the red chompers? Maybe that had worked once on Antek? What I'm thinking is that perhaps Antek had once been a child as well at some point? Or perhaps he was just a grown man named Antek that then turned into a chomper, and thats that lol.

Anyways, I'll leave this here; found it v interesting though.

[epitaph-for-a-good-girl]

𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝟏.𝟓

Fandom: Arcane x Darkwood Relationships: Singed x OFC Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Part: 3/8 Language: English

⚠️TW: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, blood, guns, some mild gore and Singed being a tad creepy.

The man she is speaking to is a tall and skinny fellow with vein-ridden eyes and pin-tight pupils. His long face barely visible under loose loops of greyish gauze looks heavily burned and unkindly old.

She’s proportionally way shorter but taken singularly she mustn’t be under 5 foot six, the lanky lamppost at her side clearly well over her stature, long limbs stretching over his midsection brushing uncannily past his lower back without much heist. One of his long hands, armed with thin fingers well definable by each knuckle, is pressed against the sharp curve of the woman’s shoulder and although he’s bending at the centre of his torso he’s still a couple of inches higher than her eye level.

The tall man is hushing whispering sounds in a low tone that rumbles in his throat like a boiling pot of some sort of comforting stew, yet with every other word an uncomfortable whistle gets pushed out of an opening in his mouth that shouldn't be there ruining the calming timber of his steady voice with a hiss that fills the air like an angered snake.

He wishes to speak but the sounds cascading out of his mouth struggle to get out, all mushed together like a heavy goop too thick to filter in between his teeth.

Something heavy clatters to the ground, as heavy legs swing over the edge of the crude table he’s perched on. He feels like he needs to be bracing himself for the words heavily falling from his lips, a gurgle of sounds dying before even reaching the tip of his tongue.

The body rejecting his own ungainly movements doesn't feel like his own.

«I thought you sedated him.» the woman’s voice cuts through the damp confusion dripping in his mind like the drop eroding the stone, and, if that's even possible, weirder than the doctor’s. An uncharacteristic monotone timber that fades into a scratching low-pitched squeak. «I did.» «Don’t look like it.» The room all around him gets foggy, molten walls dripping down their solid tonnage. «I did.» the velvety voice repeats, irritated and curt, almost surely the man’s, the luxurious quality of it petting his twisting anxiety, the word’s meaning lost to him but the delicate tone noted. «Don’t get snappy with me doc.»

The room swings for the last time, the last push over a cliff the man didn't even know he was edging, their twisting figures a fading threat he feels no longer safe from, swirling together in a weird dance that involves no movement at all.

«Perhaps he just needed more time than the others.»

The soldier doesn’t really know the two of them but for some odd reason he feels like they belong together nicely. Like green grass and a dead bird.

Way Before The piper of the vicious aggression, almost certainly inflicted by a chomper, has been paid by the nicked knee pad. Irregular indentation well planted in the torn flesh of her calf looking way more grotesque than her unwavering expression paints them to be. The doctor inhales softly. «Sit.»

It’s not a question of “if” curing her, what use would she have dead if not to be the umpteenth cadaver for him to dissect, too sharply interesting to deserve the boring end of turning out open for him to study like roadkill, no, the question is of “how”. Unfortunately for him the Girl looks determined to make the task gruelling «I’d rather not.»

He ponders his options without real interest in finding a better solution than what his head suggested on instinct, «Do it anyhow.» he twirls the bullet in his hand, offering the waiting hand to the girl.

The soft sound of the object sliding out of his grasp and landing on the hesitant palm of the girl reverberates with a finality that puts even himself on edge. «I’ll keep the gun. I’ll patch you up.»

Equilibrium at last, his experiment back in its cage, the gun lost to the Industrialist replaced by a new one, equilibrium once again. If only the girl had not been standing in his house. Bleeding out at the door.

It will scar, a gruesome gash slashing its path on the entire expansion of her pale thigh wrapping askew around bony knees sparing the joint only because stopped by the mauled protection, he doesn’t apologize for every tug of his nylon thread or each crude pierce turned into laceration by the blunt end of his hooked needle but it’s also true she doesn’t even flinches, eyes distant and jaw unclenched as if not even aware the Doctor is currently piercing and tugging and holding handfuls of her leathery flesh.

«Am I hurting you?» he tests, perhaps petty perhaps just moved by scientific curiosity; a sharp jerk. The trajectory of her eyes descending on him, irises uncomfortably focused, —from zero to a hundred. «No.» The doctor’s knees ache in a dull comforting sensation that accompanies him like a second-handed feeling he’s experiencing only because someone else told him to do so, kneeling in front of the mouldy table the girl passed the first night perched on, now finishing the last stitches crossing the inside of her calve. He plunges crooked needles into motionless flesh, droplets of blood dripping down the angrily red line that will eventually turn bright pink, then brown and at the very end silvery and white.

The irony of it does not escape him, the placement the girl chooses, possibly to soothe anxiety he does not read on her face; he’s fine with it, especially if the routine of their encounter provides some sort of comfort, he doesn’t think she would appreciate his dissecting table yet.

— He doesn’t let her go per se, she’s simply there, in the faint light of a drying night, then she isn’t anymore. He doesn’t protest. And so -in his mind- he just lets her go; far more interesting as alive and thriving than pretty with her insides out. It’s a courtesy he wasn’t sure he would have extended past a couple more days, enough to grow bored of her uncanny presence and disturbingly attentive stares. But she didn’t abuse her stay, didn’t even indulge in it. In and out of his life in a snap of fingers.

For now she’s interesting so for now she’ll remain alive; this of course if the forest will allow it.

The Industrialist doesn’t approve of his decision but the Doctor couldn’t care less. «You are getting soft old man.»

— The doctor rarely lingers in front of the slab reflecting his fragmented image back but it has now been two people out of… well… two to tell him that, so he cannot but wonder.

Only disfigured, timeless, and mauled features look back at him, nothing different from what he remembered, features he cannot date.

Does he really look that old?

Outside his hideout, close enough to make the doctor shiver, low grumbles of famished dogs reverberate through the night, the distant cry of the mother sow, the agonizingly dragged-out death of something already putrid.

He wonders where the Girl must be, where her hideout could possibly lie, or if she even has one at all, impossible to think her out in the darkness at night. Old.   Too old to survive this, and yet…

The Girl is young enough to still believe “old” an insult, lingering on the doorsteps of early adulthood, enough to see her youth only a handful of years behind her shoulders yet not fully grasping where his time lands and where hers will eventually do the same, the Industrialist mustn't be more than a couple of years younger than him, only petty and childish without a countdown reassuring of his growth. The doctor closes the door to the bathroom for the night, there is no reason for him to linger in there.

- Rio rasps angrily at the syringe digging into her side, the doctor doesn’t hush her anymore, not like he did a long time ago, not like he did when all of this started. The beast whines and curls into a ball of pitiful sadness, and there is a long forgotten pit in the doctor’s belly that reaches deeper and deeper, a bottomless void no medicine will ever fill.

- Circa September 1980; from the doctor’s diary. Entry number 19:

Experiment 127-2 bis changed status unexpectedly. Death of the subject was not in calculations, survival of the host → irrelevant to the experiment.

Then scribbled vertically on the gnawed margin of the paper: The Girl is nowhere to be found. -

He doesn’t have a reason to look for her, he does it anyway.

— It’s the beginning of the following month -at least this the Doctor believes- when Viktor shows up at his doorstep, unannounced and fiddly, roughly a dozen days after the Girl vanished, some stammering words betraying his composed mannerisms.

«Did anything new happen?» he finally asks once settled into the damp entryway, eyeing his living room for Rio. «Nothing in particular.»

The kid shuffles his defective feet over the ridges of wethering floorboards, the far screeching of little piglets being lead to slaughter, his eyes cast down and a question he’s itching to release.

«Can I feed Rio?» If that’s what he wants to land on the Doctor won't reprise him. «Of course.»

The beast stirs clear of the doctor, she will for a couple of days still, lapping at Viktor’s fingers and her wounds, the doctor sits on a chair bent out of shape by unforgiving time, the little kid still playing with his experiment.

— The Industrialist comes back with a chart full of dead men. Laughing hysterically: «What a nice job you did, what a smart man you are, you didn’t kill the little lamb and look at me now: a richer man for sure. All for the meagre price of a sack. What a wolf she revealed herself to be, no more piggies in that wrenched place, no more cries at night. What a killer, what a surprise.»

The Doctor looks for her corpse in the pile, but it is not there.

Nights are now still and eery. No more piggies indeed.

There is something, a voice in the far back corner of her head that tells her dying would be like being carried up the stairs in her father’s arms.

The girl is skinning a rabbit that day, bloodied hands and white knuckles, the knife belonged to another woman back then, a long time ago, or perhaps only a couple of days prior. A knife and a cable, the implications as clear as the meaning of the burned doll the Girl kept.

Hanuska had asked her and so she had delivered. Or maybe she did it because the Industrialist had promised her a new backpack, something to carry around the burned doll, a full cycle closing on the pit of her empty stomach.

Killing was a cycle, as reoccurring as Hanuska dying with a knife stuck in her belly and the sow doing the same fried up like roaches scorched by petty kids with a magnifying glass and a free weekend ahead.

Killing was a cycle, a petty one leading deeper and deeper into the woods. But the Girl had not been petty, she had been practical, egoistic if one must, a godsend, the saviour of that poor beast, the doomer of the village.

She had been a split duality of nothingness so below and above the law of the Forest she had managed to escape his precise rigour, in that infuriating mannerism that had put her, now, there skinning rabbits and humming a tune long forgotten. A bloodied-up bone rattles into the rusty bucket at her feet, crimson red and off-white catching on the rim of the old thing, she’ll use it as bait later, when the horizon of trunks will be nothing but twisting darkness and the orange light casted by a second handed sun will be only a sliver of rust.

A glimpse of something catches her attention. There is a hazmat suit nailed to a tree. And the disturbing bit is that for a moment she thinks that’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.

Rio chirps and raises its head from the floor. Out of the door the boards on the front porch creak. There is a worryingly long pause after which five wrongly spaced knocks sharply pierce the still silence. Somehow the doctor knows exactly who it is. The Girl stands awkwardly on his rough doormat, tense little jumps carrying her from side to side on the creaking floorboard of his entryway. «Have you got any time?» for me remains unsaid but the Doctor hears it nonetheless; he has plenty of it indeed. «I have.»

The girl fiddles with her abnormally long fingers in a manner that is not anxious nor out of place, simply a pass-time to occupy some unrested features of her oddly built persona, something she had scavenged somewhere in the forest, a habit that rests unusual and uncharacteristic stuck on her limbs.

The Doctor enters his living room, the first room after the door, a liminal space filled with cages and the stench of blood and stale sterilizer, not outside anymore not inside yet, not his intimate quarter, the place where the Girl had firstly jumped him. The man falls into a mouldy chair, dust dancing in sensual waves in the speckles of light cascading from the barricaded windows.

«Sit» he orders, offering the other chair with the gesture of a hand, but once again the Girl chooses the table, climbing its structure with a soft leap and an alarmingly quiet landing.

Silence stretches out of his hand, no more in control now than how he had been in their previous encounters.

«What did you use to do before… before.» «I was an ophthalmologist. —a beat of silence- An eye doctor.» he clarifies. «I know what an ophthalmologist is.»

And just when he thinks he has finally grown bored of her, disappointedly short her period of interest, she chatters as serene as the day she’s watching nonchalantly outside his refuge: «I found a hazmat suit nailed to a tree.»

And his word shifts once again on the axis of the bizarre words she keeps puking.

It’s still relatively early in the morning, somewhere in between early dawn and midday, that’s what the old Casio latched onto his wrist says, the Girl follows suit without even rustling the foliage laying like a carpet on the open-roofed structure of their collective cage. She shuffles behind him, sometimes gently poking at his back to direct his steps, she doesn’t want to be in front of the mangled little train the both of them form, understandably so, but with her unexpected pokes the sole proof of her presence behind him he feels like he should turn around and look for her constantly. He never does, oddly sure she’ll just disappear in a casted glance. This could very well be a ruse, the trick of a desperate but the more the Doctor had thought that through the more it had looked unlikely. The girl had been ostracized from the village, that much he was sure of given her most recent performance on the mother sow, the Industrialist had almost certainly guaranteed him of it, and although the Girl could certainly pass the part of a cannibal he had dismissed the thought almost as soon as it had entered the list in his mind. Why coax him out when she already knew the location of his hideout.

«There.» The girl slides at his side with a stiff fluidity in her movement that either tells him something about his stitching skills or simply masks a general ignorance of the mundane knowledge of existing.

The little devil had not lied, and squatting on the paved gravel of the overgrown path —lithe finger pointing directly at the disturbing display, she now waits for his next move.

The pockets on the suit are unsurprisingly empty, nothing he hadn’t imagined beforehand, but still disappointing to say the least; the girl gnaws at his movement with hungrily steady eyes.

«What is it?» she finally asks, once it’s clear the doctor will not talk unless explicitly asked to, his lazy movement still examining the suit. «A hazmat suit.» He decides to hum, if not for the euphoric rush of feeding sarcasm to the younger to dissipate some trapped annoyance, an exercise in futility. But the girl simply bobs her head as if receiving an actual piece of knowledge she previously lacked. «Why is it here?» The doctor swiftly rubs the pad of a finger over the dusting roots starting to devour the piece of clothes, collecting soot over his burned hand, not older than a couple of days. The dirt around the base of the three looks disturbed, dry leaves scattered in all kinds of directions. A trail of blood peaks under the monochromatic foliage. Deeper into the forest. Always deeper.

«How strong are you?»

The opening behind his house is where the duo finally traces down the body. The doctor rummages through the moth-eaten clothes on the back of the unfortunate. The girl pops her back behind him snapping his obsessive fixation over the empty hand he retrieved from his pocket. «Enough to carry him.»

The Girl reveals herself surprisingly strong, the bulky stature of the soldier slung over her shoulders, foliage silent under her steps.

He feels her eyes on him, when he sifts through his concoctions, jars of red boiling serums and pulsating vials. She watches him injecting the stranger the plague. She quips sarcasm and charisma like little drafts of chilling air, something seeping from the cracks in a ravaged porcelain doll. She looks someone else entirely for a couple of minutes, for a line or two, a lost personality tangled in between constricting diktats. She stays for the injection, for the beating and for the information extortion, leg dangling from table to chair. She disappears at work done; when the doctor is passing a filthy cloth to his crimson knuckles, she takes the door, or the window or god knows what crevices she’s able to squeeze her body past. And the doctor cannot even begin to phantom why she came to him in the first place; the like of her rarely comes to the like of him.

— It looks like the like of her rarely comes to no one at all, the Industrialist smokes on his porch while the doctor sips hollow liquor that tastes of memory loss and nothing more. «Have you seen the girl?» «The little lamb?» The doctor sips and hisses through exposed teeth. «Nope.»

It gives food for thought, the fact that circling the doctor’s house are always dogs; loyal even to the scammer that left their own kind to rot outside of his refuge, bearing their fangs at an intruder that simply asks to slip her way into the lonely slanted windows at the very top layer of that mismatched house.

She creeps past a running generator, to her left the crude operating table she had only recently come to know of, then past a creaking door, steps tangled in the long stretches of running cables. The door remains stuck, she yanks and curses under her breath but the door simply doesn’t budge.

She wrenches, viciously, when she thinks the doorknob least expects it. It creaks loudly and then unlatches from its bolts. Glass clinks to the pavement boards in the terrified minutes of silence following the commotion; then rolls incredibly loudly until unbranded bottle halts its escape crashing with a soft thud to the edge of her boots.

The doctor is snoring, passed out drunk all comfy in his chair, face smushed onto the table she was sitting on not even a couple of days prior. The Girl straightens and waits for nothing in the eery silence of the night.

He’s drunk and she can observe him without counting to six before knowing she’ll come across as off-putting if she’ll lingers a second longer.

She waits for a second, possibly a second too much, every fraction of a moment crucial to her precarious existence. She waits, torn, a trifle ambiguity she wishes to satisfy on both ends, she waits, to her credit she ponders, until she isn’t anymore, hopping a few steps in his direction, like a moth drawn to a flame if the flame was a man and the moth was a critter, something half-done and so -inherently- drawn to completeness.

She indeed lingers a minute longer, eyes scanning ruined face and devastated features; a story written and then demolished, the completion of a work. It pains to detach from her personal curiosity, the crude map burning a hole in her pocket.

The soldier cannot speak anymore, this the “perks” the mushrooms had to offer, she begs for him to point the place to her. He shuffles in his chair. She plants a pen in between his teeth and shoves the map on his face; she makes promises she won’t be able to keep, she makes them anyway.

The night air slashes her hollow cheeks, freezingly cold dripping like honey down her throat. She runs, the primordial fear of being caught hot on her trail.

The thickness of the surrounding trees comes to an end up north, some trunks individually distinguishable in between the twisting mess of dark bark, maybe even sparse enough to let her contort herself into squeezing her body in between them. Her heart bleeds at the glimmering hope of being on the right track.

The time it takes for her to squeeze past the first row of trunks seems like an eternity. And sadly enough it’s not exactly a rewarding prize what comes into view after a few painfully tight gaps she urges her body into: the moist and dirty planks of the door of a hut block her view of what resides behind that all-so-detestable stretch of wood, newer wood, processed wood but still fucking wood.

A cabin in the middle of nowhere should not have been a sight so shocking and new, except this one is. A confusing sight, a detestable sight, a sight that on its closed shut door -to really top it all off- sports a sturdy looking lock embedded with a four-digit code.

The girl hooks her fingers into the headache inducing metal monstrosity and yanks hard, hanging her meagre weight to the object trying to wrench her way in. She only manages to scratch her knuckles bloody and cut the meaty part of her fingers at least a couple of times.

Darkness creeps in on her with black tendrils, the death of all hopes, frigid air pools down her throat squirming its way past rasped breath. The forest digs its roots deeper once more.

The death of all hopes.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | AO3

Dividers from the insanely talented @saradika-graphics here on Tumblr To be specific, this one

[monochromatictoad]

🚩 🧮 🔖 for the dark selfship asks, and any f/onxou wnat!

- @aro-simp

I'm gonna do this one for my Darkwood ship!

🚩 What makes your selfship ‘dark’? Is it the dynamic? The way they met? A specific element of the relationship?

So, a number of things make Bugperson/The Trader/Stranger dark. First, the Stranger doesn't have a set personality, but he is very morally questionable. Especially once you learn what Red Chompers actually are 🙂 However, the more he interacts with others, the worst many of their fates become 🙂 also because it's hinted that The Stranger killed the Trader in chapter 2, though you never actually see it. So it really depends on his actions in Chapter 1 that affects the Bugperson idea of him. Also because Bugperson constantly misgenders The Stranger, because they struggle to communicate to each other, both are mute because of the Forest, but neither one speaks sign language 😔

🧮 If one of you has more power in the relationship, is there anything the other person does to undermine that power? How does the more powerful person feel about that?

Mmm... The Bugperson and Trader are physically the strongest between the three, but they can't make the injections the Stranger uses to mutate himself further. These injections make him hallucinate horribly, and is possibly the reason the Trader is found decapitated in Chapter 2. It's a strange power dynamic, because in the end, the Bugperson doesn't care as long as the Nest isn't bothered by anyone.

🔖 If your ideal fanfiction existed about you and your f/o, what would the AO3 tags look like?

Dark themes, gore, major character(s) death, Hallucinations, bugs, guns, drug use(?), morally grey characters, cannibalism, unhappy ending(s), murder, fire, self mutilation, selfcest,

[gaygamesstarringmary]

Atomic Wasteland, Sentient Forest, Alien Ocean

‘Fuck You’ Graffitied Across the Wall

My first M-rated game was Fallout 3. I cried when I finished that game. Not because the game was particularly sad, but because I knew I could never go back and play that game again. 

After years of begging for a PS4, my parents got me a PS3. I wanted Fallout 4 but it wasn’t compatible with the PS3, so I settled for Fallout 3. The graphics sucked, even for 2016.

And my mom. She wasn’t sure how graphic this game was, so she watched me play it. Of course, she watched the worst part. My player character entered a building I knew was filled with raiders- post-apocalyptic baddies. But I didn’t know they had littered the floor with mines.

My character exploded into a million little pieces. The camera focused on one piece in particular as the chunk rolled down the stairs. There, at the bottom of the stars, written in blood: FUCK YOU.

My mother was shocked. Never had she been so repulsed in her entire life. And just as she’d given me the game, she took it away.

I begged. And begged. And pleaded. After a few days of my nonstop pleading, and my verbal promise that I would never actually kill anyone in real life (I’m the type of person to spare the scariest of spiders), my mom returned the game to me, albeit begrudgingly.

I recently played Fallout: New Vegas, and I never learn. Never look at the floor. I never even think that mines might be on my path. Now, though, my mom watches me play with glee. She is horrified, yes, but only because I’m so goddamn bad.

2. The Sun Sets; I’m Completely Fucked

The setting sun casts its orange light on the forest. Soon this crooked forest will consume everything. Already, it’s taken highways and villages for its own. In these villages, infected humans lay dying. Some infected humans keep their sanity, but not their human image. And some still lose both mind and body to the forest. The player character, a human who has managed to keep his sanity and his self despite the forest’s universal plague, sprints home. There, he pulls a dresser in front of one of the doors, starts the generator, and hides in a corner gripping tightly his rifle. 

When the sun sets, the infected come. First, they knock on doors. They peep through windows. Then they grow more violent. They tear down barricades and search the homes for the man inside.

Darkwood is a hit-or-miss game for most. I love it through and through. The infected forest is beautiful. The infected people, not so much, but I enjoy screaming and running from them as fast as my poor player character can.

I fell in love with this game during the first night I played. A knocking at my door startled me, but I continued hiding in my corner, and, eventually, whoever was knocking roamed away. The lore of the game is wonderful, as I discovered when I met the Wolf Man. The plague touched him so that he transformed into a bipedal wolf, with the appetite to boot. 

The monsters are horrifying. Knowing that they are- or were- people is worse. Chompers were the bane of my existence while I played this game, and I ran every time I saw one. They are infected people who split down the middle to their chests. This made room for a large mouth of teeth.

I have days worth of time invested into this game. 

But I cannot finish it.

I don’t want a repeat of Fallout 3 ever again, so I never finish games I really love. When I feel Darkwood’s end drawing near, I delete my save file and start anew.

3. Discovering I Have Thallassophobia

I love games, but I am not good at them. I have to play most shooters on easy because I have the aim of a drunk Stormtrooper. Subnautica is no different.

I love the ocean. Before Batman came along, it and mythology had been my hyper-fixations. I still know way too much about yeti crabs and other deep-sea life. While no longer a hyper fixation, the deep oceans are still fixations.

I want to live at the bottom of the ocean. I dream not of whale song, but of bone worms swaying in the current. Before I get started on the real oceans, though, let me introduce Subnatuica.

Subnautica is a first-person adventure game set on an alien planet made completely of water. Your goal is to get off the planet while avoiding being eaten by an apex predator along the way, or being picked off by those annoying little crabs. It focuses on adventure and base building, but I didn’t care about either of those.

I wanted to see the creatures. Specifically, the creatures in the deep dark. So, as soon as I had the necessary resources, I vowed, I would travel to the abyss and gather information on every lifeform there.

That never happened. Again, I’m awful at games. 

Worse, it wasn’t even an apex predator that kept killing me- or even those crabs. It was dehydration. Water was all around me, but not the drinkable kind. And I had no idea how to get water so I kept dying.

I gave up sooner rather than later and watched every Youtuber play Subnautica  I could. Despite having never been to the abyss myself, I have seen through others the creatures that live there, and they are just as strange and fascinating as the deep-sea animals in real life. 

Biolumenisent predators. Long-legged crabs. And sapient creatures that, unlike dolphins (who I fully believe to be as intelligent as humans, unfortunately) aren’t completely fucked up in the head.

And, again, watching the ending of this game, I cried.

[foxgirl87]

(darkwood anon) i'm afraid it's not terribly different from the in-game events; i just thought it was so unfair that he didn't get to become a big scary monster 😭 and i love the design of the pretty lady, so i based his off her appearance, thinking that perhaps she is a "type" of monster with a specific set of mutations, similar to the chompers

so he's this huge blobby thing like she is. his eyes so deep-set in his face that his sockets appear empty, his nose a useful flap, his mouth a twisted gash across his face. he still has his hair and it's pretty much the only recognizable part of him along with what remains of his nose

this is some art i drew of him back in 2020: https://file.garden/ZQbq3KzuxT0Youxl/art/tumblr_poitl1llYo1xqm7w6o2_r5_1280.png

he is aggressive if left to his own devices and will actively hunt people down 💔 he's also huge, being slightly bigger than the pretty lady

WHERE ARE HIS CLOTHES 😨😨😨😨😨 IS HE BUTT NAKED OUT THERE??? 😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨

Anyways I like thisj AU 💞💞 The Fox would definitely take care of him in this state 💞💞💞💞

[lizrdkix]

visit me in chomper city

[wiwiwline]

DAY 8!!!!111 TEETH. It’s a darkwood monster called RED CHOMPER and not among us things okay ?

[mannequinentity]

🍷 a character i want to write but never made a blog for

MY EXPERIENCE IN THE ROLEPLAYING COMMUNITY

The Stranger from Darkwood, thought he would be an interesting character to write since he's straightforward and blunt, not the friendliest person out there but that's the fun of it. The problem is, I can't really multi-task between two blogs so he's off the table for a while.

Whenever I do though, need to make alternate universes for him, cause there's not much freedom or variety being stuck in the woods from hell, just eating away at your sanity every day. No sleep whatsoever, cause the nights are ridden with savages and chompers knocking on your doorstep.

Made a tiny banner for him a while back with minor adjustments.

[red-tea-lover]

Всякие вещи которые я нашла в файлах Дарквуда [ часть 1 ]

Stuff I Found in the Darkwood Files [ Part 1 ]

Пост про самую раннюю версию игры и моего друга Неро что достал все файлы из которых уже я достала что-то что пошло в эту серию постов.

A post about the earliest version of the game and my friend Nero who got all the files from which I got something that went into this series of posts.

Старый дизайн банши, который все еще есть в файлах на листе с нынешними банши. Этот дизайн все ещё можно увидеть в одном из игровых трейлеров, где мать музыканта превращается не в пожирателя а в банши.

An old Banshee design that is still in the files on the current Banshee sheet. This design can still be seen in one of the gameplay trailers, where the musician's mother turns into a Banshee instead of a Chomper.

Место где ранее спавнился мягкий кокон из которого можно было забрать зародыш (даёт дополнительную жизнь в сложных режимах игры а так же используется для эссенции и хила). Ранее это место охранял пожиратель что спавнился после разбивания кокона, но это убрали в одной из версий. Так же встречается в раннем трейлере.

The place where a soft cocoon used to spawn from which you could pick up an embryo (gives extra life in difficult game modes and is also used for essence and healing). Previously, this place was guarded by a chomper that spawned after breaking the cocoon, but this was removed in one of the versions. It is also found in an early trailer.

Старая версия паука который встречается во 2 главе на болотах. Насколько помню в игре эта версия не использовалась поскольку к моменту создания 2 главы спрайты уже были изменены и более деталезированны

An old version of the spider that is encountered in Chapter 2 in the swamps. As far as I remember, this version was not used in the game because by the time Chapter 2 was created, the sprites had already been changed and were more detailed.

Наброски спрайтов волчары в атаующем состоянии. Тоже лежат вместе с основными спрайтами, но я достала отдельно только скетчи ))) В целом на некоторых спрайт-листах есть немного скетчей а некоторые листы из них состоят.

Sketches of sprites of a Wolfman in an attacking state. Also lie together with the main sprites, but I took out only sketches separately ))) In general, on some sprite sheets there are a few sketches and some sheets consist of them.

Лист цветных спрайтов-набросков для анимаций протагониста. Хоть его цвета не похожи на старые версии и на нынешние, но анимация прыжка через забор, держания огнестрельного оружия и падения при смерти (ранее анимация была другая, прикладываю рядом спрайт ранних анимаций смерти)

A sheet of color sprites-sketches for the protagonist animations. Although its colors are not similar to the old versions and the current ones, but the animation of jumping over a fence, holding a firearm and falling when dying (earlier animation was different, I attach a sprite of early death animations next to it)

Ещё хочу сослаться на свой прошлый пост, где среди спрайтов были найдены те, на которых у протагониста отсутствует рука. Не вижу смысла дублировать этот пост так что оставлю на него ссылку

I also want to refer to my previous post, where among the sprites I found those where the protagonist's arm is missing. I don't see the point in duplicating this post, so I'll leave a link to it.

[wardzold]

Dreaming in the woods

I can’t really draw a comic and don’t want to spend too much time on this, just wanna draw the story out