rain maker

Don’t worry!

I WAS THE SOFTEST BIGBY EVER

BECAUSE I CAN’T BRING MYSELF TO BE MEAN?

(but he also wasn’t so big nor so bad in the HQ, so I think we’re fine?)

#*outofcharacter #whoa i need a ooc tag for murph

Join us in the Big Lovely Wolf league! (Seriously though, Bigby is a nice guy. I can't even picture him otherwise.)

It Can't Rain Everyday | Pendleton & Cunningham

One of the strangest feelings in the world was to be comforted by the arms of the man you tried to kill. What was happening to her, anyway? She wasn’t that meek and trembling shrimp crying of relief on someone else’s shoulders, no, she couldn’t be. She was Anne Colleridge (dammit her ex-husband surname, she was changing it back to the name of the best man to even walking under the sun!), and didn’t matter how many times she fell, she was always going to stand on her feet again, she was never giving up.

She was the woman who pulled the fucking trigger.

But, at the same time, she was a lost little girl who could never properly mourning her father and didn’t know where to go from there. What she did have left? Nothing. No husband, no father, no family, no friends and she wasn’t sure if she could ever put her foot on a prison again without being assaulted by visions of those monsters. What she did have left on that life? Vengeance? Justice? Truth? Just a hollow where should have been her soul.

She was the woman who pulled the fucking trigger. What was she so afraid of right now?

"Pendleton!" She called again, raising her arm to his chest, stopping him once again, just like the first time they met. "You’re taking wrong path, you know it? Come, I’ll show you the way out of this shit hole." She give him a smirk, a strange light on her green eyes. Then, she gripped his jumpsuit, as if this way she could retain something from him, anything "Don’t throw away the life my father gave for you. Promise you won’t, you owe me this much."

No, he didn’t - she owed him everything, a new life even, everything. But they both owned something to Frank’s Coleridge’s memory: to live, doesn’t matter how easier it would be to just die.

"Promise or you’ll wish your ass was back in this hell before I end with you!"

#lbr that's totally murph's effect over those cop ladies

There was a breath of humor, however brief, in which Murphy caught himself how promptly he would react to her calling his name. Not a conscious action – it was instinct, pretty much just like a well-trained dog.

And like a well-trained dog, he stood still, listening to her even if he couldn't really make out half of the words she said, confusion showing in his frown.

Promise.

For a moment, he thought of the few promises he made through his life, wondering if he had managed to keep at least one of them. Judging from where he stood now, both guilty and innocent blood in his hands, it seemed unlikely. But still she demanded an answer, just as intense as she had been when she was still set on killing him, and he found himself scoffing lightly.

"Alright, I––" He paused, looked around, weight shifting from one leg to the other when there was nothing else left to do. He had never been a people person anyway, but it was particularly complicated when you have to deal with someone who doesn't know a thing about you, and yet knows everything. "Okay. Promise."

Not that he was sure what it meant – not throwing his life away was a little vague. Was that what he had done with the life he had before? Seemed so. But when? At what point did he mess it up so badly there was no return?

"So, uh... Which way?"

Maybe he could keep that one. For Frank.

objecticns

[[ Forgot to upload this last night. Whoops. ]]

birdoforigami

afraidofstorms

Wait… what? A fugitive convict? Great. Just what she needed right now. One that didn’t even care to change his pretty flashy jumpsuit. Great.

"Hands on the air, handsome! And no sudden movement. I don’t want to hurt your pretty face but I will if I need to."

#and then murphy proceeds to do his thing and not say a word #good job man #you know #there's gotta be something wrong with you #if you're more eloquent when walking around all by yourself #birdoforigami

He wasn't even sure he could be considered a human being anymore. More like a half-dead pile of weary nerves and pained flesh. There was no need for threats or warnings, and he considered telling her that.

Then again, since when did cop ladies listen to him?

Not saying a word – there was no point in that –, he raised his hands, slowly and steady, keeping his head low. There was nowhere left to run anyway.

It Can't Rain Everyday | Pendleton & Cunningham

There was blood and mud under her nails, the pain was consuming her whole body, she was so tired she just wanted to close her eyes and sleep, everything forgotten in that sweet moment of unconsciousness. But she couldn’t because that damned shit place wouldn’t let her lay down her weary head and just stop and rest, no.

Still, Anne wasn’t alone. Suddenly, he was here for her, his strong hand gripping her tight, trying to pull her up, supporting her weight. She opened her eyes (she didn’t even notice she had closed them), and looked at him and what she saw written all over his face took her breath away.

Murphy Pendleton, convict, the man she was hunting, the man she forgave, had worry dripping from his eyes, and a firm determination showing on his forehead, anguish, concern, despair and everything for her. Everything for her. After all that she did to turn his world into a living hell, Murphy Pendleton still cared. Damnit that stupid man! Damnit! How could she fall when it would pull him with her again? No. She wouldn’t fall, she couldn’t fall, she wasn’t pulling him on that hell with her again.

"Pendleton!" She chanted, a litany and a pray, holding his stretched arm with every drop of strength she had left. Slowly, inch by inch, he helped her back to solid ground. It was hurting like hell, she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore, every muscle in her body was aching, still, he didn’t leave her fall.

And when he finally pulled her up, that suddenly tiny scared shitless woman trembling on her knees and his arms, silence was the only thing greeting both of them. No rain, nor screams, neither that muffled sound of a broken radio, nothing. Just silence and the sound of the lake beside them.

"I hate this place so fucking much! I wish hell would open and swallow this damn shit excuse of a town! Fuck everything! Fuck! Thank you, your stupid bastard!" It wasn’t rain in his shoulders, it was tears. "Thank you so fucking much!"

#let it goooo #let it gooooooooooooo #seekingmockingbirds

He had no idea how long they had been trapped in that hellhole, but it wasn't that long ago that Officer Cunningham had him on his knees, ready to be executed – or that one time when she did pull the trigger. He wouldn't forget that; he wasn't entitled to.

The same way he would never forget forgiveness and gratitude, even if he didn't deserve those. Or how she wouldn't think twice before embracing him, once she learned the truth.

(Not that it made him any less guilty.)

"Hey, it's alright," he murmured, voice low and wavering, a moment of hesitation before his hand found her back, tapping it lightly. "It's alright." The lame attempt of lulling her, keeping her in his arms longer than he was supposed to, was half due to the fact that she probably could use it, but half due to his own weakness. But he managed to let her go, at some point – he had to let go.

One step back, then another; just enough to see her face, even if avoiding her eyes.

"I, uh–– I better get going. Bird's gonna be here any minute now," he reminded her, pointing towards her radio with a brief nod. "You better not be seen with a dead convict."

Another step back, legs still faltering. Sometimes walking away was a bitch.

thecitygrit-deactivated20150926

Thought I’d do an Anne pose that mirrored the concept art of a certain ex-convict we all know and love.

So I went ahead and did it.

Mission accomplished.

It Can't Rain Everyday | Pendleton & Cunningham

She let him go.

It was as painful as ripping her soul off, to let her hands fall from that desperate hug, to step back from him, to tell over the radio that he was dead, to let him go. She wasted part of her life just to pursue him, she wasted herself trying to catch her father’s murder just to find out that poor stupid man wasn’t even the real culprit. No, Murphy Pendleton was a victim, her victim.

She let him go - but she couldn’t stay and watch him walking away, because, as fucked as it was, he was the only connection she had in the entire world, the only one who knew, who understood. Anne couldn’t watch him go, so she took the first step.

And then, she fell.

Darkness again, the floor vanishing under her feet, and she could only grab with her bare hands, her nails sticking on the mud, hurting, her heart beating so loud she couldn’t even hear her own voice shouting for him.

"Pull me up! Damnit! Pull me up!"

I don’t want to fall again.

#i sure hope not!#leaving it for you to decide tho #(next week we'll have murph going after anne #yelling 'we have to go back!')#seekingmockingbirds

It was like learning to walk again. One feet and then the other, slow, unsteady steps taking him away from that place – and away from her. He had no idea what would be of him, now a fugitive on the loose, but there was some comfort in knowing there was a rescue team on their way. She would be safe, maybe for the first time in years.

She definitely could use some peace, he assumed. And if going through hell and back would grant her a chance, then at least he'd knew it had been worth something.

His own name on her voice, a shout coming from somewhere behind his shoulders, gave him the worst sense of déjà-vu ever. Especially because it wasn't a threat anymore; if anything, that single Pendleton reached him wrapped in despair, and he found himself running back without even thinking.

He threw himself on his knees, reaching for her, grabbing her wrist with what was probably excessive force, but he couldn't bear letting her fall again.

"Hold on! got you!" He exclaimed, every fiber of his body invested in puling her up even though he knew it wasn't gonna happen. She was going to fall, he was going to fail. Again and again and again.

That was how that place worked, wasn't it?

silent-hilldownpour-deactivated

Boogeyman

@hwbiker

Still somewhat in shock, and more scared than he would admit, Howard followed the man into a house. When the door was held open for him, he took a step back. With a suspicious eye, he looked at the man first, then walked in quickly.

Howard thought of his options. He looked around for some form of weapon before the man told him to. Something strong enough to defend himself from those things and maybe the man himself if he decided to stop acting so nice.

In the mean time, it was best to follow orders as to not agitate the potential murderer. Howard kept a watchful eye over his shoulder as he pulled opened drawers and cupboards.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

As if each pull of the drawer was a question Howard had in his mind, the nothingness inside was also his answer.

He caved. He just had to ask. At least he didn’t have to think of how to ask in another language. “What were those things? Why are we here? Not here. But I mean here. This… what was it Silent Hill?”

What he really wanted to ask was: Are you going to kill me?

#hwbiker #we need a title #don't we?

Fear.

Yeah, sure. It was only logical that the kid – for the first time, Murphy caught himself wondering what was his name – was scared; he had been scared shitless when that damn nightmare began, and if things had changed in the slightest, it was just because his mind was already going numb, while his body had gotten used to it. What had been sheer horror some hours – or maybe days, a whole lifetime – ago, now was mostly a matter of habit.

Now, however, he could hear about it from someone who hadn't sunk so deep down all that madness, and it was enough to make anxiety find a place in the pit of his stomach again.

Except it was clear the kid didn't fear just the monsters locked outside.

(And who isn't afraid of the Boogeyman?)

"Silent Hill, yeah," he replied in a low voice, not even bothering to stop the search. It seemed there was nothing worth finding in that place, but maybe as long as he stayed occupied, the boy wouldn't worry much about him. "But, uh... I have no idea what those things are or anything, really. I'm about as lost as you."

Giving a sigh, he turned around slowly – no sudden moves around the boy, at least as long as he could avoid them – and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "I was on a bus that crashed right outside town. Haven't seen anybody but another prisoner and the correctional officer who was travelling with us, since then."

It was probably for the best, sparing him the details about JP Sater or Bobby Ricks. Hopefully they would find a way out before he had to deal with anything like that.

Lightning struck again, filling the room with that phantasmagorical glow for the briefest moment; still, it was enough for Murphy to notice a detail that had escaped him all this time.

"Hey." He frowned, squinting in the now dimly lit space to see the blood stain on the kid's shirt. "What happened there?" With a quick nod, he pointed towards the source of his newfound suspicion, shifting his weight.

After everything he had seen, it wouldn't be surprising if that place could also raise the dead. The same way it was no surprise to notice fear was just starting to crawl under his skin again.

broughtfromashes-archive-deacti

Opposites { ; Rachel & Murphy ; }

Nightmare. That was the only word that could ever be used to describe the scenes Rachel witnessed in front of her eyes since her entrance in hell, the place where she was born, now burning in the flames of a unknown will that possessed the small town, once knew by the name of Silent Hill, a calm and peaceful resort town in the interior of Maine. Although those were the adjectives people once used to describe the area, they turned out to be far away from the reality as the girl ran through cramped and decrepit corridors of the Centennial Building with a bloodstained axe in hand, prepared to strike a blog against the head of a small, burned and maimed creature in the end of the corridor, bleeding through what could be described as it’s hand while holding a sharp glass shard, embedded in a crimson liquid that gushed down as the makeshift weapon penetrated it’s flesh through the ash covered bandages.

Swift, certain, that was the girl’s attack against the monster, the blade cutting through it’s body as if it was made of butter, a pained and supernatural screech of pain echoing through the entire place as if sharp nails ran through a blackboard, hurting the female’s ears and probably calling the attention of whatever else came to be around. However, there was no reason, nor time, for Rachel to let herself be shaken by that. She has a target, a objective to reach inside that town, even though such was not clear in her own mind yet.

There were things the brunette had to do, answers and memories from her past that were still in the need to be gathered, being held back by the gruesome sights of death was not a option as she became numb to the idea of killing. They looked like monsters, after all, why should her feel guilty over their death? Why should Rachel feel bad over murdering creatures or even people who wanted her own death? It was kill or be killed, survival at it’s fittest, no more than that.

Making her way until the second floor was the easy part, it’s only requirement was to slay the threats and avoid the flames, nothing new since the beginning of that twisted journey but everything seemed to become worse once the elevator refused to work and the stairway was broken. Too long to jump, too late to come back. Everything inside that place was frustrating.

After what seemed like hours of unceasing search for a way up, Rachel gave up completely, at least for a short amount of time until gather enough strength to keep going. Although her mind was wide awake and alert for all the dangers around, her body was weak, hurt and gushing out blood from cuts and bruises. Taking a rest in the middle of the hell’s manifestation seemed ridiculous, but what other choice did she had? None.

The town was a sadistic joker, always waiting for the right time to make another evil joke with her hostage’s fate, and that moment was no different. In a matter of seconds, any noises reminiscent of a delusion vanished into complete silence, the flames washed away, giving place to the aspect of what that building truly was: old, falling to pieces, but not nightmarish. Seating by the corner of what seemed like a office, Rachel shivered from jitters, holding her weapon tightly, breathing heavily and making echos in the loneliness.

A small tear ran down her pale cheeks, painted in a soft shade of red from old burn scars, the crimson bloodstains from her own body and the creatures’ completing the piece as well. Crying was far from being pleasing upon the girl’s eyes, but it was unavoidable, it was simply too much stress for one to deal alone. But if there was something worse than crying, this thing was being seen while crying, and that was exactly what happened in a following.

Dark brown eyes gleamed in the dim light, searching for the source of the sudden noise that entered through her ears, the creak of a opening door. There was a man, visibly older than the girl, holding a gun and staring directly at her with a quizzical look. Without thinking twice, as if in a reflex, Rachel put herself on feet, holding the bloody axe in a attack position before step back, having her back slammed against the wall. She cursed under her breath, hissed even, her expression turning into a defiant frown upon the sight of another stranger. Could he be considered a threat? That was what she was going to see.

“Who are you?” The brunette stammered nervously, lips pursing together right after as she fiery stared at the other, as if making up the scene where her life would be put in the line once again. If such thing happened, Rachel would not hesitate, she would not show fear like in the previous times. She would be the one to survive hell.

#sorry for not adding an icon #i just realized i still have none for murph here #and i'm trying to wrap my mind around this idea of fc i have #... gotta download some stuff ugh #oh and i went for mid-game alright?#rachel: opposites #broughtfromashes

Even if just for a moment, Murphy thought it was her – half dreading, half hoping. He sure had more pressing matters to worry about – like making it out of that place –, but he couldn't get over his last encounter with Officer Cunningham. The things she had told him and all left unsaid, not a single word made any sense. It was personal, that much was clear; she didn't seem to be the sort of person that get off on harassing others. It was hate in her eyes, ever since he hopped on the damn bus.

Still, she wouldn't pull the trigger. And he left her behind.

Coming across a young woman on that building, seeing her crying as she leaned against the wall, he couldn't possibly not find himself staring from a distance, trying to tell whether it was her – and if it was safe to approach her.

As it turned out, however, it wasn't Cunningham. And now he had two women threatening his sorry excuse of a life – as if the freak show wasn't enough.

"Hey, it's okay." He only realized how stupid that must have sounded when it was already too late. But he proceeded on raising one of his hands in surrender, the other putting the firearm in the back of his pants once again. "I'm not–– I'm just trying to find my way outta here, that's all."

There was blood smeared all over her clothes and some of her skin, and he couldn't help notice the burn scars. He only averted his eyes from her face when he noticed he had been staring. But the point was that she didn't look as if she had given up, like JP, nor anywhere close the model citizen style of that mailman guy – Howard, was it?

She was a fighter. A survivor.

"Guess you been working on the same plan, right?"

aseaofquotes

Simon Van Booy, Everything Beautiful Began Again

amandabe11man

@hwbiker

The weight was pulled off his body and his strained limbs fell limp. Even if he wanted to, he could not bring himself to get up and leave. It was as if the screams of the woman-creature infected his body, poisoning his blood, and filled his lungs with shock and dread. The sounds of the world were lost to him and his vision blurred. “Wh- what the f-” he struggled to form a sentence. Any sound he could make would tie him to the conscious world.

Howard finally gained control of his body, sitting up to the sight of the stranger just destroying the knocked over creature with that wrench he clung onto earlier. For a second, Howard saw a murderer, slaughtering a woman. Just for a second. He found himself rooting for the man. Each time he brought down his hand, Howard prayed for the thing to stop moving. And it did. What he didn’t expect was the body to tear away into nothingness, like ash in the wind.

Still on the ground, Howard didn’t register what the man said to him. He could only focus on the diseased, grease-like substance splattered on the other man. He didn’t even realize lightning had struck.

"Shelter?" He mimicked, slow and absent. With one hard blink, he came back. "What the fuck what was that?" He pointed to the empty ground. "Where did it- ?" He didn’t even bother finishing his question as put his hands to his head, trying to make sense of it all.

Lightning struck again. Howard jumped. If he wasn’t going to die by the hands of a murderer, it would be from a heart attack.That was when he realized he could ask questions later. If he wasn’t dead by then. For the moment, he believed he could follow the man that just saved his life. “Uh, shelter, right. Where?”

shamb0lic-deactivated20141013

At least now the kid seemed to be willing to listen – and if that was the closest he'd gotten of good news in a long while, he better stick to it. With a disgruntled sigh, he looked around, surveying the area. It made no difference, though; every single street was just the same, wasn't it?

"Anywhere." Murphy wish there was a better answer, but the truth was that nowhere was safe, and yet venturing into any of those abandoned buildings was still a better option than staying in the open. "C'mon," he called, nodding so the boy would tag along when he started making his way to the nearest house, on a fast striding pace. The door was locked, but it was only a matter of moving on to the next one, until they found a place to hide for a while. As long as they were fast enough to avoid those creepers – and he thought he could hear the echoes of more screams in the distance –, they would be fine.

Well, they would manage.

"Third's a charm," he muttered under his breath when the door of the third house down the street opened, finding himself somewhat surprised at the fact that there was still some humor left in him. Some sort of coping mechanism, more like. After checking the living room briefly, just to make sure, he let the kid pass and closed the door, leaving behind the storm and whatever creatures were roaming about. He tried the nearest switch, and nothing happened, just as expected.

"Uh, maybe we better search the place. Guess we gonna be stuck here for a while..." The storm still roared outside, the noise still oppresive, even if muffled by thick walls. The dirt on the windows blocked most of the pale daylight, but honestly, they were lucky they could see. "See if we can find stuff like a first-aid kit, a flashlight... Anything that might come in handy." He gave a shrug, not even knowing what he was doing. If there was one thing Murphy Pendleton was hopeless about, it had to be dealing with people. He just seemed to be completely unable to add to anyone's life, let alone help or keep people safe.

Hell, that boy would probably be better off with those things on the street than staying with him. Every single life Murphy touched, he managed to drag down.

"You should find yourself something you could use as a weapon. If we're lucky, maybe there's a gun here, somewhere."

Lucky. He definitely got a way with words.

#hwbiker

@hwbiker

Shit.

Howard heard the man call after him, but the thickness of the fog turned his voice into a muffled scream. That stranger could have yelled all he wanted, nothing would have made Howard turn back toward the psycho.

Shit.

The fog drowned out all the noise and the silence pierced through Howard’s ear drums. The fear in the air made it unbreathable, and no amount of high school baseball could have prepared him for it.

"Fuck!" His lungs hurt and he had to stop, stumbling to decelerate toward a tree. He took deep breaths, his palms on the trunk, looking at his shoes.

A wet drop formed on the concrete. Then another. Then another. Howard felt a coldness drip on his head, down his hair and neck, onto his hands. The bark felt soft and mushy at his finger tips and he cringed before looking to the sky. It was raining. The sky was dark.

Howard sighed a part of him wanted to just sit on the sidewalk of this— he looked up and realized the town was empty, discarded bottles, broken glass, not a person or savior in sight— neighborhood. The other part of him told him to keep moving. He didn’t get time to decide.

A shadow flashed at the corner of his eye. At first he thought the escaped prisoner had caught up to him, but what he noticed first wasn’t an orange jumpsuit. It was hair.

Instinctively, Howard rolled back as iron nails in place of hands swung toward his face, a darkened body fell atop of him. It screamed and writhed around as Howard held its neck to keep it from slashing at his. The young man grit his teeth, transferring all his strength into his arms and legs, moving his shins underneath the torso of—what seemed to be— a woman and trying to kick her off of him.

#long post sorry!#hwbiker

It was only a matter of time until he lost track of the boy, finding himself once again on those damned streets, all of his senses clouded by fog and rain. No matter how alert he was now, heart once again racing and sending an adrenaline rush through his body, the town would always seem too eerie to be real, ranging from weird dream to straight-up nightmare.

He should see it coming, though. Even if the kid were just a couple of feet away from him, if that hellhole wanted to claim another victim, it would do it right away.

Or maybe it was just the way it found to drag him back there. From all he learned so far, maybe it was all about that; there was no way to know if the kid was real – even if Cunningham herself was real. More likely not. Thinking back, he could bet she was some personification of a self-expiatory bullshit of sorts, just that little bit of hope needed to keep you hooked.

Sick fucking bastards, whoever they were.

The annoying screech brought him back from his thoughts. Judging by the sound – though he could never be too sure, with the rain even heavier, roaring around him –, the thing should be far enough so he could avoid an encounter, maybe even find refuge in one of the houses with no problem aside from the fact that he was just buying some useless time.

It was the second scream, an unmistakably human one, that got him running towards the sounds – and as he soon found out, they were just around the corner.

There was no need to think nor place for fear anymore. Sad as it was, he was used to those things. If anything, it was a mix of anger and frustration fueling his blows as he swung the wrench once, hitting her straight on the head so she would leave the boy, then again and again, until the goddamn fucker was on the ground, writhing like an insect.

No matter how many times he'd stomp that lame excuse of a face, she still seemed to be smiling, mocking him even after the head was a little more than a bloody pulp. Even after she wasn't even there anymore.

"Dammit, kid," he grumbled, breathing hard. Lightning ripped the dark sky, filling the street with a surreal white glow.

Soon the place would be swarming with those things.

"We gotta find shelter."

@hwbiker

Howard noticed the man’s familiar accent. He was American, probably, like Howard himself.. But a convict? Howard didn’t expect convict running around the woods of Japan unless… Howard thought about the sign he saw through the man’s eyes. “Welcome to Silent Hill” it had said. Something told him he was no longer in Japan.

If the orange jumpsuit— covered in blood, the monkey wrench in his larged, worn hands— was telling of the man’s status, perhaps there were cops searching for this fugitive, now. However, after getting shot by a police officer, Howard didnt know who to trust. Maybe everything in this fucked up town was backwards. Maybe standing before this man, Howard was already dead.

Inching out from behind the sign, ready to sprint when needed, Howard contemplated running then and there but there was something the convict said that stopped him. The man was trying to escape and told Howard to do the same. Was there something about this place the other knew?

"Where are the cops?" Howard asked as he pointed to the stranger’s uniform— knowing the blood splattered on it did not belong to the man— though he didn’t expect a truthful answer.

But before he could get an answer, a shrill noise came from the forest behind the convict. The trees rattled, and the crows escaped into the overcast sky. Howard only let out a breath of shock before his feet started moving.