mutegrey-blog

[mutegrey-blog]

watching grey smell his food before putting it in his mouth just reaffirms my headcanon that grey’s tongue was cut out tbh

[mutegrey-blog]

remember when the snowpiercer rpc, as small as it was, was actually active? i just checked the tags and a lot of the most recent posts were almost a year old. now i remember why i left lol

[mutegrey-blog]

rewatching snowpiercer to try to get back in the mood to write my energetic warrior son

[mutegrey-blog]

[mutegrey-blog]

Chris Evans in Snowpiercer

[mutegrey-blog]

Breath blowing out in a frozen fog before him, he struggles to steady his heaving chest, to quiet his breath as he hides within the underbrush. The air is cold enough to cause his lungs to ache from more than the exertion, but soothing them is the least of his worries.

There are people nearby; people he doesn’t know; people he has every reason to be afraid of; people that outnumber him by a number unknown to him. The voices--more than two, he’s sure--had first floated down to him as he’d been collecting edible plants: a task that he’s abandoned, now, for his hiding spot and a chance to think.

When all of this started, it hadn’t occurred to him that living, flesh-and-blood people could and would be the biggest threat he might face. Trust, however, had been a cruel instructor, and though he still clings to a dusty optimism, he thinks better of blindly going any further. 

But, to go around this campsite, however large, might mean backtracking and losing most of the day’s progress. They’ve picked a great spot--they have the high ground, there’s water at the base of the steep hill they’re sitting atop, and the forrest on two sides is too densely packed with overgrowth to allow swift, silent travel. He can only go forward, or back the way he’d come.

Forward it is, he decides as the voices quiet themselves to a lull, and the far-off glow of a campfire begins to dim with the setting sun.

He picks his footing carefully, inching along the edge of the camp at a snail’s pace to avoid snapping twigs and scattering rocks. But with as much focus as he’s giving his feet, he’s not paying enough mind to the rest of himself. A strap tears loose from his over-worn bag as it snags on a branch, and out spill several cans of food and a sheathed hunting knife. As they fall, they clatter noisily to the hard, rocky earth, alerting the watchman nearby.

Grey freezes and waits for the worst.

[mutegrey-blog]

going to touch up a few of my pages and then try to get something going before i head home to pack

[mutegrey-blog]

[mutegrey-blog]

im going to be working on things gradually so as not to burn myself out before i can even get anything really going again, but dont worry. if you messaged me/liked that starter call, i’ve got a little reminder in my desktop stickies to get to work on starters and replies.

[mutegrey-blog]

As realization dawns, blooming slowly in his well-intentioned head, he feels a seed of guilt plant itself in the pit of his stomach. And when she slows down, displaying a multitude of body language signals that scream discomfort, he does continue along at the faster pace, hand tightening reflexively on the umbrella’s hilt. The sound of the rain hitting her once more, though--minutely different that that of the rain on the stretched canvas, the wet concrete--has him stopping with his back to her, hesitant to leave her behind to catch her death of cold.

He weighs his options as quickly as he can, and nearly decides to try to put her weather-induced discomfort out of his mind when he comes up with another solution.

Grey does not turn back around, does not look back to be sure she’s still behind him on the sidewalk; he simply lowers the umbrella to the sidewalk at his side and leaves it there, pulls up his hood, and crosses to the other side of the street.

For once, he’s forced to think of what it means to be a man in this world, and how his attempts at a small kindness might be taken as something else to those well-versed in the actions of other, not so well-meaning men. And that is what keeps him from looking back over, from looking at her expectantly, eagerly. That is what has him turning in the opposite direction, hoping to give her back her space.

He can always get another umbrella, whether she takes the one he’s left behind, or the next person in need of one does.

… Who? Who is. Who is this. Who. Who the fuck.

His footsteps splash against the puddles that her own shoes crossed not one second prior and they keep that distance, going splash splash, splash splash almost in time. The cold gets forgotten; the chilling wet soaking her shoulders is negligible; her socks, sodden and squishing from the moment her ratted sneakers stepped outside, are ignored. Each of these discomforts disappear, replaced with a single heart stopping one: holy fucking shit. I have a stalker.

Fear ices her veins; she doesn’t dare look at him, not needing to see his face to know that he is overwhelmingly tall and too terribly close. If she did, would she see a sneer? A leer? A glint in his eye saying – the things I would do to you? What does it matter that his umbrella is guarding her from the onslaught of rain? If she is going to die by his hand, then she’d be fucked if she took the gesture as anything but inherently creepy.

Still, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, she slows her pace. Maybe he will to on before her? Maybe he is just as eager as she to get home? Come on, asshole, she says, her mind all barbed wire and tasers. Pass me.

[mutegrey-blog]

like this for a starter. or inbox me if you’re cool with me unearthing an age old draft.

[mutegrey-blog]

i’ll make the world safe and sound for you

[mutegrey-blog]

well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

[mutegrey-blog]

Chris Evans was great in Snowpiercer and all but…

Luke Pasqualino’s swag as Grey stole the damn show. He was the most capable character there and managed to convey a loveable and rounded character without having any lines at all.

Grey is a mute gay precious knife wielding badass.

[mutegrey-blog]

for the kids who just wanted better

[mutegrey-blog]

Call him. See if he’ll come save you.