#GunmetalGrey

[consultingsister-a5]

STARTER CALL -- @gunmetalgrey

"Stop it."

Cee snaps to attention, a guilty look on her face. "What?"

Mary pulls a face. "You're thinking about how to break them up, and as your therapist--"

"You're not my therapist."

"As a therapist," Mary begins to lecture. Cee has been getting a lot of lectures recently. She can disconnect her brain so that Mary's pleasant voice can wash over her while she watches Sev and Amy flirt over the computer monitor. Rumours say it's getting serious—house, marriage, and kids sort of serious. That sounds nice; it sounds like something Sev deserves. Doctor and nurse kiss goodbye, and Cee makes a move, intending to accidentally bump into Sev in the corridor. "Yeah, got it Mary, I'll think about what you said and write my feelings in my journal," Cee waves her away.

Three... she fixes her hair; two... she picks up a chart as she passes a door; one... and step to your left, "oh fuck, hey, sorry." She holds into Sev's upper arm, and fuck, she's forgotten how good that feels. "You okay, need a doctor? I know some."

[ofcongress]

@gunmetalgrey cont. from x

John can't help but roll his eyes rather dramatically at her question in return. "Are you saying you got the bright idea to kill me yourself? Alex, I thought we were friends!"

His smile at his joke fades quickly. She isn't usually this quiet. Well, she's damn near silent sometimes, but not when asked a question directly. He feels the itch to get up and grab himself a drink, but determines that's all because watching her think about his inquiry has made him uncomfortable.

"If this were your choice, you wouldn't be a pawn." He takes a deep breath and sits up a little straighter. "If this were your choice, you would be running your own empire. Either that or as far from this as possible."

It shouldn't come as any surprise that he wants Mycroft out. He wants so desperately to understand what that would take. Of course, the typical response to any inquiries into this side hustle was 'you knew what you were getting into when you married me, dove.'

He isn't scared of Moriarty, but he's thinking he should be. The man may not be able to harm him, but he sure as hell can harm those he loves. Pushing this further may endanger Mycroft, yet it seems he's in just as much danger if he stays.

"You have a point." He'd helped start a damn war because he'd been told no, after all. "We are all a stubborn lot, aren't we? Some more stubborn than others, apparently..."

John stands and walks toward the window, arms folded behind his back. "Hypothetically, what do you think would happen if you tried to say no?"

[unfogged-arc]

@gunmetalgrey ♡'d for a starter! mary + alex.

"If you try to steal my food one more time, I'm going to break your fingers." There's no heat behind the words, and the mock-glare on her face is just that –– mocking. "I asked if you want some but noooooo, you'd rather steal mine."

[eyorksfunbus]

[magicaemaxima]

@gunmetalgrey

Her husband was sweet, though he was getting up there in years and was more paranoid, Dionysia thought. Edmund wanted to make sure his wife was safe after she witnessed a murder take place. Supposedly a murder by committed someone in the mafia. Dionysia wasn't worried, however; she was an all powerful, unkillable witch. Nevertheless, Edmund didn't know that, and therefore he hired a security guard. He informed her that this security guard would be with her 24/7 until they caught and arrested the criminal. Upon being brought to meet her, she sighed.

"Look, lovely to meet you, but this is rather pointless. And frankly, a waste of my money." Dionysia insisted. Her much older husband, looking to be about in his eighties versus Dionysia's visual forties, shook his head.

"That man could come after you or send people after you. This is the best way to keep you safe." he insisted. "Besides, we have more than enough to afford her. You're not stingy when buying new million pound sportscars, so why be so with your safety?"

Dionysia rolled her eyes. "If he was really part of the mob, you think one security guard is going to stop them?"

[consultingsister-a5]

"Yeah, a little."

Robbie lives in Primrose Hill with a twenty-something wife (or was she just twenty-something when they met?) and two teeth rotting daughters. They're sweet. So sweet. Stomach ache sweet. And the worst bit is, they get it from him as much as they get it from their mother. They're all so fucking sweet.

Three years back, Mia invited Celia around for dinner. She seemed to know everything about Cee, even though she can't imagine Robbie telling her much. It was half an hour before Celia realised it was a dinner to celebrate Elodie's birthday. Robbie and Cee hadn't done anything for it since she died. Cee had barely done anything for it when she lived. Robbie has insinuated as much when Cee stuttered over what she would like to do with the cake. They shouted about in the garden. It was probably the first time his daughters had seen adults argue.

But despite it all, Robbie knew her the best out of anyone she knew and it was nice to be known. He gave boy advice, hid cigerattes on the back porch for when she came around. He was better now he was away from her, more like the Robbie she met that Halloween night.

"He's... uh, better. He'd be better if you're looking for advice. I don't... I don't think I feel the way you're supposed to."

It’s truly terrible that Celia’s reaction causes the corners of her mouth to pull upwards, a half attempt at a smile. Sick and twisted. If they were friends, this would be the reason. She pours a glass for her companion, handing it over and moving enough over from the widow nook to give her space to sit.

It’s not Sherlocks absence that haunts her. He made his own bed, ‘bout time he lay in it alone. She’s probably exaggerating in her estimate of a month to be like, they’re about due a pathetic night of moping soon when he’s too out of it to register she’s there. He’s pretty fucking manipulative when he’s not even trying, or maybe that’s the stupid love people write so many songs about.

“The kids father.”

Alex wasn’t going to give him the respect or honour of calling that man a dad. “Do you still have anything to do with him?”

It’s the small baby shaped whole she had four or so months of growing close to that hurts. And it’s the reason she keeps any contact with Sherlock in the first place. She can’t move on while he might be the person who knows the most about that particular wound.

[consultingsister]

CHARACTER HEADCANONS GENERATOR

use the generator to generate headcanons for your muse, and post 5-10 results that you agree with!

If the sorce media was a musical, Cee would be the one character that asks why everyone is singing.

Cee can't make the voices go away.

Cee likes board games, but no one else wants to play with them.

Cee has been canceled on Twitter.

Cee is smart but also very stupid.

Cee listens to 80s music.

If Cee was presented with an intergalactic portal, they would enter it without question.

tagged by: @richardxoliverxmayhew tagging: @mcneyhoney @banschivs @gunmetalgrey and you

[shefancdotcom]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Tretorn Tall Gun Metal Grey Women’s Rain Boots - Stylish & Durable Waterproof.

[catluvus]

[ad_1] I built a meme out of my cat give me clout ??? #russianblue #gunmetalgrey #catmemes [ad_2]

[gunmetalgrey]

@consultingsister

CHICKEN RUN (2000) dir. Peter Lord & Nick Park

[jekyllhydeapparel]

Don’t sleep on this gunmetal color, pictures don’t do this colorway justice. These are fresh! www.jekyllhydeapparel.com

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#gymshorts #jekyllhyde #gunmetalgrey

[consultingsister-a5]

starter call / @gunmetalgrey

"What are you doing? It's 5am. Aren't you crazy fit people always up at 5am?"

If the crazy knocking wasn't enough to get across that Celia is eager to see Alex, the tone should clear things up. The frantic arm movements and little skips might also be an indicator.

"Are you free, are you sober? I need you to drive me to Brighton and help me steal a yacht. Now. Earlier than now. An hour ago!"

[north-shore-pawn-shop]

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[rokurosuruhito]

Cup with spout and sake cup Gunmetal grey 原土貼花片口とぐい呑 砲金色 #pottery #ceramics #woodfired #woodfiredceramics #reductionfiring #reductionfired #bizen #katakuchi #cupwithspout #gunmetalgrey #hardreduction #reductionfiring #reductioncooled #wildclay https://www.instagram.com/p/CkyBcAYL6CW/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[epiitaphs]

another thing for @gunmetalgrey

a revelation. cw for very clear references to drug addiction

When will I get back - he should have known it was coming. The moment that she finally spoke, the moment that she finally explained with those few words - that one short question - why she’s been such a difficult case. They both know the answer - or all three of them in that room, really, but Sebastian doesn’t give a shit about the doctor. What he does care about is the fact that she’s been sabotaging her fucking recovery, all the while thinking that she’s going to get back to 100% by dragging her feet every step of the way. 

He slams the car door with far more force than necessary, hoping spitefully that the old thing will just fall to pieces in front of them. That’d serve her right. It was his car once, but he’s willing to sacrifice it to prove a point. “I drive you to these fucking things. I go to them because you won’t go otherwise, I -” he huffs out an annoyed breath - “do every fucking thing in my power to get you here, to get you healing, because there’s nothing you want to do less than the actual fucking work to get yourself back in shape. And then you ask if you’re going to get back to mobility or whatever and you’re surprised and fucking hurt when they say no?” He faces her properly now. “Of course it���s a no, because you’re not doing anything but feeling sorry for yourself every fucking moment of the day while I get all your shit in order.” And counts the pills in his mind, wondering if that would make it easier. It would, he knows. She’s not wanting to take them and is out of it on the pain itself, so she probably wouldn’t even notice -

“Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? I’ve babysat you through all this. I have a fucking job. But I’ve been here for you, with the surgery, through all these fucking appointments, and - do you think -” Christ. He doesn’t know where he’s going with this. It’s resentment and stress, and he needs a smoke at the very least, a drink somewhere in the middle, and something stronger at the best. “You should be grateful I’m willing to keep taking to you these things. Not even grateful - you wouldn’t go if I didn’t. It’s not even the favor of a fucking ride, it’s the full time job of chaperoning you. Jesus. Grow the fuck up Alex.” He’s on a roll now, unable to stop even if he wanted, barely even registering her expression. “You should be grateful that I drive you, grateful that I’m counting out your fucking pills when you have no idea how fucking easy it would be to keep them. They’d actually be appreciated that way. Fuck.” Now it’s out there, he supposes. He runs a hand through his hair. He’s been trying so fucking hard to get through this whole thing, telling himself that he’ll get himself killed if he stumbles, that she’ll notice, that she needs him alert, any possible excuse. He’s been smoking like a fucking chimney just to not sit in the house sometimes. It’s bad, because he’s stressed, but all the stress feeds into an inescapable circle that’s going to suffocate him soon enough. He gives what is barely a laugh, collecting himself back into himself. “You’re lucky. You’re so lucky. Two years ago, you wouldn’t have seen a single one ever again. Gone like that. No matter how much you wanted or needed them. Get a fucking grip, Alex, your tantrum isn’t helping anyone.” He hates that he’s said this - any of it, anything that actually bares the issue at hand. 

“I can’t walk away,” he tells her. There are people she could go to, but he won’t do that to her. “But just know that every day I know exactly where those pills are, how many there are. I tried not to count - trying to be healthy, you know? But you aren’t making it easy. I know exactly where they are, what they’d do, and how fucking nice it would feel to not have to worry about anything. I mean, at this point, it’s been a couple years. It wouldn’t even take that many, at least not to start with.” He needs to stop talking. This is too much. It’s not that she doesn’t need to know, but rather that he can’t bear to tell her any more than he already has. “I’m not getting rid of you, but work on realizing you’re not the center of the universe. Maybe think about doing some of the work yourself. Because as much as I want to help, one day I’m not going to be able to help you anymore.”

[consultingsister-a5]

Cee winces. It's the same platitude she always gets. Fuck normal, who wants to be normal? Why be normal when you can fucking fantastic? Who would want--

She does. Sherlock does. She wants to have a normal fucking brain that doesn't dig itself into ditches. She wants to react to things without trained psychoanalysts writing it down for studies. She wants Sherlock to be able to function without the need to pump his veins full of poison. She wants little girls to not die because she, and her brothers, are fantastic. Gone are the days when that gets you anything.

"You know what everyone says? I cannot imagine what you're going through. And they're fucking right." There is a tone now, she doesn't want to talk about it anymore. She never wants to talk about it. Cee begins digging in her bag for a cigarette.

"Because you can imagine it. For a normal person, I mean. Robbie's new wife says that all the time. Oh Cee, I can't imagine. But she can. If she thinks about one of her little babies dying, it's horrific. It's a black hole of grief. It shatters her. She can imagine that." Her movements are quick, lighting up, hands glad for something to do. "I don't feel that. I feel like... I have lost my favourite jacket at a party. I'm sort of... annoyed about it. I think about the person who took it. When I see photos, I'm like, fuck, that was such a cool jacket. I can't find another one. They don't sit the same. But most of the time, I forget about it. My body doesn't though."

Cee wipes her eyes angrily. "Childbearing is a scar on your body that doesn't heal. They'll dig up my skeleton in ten thousand years and they'll know I gave birth. Isn't that fucked up?" A scoff. "I wouldn't inflict myself on another kid, I've learned."

@consultingsister from here

“Fuck ‘sposed to.”

Fuck the process. Fuck the five stages. Fuck all that terminology to normalise something that was never meant to be normal to start with. Alex leans her head against the window, looking Cee up and down. It’s something. But it looks like that something comes with someone who wants to grow, to be better. And what motivation does Sherlock have for that? What does she have? From a cage with iron bars to a glass box, it’s the same difference even if MI6 means less of an active and constant threat. As long as she behaves and doesn’t do anything alarmingly illegal she might have a future beyond following orders. Not a family though.

“You miss her? Ever want another one?”

Alex had heard about the kid. Seen pictures. It was in that weird gap in knowing each other where she hadn’t had a chance to actually meet the girl. But it sounded like she was funny, and nice. Most kids often were.

“Ever think about what she’d be like now?”