#grumpy old men

[shallowseeker]

Yes, yes.

Cute that Cas picks up Dean mannerisms. BUT EQUALLY CUTE THAT DEAN PICKS UP CAS ONES.

[blackcatgreengrape]

it gets worse and worse everyday 

[laurikarauchscat]

Thou shalt not approach the Emperor's Witcher with either a doublet, nor a razor.

This is known.

[thesoulesscollection]

“Too bad, you need to sleep here now. I can’t seem to sleep without you anymore.” I think would be cute with roseright 👉👈

I'm so sorry for allowing your request (and the many more) to wait for so long. I also thought you asked for Grumpy Old Men too but I must've accidentally got rid of it or you never asked.

Whoopsie but I do hope you don't mind both ships to make up for it.

Down below was the original request qnd the post (Here) creativepromptsforwriting on Tumblr

“I personally like it, but you do look silly like this.” Would work with grumpy old men I think?

“Too bad, you need to sleep here now. I can’t seem to sleep without you anymore.” I think would be cute with roseright 👉👈

RoseRight 

Right stood beside the edge of his bed, anxiously trying to pull himself together but winced a little at how embarrassed he felt about it. 

“You. You said you needed me?” 

The shame persists when a soft voice calls out, waiting for his response, yet curious on what it may be, her reason to be here. 

“Where do you want me to put them for you?” She tacks on. 

He sucks in a breath. For all his wants and desires had easily overpowered his logic. 

It was her. Ellie. 

The peculiar reason why he couldn't sleep. By the door she stood, holding close to her chest were thick blankets and soft pillows, and it was all that he needed for the night. 

He wants her for her comfort, for him to be sweetly wrapped up in her soft arms. A light in the darkness. As it'd begin to terrify him. 

“Yes, I do” He stiffly admits. “I've been struggling to sleep lately” 

Though he won't say it outloud. 

However concern is made obvious by her expression, and he doesn't like it, instead feeling guilty that she can be so worried about him. 

“Oh. What does that have to do with me though?”

“Everything” Right grumbles, flustered, motioning to her with his hand. 

“Excuse me?” Ellie tilts her head with a pouting frown. “I don't remember doing anything to you. I keep to my own lane like everyone else here” 

“That's it you hadn't done a thing” 

“What?” 

“Your entire existence drives me mad” 

The words left her to stare up at him as he comes to terms with what he spills in a moment of weakness. 

“Besides that, I know this is weird but can you stay the night with me” 

In the middle of the room, against the back wall, was a queen bed that can fit the two easily and have plenty of room for them to not be squished together. 

Though he wouldn't necessarily mind feeling her heat. 

“For the company” Yet he was quick to reassure after seeing her tense, “Only for a while. Nothing more” 

“How can I be so sure?” She asked in a tone Right couldn't detect whether it was meant to be accusatory or not as she tilted her head with a smirk. 

Right was going to open his mouth to say something, defend himself and his pride. Though Ellie swiftly beats him to the punch. In order to bring him down to earth with her. 

“Thought so, heh. I knew you liked me, didn't you” What she's doing is teasing him, the heat rises in his face. “What if I say no? What will you do then?” 

“Too bad, you need to sleep here now. I can’t seem to sleep without you anymore”

Although more blunt than he would've intended it, she snorted, amused, “Uh huh. So would you want me to cuddle up with you too? If you like, I can be the big spoon” 

Right rolls his eyes but smiles, taking a careful step closer. “Yes, that would be fine. Thank you” 

She grabs his hand. 

Grumpy Old Men (They're not old here but I wanted to write about their relationship's earlier years & mentions of kiddo Johnny) 

Quentin wasn't used to this style of outfit. 

“I couldn't say no to the kid. It would've hurt his feelings” He mumbles, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. The shirt was snug in certain areas, around his stomach yet wasn't uncomfortable. It was bearable. 

“He was so proud of himself. Saw it in the stores’ window and thought of you” 

When turning away from the mirror, he saw Hershell staring him up and down, puzzled just as well with the article of clothing.  

“Definitely your son. Neither one of you has a sense of fashion” 

Rolling his neck, Quentin took another glance at his reflection from the back this time. 

It was a bright Hawaiian button up shirt with a rainbow floral print. But his heart did swell a little at the sweet gesture from the kid. 

“I personally like it, but you do look silly like this” Hershell chuckled, motioning with grabby hands for the man to come closer. 

“Not saying it's bad. It's what I expect from a nine year old” 

“C'mon. You love it” 

Two large hands gently hold onto him, thumbs pushed into his hips, and rubs soothing circles. 

Hershell clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “You do look nice. Really handsome” Slyly moving a hand up on Quentin's chest, fingers trailing across the buttons. 

“Thank you” He shrugs, still expressing uncertainty. “Don't know when I'll ever wear this” 

Now there's a mighty guilt in the sense he won't find the occasion or the drive to even wear it. 

Which made it worse that the kid had a strong admiration for him. Quentin had no idea as to why and it worried him a lot. 

“You'll find the best time for it so don't feel bad” A light nudge at his side was a reassurance to Quentin. “I can find a way to show this off for you” 

Exhaling exasperated, Quentin shrugs the man off. “Oh, you would, wouldn't you?” He eyes the man, returning the interest in the offer. 

Hershell took it up and leaned down to his level, soft lips met in a passionately deepened kiss. 

[haveyouseenthisromcom]

[infinitysisters]

“When I met him on the set for the very first time…a couple of hours before we were going to shoot our first scene together, the director says (to Matthau) “this is Kevin Pollak, he’s going to play your son”, and I foolishly decided to make small talk with Walter Matthau, and I said, ‘So, Walter, uh, uh, the script’s pretty good huh?’, and he says, ‘the script sucks kid, I owe my bookie 2 million.’”

— Kevin Pollak, Grumpy Old Men (1993)

[bluebutlikenotalways]

Merry Christmas Eve @thesoulesscollection

[cherrysoftgames]

[emotionalripple]

...just kidding tumblr...

[the-bomb-sammi-morse]

Actual footage of the presedential debate

[stellacartography]

Alarming (T)

For the August 7 Mystrade Monday prompt:

Character A is trying to get Character B up and out of bed, and Character B is trying very hard to ignore Character A.

It's the bloody phone that does it. There it goes, buzzing itself to the precipice of the bedside table and plummeting in a fit of unpleasantness to the floor. At least it's quieter down there, muffled by the rug and the dust bunnies.

Greg nestles deeper into the high-tech, down-alternative pillows Mycroft had insisted upon when they purchased a set of bedding together. The night had been a late one. Meetings and arguments at work giving way to much-needed decompression time at home. Greg is still knackered. Hardly surprising given that he'd been up till half-one with Mycroft.

It's good being with him like this. Greg wouldn't have dreamed of this synchrony with the stuffy, government lackey who had cornered him at a crime scene over a decade ago. But Mycroft has proven himself to be a loving partner, a good match for Greg's needs and wants and their love has grown slowly, surprisingly, pushing up with impressive strength through cracks in the pavement.

Greg feels a stirring beside him.

"Your phone is ringing."

"Mmm." Greg buries his face a little deeper.

A hand passes beneath the sheet and lands on Greg's flank. Greg hums again at the warmth. The fingers of the hand stroke along his leg to his buttock and pinch.

"Ow," Greg groans forlornly into the pillow.

"Kindly get up and stop your phone," Mycroft commands. He says it softly, sweetly but it is a command nonetheless.

Greg grabs at the hand on his leg and brings it up to his mouth. He kisses Mycroft's fingers one at a time then mouths at the tips, giving each a little nibble and scraping his teeth over the pads.

"I won't be distracted, Gregory," Mycroft says into the air above Greg's ear. He elongates Greg's name under two conditions: irritation and arousal. Greg smiles around the finger tips between his lips, then sucks and licks, dragging a disgruntled growl of want from Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft nips at Greg's neck and pulls his hand away only to return it to Greg's arse where it pinches him again.

"Your phone," Mycroft snarls, taking Greg's earlobe between his teeth.

Greg laughs and twines their fingers before wrapping Mycroft's arm tightly around his chest. "'S fine where it is. It'll stop."

"It is not fine, Greg. For some unknowable reason, you set an alarm last night and now your phone will ring and ring until someone stops it or the world ends."

It occurs to Greg that Mycroft's tone is particularly... plaintive. One could almost mistake it for whining. Usually, Greg likes when Mycroft whines. He whines when Greg is between his legs and drawing his pleasure out, ramping up his anticipation, giving him just enough to keep him suspended, held aloft over his release. Greg lives for the sound of that whine. This is different.

"Did you have a bit much to drink last night, handsome?" Greg turns over without opening his eyes and snuggles close to plant kisses all over Mycroft's furrowed brow and stubbled cheeks.

Mycroft mutters a grumpy, "Perhaps."

"Not as young as we used to be. A little scotch and a late night hit harder now." Greg opens his eyes only to close them again when Mycroft kisses him.

Mycrofts mouth is soft and pliant on Greg's until he stretches back. "I wouldn't trade it. This. Not for another decade of youth."

Greg smiles and opens his eyes to see Mycroft smiling down at him. "Just as well, you couldn't have handled me." Greg takes advantage of Mycroft's shock to flip him over and press him down into the bed. "If I'd had you thirty years ago, you'd never have gotten any sleep."

The phone lies forgotten. Its battery dies before Greg thinks to recover it.

Tagging @mystradepromptsandscenarios

[jimposts]

Y'know I think older women are hot so I think grumpy old women would work

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Crosshair (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, Hunter (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Tech (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Wrecker (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Additional Tags: Poetry, Short Stories, Inspired by Fanart, Open to Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Fun, The Old Batch i.e. Grumpy Old Clones? Series: Part 47 of Poetry Shorts Collection (Various Fandoms), Part 5 of Bad Batch One Shots Summary:

The Bad Batch, older and bolder?

Part of Poetry Shorts Collection of various fandoms

[cinemajunkie70]

The happiest of birthdays in the afterlife to Jack Lemmon!

[sleepyneverlandpg-13]

[thesoulesscollection]

“I personally like it, but you do look silly like this.” Would work with with grumpy old men I think?

Since everything that's currently going on where I'm both stressed and depressed. I've decided to write about my grumpy old men from a request I've got a while ago to help me.  

Down Below is tame, mostly goofy besides some Implied body image issues and self esteem Issues. 

Inspired by this ask game by creativepromptsforwriting

Quentin wouldn't say he was up with recent fashion trends but he knew what was alright or what was truly ugly and to never be worn out in public.

"Hershell. As much as I do love you. This got to be the worst thing I've seen you pick out so far?"

So as he pulled out the said article of clothing in question from the rack where he can't help it to cringe. Very little was going for it to begin with but the single positive thing was it came in his size for once, cause in today's society they don't bother to glance your way. 

Quentin knew that very well. In the fashion industry nobody created for someone like him. For him to finally feel good or at the least be comfortable in his skin. 

"But you would look so good in it" However when he turned around to see Hershell, he gritted his teeth, realizing the other man was unaware of the obvious, "Please. For me?" 

Call him bitter to the extreme. He didn't really trust them. They often deliberately made their clothes too unseemly on his body, somehow set in making it his fault. So he's fine, dandy even in wearing what he has now.

"I know shopping isn't your favorite. It's not at all easy, I know that for sure myself but I think you deserve to look amazing. More than you do already" As if reading his mind, Hershell does lay off a little though keeps the shirt in hand. "It's up to you"  

Stiff, unsure on what to respond, Quentin is looking back at the shirt then up at the man, before inevitably tugging it from his grasp. 

"Oh. Give it to me. I'll try it out and show you it's horrendous" 

A low albeit surprised chuckle escapes from his partner. So used to his antics. "Uh huh. Go ahead. Be waiting here to see the final results" 

Midway in the sentence the dressing room door shuts closed behind Quentin who is sweating in the nerves alone. 

Why should he be so scared over such an item? 

It was a black Hawaiian button up shirt with small pineapples in the colors of neon pink, yellow and green. Once he slid it onto tense shoulders, he couldn't ignore the gut feeling within. Anxiously clawing at the fabric near his stomach, he should have chosen what was in his comfort zone but he didn’t as a thick headed, stubborn asshole. 

Finally Quentin shuffled out the dressing room, nearly five to seven minutes later swallowing his pride. 

Hershell is sitting in a spare seat, leant back, eyes up at the ceiling waiting for his return. 

"Here I am. Happy now" Quentin mumbles. 

Almost immediately Hershell's eyes snap to his then onto the shirt, "I personally like it, but you do look silly like this"

"Great. Just wonderful. I told you this is bullshit"

"I never said it's bad, Quincy. Nothing wrong in looking 'silly' rather you look cute. It suits you" Hersh cooes. His hands hovering over Quentin's sides. So tempted to give a gentle squeeze. "I must say this is my best choice. Floral, Hawaiian shirts do you well" 

"Despite it being ugly. Sure. It does" Quentin sarcastically remarks, rolling his eyes at the comment. 

"I gotta say you can rock anything if you put your mind in it" Chuckling, Hershell had bent down so he could plant a kiss on Quentin's lips. "You love it, don't you? Wear whatever to your heart's content, you big baby" 

Mildly confident Quentin did manage to pipe his opinion, equally as jokeful, "It's… Okay. I guess. Next time I'm going to pick out for you and you're not going to complain, got it? No matter what I pick" 

He will make sure to pick the most atrocious eye sore he can possibly find in this side of the country even if it kills him. "And we can wear it together on a date then. We can so be like those mushy couples who match outfits" 

"Don't even. So gross I can feel myself getting sick hearing such an idea"