#Bless Heart Peachy Pajamas

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Natalya wears the Bless Heart Peachy Pajamas from PJ Salvage Top ($68) Bottoms ($68) and Bret Hart Hitman Skull Socks from Roots of Fight ($19)

[lady-broppy-shipper-seriously]

Late Morning Pancakes (Trolls Fanfic)

Sooooo. Four years ago I wrote a thing and posted it on AO3, and I decided to finally have some shame and wrote the second chapter I promised. Here it is. Have at it, if you want.

Late Morning Pancakes

Branch comes slowly to himself feeling disorientated. He usually closed the blinds of his window and yet the light painted the room with its brightness, not to mention it was coming from the wrong direction.

He blinks slowly, tasting strawberry shampoo in his yawn and comes to the realization he isn’t in his room. His room didn’t have pink walls nor his bed has teal covers, and yet the room is as familiar as a room can get. He has spent a lot of afternoons sitting on the pink carpet doing homework or in front of the television playing video games with his best friend. Speaking of which… he looks down and… oh.

Poppy is in his arms.

Poppy Queen, the girl he was head over heels with since he could remember, is sleeping soundly in his arms, her own around his middle, her puffy deep breaths tickling his neck. He scoots back to see her better, trying to grasp his mind to the fact that he wasn’t dreaming a few hours ago when he followed her upstairs after he let her in her own house after she locked herself out. She makes a tiny, cute sound of complaint when she feels him move away and tightens her hold, inching closer. She takes a deep breath of his chest and sighs contently, going back to sleep.

Branch lays there, frozen in place.

“Um, P-poppy?”

She mumbles something sleepily, then snuggles even closer still and falls into a deep slumber. Which is fine. Totally fine. Peachy. The good news is that if his voice and movement didn’t wake her, it’s highly improbable that his thunderous beating heart will. The bad news is that said heart could start failing any moment now.

Mr. Dinkles, unlike Poppy, decides that they are being too noisy for his liking and jumps off the bed from his spot against Poppy’s back. He stretches and then jogs out of the room slipping through the crack of the door.

Branch takes a deep breath and wonders what time it is. The sun had already risen but it could be anywhere between seven to ten a.m. Good thing his grandma was a night owl and slept in all mornings.

He looks down at Poppy again. Her hair smells recently washed but her cheeks and eyelids still have some lost sparkles that escaped her bath last night. The tiniest of smiles curl her lips upward and he feels his chest tighten. He loves her so much.

Poppy has been his friend since forever, and for the most part of his life, she was his only friend. Nobody could blame him for falling for her smile that never failed to reach her eyes when she whispered a joke for only him to hear, or that little sound she made every time she laughed. He loved her glittery clothes, school supplies and make-up, because when he changed into his pajamas every night, he could find the sparkles in his clothes too, a living proof that she existed inside his personal space. He loved that she was always humming or straight-up singing. She had a song for every occasion, popular or invented. Other times she would change the lyrics just to fit her situation better and he had to hide his smile.

He loved her but hated that she was just so perfect. Perfect for him, at least.

He liked to think that they complimented each other. She was the yin to his yang. She was loud and cheerful while he was quiet and reserved. She was bright and colorful and he was somber and colorless, if his mostly gray and black wardrobe had anything to say about his personality.

If they were a movie, they would just have been made for each other, but…

There is always a but. Sometimes they’re too different to be good for each other. Yet, he hopes that somehow, someday… they can have a chance.

Poppy mumbles something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like his name and he caresses her cheek. He takes the opportunity to bask in her beautiful face without her noticing and settles back on the bed, falling like a puzzle piece against her frame. He squeezes her while he can and her forehead press softly to his neck. He could die a happy boy right then and there.

He lays on her bed daydreaming about her, gently playing with her hair for long minutes and never getting bored until her eyelashes flutter and her pretty eyes meet his own and his heart skips a beat.

“Branch?” She whispers sleepily, certain that the sight of his face framed with her comforter and his messy hair is one she can get used to seeing first thing when she wakes up in the mornings pretty quickly. “Morning,” she says, lips stretching into a dopey grin.

“Uh, um… Morning, Poppy” he mumbles, cheeks turning pink. Did she catch him staring at her sleeping face? Was he being creepy?

Poppy’s smile grows.

“Slept well?” she asks.

“Yeah, yeah. Well.”

She moves her foot and it lifts his pant leg, letting him feel her toes on his calf, bringing his attention to their legs, which are very much intertwined. He gets distracted by her teeth biting her lower lip, eyes awake and sparkling with mischief.

“I promised you pancakes, are you in the mood for some?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He’s not used to talking to her freckles this close. No one can blame him for not being able to concentrate.

“Okay,” she giggles and proceeds to stay very much in the same position. “Branch?”

“Hm?”

“You’re gonna have to let me go if you want breakfast” she chuckles. Of course, she could have detangled herself from him but where’s the fun in that? The more she can have him blushing and on his toes before she pounces, the better.

“Oh! Right, sorry!” He stammers and drops his hands from her like she burned him. She can’t have that, so she leans forward and steals a kiss from the corner of his lips. He gasps.

“Oh, sorry. I missed” she says, voice light and playful. She shots him a wink, despite the stuttering of her own heart and the increasing pinkness of her cheeks. She plants an elbow on the mattress and leans over him, flushing their chests together and proceeds to kiss the other side of his mouth.

He looks at her with wild, confused eyes, mouth still tingly and parted with surprise.

“Damn, I should still be ever so sleepy. I can’t seem to concentrate and my aim is all wrong. Would you care to help me out, Branch?”

“Uh, uh… I, uh…”

She giggles. His cheeks are as flushed as hers, but his eyes are shiny in a way that she can only hope is something akin to excitement.

“Or, would you like for me to give it another shot?” Her voice sounds soft and shy in a way that she doesn’t recognize, but also eager and trusting, the same way she always feels around him. Her smile widens when he nods.

She then finally leans in and touches her lips to his firmly, relishing on the feeling of having them outlining his mouth. She spent so many nights wondering about their texture, or how warm they’d be, so she finds herself parting for a few seconds just to prove another angle, to fill the other side of his mouth, coming back for another and another, always telling herself it’s the last one before she searches for a reaction on his eyes, but then his fingertips brush her scalp and she sighs and his mouth chases it and it’s the best experience of her life.

When she finally looks into his eyes, they are the loveliest shade of blue. She’s sure her own have a glaze to them, but she can’t find it in her to care. He’s looking at her like she’s some kind of mystic, magic creature who just granted him a blessing. He’s looking at her how he always does. She realizes she’s smiling when her lips try to smile wider and she can’t.

“I love you, Poppy,” he says, voice soft in the quiet of the room.

She initiated their first kiss, so she guesses it’s fair he gets to say the first ‘I love you’.

“I love you too, Branch,” she says shyly and flirty at the same time.

They don’t need to say anything else, their hearts know each other. Branch smiles too and Poppy thinks the pancakes can wait 'till late morning to be eaten.

[hankypranky]

T.Rickster, The Dickster

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Part VI

The thought of how good Tom looked in his suits made Sam’s heart rate increase for two reasons. One, he is still hella’ fine. Two, he is too much to handle and giving him anxiety. Needing to clear his head he stopped at Bobby’s Occult Shop.

The door dinged as he entered. “Hey Bobby.”

“Hiya Sam. Got those books that you wanted.” He set them on the counter, “How's your research coming along?”

“Good. Just need to get some more specimens to log the data. How's business?”

“Picking up.” He knocked his hand on the counter, “Been charging $12 a pound for salt.” The bitch face Sam gave him made Bobby cry out, “I blessed it!”

His response made Sam scoff. “Dean called, said you been talkin’ to that Rickster kid again.”

“And?” Bobby shook his head. “He’s- well, you know, troubled.”

“I know Bobby, but we are just friends. He is going to put us on the news and help our cause.”

Warning Sam, “You just watch yourself boy.”

“Thanks Bobby.” Pulling the books into his arms, he added, “Can you keep an eye out for books dealing with alternate dimensions or planes?

“Sure thing kiddo’. Now, don't be late for dinner on Sunday or Ellen will have my hide.”

Sam smiled and gave him a quick nod before heading to the bunker. He could tell immediately Dean was in a pissy mood.

“Where have you been? That Castiel person started and you weren't here. He's just sitting around reading a magazine!”

Setting his back down and reaching for the coffee pot, Sam remarked,“Well, give him something to do then. I have work to do.”

Dean shot his hands up in the air, “We don't have anything for him to do.”

“Then let him read his magazine.”

Stirring the almond milk into his cup, Dean shouted behind him,“But were paying him!”

“How about this, you two investigate the ghosts that we caught. See what information you can find on who they were or where they could have come from.”

“Excuse me,” Castiel piped up, “You hired me for the phones, not research. I don't like to read.”

Dean spun around so fast, “You've been reading all morning!”

He flipped his magazine over and clearly pronunciated each syllable, “It's got pictures.”

Sam laughed, “And so do police reports. You two have fun.”

He set about identifying spirits from his new books. The different forms of communication, the strength of their apparition and which of them have the abilities to interact with people v.s. telekinesis. There were so many factors to consider, it was like a wet dream for Sam. He was finally in the zone when the bunker siren blared.

Excited, he slid down the fire pole. “What do we got?”

Dean was already sliding into his jumpsuit, “A ghost at the children's home on 7th.”  

Sam was doing the same now, “Isn't that the one where-” Not wanting to finish that question, Sam dropped it. “I'll text Tom.”

Surprisingly, Tom and his camera man beat them to the spot and were outside waiting. Apparently, they had been sitting at the cafe down the street just waiting for the call.

Greeting one another, Tom said, “Dean.”

“Dickster.”

“Good to see you too. This is our video production intern Corbett.” He was a young guy, tall, dark hair. He waved at them in a friendly manner, almost dropping his camera.

Once the formalities were over, Tom took control. Pointing to the brick building, “Sam, Dean, stand over here.” Corbett, back up over here. When you frame them up, be sure to get the Hillside Academy name in there. I will be coming in from the left.”

Corbett announced they were rolling.

“Good evening, T. Rickster here,  Meet the Winchesters. Dr. Sam Winchester and his brother Dean Winchester. Leading experts in their field of Parapsychology. Strap in, as we are about to go on a real ghost hunt and will save the children of Hillside Academy from the anguish of sharing these hallways with a ghost.”

Corbett zoomed in on the brothers, Sam heard Gabriel whisper to him, ‘Say something’. Sam managed to stutter out, “Hello.”

It was Dean that took the opportunity to lean in a bit, angle his head and say, “We're gonna’ catch ourselves a ghost.” Wrapping up with a wink, Tom could barely contain his excitement of the gold Dean just dropped on them.

“And cut! Great job Dean-O.” Sam huffed out a breath. Dean was the charismatic one, ot him.

Recognizing his disappointment, Tom patted  him on the shoulder. “You looked hot.”

Dean stood straighter as he lead them into the building, making his way over the the small office area. “Mrs. Forberger? Is that you?”

She asked, “Do I know you?”

“Dean Winchester and this is my brother Sam. We're here to help.”

She assessed them and glared daggers at Tom and Corbet. “Follow me.” They trailed behind her up to the third floor dormitories. If it weren't for them being so fit, they would have struggled more with their heavy equipment. “The boys have been told to remain in their rooms. This… ghost… as they call it stays in the hallway and that bathroom right there.” She adjusted her jacket, “I will be on the first floor if you need me.”

Tom whistled once she was out of ear shot, “Real nurturer there.” Dean kept his head down adjusting his waist pack. “Now what?”

Sam pulled out a black bag and held it up for the camera. “This is salt. While we are still researching why this is an effective tool, it will keep the ghosts from crossing any thresholds.” Going back to their task at hand, Dean and Sam walked down the hallway, drawing a line in front of each bedroom door frames. Taking their place near the bathroom, they laid their trap in the center of the floor.

As if on the cue, the lights began to flicker. Coming out of the bathroom was a translucent teenager. Though he appeared to he glowing, his expression was morose, even for a dead kid. He looked so pained as he hovered down the hallway from the bathroom in a white shirt and pajama bottoms.

Dean's eyes grew wide and he spoke quietly, “Zach?” The ghost stopped where he was and faced Dean. A heaviness hung in the air, and Dean gulped down a deep breath, making a small choking sound. It was then that Sam kicked the trap underneath his floating manifestation and activated it, vacuuming the ghost away from sight.

Sam looked over to his brother, his mouth was still agape, “You okay?”

Dean adjusted his pack on his back. “Uh, yeah. Just peachy.”

Downstairs they found Mrs.Forberger at her desk. Walking up her, Dean spoke quietly, “ The boys can come out, Zach won't be a problem anymore.” The tightness from her face dropped and her her jaw slackened.

She stood and closed the distance between them. Almost a foot shorter than Dean she looked up at him. “I remember you now... You were his only friend.”

His lips quivered slightly but he refrained from showing any other emotion. “I know.”

“Well, it looks to me that you have done yourself justice. I'm proud of you.”

“Thank you ma’am. I just hope he can rest now.”

Needing to ask, Sam interjected. “Has he always been this powerful? The flickering lights?”

She sighed, “No. There have always been sightings since his death, but I would say the last month its gotten worse. All the children have been affected and order has been… very difficult to maintain.”

“Thank you for the information,” Sam said.

Dean cleared his throat, “Well, if you need anything in the future, you know who to call.”

A small smile crossed her face, “Indeed. The Winchesters.”

Sam was concerned for his brother, but they needed to finish the shoot. Tom was pleased with the hunt and they filmed the rest of the tips to protect yourself if things got out of hand. Of course, recommending they called them.

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