Poppy Playtime Yarnaby Fanart Novels & Stories

“Well, no one could miss us. Trent will see us anywhere.” Poppy looked at the dresses, then laughed. It was true. Poppy was wearing a bright blue dress that hugged her figure, with April in green and Sophie in yellow. “We are a colorful palate, that’s for sure. If you are not comfortable, let me know. We still have time to change.”

Thalia’s hands tremble faintly, her face serene but strained, as the gold weaves into an intricate pattern over Amara, protective and binding. Without warning, the edge of the circle ripples—a shadow falling across the grass, swallowing the starlight. A figure steps into view, emerging from nothing and everywhere at once. She is breathtaking: tall, robed in midnight, eyes gleaming with the reflected light of a thousand hidden moons. Her features shift even as the group watches—one moment impossibly young and radiant, the next, motherly and comforting, then ancient, lines of wisdom scored deep and eternal. The visitor’s hair changes hue with each heartbeat: black as crow’s wings, silver as da

Stapsy ❣️ 🍭🍭🍭🍭 To be continued

club. “I’m not a fucking doll!” Poppy snatched up the bag of her clothes, seething at the disregard for her things, “I may not be a rich, spoiled heiress who gets the best of the best. I worked hard for what I had and I doubt very much that if you were on your own at 17 you could have done better while paying for college and working for a thieving bitch. So fuck off. No one asked me what I liked, what colors or styles I preferred. No one bothered to see if I liked frilly dresses or pants. No. You all just decided that I was some mindless, brainless toy to play dress up with. I’m a fucking human being. With fucking opinions. And I absolutely hate the color pink. Seriously, I’m a red head. Do

"Nicole, this is my birthday present for you! Happy birthday! I hope you stay pretty every day." Nicole took it, already smiling, but paused after a closer look. Something about it felt…off. "What did you draw?" she asked. There were circles, triangles, and rectangles all over the page. It looked a little abstract. Then again, Poppy was five. Expectations had to stay realistic. Poppy leaned in to explain. "This is Zeph, this is you, this is me, and this is Cola. We're all holding hands and living happily in the same house."

Jumping up from the bed, I happily trotted over to the square window with its creamy-white sill and slid the shutters open. There wasn't a trace of a cloud in the sky. There was only the thinnest sliver of a new moon and a crowd of stars glittering against the night, and from Samar's balcony, under the warmth of the teetering sodium light on the ceiling, the biggest cluster of poppy flowers I'd ever seen stared back at me - there must've been a few hundred. Their crimson, azure and vermilion petals reflected the sodium light and spread a honey glow all over the balcony. The bouquet moved to the side, making a head pop up.

I said, looking over at her and smiling. “Thank you girl,” she said as she sniffed. “I....really...,” she hesitated. “I know,” I interrupted her. “I got you.” Poppie smiled a weak smile. She was almost 100% but not quite there yet. I wanted her to be at her best because I knew she would do well. “Thanks,” “You hungry?” I asked. “Yeah,” she responded questionably. “You wanna smoke?” I asked, passing her the blunt I had rolled on the table. “It might help with your appetite.”

I asked Xavier if he liked sports, then asked Poppy what her hobbies were, and after a while the tension relaxed. “Um, Gamma Rory, why do your nails look like that?” Poppy asked. Rory smiled, “Because I was born awesome. These things can cut through fruit like a knife. Wanna see?” Xavier and Poppy’s eyes lit up, and they both nodded. She grabbed the apple from Poppy’s plate, threw it in the air, and sliced it with her hand. “COOL!” They both said. Raul walked in and chuckled, “Showing off again, Rory?”

Night arrived in the form of a house that was too big and a small child who still had enough fuel for an entire nation. Poppy had already had her bath and was wearing purple unicorn pajamas that had started fading from being washed too many times. Her long hair was half dry and falling messily down her back. Her bangs still covered half her forehead because she had, of course, refused to clip them back on the grounds that she “had an image.” In one hand she held Bunny. In the other, she held a Barbie she had, for reasons known only to herself, decided today was “coastal Barbie.”