#poppy || muse

[katrinthecat]

Creations from the factory

[galaxyspark-6e16]

Broppy but make it hadestown.

[soniclozdplove]

Kinda fell into a small Trolls phase, had a cute au for Trolls 1 idea I thought people would like.

There's rumors around the village of a beautiful singer with the voice of an angel that sings only late at night when everyone else is asleep I their pods and nobody can hear them, and Poppy is desperate to figure out who this mystery singer is and tries to solve the mystery with the rest of the Snack Pack. When they finally catch sight of the mystery singer, it's the last troll they ever expected it to be.

Or the Branch never fully gave up music after turning gray and performs in secret when nobody else can hear him au

[arikihalloween]

Happy Pride ! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

With my multiverse characters ! :3

Stitcher : bi, genderfluid

Peacekeeper : lesbian, trans, asexual

Muse : queer, queergender

Nyxie : bi, genderfae, demiromantic

These sexualities are a mix of canon and headcanon !

[thetreedragon]

Yarn

[daydreamdoodles]

Mostly through GTlive's first stream of Poppy Playtime chapter 4, and they (Mob Entertainment) are really going hard on the horror and tragedy of this all. Like, it started to ramp up in chapter 3, with Dogday's critter suit era and the book excerpt on Bobby's experiment going poorly. But like. You really feel the absolute horror of the pc, squeezing through the corpses of other humans. Riley, writing how the experimentation hurt. Yarnaby, the cruelty of the doctor to isolate and brainwash this poor creature. It's so visceral in a way the other chapters were working up to but just. They're really excelling imo this time around.

[nancydrewwouldnever]

This sweet girl got named Poppy!

And good thing, because the name in second place in the poll was Hammie Mae. 🫤

[pikatrainer99]

My first video clip edit (it's just text though 😅)

Branch's autistic traits and moments in a single scene of episode 1 of TrollsTopia because I relate so much!

"Always talks with his hands" is just there on the bottom the whole time because I was lazy and didn't wanna splice that one up. He does always talk with his hands though so I hope it's fine.

Yep, this is my headcanon for Branch! Both movie and TV show Branch, but ESPECIALLY TV show Branch. I'll make a post going more in-depth on this headcanon hopefully sometime soon but for now I hope you enjoy this little video.

[apheliia]

characters i want to dissect and/or view under a microscope and/or observe under close, carefully controlled supervision to attain a heightened understanding of their psychological processes:

il dottore

dr. harley sawyer

[katrinthecat]

Alternative

[dulcebot]

did u all say hello to poppy tonight

[soniclozdplove]

Adding to the Trolls au idea, Branch is still... well... he's still Branch. The main difference is that it isn't music itself he hates and, while he doesn't like how loud Poppy and the other trolls are, he doesn't blame music and singing for killing his grandmother. He blames himself.

He is a man who is born on the stage and destined to perform, but is too scared to do so in public because every time he'd done so before, it led to disaster. He sang with his brothers for their biggest concert ever, and they immediately left him. He sang for his grandmother, and she gets eaten by a Bergan. And if Chef finds them during the 20-year anniversary party, you can bet Branch will probably find a way to blame himself because he gave into the temptation and allowed himself to sing again.

[ask-ponys-gamers-cafe]

not her type but other oc interested

[thetreedragon]

CatNap Warrenheim

"The Prototype will be very pleased."

[runaway-dreamers]

[Part 1, 2, 3]

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

At the end of all I knew I find the beginning of you and I.

The Everyday Life of Wally Darling

Word count: 1,302

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Papers covered in colorful ink lay in messy piles. A single lamp  light shined down on a notebook, and beside that  lay a crumpled figure curled up within a bundle of blankets. Among the steadily growing collection of notes and drawings hid the unspoken. It lingered between  spaces  floating at the top of white backdrop. It stopped your pen once or  twice. It roared high like a distant wave, but fizzled to a crawling lull of  rolling water failing to reach your feet before the ocean sucked it back in. 

It spoke when you waited for a response to flutter from within the ceramic pumpkin where reality split in two. The nested swirl of blue and black plunged the room into a damp chill. All was silent beyond the creaking floorboards as you adjusted your sore body. Your crying ceased, replaced with labored breath, your tears dried on your face. Hair stuck to your pallid skin. It itched along where the strands clung, but you were far too tired to care. 

Letters fluttered in descending on your figure. You choose to forgo the envelopes as it would slow your response. You printed your thoughts with careful lettering for fear of misunderstanding. Should the tenuous line of communication shudder and fall apart, you hoped your words would ring clear in his mind. Your rampant need for connection was tempered by the loss crushing you to the ground where you lay. 

His red crayon had worn down to a nub, his shared worry shaped his words. Each question was meant to impart something new, something sacred to be kept. There in his stretched thin j's did you find his fear guided strokes. There in your incomplete o's did he find the pains of your impatience. The conversation was one about walking. The discussion lingering on lengths traveled, on sights seen, on passing glimpses of ghostly shapes. 

From above came the darkness raking cold hands down your back. It pawed with clawless fingers in repeated succession. Each passing coaxing an ache that spread tremors all throughout. You sucked in a sharp breath as your writing hand dulled with a spreading tingle. It lay flat on the cool floor rushing its pass. And just before it becomes a memory the pen is taken up and your o's grow incomplete. 

Julie had given you a pressed flower, it lay melted between the folded wax sheet. Sally sent a speckle of stardust that dulled to golden glitter. From Howdy came a caramel apple, but from within worms squirmed in the flesh of sagging fruit. Eddie's colorful craft of construction paper rings had crumpled apart and faded to dull grays. Poppy's muffins had crumbled around the portal coming to you already dust. Frank had left Wally with the vortex swirling within the guts of pumpkins. Letters from moments ago were already running with ink pooling together in a congealed mass of putrid nothingness. Words soaked the pages erasing all that had been contained, eating them all without a moment's break. 

Still each word was crafted with care. Each line is dotted with varied punctuation enunciating poorly remembered jokes. Each smile, every question, and all the answers took shape as intended, as needed. Your arm has cramped again. Sweat ran down the back of your neck drying to your skin and shirt. With a panging ache you dragged yourself up onto your arms. Your knees wobbled beneath you, and soon you sat upright. With great difficulty you held yourself up as the ache thrummed from head to toe. Each breath rattled in your lungs, but it was easier to draw in without the pressure of you and the floor. A note dropped in from the void.

[Y/N]

My letters from you have rotted. My memories of you have flown away. From within, my mind has no doubt, the pieces of you have molded through. 

[Wally] 

Where you once stood has become a vacant space. Snatched from me, your fading voice lingers beneath hollow winds. A wordless voice, devoid of thought or refrain, becomes the whole of what stays. 

[Y/N]

Where I am, you will be. Where you are, I will stay. An endless conversation, an endless changing of hands.

[Wally]

And if an end draws near? 

[Y/N]

Never spare me from harsh realities. Let me know the course of change. 

[Wally] 

The pumpkin rots. 

And the silence began. The letters slowed. The topic ceased. You sat alone with puffy eyes watching the swirl of a fading rip between you and him. You measured the passing time against thudding heartbeats. Your eyes pulled away to the notebook resting among the piles. Pages had been torn away and reused in a bid to talk longer. With careful hands the book was lifted and came to rest on your lap. You flipped through the remaining curdled pages. 

Eyes peered back at you, vibrant and unseeing. The lines had taken on a watery look, but they had not muddled together. Your fingers pressed against the beading of liquid. It stuck to your fingers coating the crevices of your skin. It dried flakey and pigmented. It bled like a cut, you marveled. The book remained unchanged save for the slowly smearing lines. This book traveled with you from one place to the next, it had seen everything. 

Your eyes looked briefly at the soggy mass forming in the corner of your light. The floorboards swelled with rot. And here in your hands something had outlasted the younger papers. You inched closer to the portal, closer than you had gone before. A breeze parted through your hair. Your skin paled against it. Something tugged at the notebook. You inched closer and the tug became a strong pull. Yanked from your hand it leapt to the portal. Sticky tendrils latched onto it, drinking it into nothingness. You sat stunned by the vigor the spinning vortex showed. A bright light engulfed your room blinding you. Something dropped onto your lap. With blurry eyes you pawed at the paper. 

[Wally]

What was that?

[Frank]

What did you do?

Are you alright?

[Y/N]

It devoured our notebook. It devoured it and sprung back to life! 

[Frank]

Our notebook fed it? What else can we feed it? 

[Y/N]

I'm not sure, that was all I had except, except the earring. 

The ceramic pumpkin cracked down its side. The portal spun into a tight circle shaking against the sides of it. The sound of ripping ceramic filled the room before it shattered to pieces. Each jagged edge was caught in the pull of the growing portal. Your blanket had fallen from your frame as the burst of air filled your apartment. You stared at the massive hole forming before you. It glowed like vibrant jellyfish dancing down into the bottomless dark. 

"Amazing.." You whispered. The soggy pages squelched as the tendrils stabbed into them. They were absorbed by the mass. You stood on shaking legs as voices floated on the breeze. 

"Wh-What even is this!?" 

"Oh, my goodness! Look at how pretty it is!" 

"A vortex? Here of all places? Quite an old one, too. How perplexing…" 

"I-I heard screams and I- OH MY FEATHERS!" 

"Was that Y/N's mailbox?" 

"Y/N's mailbox?" 

"Y/N! Can you hear me?" 

You ran tossing yourself against the solid glass-like cover to the vortex. Your earring was lifted and gently tugged from the clip on your lobe, "I'm here! I'm here! Please, hear me!" 

"I want to come back Home!" 

You landed somewhere dark. The expansive sky above filled your vision. Stars shined brightly all throughout. The smell of pumpkins wafted in the gentle breeze that rocked bare branches. Around you came groans. Blue hair, undone and slightly dirty, tickled your nose. 

A familiar face leaned in close, "Welcome Home."