Poppy Flower (named as such to slightly differentiate him from his grandfather, Poppy) was the runt of his litter, born with a small frame and sickly. He was (almost) hopeless, and while taken care of like all his brothers and sisters, there was little to no chances in life for him-- and it’s alright, every litter has a runt, every litter has a sad story to tell of a bunny who was just not ready yet, too frail, not “baked enough” as he likes to put it.

Thankfully for him, his mother (dear Celandine, the sweetest woman you’ll ever find in any burrow-- full of love and kind intentions, even if she was stubborn and childish at times) was a skilled midwife and an even greater nurse. She was patient with him, raised him the best she could (and was filled with hope-- even though she knew better than to expect him to survive)

His condition got better as he grew up; put on some chub on his bones, lost his sempiternal coughs, his vision slowly got better, and only kept a limp from his childhood days. It was a miracle to others, but him and his brothers and sisters made sure to remind everyone around them that it was no miracle-- it was thanks to the efforts of his parents and those around them. He was no god’s gift, he was the result of love and patience.

Always surrounded by pets and bugs as he grew up (and due to his still-sickly condition and “dumb leg”) he decided to become a breeder as an office. Always seen carrying sickly grubs and near-hatching eggs, mothering and cooing them like little infants and feeding them from his palm, he takes any deaths that might happen deep to heart and makes sure to improve where he failed. His insects grow up to be healthy, loyal friends to any who are kind to them-- strong, a bit stubborn, smart and sweet. Taking home one of his little ones, though? That is a different story.

He asks for a small backstory search of the rabbit in question, has a rabbit of their warren (he seems to know a few people in every town he’s made contact with, which some find quite strange-- he never seemed to be the social kind of rabbit) check their living quarters and give them a breakdown of their personality, including if they have ever had bugs in their care before, if they are still alive and if not how they came to die. If they are trustworthy enough, he’ll sell their insects to him-- not too expensive, but not cheap, either.

It is hard to get one, that much is true-- but it’s worth it. No bugs are better than his, and his reputation follows him. However, he has a sweet spot for children, and has less trouble giving away sturdy, healthy grubs to those who feel lonely or have no direct family around them

God save your soul if you happen to misstreat his little ones. He’s been known to leave his burrow with a few companions and come back at once with their sold bugs and some more-- the rabbits who bought them in the first place beaten up and bloodied all over (no sign of bite marks from insects-- it’s all blunt damage, all punches and cane wounds, broken noses and broken bonnes) and nobody really “knows” who did it. No one ever says his name, or accuses him of such crimes. But they know, and he knows. Lately, nobody ever hurts his grubby friends, anymore-- No one really dares to

He loves tea and fruits, and has been known to have a sweet spot for sugary alcohol. He dislikes bitter food, but enjoys citrics like orange and lemon. Smokes from a hand-carved pipe his uncle made him, and isn’t quite as good with kids as he is with insects, but is still a damn good nanny nonetheless. Loves complex patterns and earthly colors with some bright reds and oranges here and there-- enjoys dying his light blonde hair quite a lot, and sometimes changes the color, but he loves using red on it.

(I FUCKING LOVE DOWNTRODDEN MY DUDE I EVENTUALLY HAD TO MAKE A DAMN OC OUT OF IT

GO CHECK THIS SHIT OUT YALL http://theveryworstthing.tumblr.com/ ITS FUCKING KICKASS ALSO THE CHIC THAT RUNS THE BLOG IS AN AMAZING ARTIST TOO SO ITS THE BEST 2X1 EVER)