https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zgz2xBrvVQ

Because it totally is! People missing a bun or bun interactions can find me trying to do the whole twitter thing at https://twitter.com/bishiebunny. And there's always discord if you want to poke a bun directly. Will eventually be sharing some of the fantastic bun images I've received there, over here. But if want your bun in a timely fashion, twitter is the way to go for now. Hope everyone is having a fantastic time and know that I do check the art both here and on twitter, absolutely floored by everyone's creativity and talent.

What about stories? Oh, they will be coming and since I have a built in audience here (and there's no real way to share them on twitter,) this will definitely be the place to check them out ^^

Have a great one everyone! I'll be having cake and spaghetti, myself.

But I've got a lot on my plate and not much time to reflect. So let's do what one should never do and go to the tweets!

https://twitter.com/bishiebunny/sta.....89910191316995

and an extra bonus...

https://twitter.com/bishiebunny/sta.....92828583759873

If anyone has any questions, comments, queries, or birthday (even belated) wishes for a bun bun, happy to accept them here or there!

Still, it's news to me. I've always wanted to hop in, ever since I noticed that more and more of my favorite artists were posting their latest and greatest followed by 160 character captions. Pikacha's and Amara's twitter was always quick to tempt me with some new forbidden fruit, hidden behind impenetrable memes and inevitable clap-backs. And then the Vtubers came from beyond the stars and filled in my pandemic dystopia with something resembling hope. So, finally motivated and with some spare time for once, I asked Pika to work up a cute little banner, give me what info she could on the hows and how-nots, and then.... promptly sat on it for about a year or so.

But finally, like a nicotine-addicted phoenix stumbling drunkenly out of a dirty ashtray, I have arrived!

https://twitter.com/bishiebunny

Will this be the biggest mistake of my life? Will I somehow become the main character of the day when I've only ever played bit parts before? If I'm a milkshake duck, do I at least get to choose the flavor? Will the "Think, Mark" memes ever stop reminding me of my insane, thankfully passed-on patriarch? Follow me and find out!

What will I be posting? For now, just bite-sized story prompts and the odd retweet. In the future? Well given I've also started writing again, maybe quite a bit more. Who knows? My sister picked up a tablet finally, maybe I'll pursue that old, broken dream. Whatever the case, if you're on twitter and wanna see it all, or at least check out which GTS, cosplay, and vtuber creators a bunny likes best, smash that subscri... wait, wrong platform. Err, you know what to do.

Can you tell I'm new to all this? Next thing you know, I'll be signing up for instagram. Maybe I better save that for next McRib season.

Oh my, wouldja look at the time? Seems like it's...



...again; a chronic condition wherein a bun exchanges his health for cake and anime figurines!

Tick-tock goes the clock, and like all good little white buns, I'm compelled to skitter off to some unknown appointment for which I'm fashionably late. But this year I seem to have gained some momentum. I can hear that final party in the distance and I'm starting to think my days of waistcoats, pocket watches, and leading young woman to psychedelic experiences, may be numbered.

You see, yesterday, I was sick as I have ever been. Massive chills sending a bun to wrap up in three separate quilts, extreme weakness, headaches and a pain in my chest. After a few hours as a frozen bun burrito, it was microwave time, where I roasted under a 102 fever. What especially sucked about this (other than "ack, did I get tickets to the Backstreet Boys and not even know it" panic that dominates our post-Covid lives,) was that this particular cycle has become very familiar.

Freeze, then melt, and then it's gone... a one day trial that ends in another symptom I'd rather not share here, thought some of you on discord are regrettably aware of the icky specifics. It's the fourth time this year. It's now, officially, just one of those things. It joins another chronic condition from a couple of years back that is... well, we won't go into details beyond it happens every 3-4 weeks, loses the bun a surprising amount of blood, and has me downing bowl after bowl of iron-fortified frosted flakes. But hey, it's a good excuse to beg for steak now and again.

It's not that I'm particularly old. I'm definitely more of a "midlife crisis" sorta bun as opposed to a "sitting on the beach in a bathtub while waiting for the Viagra to kick in" kinda bun. But the birthday suit I was issued has never exactly fit quite right. It's a thriftstore knock-off that was already a decade out of fashion and fraying at the edges. We won't even get into the anxiety and depression-riddled, rotten cauliflower that pushes me along while distracting itself with thoughts of stockings and dragons (and dragons in stockings.)

So, how many more birthdays (and unbirthdays) does a bunny have left? It feels both too early and a little too late to be thinking about this. It's past time I started taking better care of myself, just as a recent journal from raelbunny has urged. Eat better, exercise more and (this is the big one) actually go to the doctor. I have too many friends and family to keep ignoring these things and while the excuse "they're all busy with Covid cases" is a pretty solid one this year, it's just one of the many I've used in the past.

I want to be around to help my nephew through the next extremely important and difficult years. I want to be around to continue to encourage my sisters to live out their dreams and push past the stumbles. I want to be there for the friends that have worked so hard talking me off ledges so that I can do the same for them. I want to be there for my mother whose health is failing at an even greater rate than my own. How selfish would it be to break in line in front of her, or leave my friends and family hanging with yet another tragic day to file away among the rest? Pretty damn selfish.

Let us do better this year. Let all of us do a little better, for our own health and for the health of those around us. Let us see a doctor when we need one. Let us wear a mask and practice proper social distancing while we struggle through this pandemic. Maybe we could eat a little more spinach and a little less Zingers. Perhaps even break that Ring-Fit out of the box and put it to good use.

I know, I know, it's all sounding awfully like a New Year's resolution kinda thing. Welp, it is a new year, for a bun bun at least. Might as well start putting the work in toward making it a good one. I'd just as soon be as late, late, for that ever so important final date as I can possibly manage. And I hope that all of you do the same.

Can't beat entropy but you can certainly troll the hell out of it for a few decades.

Now then, to wipe away some of the meandering maudlin above, let's play a different game this year. We've already done the TMI and "what would you buy a bun" game. How about this?

A bun is recruiting for a perilous mission to face off against the sinfully seductive, ridiculously overpowered demon queen. There may be fights, there may be puzzles, there may be lewds (I mean, why else play a bard?) How naughty or nasty the path ahead, I'll leave to your imagination.

Regardless, a bun is looking for companions to weather the trials, tribulations, and temptations to come. So tell me about your character, their abilities, perks and personalities, and how they would contribute to our overall success. You can speak in D&D class, race, level sorta speak, or go freeform. It can be a few lines or a paragraph with background notes. Just have fun with it, it is after-all, a party game for a birthday bun. ^^

Before we begin, I want to say that I'm a little hesitant to speak. I don't really think this is the time or place to offer up my take, other than to give a cry of solidarity and support for the protestors. If you're in no mood to hear a 'Bama bun babble, please feel free to skip past my absurd text and instead click on the link where the extremely funny and talented Amber Ruffin shares her experiences. I'd much rather you listened to her right now. But if you must skim through my meanderings, feel free to read on...

As some of you know, I'm the son of a preacher man.

If you're familiar with the south, you'll know that the church is where people gather, often over a plethora of casseroles, fried meats, and a half dozen banana pudding recipes, all vying for the PK's (preacher's kid) approval. On Wednesdays, there's choir practice, wherein flustered choir directors battle desperately against malfunctioning sound systems, wincing as their heavenly host, and that one youth pastor with his own guitar and acoustic set up, stumble through whatever modern Christian jam is the flavor of the month. Gotta keep the youths interested once they've grown out of popsicle-stick crafts and modified summer camp songs.

I still find myself humming "Fried Ham, Fried Ham" when my mind wanders too far afield.

There's also bible study, often with the aid of a handy, dandy evangelical guide to make sure the right lessons sink in and nobody takes that Jesus guy too seriously when he inadvertently mutters something vaguely socialist. This is usually where the older men of the church gather, a chance to reaffirm their beliefs and air any grievances they may have with the community. Sometimes they'll even have a men's breakfast, having chosen a local eatery to share grits, cheese omelettes, and "Christian" values. And yes, fried ham.

Being the pastor's son, I was expected to attend each and every function. I warbled through my share of modernized hymns, shared my confusing puberty with concerned, hip youth pastors that "just so happened to have a song about that," and ate omelette du fromage with a side order of fried ham and an extra helping of mac and cheese, because grits are an abomination. My presence was required though not my input, which is why I probably remember the pot luck dinners most fondly. That's where a chubby PK wields the most power, actively changing next month's menu with every second or third helping.

But sometimes, usually at night, the men would come to fetch my father for a special meeting. I'd recognize all the same faces I had shared fried ham and bible stories with, men who had smiled at me, men who were part of the local police, ran the local businesses, and tended to the local government. They never smiled at night, though a few had the decency to look a little lost and embarrassed. Most of them, especially the older, richer, never smiling White men, did not.

Sometimes I'd catch snippets before I was hurried off. The first time I ever hear the "N-word" expressed with passionate, gleeful bile, came from a night like that. Sometimes I'd lie awake in bed, listening to harsh, hateful sounds with yet more N-words scattered about. The older, richer, never smiling White men rarely spat that particular slur. They preferred to let their subordinates, their accumulated good ole' boys, spit it out along with a chunk of tobacco-laden vile, into half-empty soda bottles.

I'll never really know what came of those meetings, what the officers in attendance did once they left our house. I'll never know how involved my father actually was, though truth be told, he was a mad monster in his own right and hardly needed a racist community to let his demons loose, especially on his own family.

What I do know is that, years later, my father remarried. By that point, we had long since cut ties and for all the madness and abuse, it was oddly comforting to know he had someone to look after him. Then we heard that his new wife had been called in to testify about things she had overheard years before I was born, things involving her first husband, long before she had met my father. It involved another church, some angry White men, and a bomb.

This year my sisters took the kids to the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute to celebrate Martin Luther King Jr day. Eventually they got to the area devoted to the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing, the horror it inflicted on the Black community (and anyone else with a shred of humanity,) and the four young Black girls whose lives were stolen from them by angry White men. In the text they found references to those men and also to a certain wife called in to testify against her first husband.

You can guess just how familiar her name was to my family.

I could try and end all of this on a pithy note. I could do a "fried ham" call back, paying off an obscure reference that nobody will ever get beyond me and a few Vacation Bible School survivors. I could do that, I could attempt to release the tension that comes from reading (and writing) all of this. But as Amber Ruffin will express far more eloquently than I ever could, maybe it's time to get a little uncomfortable. Maybe this tension is a good thing, if it's turned into action.

There are more people in this world than old, rich, never smiling White men. Far more of us than them, in fact. It is long past time we make them keenly aware of that fact.

Some of you may have been hoping I'd say something specific about the police, express my own fears and anger. As much as I'd love to vent some of that frustration, I think I'll let someone far more personally affected speak her mind and share her experiences...






And if you're looking for a way to contribute, and maybe snag some sweet indie games in the process...

https://itch.io/b/520/bundle-for-ra.....e-and-equality


...Quick little aside since I think I may have given the wrong impression. My father wasn't involved in the bombing. He just happened to marry the ex-wife of one of the bombers. How that odd twist of fate came to be, I haven't the foggiest. And near as I can tell, my father was never officially involved with the clan. Pretty sure if you asked him, he would say he wasn't a racist, for as much as those words mean. But being a southern pastor in a small, rural community puts you into a certain position. I'll never know how he dealt with that, just how involved or if he ever stood up to the biggest donors in the community. Our relationship was complicated enough already.

Yeah, we did. But last year, while my friends were treating me to far too much meat, I couldn't help but feel like everything else was falling apart. The issues that would eventually lead to my sister's troubles had begun piling up so tall and so fast, we could already hear the rumbling of the forthcoming avalanche.

There wasn't a past I wanted to indulge, nor a future that I dared to dream, stuck in the muck of a ruthless present.

But today, this birthday? This birthday is different. I've gotten good news for the first time in what seems like years. Those I care about are finally pulling out of the mire that had threatened to overwhelm us, and for once, I can picture a tomorrow.

You can't give a bun a greater gift than that.

Today I'll be out with family, because today is my birthday. The actual party won't be for a couple of weeks due to a clash with RL, but that's also shaping up nicely. I'm getting a banana-rama... banana bread cake, banana pudding, and banana ice-cream! Oh the potassium! Oh the phallic imagery! What more could you expect from the widdle bouncing bun?

So, for those of you that have stuck by me this far, let's play a little party game, a little TMI. Along with any well wishes you might wanna share, ask a bun a question! Be as scandalous or legitimately inquisitive as you like. Mark it IC or OOC, depending on which of us you want to answer, the RL bishie or the phantasmic bun bun.

The only catch? Whatever question you ask, you have to first provide an answer for yourself (also IC or OOC.)

Will anyone dare the bunny's challenge? Will I get a question I dare not answer? Does anyone ever read this far into a meandering, self congratulatory journal? Only time will tell, but I'm leaving this one up for a couple of weeks, just to see.

All hail the Julyborn!

At 6am this morning, I watched with pride as the nephew I helped raise, donned a novelty, plush bunny head and wandered in front of the bedroom window of the youngest member of our extended family. My other nephew, an excitable wrecking ball of exuberance and squeals, squee'd in delight as he caught sight of the unmistakable silhouette of a candy and egg delivering rabbit slipping past the window sill. The excitement was real and so was the forthcoming sugar comas as the two of them, along with my niece, both sisters, and the rest of the family, indulged in our holiday drug of choice: Cadbury cream eggs.

Due to family scheduling conflicts, Easter came early to the bun bun household, a holiday that had felt more of an expense than anyone could bare, just a couple of weeks ago. At the time, nobody had felt much like celebrating. But I knew something they didn't, something about the kindness of this community, particularly those special friends I've managed to make along my way while writing ridiculous erotica about abused, bubble-bottomed bun buns.

Thank you, all of you, from the bottom of my heart! Thank you for donating. Thank you for sharing. And most precious of all, thank you for caring. It's meant the world to my youngest sister and given her the space she needed to stop drowning and to start treading water.

There are still challenges to come, but with the looming threat blunted, we've got some serious future plans that will help us make the most out of your generosity. It all seems possible again, like a rebirth. If only there was some noteworthy holiday involving co-opted, dyed chicken products that a bun could relate it all too. Ah well.


Here's a video my sister made, where she expresses her gratitude better than I ever could...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjhS2YIBYmM



And here's the GoFundMe page again, for anyone that would still like to donate or simply share it around...

https://www.gofundme.com/save-sarahs-shelter


I still have room for cameos so by all means, if you've given, shared, or cared, let a bun know so he can add you to the list. Depending on how a few things pan out, I'm looking forward to getting back to doing what I do marginally well, make a ridiculous collection of kinks and characters seem real, fun, and hopefully, sexy. ^^

So a few months ago a bun was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he looked toward the future. I had images I wanted to share, stories to post, and was eager to reestablish myself in the community. Promises were made, but that's hardly unusual. I'm afraid I make a lot of those. At any rate, I was committed to this ideal and this time, there was nothing standing in my way.

And then came the sound of tumbling, crashing crockery, plates that my sister had been desperately spinning for years in secret, finally falling.

I won't go into the specifics here. I already poured out my heart and soul when I wrote up a GoFundMe article, one that she refused to let me post. See, my sister Sarah is the sort of person that gives more than she gets, feels guilty whenever anyone goes out of their way, and is the first to listen to other people's problems while her home merrily burns away.

I can honestly say that without her, I wouldn't be alive right now. And I know several people from the local therapeutic foster care facility, where she teaches art and runs activities, who could say the same. She has never asked for help before, because she sees herself as the one tasked with giving, not receiving.

But nobody is bottomless and sooner or later, even the stones run out of blood.

So that's where I've been, catching plates and milking granite, all in an effort to keep my talented, yet exhausted sister and sweet nephew, housed and hopeful. I've worn myself out, completely bone dry, but just when I think about taking a breather, there she is, chugging along and slipping into her work clothes, because her students need her.

I can't keep doing this and I can't just watch as she grinds herself into dust. I need help, not for me, but for her. It is my hope that if you bothered reading this far, you're willing to offer some of your own. Last week, Sarah finally caved when a tax return set to sustain her and her son, didn't come through. Desperate and guilt-riddled, she let us finally set up that GoFundMe.

https://www.gofundme.com/save-sarahs-shelter

At this point, I'm sure you're tired of the maudlin ramble so I get right to it. This link leads to my sister's GoFundMe page. I did the write up for it, and there you'll find a few more specifics about what is going on and how you can help. If you are in a position to toss a buck or two at it, I ask that you do so. If not, if you could simply share the link or this journal entry about your social media sites, I'll be eternally grateful.

You don't have to give much, or any at all, really. Sharing or even just caring will mean the world to her. Just let her know that she's not alone in all this.

A certain other bun reminded me how tapped out and exhausted everyone is these days, how it's unfair to ask without offering anything in return. I don't have much that isn't already promised, and I don't really want to tie in my silly porn ramblings to my sister's continued survival. However, I do have something I can offer.

Anyone who responds to this journal, letting me know they shared the GoFundMe link or tossed a few bucks toward its goal, include the phrase, "Cameo Please!" to your reply. I'll immediately send a note about the specifics of your interest while adding you to a special Cameo List.

Most stories I write have space for extra characters, sometimes engaged in the naughty fun, and sometimes the waitress serving burgers to the couple gazing into one another's eyes. Want your character to be that waitress or the couple pounding one another in the back of the club? This is how.

And yes, I'll let you know what the cameo consists of and what the story is about so nobody ends up in something beyond their threshold of kink.

Finally, though I appreciate the sentiment, I ask that you do not offer to send money to my paypal or otherwise support the bun directly. This isn't about me, this is about her. Anyone who wants to help a bun, this is how you do it. Help me help her to help others.

Thank you for the time you spent reading this, whether you support us or not. Sometimes, just caring enough to engage and hear someone's story is the best you can do and the most anyone can ask for.


tl;dr version: My sister needs help. Please share and support her GoFundMe. Respond that you've done so with "Cameo Please" in order to appear in future stories of a thankful bun bun.

https://www.gofundme.com/save-sarahs-shelter

#savesarahsshelter

Currently hanging out with RL friends after a ridiculous Brazilian steak adventure. For those familiar with our various online D&D campaigns, Antlers and Zaria are here as well. Now that we've awoken from our meat coma, we're breaking out the board games. Looks like Blood Rage, Dominion, Terraforming Mars, and Scythe are all up on the plate.

Going to be a relatively decent day, the kinda day that helps you forgot the impending decaying collapse of all life functions. Dice that pain away!

And for those looking for the full song to jam out with during their own cake-filled denial of death's inescapable pursuit..

So another year has slipped in under the radar, running the trenches of a bun's life, loaded with Force guided torpedoes in an effort to save the galaxy. How many nameless rebels died in a futile effort to rid the universe of a bun's tyrannical grip? And are we talking a dirty dozen of prequelites or a handful of Bothans?

Whatever the case, I stand before you, fully armed and operational. There will be no medals to give out and I'm afraid the adorable, yet undeniably carnivorous fuzzbuckets shall go hungry. Still, good effort all around and I think we've got enough material for a half dozen spin-offs and maybe another single player RPG. P-please?

What I'm trying to say is that it's July again! Time for your yearly check-in with the bun bun of misfortune, just to see if the little ball of abuse-craving fluff and stuff got his act together. Judging by the fact that my last journal was about 2017's birthday bun, the answer is probably an empathic "meh."

So then, what has been going on with everybody's eighth, maybe tenth favorite bun bun?

Obviously there's been a lot of RL and family stuff to keep a bunny busy, meaning that several promised stories have been delayed. Luckily, those are starting to pop up, fresh and piping hot. For those that just can't wait, I suggest rereading Story Time: Thinking Pink

Or you can just stare wistfully at that image of Tesla's beautiful bottom as it makes its inevitable way down. That's pretty much what I do.

There's also been a recent health scare, which I won't go into because the last thing anybody needs is a peek into the intricate workings (or not working) of a bun bun. Needless to say, "Ouch!" But again, here I am. Proceed to rock me like a hurricane. But not a tornado, it's still too soon.

So with old business out of the way, on to new business!

Firstly, July 27th is a bun's birthday! I'm sure you all have your gifts bought and cards signed. Go ahead and start opening windows on your Advent calendars as well. You should find some stale chocolate, a pithy saying, and a lewd image of a bun bun in a compromising position.

"Wait a minute," you exclaim as you have been scripted, "bun buns don't have images! They just babble incoherently about fetishes nobody has ever heard of."

Au contraire! As it turns out, a bun does get images on occasion, usually thanks to the generosity of others. What a bun sucks at (ahem) is posting these lovely arts. Often this is because a bun wants to add some inane erotic babble or try and put it into context. But I think some of these pics have waited long enough, don't you?

That is why the second order of new business is for me to declare this month the official month of "Bun in the Sun!" Or "Fun in the Bun" if you prefer. I've heard it both ways. Basically its a month where I post things I should have posted long ago. For some of you, this will be a feast for the eyes and the nethers. For others, just another FA flood you'll have to sift through while getting your furry fixes.

How many images and did I get that thing you sent me? You'll just have to wait and see! Or if you're curious about the latter, toss a note or Discord DM my way.

Finally, speaking of commissions, I'm working on a fresh list so people know I haven't forgotten them, especially those secret Santas of Christmases long since past. I'll save that for a later journal so it won't get lost in the babble, but if you believe I owe you a story and think I might have forgotten, note a bun or toss a Discord DM (Carthax#5371.)

Even if you don't think I've forgotten about your pic or upcoming story commission, feel free to send a message anyway. I'm scantily clad, relentlessly bun buned, and waiting for your call! Or you can respond to this journal. I mean, I'm not the boss of you.

But you can be the boss of me, if you really wanna. Obligatory, "s-squee!"

Once again, I come upon that arbitrary marker of self discovery and decay which rewards one in brightly colored boxes filled with underwear and gift certificates, as well as a higher societal tolerance for cake consumption. I'd love to offer up some profound insight, pose the question that's worthy of the answer, but as far as Life, the Universe, and Everything goes... I got nothing. What I do have is a baked potato buffet to look forward to and a hunk of banana bread that'll soon be skewered by flaming pillars of wax.

I like to think that somewhere among my readers and watchers, there's a kinky grandma who just got a tingle at the thought of soon to be abused baked goods. Granted, I like to think a lot of things.

As far as where my life is going, let me tell you about last night. Last night I came to the sudden realization that a chore had been left undone.

You see, I live at the top of a stubby hill that overlooks a lake, which is way out in the countryside, set adrift from civilization and sense. At the bottom of the hill lies that quiet lake and my mother's house, which was built on top of the unmarked grave of the previous residence. The original home had been knocked flat by a tornado some six years ago. Up the hill lies our house, which I share with my youngest sister and nephew. Over the hill, a good ways past our home, sits an emptied trash can, waiting to be ushered down the long, steep drive-way, filled with loose rocks and questionable traction.

The man who married my mother after she divorced my father, and if I was not completely done with fathers would be considered my step-father, had asked me to ask my nephew to bring the trashcan down once the flaming ball of fiery death we call a southern sun had sunk. I asked my nephew, he accepted the quest, and I prepared the basket of trinkets and EXP he would be rewarded upon completion. Then, as so often happens, he let himself get absorbed in various side quests, such as "Watching Golden Girls with My Mother" and "Trying to Complete a Build in Creative Mode Minecraft While My Uncle Shakes His Head and Blathers on About the Moral Superiority of Survival." I mean, seriously, what's the point of a water slide if you aren't ducking zombies and creepers to get it done?

Kids these days.

At any rate, I suddenly remembered that sitting out there, in the dead of a night, was a forlorn and forgotten trashcan, wondering why nobody had thought to pick him up from soccer practice. Now, it's somewhere between nine thirty and ten in the evening, the boy is in bed, and I'm not feeling especially spry myself. Still, it was my responsibility to see it done, and it was my nephew's responsibility to do the doing. I walked into his bedroom, told him to put on his shoes and together we would see the task completed.

After all, if I'm the boss (or in this case, more like middle management) I owe it to my nephew to take my share of the burden.

Together, we left the relative safety of the homestead. With the flashlight in my hand, we stumbled into the creaky, chirpy dark of a rural night. To pass the time, and maybe to take the boy's mind off the smothering quiet, I began to tell my nephew a story. I told him of a night, much like this one, wherein two dudes, one older and one younger, went out for a walk. For safety's sake, the elder carried a flashlight.

"So you mean us, right?" interjected my nephew, full of youthful snark.

"Yes. You're very smart, shut up," I replied in my best Peter Falk. "They walked down a hill, listening to the silent din of nocturnal life. Unseen and wandering about in a constant creep, everything that fears the light came out to bask in the midnight."

"Nocturnal?"

"It means they love the night life; they gots to boogie," I answered. "So the two guys are chatting away, enduring the chill of the evening with the warmth of their company, until they finally arrived at the bottom of the hill."

By this time, we had retrieved the trashcan, gotten it a juice box, tucked it in our imaginary SUV, and set it beside my mother's house. My nephew tried to wrap up the story so we could get back to our own. "And then they went home and everyone got a freezer pop."

"You've had enough sugar for one night," I replied, flipping the flashlight idly in my hand. "And no, I'm afraid not. The pair decided to split up, even though you should never split the party, with the younger running up the hill fast as childhood is spent. The older walked far more slowly, trundling up the hill, using their only light to mark his path so he wouldn't slip down the loose gravel. Every now and then the youth would look to see his elder's light, bouncing this way and that, making its slow way back home."

My nephew is thoroughly hooked at this point, arms around his shoulders and swaying in time to the rhythm of my voice. His eyes never once leaving the light of the electric torch in my right hand.

"The young man gets inside, has a drink, puts on some Golden Girls, and curls up with his mother. An entire episode passes before the youth starts to wonder what's taking his older companion so long." I pointed the flashlight at my nephew in an almost accusing fashion. "Finally, he steps out the door and sees the light from below, about halfway up the hill. Only, it's not bouncing as it had been. It just sort of... lingers."

"U-huh."

"So, being the caring sort, the young man walks back down the hill, skittering on some unsure footing as the rocks beneath his soles slip and slide. Strangely, the quiet of the night seems different somehow, like something is missing, an absence in the very air." I begin to step back from my nephew, slowly and quietly. "Still, undaunted, the young man made his way down and stepped into the elder's light."

"And then what happened?"

Click! Off went the flashlight in my hand, plunging us both into the darkness, our night vision having long since been ruined. Pitch descended and within it came every twisted, corrupted imagination a young boy's mind could summon. They crept about the edges and chittered in deep, black pockets, filled with the unknown.

All of which were immediately dispelled by the rolling, joyous sound of an uncle's laughter and the sudden blind of a rekindled flashlight. My nephew got home, safe and sound, after a few moments spent assaulting his uncle with tiny fists and annoyed cries of, "You jerk! Don't DO that!"

I am either the worlds best uncle or the absolute worst. For some reason, my nephew seems to think I'm the former, so I'll just have to defer to his judgement.

...

For those that bothered to read through this entire ramble, I thank you. For those that send their birthday regards, either today or in the days to come, I thank you too. And for anyone willing to stick with a bun bun through yet another year of purple prose and obscure references, I am truly honored and humbled by your fortitude. I can only hope I make it worth your while in the years to come.

Hey!
Did you know that today (March 8th) was  danitaylor 21st birthday?

Did you know she asked a bunny to write up some blurbs for her big birthday bash?

Did you know how difficult it is to write up sexy-fun times for eleven different characters when you hardly know enough about them to get their coloration right, let alone their personalities?

Did you know that the bunny did his very best, and if you're one of those characters and think you got a raw deal (maybe I made you too dom, too sub, or you don't like turquoise, ETC) you can note me here and I'll see what I can do?

Did you know that if you aren't one of those people, you should just kick back and enjoy some fantastic images, some fair-to-middling naughty storytelling, and help a rainbow-maned mouse enjoy her birthday?

Well if you didn't, you do now!


Oh, did you know I almost forgot the links?

All hail the birthday girl  danitaylor

Images drawn by the ridiculously talented  CosmicMinerals

Embarrassing word doodles written by a terribly ashamed  Bishiebunny


The Preamble

-Featuring a bunch of bunny babble to set the stage.


Part One, Missus One

-Featuring  Mary_clydes 's awfully well-endowed Mary, engaged in a lot of mouse humping and birthday gifting.


Part Two, Mister Two

-Featuring  Ikshun 's bearded vulture and all around smooth operator, Irelius giving the lady what she wants.


Part Three, Missus Three

-Featuring  Pearlhead 's lovely feline, Zofia, who is looking to share a kiss and whatever happens to be filling a mouse's cheeks.


Part Four, Mister Four

-Featuring  TheZackRabbit 's bishie (but not Bishie) rabbit, Zack, as he make his gift of panties a little more personable with Dani's help.


Part Five, Missus Five

-Featuring  Artica 's amazing Artica, receiving some fantastic foot-play (a Bishie is soooo envious!)


Part Six, Missus Six

-Featuring  Aatar 's adorable Alice showing a birthday girl to her seat... on Alice's lap, several times over.


Part Seven, Missus Seven

-Featuring  Angelina~Marie 's beautiful Angelina, indulging a mouse in a rather dangerous kink. Seriously, if you're going to RL this sort of thing, do the research first!


Part Eight, Mister Eight

-Featuring  linnaeus 's big, bad wolf, Linnaeus getting bigger and badder on a Little Rainbow Riding Hood's backdoor.


Part Nine, Alexis

-Featuring  AlexisVelvet 's submissively sweet deer, Alexis, cleaning up the mess they made of her Mistress.


Part Ten, Casey

-Featuring  Casey_Fynn 's Casey, giving her mate a two part gift in the shower. The second part comes about nine months later.


Feel free to comment here if you have anything you want to say that relates directly to the story blurbs, but before you do, be sure to wish Dani a happy 21st!

See, this is why you never bet on white, err bun buns that is. Is there even a white? I don't know. My head hurts.

But you know what doesn't hurt? It doesn't hurt to read a romantic story and the messy aftermath, on a fine Valentine's Day with the well wishes and eternal gratitude of a bunny who cares.

Part One is the romance, how they met and why they stayed together.
Part Two is the naughty bit, the mess they made and continue to make.
Part Two, Post Script is the sticky finale, and the cause of my current migraine.

This commission was a long time in coming, and originally slated for 4,000 words. Yeah, 4,000. Apparently I went a teensy, weensy bit over board, as is my habit. Given I have several more stories in the works, most of which clock in somewhere between 16,000 words and 22,000 words, I guess I'm going to have to switch to posting them in the text format or as a word doc.

That's a shame. I always enjoyed the readability of just posting the whole thing in the info section. Ah well. Adopt, adapt, and improve.

There is more to come from a bun bun, more stories, more commissions (with a soon-to-be reopened queue,) and maybe a few surprises along the way. Is a bunny back? I don't know. You read the story above, then come back and tell me.

Oh and one more shout out to  darkzuri who created that wonderful header, for which I can never thank her enough.

Something for Valentine's Day perhaps? Something that tells the tale of two people finding themselves in each other's eyes and deciding they liked the view? Best if it came in two parts. The first would be almost wholly a romance, establishing who they were and how they came to meet. It should be soft and sweet, with a few teasing, wicked details to add a little spice. The second should be how they fell into one another, repeatedly and with wild abandon. That will be the naughtier, bodice ripping bit, far spicier, but not without a heart of its own. A reader would be encouraged to pick the part they like best or savor both for their unique flavors.

Yes, that should do quite nicely, don't you think? If you do, then have I got good news for you! A bunny has been writing, and that bunny is getting ready to share, starting with:

Story Time, Valentine's Day Edition: What She Saw In Him

This, along with other stories coming soon to a bunny gallery near you, are pieces I've been working on for the past few weeks. Seems I've finally pulled myself out of the RL murk that put everything on Hiatus. Before you say, "What about those commissions?" you may want to check my commission journal http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/5835760/. You'll notice it has gone awfully spare.

And just to be clear, these are not stories I'm promising to write. These are stories that have already been written. No pie crust, Poppin's promise, I assure you.

Again, that's What She Saw In Him Part One and Part Two. Coming soon! In fact, coming on or at least around the holidays. I hope to see you there.

Tis the season to be up to one's neck in undoctored Eggnog, screaming cherubs spinning about the Christmas tree, and two less rolls of tape than are required to make use of the all that new wrapping paper that was purchased, despite having an entire closet filled with unused tubes from holidays past. Still, we press on, trying to recreate the magic of some ancient Christmas that lives only in memory, carefully scrubbed clean of all the panic that made it no different from the one we'll be experiencing in a few hours.

Nostalgia, it's a hell of a drug.

Basically, there's just not enough time to work up a well-thought out journal, or post much more than rambling well wishes and a painfully unedited first paragraph that I will come to despise the moment I post it. Ah well, enjoy whatever holiday you may be about to celebrate, even if you skip the festivities entirely. Make it all about family, make it all about friends, make it all about you, just enjoy it as best you can. It's been one hell of a year, so I think we all deserve that much.

I'd try and come up with something a bit more substantial, but I've been tasked with drawing a yandere Mabel Pines for my niece... because maybe that is what this holiday is all about. Nobody tell Chuck.

To Whom It May Concern...

I've never been particularly keen to discuss politics on the same site where I post stories involving pretty boy bun buns getting pounded through glory hole openings. Somehow, it just doesn't seem like the time nor place. This is particularly true with an election as remarkably contentious as this one.

More so, for some people it is over and done with. The fireworks have erupted, shimmered in their orange glare, and given proof through the night that something was still there. What that something might be is up for debate. But whatever it might be, others are still focusing on the inevitable shower of debris which follows any pyrotechnic display. They hope against hope that it is not especially toxic or worse, radioactive.

It is certainly possible to be neither. It may be a light pelting with semi-extinguished cracker wrappings, a dusting of spent gunpowder, and possibly a flaming parachute that did not deploy as intended. Then again, we may well have a long winter ahead of us, the kind that Sean Bean could easily anticipate, yet never survive.

Or maybe it's not the fallout that worries them. Perhaps it is the timbre of "Oohs" and "Aahs" which followed, and what it means for the miniature flags that were waved by those delighting in a spotty spectacle. It may be less the man behind the podium as it is the more animated figures in the audience, howling out in orgasmic validation.

Whatever concerns them, whatever makes them feel less the invited, and more the party-crashers, they have their reasons. It might not be your reasons, or my reasons, and its certainly not the reasons of my next door neighbor who currently flies the confederate battle flag always, the Alabama state flag sometimes, and the flag of the United States of America only on rare occasion.

Bottom line, no matter your candidate of choice, if you see no reason to be concerned for the future, it is highly likely that you were never at risk. Some have the luxury of tossing a coin when it comes to a choice they perceive as being between Hitler or Stalin. Some do not. There are those whose lives will be more affected by the choices made, people whose faith in their peers has been tested, and people who will bear a greater share of the burden to come.

However we see this election, all of us can do each other the courtesy of allowing one another the privilege of one's own worries. If you honestly feel there is nothing to be worried about, instead of wasting your energy trying to superimpose your own perspective on someone whose personal stakes you can only guess, channel it instead toward positive assurances. Get involved in your local support communities, offer an ear or shoulder to those who in need, and be mindful of those that are most liable to be at-risk when people like my neighbor are a'hoopin' and a'hollarin'.

Be the proof that everything is truly going to be alright.

I have seen some fantastic journals that encourage those with concerns on how to channel their own energy into something positive. The least the rest of the country can do is to follow suit. Well, no, the least the rest of the country can do is continue to other those it may consider the outsiders among us, to underline their fears and put sparkly glitter around them in red, white, and blue. Just be aware that our flag is not the only flag to employ the same color scheme.

Surely you can let those who worry, worry for themselves. This election has given them reason to believe that nobody else is willing to worry for them. If you honestly believe they have nothing to worry about, say it more with positive actions, and less with derisive words.

Agree or disagree, but I feel that no matter the winner of this, or any election, all of us owe it to one another to be sure that everyone makes it through to the next.

__________________________________________________________________________________


This will be the first journal where I have ever disabled comments. I mean the above to encourage those with worries, and give those without worries a little advice. All of this is meant to help each of us as we move forward into an uncertain future. It is not meant to be the start of a debate. If you have something you wish to say to me, whether it be positive or negative, feel free to send a note my way. I'm expecting more negative, but I'm open to the possibility of surprise.

If you have a lot to say on the same topic, and wish for a public forum, feel free to make use of your own journal space as many of us already have. Good luck out there, no matter where you fall in all of this. If everyone allows themselves a moment to be mindful of others, maybe we'll do the impossible and catch one another before anyone hits the ground.

Season's greetings, and something to amuse us while waiting on our chestnuts to cool

In an effort to celebrate the season, put something new on the front page, and entertain those of us who are a bit worn out from relentless social interaction, I thought I'd propose a little game. Don't worry, it's not meant to be terribly stressful, and it'll run a couple of weeks for those who might want to play, but have festive responsibilities. Relax, enjoy, and keep in mind that participation is absolutely not mandatory, unlike your Nana's fruitcake.

Bishie Bunny has a present for you/one of your characters! He tried to come up with something you'd really like, based on his experience with yah, and whatever could be gleaned from your gallery. It could be naughty, it could be nice. It could be a wish for world peace, or a bundle of secondhand socks. It could mean he has to slip into something a little more comfortable, or slip into something a little bit more restraining, with more buckles and spikes then are strictly necessary. It could be just about anything, but what is it?

There's really no telling; not until you open it.

To open the present, all you have to do is give the bun a gift of your own. That's right, give a gift to get a gift. Give the bun whatever you think he might like, even if it's just warm wishes and a handful of old peppermints from the bottom of your purse, and he'll happily hand over a gift of equal, lesser, or greater value (or maybe all three: quantum gifting!)

Sound good? Sound like one more f'in thing you have to wrap/unwrap? Whatever the case, have fun with it (or not,) and merry whatever-the-hell you're in to!


***

tl;dr version Comment to tell Bishie what gift you got him, and he'll give you/your character a gift in return. Or just wish us a happy/merry, and be wished one back.

This will be a quick update, with little in the way of details, as I'll be playing go-fer for a bunny mom.

Without getting too much into it, one glorious caretaker, out of an entire hospital filled with myopic morons in scrubs, was kind enough to think that maybe, just maybe, their adult patient shouldn't be deliriously asking for her childhood pet, through a mouth/tongue so swollen one could barely make out her words. Maybe the fact that she was wondering when her deceased sister planned on visiting was, you know, a bad sign. Maybe her face, which was looking like a collagen injection gone viral, is an indicator of some sort of allergic reaction.

Maybe we should get her to the ICU, like her family has been practically begging for the past 24 hours, and, I dunno, give her a shot of something, or at least less of a shot of the other something that is dragging her mumbling toward the great beyond. I dunno, being just a laybun (in every sense of the word,) maybe I just lack the training to make that call. Thank god someone finally came around who could.

I wonder if this is what the family members feel like after a particularly draining episode of House?

I may or may not go into more detail later on, explain why I was seriously considering life after the loss of someone I was simply not ready to lose. Or maybe I'll just be glad of a happy ending, for once. Actually, I suppose the happiest bit is that it's not an ending at all. At least, not the one I feared.

In any event, thank you, all of you, who offered touching words of love and support. I'll be replying as I get the time, but for now, just accept that a bun's at peace, and awfully busy... for all the right reasons.

I don't want to go into any details here. I feel like, if I write about the specifics, or worse, turn it into a narrative, I'll end up writing an ending before we've muddled our way through the prologue. After all, endings are inevitable. But I'm not ready for that; I'm not ready to accept the possibility, let alone the inescapable. So instead, allow a bun bun to be frustratingly vague, if only because he... because I, don't want to accept a reality whose metaphorical parking certificate, I refuse to validate.

The most amazing human being this perverse little world has ever managed to produce in it's most inspired moment of rare, perfected positivity, is in the hospital. A massive chunk of my universe, my reality, the foundation for most good things you could manage to squeeze out of me, is suffering. This... should... not... be.

But it is, like a tornado, or an abusive patriarch, this is a thing, and it's a thing I have to deal with, as best as something like this can be dealt.

I'm hardly prepared for even this stage of the proceedings, let alone what might come after. I'm sure that's obvious, because I'm babbling right now. Half of you have given up on this journal in disgust, unable to pierce through this muddled, incoherent veil, to wherever it is I've hidden the point. My apologies, but I'm pretty sure I'm doing this on purpose. I'm allowing myself a chance to get lost in words, and raw emotion, in an effort to avoid the clinical, the profane mundane.

Still, for the purpose of clarity, let's rip that scab, shall we? My mother is in hospital, I'm not handling it well, this may not go very well, and if it does not, expect some changes to come. Until then, it's all a big wait and see. I'll take any positive thoughts, prayers, wishes, or bargaining chips any of you are willing to offer. I'll deal with devils, contract with Mephistopheles, and write checks to televangelists. Anything really, so long as it might help.

Beyond that, expect a somewhat here-and-there bun bun. Somedays, I'll be faving, responding, and watching ravenously, looking for erotic distraction, hiding myself in a carnal thicket. Somedays, I'll be on Steam, stealing cabbages from those recently widowed by fire-breathing dragons. And somedays, you may not hear from me at all; I'll simply not be, not as far as the internet at large is concerned. But trust me, I'll be existing in the real world, doing my damnedest to make something positive out of all this, to take care of my family, and wishing like hell I was back here, where the worst one has to deal with is a bit of community kerfuffle.

Thank you for the time you spent reading this, thank you for any positive thoughts you send my family's way, thank you for being there, and please forgive me if I am not.


tl;dr Bun's mother is in the hospital. Things are not going particularly well. Please keep a positive thought aside for our family.

Today is a day I never thought I'd see. I meant to write something up for this, something to mark the occasion, maybe share some of the less-than-pleasant aspects of my life. I was hoping it would be at least marginally inspirational, assuming one could slog through an extended bout of self-pitying bunny babble. But halfway through, I realized it might do more harm than good. It might hurt the people I care most about, the very people that helped me make it this far.

Today is the birthday a bun was never meant to have, and yet here I am, through the grace, patience, and support of those kind enough to share a bit of their lives with a somewhat self-destructive bit of fluff-n-stuff. That includes both family and friends, those I share my day-to-day struggles with, and those who know me only through a virtual interface, yet are often no less concerned with my well-being.

Today, I want to celebrate those people. They seem so much more important than the bit of trivia that is a bunny surviving a trip around the sun, a trip I never meant to take. So thank you, all of you, new friends and old, family by blood and family by shared experience. Every one of you seemed to know what a bunny refused to believe, that I had it in me to make it to this day, and through many more days to come. I am honored that this bonus time is being spent in such illustrious company.

And with that out of the way, today is the day a bunny consumes more cake than is absolutely healthy.

Tomorrow, well... we'll see.

The following was a response I wrote to another journal, discussing the oddities of adult artists requesting that their commenters refrain from creepy comments. Given how old the last journal was, I figured this was as good a topic as any with which to refresh. Make no mistake, the irony of a certain, mouthy bun bun posting something like this has not been lost. Allow this sinner to polish up a stone for casting.

That said, "Why we no creepy comment, if we can help it?"

Think of it like you were invited to an orgy. You're a stranger to the event (otherwise, you'd already know the ground rules,) but the moment you step in, it's obvious this is going to be a good time (because otherwise, why bother to comment?) You only know the participants by reputation. That's fine. After all, you aren't the only newcomer here. It's a semi-public event, so all sorts of people are there with various relationships to one another. The one thing everyone shares is a desire to not see this party end early on account of bad behavior.

Always keep in mind that the hosts of this event have no idea if you're a sweetheart, a world-worn romantic nursing broken dreams, or a madman from the deepest, darkest depths of 4chan. They don't know you, and you really don't know them. This is your shot, maybe your one shot, to make a good impression.

How do you put them at ease? You certainly don't unzip, let the drool dribble wetly down the front of your chin, and cry out, "which a' youse <expletives> wants a' taste?" At least, not without very clear indication, from the hosts, that this is exactly that kind of a party.

But wait, you may say, that guy over there is half out his trousers, spitting vile, and the hosts are obviously into it!

Doesn't matter, because you don't know what they know. He could be a dear friend, someone acting out for satire's sake. Or maybe they really do have that sort of relationship with the hosts, because the hosts knows them well enough to feel safe engaging in a way they normally wouldn't. Focus on your own behavior. Unless you have clear reason to believe otherwise, it's best to behave yourself, enjoy the orgy, and leave your special Magic Murder-Kink bag back in your Wizard van where it belongs. That is, until you've developed the sort of rapport with someone to know whether or not they'd be interested in having a peek.

Yes, an adult image on an adult site does invite a lot of adult discourse, but cultivating an environment where people can let their hair and/or pants down requires a space where all the participants feel safe to do so. When you fling the creep before you're sure the creep is welcome you jeopardize that sense of safety. Don't get upset when you misjudge a situation, most of us have at one point or another. Hell, a certain bun bun is famous for it. Just apologize, reconsider what made you think this was the right time for Daddy Big-D to let out a howl, and move on to the next party.

On a personal note, I enjoy knowing how hard a story of mine might have hit the reader, or what they might do with one of my characters, if given the chance. Just be respectful of the characters owned by other users, and realize that this is my house (or apartment, I suppose,) and those are my rules. For everywhere else, if you don't know, best to keep it civil, and make proper use of the welcoming mat before dragging your personal mess all over somebody's new carpet.

As an aside, if there is anyone who feels that I have violated the sanctity of their home with my own peculiar commentary, allow me this chance to apologize. I'll try my best to be better about it in the future.

I was going to write something long and involved, explaining where a bunny has been and where he hopes to go in the coming months. But seriously, how many of these "happy holiday" journals can you read before you just start skimming, then nuking? Well enough that you know I wish each and every one of you a wonderful holiday and an amazing new year.

Let's all get what we wished for, whether we deserve it or not. I figure reality owes us on some unpaid karma.

ITJ: A bunny butchers the concept of karma while hoping everyone has a good 'un. Ah well.

This is a special TMI Tuesday, story notes edition for A Familiar Fit.

For this story, I found myself tackling  sinister's world of well-endowed beauties with a taste for pounding their lovers (often young men) into submission. Sinister has several characters, all with intricate relationships, which I wanted to try and unravel a bit, starting with this piece. Basically, I'm creating my own canon with his characters, a special Bishiebunny continuity which I plan to continue for the foreseeable future.

Will I be slipping a certain bun bun into the mix? Only Aludiana knows for sure... but yes!

Confused? Too many names and not enough nookie? Not quite sure what characters go where, whose bits are in whom? Wanna know how a bunny thinks, or writes, or manages to commit so many Word Crimes in a single piece?

Now is the time and this is the place to ask!

I'm sure everyone is suffering from birthday fatigue by now. People snuggle up during the colder months, wearing everything but protection, clinging and gyrating against one another for warmth. Inevitably, ovens are filled with fresh buns, ready to pop come July. I've wished a dozen FA regulars a happy cake day, and now it's my turn.

No big, year-end reflection this year. No triumphant return from exile. This year is simpler, quieter, more intimate I suppose. This year there isn't much money to spare on a big celebration, can't afford to bring the gamer buds over for burgers and board games. It's been a rough year, and today is more about relaxing with loved ones, reminding ourselves that we got through it.

That said, it's also been one of my most productive years as far as story commissions and actually getting content out on the gallery. I've met new friends, both online and off, explored a few new kinks, and generally enjoyed myself, stress-induced panic attacks, not withstanding. I even managed to come to some sort of closure about my father, thanks to Walter White of all people.

Damn, I promised this year I wouldn't babble. So lets cut to the chase. The bunny is one year older today: huzzah! The bunny gets red velvet cake today: huzzah! The bunny will be quite happy to accept any well-wishes, material goods, and offerings of satin-clad shoe dangles that anyone feels up to gifting: huzzah!

Oh and the bunny fully intends to get off his plump, bubbly white butt and finish up a few story commissions over the coming weeks: hu-zzah!

As a few friends have asked, I thought I should give a heads-up on the current state of story commissions, and how one might acquire some personalized bunny smut of their very own.

First, an apology for the past few weeks of inactivity. RL found a vulnerable bun, lured him into her van with promises of sweet confections and transformable action figures, then did such wicked things as I would not dare repeat. The result was a bunny too busy with things like a newborn nephew, being bounced around various housing situations, and as always, financial woes, to get much writing done. For that, I do apologize.

Still, I did manage to gnaw through her leather straps and finish a piece off the queue. I think it's a fun one, and I did a bit of experimenting with it. If you have a taste for dominant school herms and forced feminization, I suggest giving Fancy That a try.

If you have a taste for other things, or just want more of the above, check out this Commission Journal for all the relevant details.

A special note about the queue should be made. We can talk about story plans all day. I'm happy to entertain ideas, and may even hammer out an outline or two. But to actually appear on the queue requires some form of payment. This is to protect me, but more importantly, this is to protect those who have already claimed a position.

I've included the current queue for the curious. Feel free to check this journal (or the original Commission Journal ) for updates, available positions, and progress on current stories.


Current Queue*
_______________________________________________________________________________

1)** 10K worth of the Missus Hyde to his Dr Pimp.



Feel free to ask any questions you might have. I am sure I managed to forget something.

*story titles are place holders, meant to suggest themes but will most likely be changed before publishing.

**Some may have noticed that final commission has been moved down the queue. This was by arrangement between Tobi and myself and is not indicative of usual queue behavior.