Okay, this is probably not what you were expecting (honestly, I wasn’t either) but this is what popped into my head:
Accidental Mage Eric R. Bittle
You see, Mages in the modern world are very rare and very powerful and usually all born into a few select families, that peculiarly all start with the letter N, end with the letter L, and have a Q somewhere in the middle. Obviously, Bitty does not belong to this family but because magic has always been known to do what it wants, Bitty ends up with Magic anyway.
It was just that no one knew it. No one even knew to look for it.
Growing up, Eric R. Bittle was so busy hiding things – namely,, the disgust he felt whenever he saw a human being in camo and his attraction to the male figure – that he didn’t manage to notice all the downright strange things that happened around him rather frequently. The fact that if he were in a really sad mood, it would always rain. The fact that he could sometimes turn off the lights in his room by blinking his eyes. The fact that one time, he wished hard enough for his pie to be done baking right this second and it was.
And so, Eric R. Bittle failed to realize that he was, in fact, a Mage.
But, Petals! you say. What the fuck does this have to do with a bunny??
And to that I say:
ACCIDENTAL MAGES CREATE ACCIDENTAL FAMILIARS.
If asked, Eric R. Bittle would say that he acquired Senor Bunny as a baby present from his mother. If Suzanne Bittle were asked, she would say that it is one of the few baby toys Coach Bittle brought home. If you were to take this information to the football coach in question, he would look quite confused and say that he thought Suzanne received it as a Baby Shower gift.
The truth of the matter is this: At approximately 7 months, Senor Bunny popped into existence and into Bitty’s crib. Because before Mages have the power to summon living familiars, they unthinkingly create stuffed familiars.
Were Bitty born into a Mage-family, this would be an immediate sign that he inherited the gift of magic and trained accordingly. As it is, he was not. And so this act of spontaneous creation went completely unnoticed.
First and foremost, familiars are beings of protection. They guard their Mages from magical danger and keep watch for dragons, evil spirits, and other nasty things- such as legos left on the floor and cough syrup. A newly formed familiar such as Senor Bun cannot protect against human things, but Bitty has never stubbed his toe in his room and has never had to sharpen a pencil. Also, for all the things that Senor Bun cannot help with, he can at least listen. Which some would say is actually the most important function of a familiar.
So Bitty grew up with Senor Bunny and felt an attachment and never questioned why Senor Bunny did not seem to get gross and/or ratty with age.
He also did not question how Senor Bunny got to Samwell, when Bitty was quite certain he had made the decision to grow up and leave his stuffed rabbit behind (especially when he was going to be living in a dorm). Instead, Bitty unpacked him, smiling fondly thinking of his Mother packing Senor Bunny up good at safe and continued with his day.
Now, Bitty has Jack. And, more importantly, Jack has his own apartment. His own apartment that must also be kept safe. And so, even though he still has no idea of his own powers, Bitty created a familiar for that apartment as well.
If asked, Jack would say that Bitty brought the bunny as a welcome present. Bitty thinks that Jack bought it to make it clear the kitchen is his.
Neither think to question it.
In fact, no one ever questions it. When Lardo finds a painting of a bunny in Shitty’s apartment (that she will later move into), she just assumes that it was a present from Bitty. Shitty assumes it is a present from her. When Ransom and Holster find bunny salt and pepper shakers in their new apartment, they also assume gift from Bitty (even though Bitty has not yet been to their apartment, did not help them pack, and does not actually know their address. Ransom and Holster are not very bright.) When Bitty moves out, Chowder cries when he sees the rabbit tablecloth on the kitchen table and in the next four years it stays at The Haus (it disappears when Tango and Whiskey graduate), no one once wonders how it stays perfectly clean and never gets lost, even during a SMH kegster.
Of course, when Bitty turns 25 and he wakes up with a live bunny on his face, he will question that.
MONSIEUR LAPIN. Monsieur Lapin needs his own spin-off. The Torrid Romance of Señor Bun and Monsieur Lapin. Someone, anyone, please fic me now.
You’re new, and you’re not particularly special. You knew it from the start. Some rabbits are sewn by hand with love and care, but you were sewn by a woman who desperately wanted her shift to be over. Some rabbits are sold in a toy shop, left in a low bin where a child could pick them up and choose to love them; you were an impulse item in a grocery store, left out of season on top of a checkout stand cooler. No child could do more than glimpse the fuzzy tops of your ears there. You almost didn’t care when a giant man looked down on you after he’d put his groceries on the conveyor belt, then huffed a laugh, plucked you out of your spot, and tossed you next to a bag of frozen chicken breasts.
The concrete countertop is cool beneath your cotton haunches. You watch the boy and your giant man recline on the couch, limbs tangled. Laughing. They are holding each other. They are holding each other the way you’re sure the boy holds Señor Bunny.
When they leave, you let your mind wander. You do not wonder where they go. You do not wonder what they are doing. Your stuffing brain cannot jump through these mental hoops and you do not wish it could. You only wish to be where they are, and be held as they hold each other.
The glowing, green numbers on the microwave tremble and shudder their way into the next hour. And the next.
Was he ever assessed or diagnosed? Did someone spot that this wee babby was touched in the head? Did anyone catch it, think it was significant, care? I mean, there’s good odds he was, but what if he wasn’t?
If he was assessed or diagnosed, do Bob and Alicia know? (You’d think, “they’re his parents, of course they know” but I know many people whose parents weren’t told.) If they were told, do they think it’s a valid diagnosis? Did they reject it as criticism of Their Perfect Baby? Do they champion “He’s not disabled, he’s just unique”?
Did anyone ever tell Jack? Did anyone ever tell him why he was so weird, why he had problems making friends, why he had screaming meltdowns when his hockey bag wasn’t packed just so, why he couldn’t eat half the foods everyone else did, why everyone got bored of listening to him talk before he got bored of talking, why the world was too loud and too bright and nobody else seemed to notice? Did anyone ever explain that to him and help him with it? Did anyone ever tell him that he wasn’t broken, he was just Autistic?
Or did they keep it a secret from him? Did they “not want to stigmatize him”? Did they “not want him to feel ‘less than’ the other children”? Did they just leave him to conclude that he was broken, and not the kind of person who would have friends or be lovable the normal way, but at least he could play hockey?
When did he first encounter Autism in somebody else when he knew what it was?
Did he sit down with an Autistic classmate at Samwell to work on a group project to have her say, “It’s so noisy and overwhelming in here, can we move somewhere quieter?” and while they walked across the Quad she apologized, “I’m just really sensitive to environment, it’s an Autism thing,” and he said, “No, that makes perfect sense. I don’t know how anybody could think in there.”? Did he meet a child, a seven-year-old who wouldn’t look him in the eyes but could recite all his statistics, hands flapping like leaves in the breeze, and exclaim how impressed he was because her hockey card collection was bigger than his? Did he sit down in a classroom for a community outreach event while someone explained how the school was designed to teach children how to self-regulate through sensory activities, pick a Tangle toy out of the basket of fidget toys on the desk, play with it the entire time without noticing and almost accidentally walk out with it after?
Does he figure it out when he has an Autistic child, when the pediatrician explains Autism to him and he says, “Wait, but–I was exactly like that when I was a kid.”? Does he hum back, that wild high distressed noise he’s forgotten he used to make, the noise their kid makes that drives Bitty a little nuts, hums and adjusts the pitch and rocks back and forth on his toes until he and his kid are doing it at the same frequency, in the same rhythm, and then his child is calm again? When he tells Bob and Alicia, do they say, “Yes, the doctors thought you had the same thing when you were a child”?
Does he start to understand himself as an Autistic adult, let his hands start to flap at his sides again when he’s feeling anxious, accept that his weirdnesses aren’t flaws? Does he take deliberate joy in the ritual of taping his stick before a game, does he let himself go grocery shopping for both the super-organic-ultra-natural peanut butter Bitty likes, and also the exact same brand of cheap, processed peanut butter he liked as a child? Does he get Autistic friends, people he can sit around a table with not making eye contact but definitely making sly, deadpan jokes? Does he meet fans who say, whose parents say, they’re autistic, and tell them, “Me too?”
Does he understand himself as an Autistic man who gets a life of his own, a house he takes care of, a job that he loves, an Allistic husband who loves him like mad, and a bright future that shows no signs of dimming?
Does he find a way to tell the rest of the world that’s what he is, too?
ealdor 