Local Bean Collects Stuff &Things @beaniebaneenie - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
Local Bean Collects Stuff &Things
@beaniebaneenie
I'm many things, including a bi-romantic asexual nonbinary Jewish writer with depression, PTSD, anxiety, and ADHD. My pronouns are they/them. I'm over 30yo, and though I'm ace, will occasionally write/post things that are NSFW... and even when I don't, I don't especially want minors following me. If you are under 18 and follow me anyway, I'm going to block you- it isn't personal. I'm a nerd and Fandom Old, and will curate my online experience.
The thing about the r slur is that people who are using it again are indeed using it as a slur. This isn't a word that is being reclaimed. This is a word that is once again being used 100% as a slur. You're being a bigot if you're using it against others. Straight up. There isn't another argument to be made. Knock it tf off.
This includes any version of various words with the -tard suffix, btw.
It's not somehow better, it's not morally okay, it's not "using their insults against them". It's you looking for permission to use a slur against an "acceptable" target.
The thing about the r slur is that people who are using it again are indeed using it as a slur. This isn't a word that is being reclaimed. This is a word that is once again being used 100% as a slur. You're being a bigot if you're using it against others. Straight up. There isn't another argument to be made. Knock it tf off.
i will say first this is not the fault of autistic people on tikok (or other social media platforms but im using "tiktok" as the example for this post), it is the fault of society as a whole. tiktok autistics choosing to only talk about certain parts of their experiences aren't at fault for what neurotypicals assume (though sometimes low support ones can contribute to the erasure of MSN/HSN autistics on purpose, but... that's a different issue).
what tiktok autism looks like (to neurotypicals, i mean)
ooh flappy hands (and other calm or "cute" stims)
i like steven universe or another cartoon!!! isn't it fun how i'm very into my interest at a quirky level, but still a normal one
i give off the vibe i can live independently (it does not actually matter if they can; neurotypicals will assume)
fully verbal, only occasionally loses speech
has sensory issues but isn't "annoying" about it
meltdowns are mostly being sad, not angry or weird
disassociates, maybe
has cool skills (good at academics, art, whatever)
all of those things are, of course, things autistics can experience. some are also infantilized (like liking children's shows or having "cute" stims). the problem is not that those autistics exist and talk about their experiences--the problem is neurotypicals assuming this is all autism is, "removing their biases" on these tiny groups of symptoms and experiences, and not destigmatizing:
being semiverbal or noverbal
incontinence issues or difficulty remembering/realizing you need to use the bathroom
needing a carer, part or full time, or being otherwise unable to live independently
being "weird" about our special interests or obsessed with them in a way that isn't palatable (like me)
having an interest that isn't "fun" or "cute"; something to do with horror or gore, something "strange" like stamp collecting or corgis, something "boring" like the war of 1812, whatever (like me)
autistics who grunt, rock, hit things, etc to stim ("weird" stimming) (like me.)
autistics who frequently dissasociate, have trouble remembering things, or can't follow instructions (like. me.)
meltdowns that are angry, loud, screamy, full of movement, or some other "inconvenient" meltdown (LIKE ME)
how their racialized, queerphobic, or physically ableist biases intersect with their view of non-white, queer, or physically disabled autistic people (e.g. thinking black autistics are scary, for some reason)
autistics who have difficulty using the right words or sentence structure and thus often say odd or technically incorrect things (like me--ok ill stop now)
intellectually disabled or otherwise non-high-IQ autistics, as well as autistics who were/are in special ed
not understanding danger/doing "reckless" or "stupid" things
autistics who are monotone, lack facial expressions, or appear not to show emotions (we are often called "creepy" or "scary" for this)
and more
none of this is destigmatized. i deal with several of them on a day-to-day basis. the autistic that is destigmatized is the "cute", inobtrusive, i-choose-not-to-discuss-my-bad-days, low-support needs, often white and/or physically abled autistic experience. an autistic experience that does not even truly exist, i'd wager--bc again, even those autistics who seem "destigmatized" will often immediately be stigmatized if they talk about any of their more negative or strange traits.
even i, a white low-support high-IQ autistic person, find my autism to cause people to make horrendous assumptions and say awful things about/to me very often. autism is not destigmatized.
I am sorry but you have Loki actually fighting with nothing and sill managing to bring down everyone and Thor having this huge ass hummer and you say Thor is stronger?
Honey strength is not just muscles
And this is why I don’t really get along with fics that portray him as helpless if his magic is removed. Loki is a walking death machine; he will never be harmless.
He’s always armed, too. Like you know he’s ALWAYS got a knife tucked away somewhere. If he can’t physically hide one on his person, he’ll have one squirreled away in Hammerspace (lol) or wherever the fuck he pulls things from with magic. This man is a walking arsenal of tiny, easily hidden things that can kill you, and no one will convince me otherwise.
Strength is not just muscles.
Knives are only as good as their user.
Don’t fuck with Loki.
Loki is a walking death machine; he will never be harmless.
This man is a walking arsenal of tiny, easily hidden things that can kill you, and no one will convince me otherwise.
I do believe we were robbed of a sequel to the nice guys but HEAR ME OUT the nice guys tv show where each episode is like somewhere from 40-60 minutes long and each episode is a different case OH and theres different side plots like with holly and high school (since like its been a decade since the movie)
Oh I am YEARNING for this silly crime show that never existed in the first place
warnings : car accident (detective gets hit); a bit of panic; an interrogation that shouldn't have gone like this; Holland tries to flirt; Jackson Healy
note : your day changes when an accident occurs
a/n : It feels good to be home. The summer break from school might finally stop me from feeling guilty whenever I want to write. (kidding... mostly.) I'm trying to get myself back together mentally. Some days are easier than others. Either way, let's ease into Monday gently. And thank you for being here.
It was an afternoon much like any other. Warm, sunny, unremarkable. You had already crossed two errands off your list and were just about to head out for a few groceries when everything changed. Your car rolled lazily down the street as you mentally went over what you still needed to buy. Then you turned right.
"Jesus!"
A man in a wrinkled blue suit appeared in front of your hood out of absolutely nowhere. You slammed on the brakes. The car stopped, but you still heard the dull thud.
"Fuck," you whispered to yourself, your heart dropping into your stomach. "I killed him."
You shoved the door open and rushed into the street. A second later you were standing in front of your car. The same man lay sprawled on the pavement, his eyes wide open. He blinked. Relief flooded through you. At least he was alive.
"Well..." he sighed. "I've had better Wednesdays."
You immediately knelt beside him, scanning him for blood, broken bones. Anything.
"Are you okay?"
He rubbed a hand over his face. "I think so."
A moment later he tried to sit up. You slipped an arm beneath his, helping him to his feet, and when his knees wobbled, you steadied him.
"See?" he grinned. "Standing all by myself.”
“I'll call that a success." You tried to smile back, but you were far too shaken.
The man studied you for a moment. Then, without any hesitation. "You're beautiful."
You blinked. “W-What?”
"Sorry. Bad timing." The man smiled embarrassedly, averting his gaze from your face.
"A little."
"But, you know..." He scratched the back of his neck. "If I was about to die... I'd rather make sure I told you."
That finally made you laugh. He visibly relaxed.
"Okay... if that means you're not about to sue me for attempted murder, I'll take it."
You brushed the dust from the sleeves of his jacket, already about to insist on driving him to a hospital to get checked out when another voice interrupted. Much lower and rougher. And considerably more annoyed.
"March! Jesus." A broad-shouldered man in an equally worn sport coat hurried over. "You got hit by another car? You were supposed to be watching the building."
"I was watching it!" the blond protested. "Very intensely. And then…"
"I hit him," you interrupted, looking apologetically at the older man. "He stepped out of nowhere and…"
"That's kind of his specialty," the man sighed. "Good thing he's alive. I'd hate for you to deal with the consequences of his own stupidity." He extended a hand. "Jackson Healy. Holland and I are working on a case."
"Oh."
Your accidental victim smiled sheepishly before raising a hand in greeting. "Holland March. Private investigator." He hesitated. "And you are...?"
You introduced yourself before glancing back at Healy.
"Maybe I should still take him to a hospital? Just in case something happened?"
Jackson gave Holland a long, practiced once-over. He looked like a man who had performed this exact inspection several times before. "He seems mostly intact." Then he shrugged. "If he starts talking nonsense, we probably won't even notice."
You smiled. Almost immediately Holland reached for the back of his head. "Actually..." His voice suddenly sounded much weaker. "I think... I might be getting dizzy."
Both of you turned toward him. Healy rolled his eyes.
"Don't scare her, March."
"I'm not." He grabbed your shoulder dramatically. "Oh. There it is again."
"We should probably get back to finding our suspect and…"
Suddenly Holland straightened. He pointed directly at you. "She's a witness."
You frowned. "Am I?”
"Absolutely." He nodded with complete confidence. "And I need to question you. Immediately. Over coffee."
Jackson closed his eyes. Here they went again. Whenever Holland lost his head over a woman, he somehow managed to convince himself, and everyone else, that whatever ridiculous idea had just entered his mind was absolutely essential to the investigation.
Healy wasn't in the mood today. It was hot. He was tired. Their suspect had almost certainly disappeared by now. He simply waved a dismissive hand. "Fine."
Holland practically lit up. He turned back toward you. "Would it bother you if I borrowed a few minutes of your time to... gather information vital to our investigation?"
"I think…"
"Wonderful!"
Before you could finish your sentence, Holland suddenly dropped flat onto the pavement and disappeared halfway underneath your car. You and Healy exchanged equally confused looks.
"It's okay!" His muffled voice echoed from beneath the vehicle. "I just need my wallet."
A few minutes later you found yourself walking beside the newly acquainted detective in the wrinkled blue suit toward a nearby café.
"First question," Holland announced as he held the door open for you. "Would you describe the suspect as devastatingly handsome?"
"W-What?" You frowned, but after a moment you smiled when you realized the meaning of the question.
"March," Healy groaned.
"It's relevant."
Coffee arrived shortly after you and Holland settled into a booth. Healy wisely chose a stool at the counter, doing everything in his power to pretend he wasn't with the two of you. You, on the other hand, thought the whole thing was strangely charming. Holland pushed his coffee aside before pulling a notebook and a pen from inside his jacket.
"I'm a professional," he declared after noticing your amused expression.
"I believe you." You smiled. "I'm just not sure I'm a professional witness."
"We'll manage." He winked before opening the notebook. "So… Second question."
You blinked. "Second? What happened to the first one?"
Holland shifted awkwardly. "Well… We already established that you find the suspect handsome, so..." He cleared his throat. "Question two. Are you from around here?"
You nodded. A few more questions followed. Where were you going before the incident ("You mean the fact that you threw yourself in front of my car?" "Technical details"). What were you doing for work? Were you seeing anyone? And more questions like that.
"I see." He scribbled something in the notebook. "So you're smart. Wonderful."
"I'm not sure that's actually good news for you," Healy muttered from across the café.
Apparently he could hear every word. Holland flushed slightly.
"I am conducting an interview," he announced. Then he looked back at you. "Do you have plans for Friday evening? Entirely investigation-related, of course."
Your attention drifted toward his notebook. Curious, you leaned just enough to peek. You expected notes from your "interview." Instead, you saw something entirely different.
LIKES ME?
Below it… Three neatly drawn boxes.
☐ YES ☐ NO ☐ MAYBE
Holland noticed your widening eyes. Then your smile. His own eyes grew enormous. He snapped the notebook shut.
"Those are..." He swallowed. "Private notes. Very important to the investigation."
"Oh." You hid another smile behind your coffee. "Right. I’m sorry."
You didn't laugh at him. You didn't tease him. You simply stayed where you were, smiling in a way that wasn't mocking at all. If anything it made Holland feel just a little braver. Even if he could still feel Jackson Healy silently judging him from across the room.
Finally, Holland reached into his pocket and produced a slightly bent business card. He slid it across the table toward you. You looked down at it.
Holland March Private Investigator.
Phone number underneath.
"If you ever need a detective..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Or if you... um...remember anything important. I'm available. You can call. Or... something."
"So..." You looked up. "Is the interview over?"
"I..." He shrugged. "I think it is."
Something in your expression gave him pause. Disappointment? You didn't seem eager to leave. Instead you continued absentmindedly turning the business card between your fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, Holland noticed Healy standing and impatiently pointing toward the exit. Time to go.
"What if you start feeling worse?" you suddenly asked.
Holland frowned. "You mean..."
"I hit you with my car."
"You barely grazed me."
"You were swaying."
"It's nothing."
"But still." You quickly reached for his pen and notebook. You found the page he'd written with your testimony and quickly jotted down a few numbers, then something else. Something he couldn't see. You pushed the closed notebook toward Holland. "It's my number. If anything happens... if you start feeling worse or anything. I'd feel better knowing you could call."
Holland stared at the notebook as if you'd just handed him the greatest treasure. He leafed through it and found a string of numbers, then a cross in the ☐ YES box.
"You're serious?" He looked up. His blue eyes brightened. "This is your real number?"
"Yeah." You smiled. "But if you don't want…"
"I do!" Far too quickly.
He carefully tucked the notebook into the inside pocket of his jacket, patted it once for good measure, and silently vowed to himself that he would call. Probably tonight.
"March!" Healy's voice cut through the moment. "We're leaving."
"Right." Holland leaned toward you one last time. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Jackson only seems mean. Inside, he's basically a marshmallow."
"Good to know."
You laughed again. He smiled instinctively at the sound.
"So..." You tilted your head. "See you around, Detective?"
"See you."
For another few seconds he simply looked at you. As though you'd become the best thing that had happened to him all day. Maybe all week. Eventually, however, even Holland March couldn't ignore Jackson Healy's increasingly murderous stare.
From your seat you watched him walk toward their car. Halfway there he turned back. For a second it looked like he wanted to return. To say something else. But when he saw you were still watching, and still smiling, he merely lifted a hand in a quiet goodbye. You waved back. Healy rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't stay that way.
The moment Holland climbed inside, the car pulled away before he'd even managed to shut the door properly. You knew he'd call. Somehow, you were already waiting for it. Maybe it was a little naive, but there was something about Holland March that made smiling feel effortless.
What you couldn't possibly know was that he was already rehearsing your first phone conversation in his head. Every sentence. Every joke. Every possible way it could go. Somehow, he already knew it was going to be an important call.
As far as Holland March was concerned, getting hit by a car had officially become the best thing that had happened to him all year. Jackson Healy, naturally, would spend the next several weeks insisting it was still the stupidest. And you? You smiled to yourself, completely forgetting what you were planning to buy before all this happened.
Can you please write some hcs for him being protective over reader when other kens try to talk to reader? Or Ken just being clingy, thank you!!
protective/clingy ken hcs !!
a/n: guys i lowkey didn’t expect to be getting so many ken requests but i’m kinda loving it LMAO 😭😭 i’m so so glad you like how i write him!!! i literally try to think of the most ridiculous thing possible and go hmmm yup yes that seems like ken
⟣ you often hang out at the beach, either relaxing in the shade of a palm tree or conversing with the other barbies. it’s become a habit of Ken’s to admire you from afar as he dutifully does his job, scouring the beach for any threats to your safety and happiness
⟣ but when Rival Ken walks up to you and strikes up a conversation, suddenly that's all that Ken can focus on— and then if you happen to laugh at something Rival Ken said?! oh he's seething. he gets so mad that he’ll reach for the nearest surfboard to break it, and then when it doesn’t break (it was a particularly durable surfboard, okay?), he resorts to launching the poor thing into the water
⟣ after throwing the board, flexing his biceps, stomping around, and giving himself a pep talk to make himself feel better, he smoothly sauntered up to the two of you and sized up Rival Ken.
⟣ “hey Ken, i noticed you were talking to my girlfriend. as her boyfriend, i can tell my girlfriend isn’t interested in speaking with you— and we have boyfriend girlfriend activities to attend to, since we’re boyfriend girlfriend and all, so…”
⟣ you lost track of how many times he wove in the term “girlfriend” and “boyfriend” into his little speech, so you eventually had to drag him away from the argument before it escalated into a spontaneous beach off
⟣ his mopey mood instantly evaporated when you led him away and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
⟣ like, you visibly saw him perk up with a little extra pep in his step, and he just turned to you with a smitten smile as you guys walked off, hand in hand
⟣ when he’s missing you, Ken will daydream and absentmindedly draw in the sand while he’s on the beach— call him Da Vinci the way he accidentally created a Mona Lisa looking masterpiece of you out of lines in the sand (alternatively, this may happen occasionally with sand castles as well. he’ll be thinking of you, and then suddenly there’s a life size sand sculpture of you striking a model pose)
⟣ you guys are almost always interlocking hands while you’re out together, but when any other ken approaches, Ken instinctively moves to wrap his arm around you instead to draw you closer
⟣ sometimes he gives you his gargantuan faux fur coat as another indicator that the other kens need to keep their hands off— it often swallows you whole and drowns you with all the fabric, but at least it’s super plush and voluminous
⟣ early on in your relationship, he gave you a giant “K” necklace so that the other kens knew you were his. (how that works i have no idea, since all of their names start with K… somehow they all unanimously understood who it was referring to though)
⟣ when you guys started cuddling, Ken thought he would always prefer to be the big spoon since it’s the more “manly” role. he very quickly discovered how false that was— he loves being held by you and snuggling into your touch
⟣ also, Ken always manages to find a way to touch you in some way. you’re tanning in the sun? he’s got his head resting against your stomach or legs. you’re sitting on a bench? he’s right there next to you, knee bumping against yours. you’re leaving for a girls night out? he teleports to the floor, clutching your ankle and pleading you not to leave with a kicked puppy expression.
⟣ one time, while you were making breakfast for the two of you, you suddenly felt a huge weight clambering on top of you— it was Ken. climbing you. like an oversized koala.
⟣ you sighed, not even surprised as you accepted your fate, inevitably losing your balance and toppling to the floor with him still very much attached to you
⟣ “seriously?”
⟣ “...i wanted to be closer to you.”
⟣ your new name should be the sun, because Ken’s life revolves around you— and he wouldn’t want it any other way. you’re his rainbow after the storm. his pot of gold. his divine girl. it wasn’t his lips you kissed, but his soul!! your milkshake brings this boy to the yard! (had to reference this hehe)
'Ken wants to cuddle, but it's the middle of a heatwave. He negotiates his way into your arms.'
The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, doing almost nothing against the thick, humid heat that pressed down on the bedroom like a weighted blanket from hell. The windows were swung open, but the night air outside was just as oppressive. You lay on top of the sheets in a tank top and shorts, already glistening with sweat. Ken, of course, was undeterred. You'd been rejecting his hugs all day because of the heat, and he had had just about enough.
He scooted closer on the mattress (wearing just his heart-patterned boxers), his blond hair slightly damp at the temples: when someone from Barbieland starts sweating, that's how you know it's hot. Still, his big, hopeful eyes locked onto you with puppy-like longing.
“Babe...?” he asked softly. You knew immediately from his tone what he was about to ask. “Can we do even a little cuddling? I can be the big spoon, if you want? I’ve been practicing my form— look!” He turned onto his side and stiffly demonstrated his new 'technique', smiling up at you proudly as he did so.
You turned your head toward him, giggling despite the discomfort.
“Ken, you know I want to, but it’s just so hot. If we cuddle I’m going to actually dissolve into a puddle, and you’ll have to explain to everyone why you're dating a pile of Y/N soup, and it'll be a whole thing." You huffed and wiped some hair from your damp brow, exhausted even by talking.
Ken’s face fell, earnest tragedy flashing across his features once again. He flipped onto his back with a theatrical sigh, one arm dramatically draped over his forehead.
“But we always cuddle at bedtime,” he whined, staring at the ceiling with wide sad eyes. “I need the closeness, the connection, the… the 'Ken and Y/N forever' energy to fall asleep!” You patted his arm sympathetically, then returned to your spread eagle position, trying desperately to let the lukewarm air hit as much as your body as possible.
He was quiet for a beat; you could almost hear the pink, plastic cogs turning in his head.
“Okay, how about this,” he said, rolling onto his side enthusiastically, propping his head on his hand. “What if we do cold spooning? I’ll go take a cold shower, and become a human ice pack. You won’t even notice the heat!” It was beyond endearing that he'd be willing to do that for you, but still: the idea of flesh-on-flesh right now sent a trickle of sweat down your spine.
"I dunno Ken..." you began, "still sounds a bit suffocating."
He furrowed his brows, then doubled down.
"We could put one of those cooling gel packs that you got for my sprained ankle between us? Like a little, cold chaperone. A chilly third wheel, if you will!” He beamed at you. You shook your head.
Ken's suggestions became increasingly ridiculous, ending with a final suggestion of his climbing into the fridge every ten minutes of spooning. When you gently but firmly said no to all cooling contraptions (because even that sounded sticky and awful right now), Ken nodded solemnly and sighed, like a man accepting his tragic fate.
He rose from the circular bed, and disappeared into the bathroom for a minute. When he returned, his hands were carefully carrying two damp washcloths he’d run under cold water. He placed one across your forehead with great gentleness, and laid the other across his own chest like a tiny blanket. Droplets of cold water ran down his hard flank, and you both sighed in relief.
“See? I’m adapting,” he announced proudly. “I’m being very independent. Look at me, not cuddling: I’m basically a zen master.”
He lasted about four minutes before he started scooting his foot over until just his ankle brushed yours— the tiniest possible point of contact. You shot him a look that said 'I see what you're doing'. He smiled innocently at you. You laughed softly and let him keep the ankle contact.
Eventually, he settled on his back, but reached out so his pinkie finger could hook with yours on the mattress between you.
“This is good,” he said quietly, though his voice was still a little wistful. “I just like knowing you’re here. Even if we’re both turning into puddles… I’m your puddle, and you’re mine.” After a moment, he added with a small, cheeky grin, "but when it cools down, I’m getting full cuddle tax. With interest".
"Of course," you giggled, giving his pinkie a squeeze. He curled contentedly into the bed, blankets thrown aside.
You fell asleep with pinkies linked, the damp washcloth cooling you down, a content little smile on your faces despite the heat.
Characters (in order): Ryland Grace, Lars Lindstrom, Henry Letham, Ken, Colt Seavers, Driver
Summary: They find out you still have—and sleep with—a stuffed animal or plushie. How do they react and treat it?
WARNINGS: None! Tooth-rotting fluff again ^^
Word Count: 607
Ryland Grace:
* Confesses that he still has a red fox plushie that he got as a kid at his apartment (he doesn’t always sleep with it, but it’s always there)
* Whenever he stays the night at your place afterward—because his apartment is a good bit smaller than yours—he brings his fox plushie
* Has accidentally left the fox at your apartment before and almost freaked out a little bit—until you texted him a picture of his fox and your stuffed animal together saying that they’ll keep each other company while you’re both at work
Lars Lindstrom:
* Knowing that you have something that you hold onto while you sleep is incredibly comforting to him
* Because he sleeps holding his baby blanket, and knowing how much you cherish your plushie just like how he cherishes his blanket means the world to him
* Treats it with the most respect and only ever with the gentlest of touches
* One time you came to him upset because a stitch had broken and your plushie was “hurt”, and he very carefully “performed surgery” on it (making sure all the stuffing is back inside and then stitching the hole closed) and you had to try not to practically tackle him in a hug from how much you appreciated him helping
Henry Letham:
* Doesn’t mind, treats it with respect
* On very rare occasions he has drawn it and made it tell a stupid joke (usually only if he knows you’ve been having a really tough time because it makes you smile)
* If you leave him at your apartment to go run a quick errand, he’ll hold it while drawing
* If you ask him about it when you return, he’ll say that it was “so it wouldn’t get lonely” but you know it’s because he missed you
Ken:
* Honestly gets a little bit jealous
* He’s right there!
* But then you tell him that you love it so much because it makes you think of him, and suddenly he doesn’t mind it so much
* Is even more okay with it when you get him a horse plushie of his own
* Loves when you dress up both of your stuffed animals in “matching outfits” (giving them matching ribbons/scarves/etc.), it reminds him of how the two of you try to match outfits every once in a while
Colt Seavers:
* Pokes fun at it lightheartedly at first
* But immediately backtracks when he sees that it hurt your feelings a little bit
* He thinks it’s really sweet and tells you so
* If you work with him on movies you’ll sneak it onto his trailer
* One day you walked into his trailer with coffee for him and found him napping, your stuffed animal held securely in his arms
* You managed to get a picture of it, and when he found it as your phone wallpaper, he pouted about it until you changed it to something that “didn’t lose him any tough guy points” (as if he truly has many to begin with, but you don’t tell him that)
Driver:
* Doesn’t actively comment on it, but thinks it’s sweet
* If it ever falls off the bed, he’ll carefully put it back where it was (either sitting on the bed or into your sleeping arms)
* If you decide to bring it on a drive once (“so it can see the world, too”, as you explained it with a smile) he’ll think it’s precious
* If you don’t think to bring your plushie with you the next time, he’ll ask about whether or not it’ll get lonely while the two of you are gone
* Sometimes you’ll end up bringing it again, and other times you’ll chuckle and tell him that it wants some time alone
More cuteness while I keep writing that Driver fic because it seems headcanon posts do really well ^^
2087
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
snowghoul
