if i’m ever brutally murdered and everyone feels like they need to do something productive in my memory, all i want is for you to pass legislation banning LED headlights in my name. regardless of how irrelevant it is to my murder. it’s relevant to my heart.
wrote this instead of any of the requests in my inbox lol. all of these Ken fics are set in a universe I’m calling my “y/n and the real boy”-verse (yes, including the secret sexy videos).
Ken x gn!reader. fluff. canon-typical silliness. written bc my friend Marie said Ken would want his last name to be “Beach”.
“What’s your last name?”
“Hm?” Ken glances up from where he’s lying belly-down on your bed, legs kicked up in the air as he leafs through a quiz in an old magazine.
“Your last name, Ken. What is it?”
“Oh. I don’t know! Not sure I have one. Hey, what would you say my love language is?”
“Quality time,” you say, without missing a beat. It’s true. He hasn’t left your side since he turned up on your doorstep. You’ve set him up in the guest bedroom but you know he’s sneaking into yours at night and laying at your feet like a dog. He is a beefy, unsubtle man, so you wake up every time he does it without fail, but out of kindness you’ve chosen not to mention it.
Plus you maybe like it. A bit.
“But be careful with all that,” you add on, “that whole love languages thing is rooted in misogyny. It’s not super healthy to take it as gospel.”
Ken lets out a little scream and then frisbees the entire magazine out of the window as if it’s just grown teeth and tried to bite him. You stare at it as it plummets.
“You can’t throw stuff out the window, Ken. We’re six storeys up.”
“I should if it’s misogynistic!” he counters, and you suppose you can’t argue with that. You go back to the problem at hand.
“Okay, well, shall we make up a last name, then?”
“Why do you need to know it so bad, anyway?”
“Because I’ve told you, the piece of plastic you brought with you does not work as a passport in the human world.”
You have a friend who specialises in making fake IDs. For noble reasons - usually to help victims get away from abusive partners - but they’re happy to help you with this conundrum, too. Not that you’ve gone into too much detail. Nobody would believe Ken is a doll turned human, you think, no matter how gloriously toned his abs are.
Stop thinking about his abs. He’s talking. You tune back in to the conversation.
“How about ‘Beach’? I like the beach.”
You wonder for a moment what it’s like to live inside his brain. It must be so gloriously unburdened by thoughts.
“I think maybe we should go for something more common and, uh, believable.”
Ken pouts. It’s annoyingly adorable.
“Can’t I just use your last name? I’m your Ken doll.”
A weird feeling comes over you. It’s a bit… possessive, if you had to put a word to it, but in a way that Ken clearly wants to be possessed by you. That this handsome, silly man is so willing to be yours so easily. Is so happy to trust you with his well-being. So maybe, if you’re even beginning to entertain this silly fantasy, and that one day he could be more than just the guy who now suddenly lives in your house… maybe you want a separate surname to him. Just so people think you aren’t dating a relative or whatever.
“Oh, wait, duh,” you say, and type ‘Barbie Ken’ into your search engine. The Wikipedia page pops up and you click on it.
“Here we go - Kenneth Sean Carson Junior. Huh. You have a dad?”
Ken shrugs.
“I guess so. I’m not sure! Do you want me to have a dad?”
You’re not sure how to answer that, but luckily you don’t have to, because you get an email through. It’s from your landlord and the title is ‘magazine thrown out of window?’.
You groan. It’s going to be a long day.
tags: @kenstimetoshine @nerd-do-well @kiffycreative @bookerdefay @pixiebuggz @regalfirebird @go-bonkers-go-foolish @inthegalaxxy@sexyleftist @julepod @cosmicyeehaw @s4turnsb3st @qardasngan @valentine-blue (lmk if you wanna be added or removed!)
im sitting on a patio at my favorite cafe rn and im hand stitching them hem of a dress im working on. and i can see why someone would say im being performative by working on something like this in a public space. but frankly theres no element of that. i just want to work somewhere that isnt my apartment. i want to be in public, i wanna chat with strangers, i wanna see the world. it’s nice to hang out somewhere that isnt my home!
what i mean is when you say people are being performative you discourage them from doing shit they love in public. and thats no way to foster the world we want to see.