#kikki

[arcadebroke]

[heartfeltarcher]

🎀 Pudding Fong / Kikki Benjamin from Tokyo Mew Mew Power for day 5

[darlingkikki]

Soldier Distribution System (Screw Your 3rd Amendment Rights)

You come home to find a man on your couch.

He has a sewing needle and a mask similar to the one hiding most of his face in his hands. A hot cup of tea sits in the middle of your coffee table. The rolling steam from the mug (the one you bought at a souvenir shop a few years ago) carries the smell of Earl Grey into the air. He doesn’t look up at you. Spares you no acknowledgement at all. He’s humming a lazy melody in a low timbre as he plunges the needle into the fabric and pulls the thread taut. Fabric ripped by who knows what brought back together by careful hands.

You’re left gaping. 

He’s in a stripped-down version of a uniform. You can tell from the bold font of an official-looking acronym plastered over his broad chest, the corners of said letters slightly stretched outwards. A soldier has chosen your home as the perfect place to settle down. You don’t know how to react.

He looks up at you once it’s clear you're not slipping into your role. Playing along. Pretending that you know who he is and that he's always been here and none of this is out of the ordinary. You’re not as scared as you should be, thankfully, but you're surprised enough that your feet remain starkly planted on the wool carpet. 

That won’t do at all. Not for him. He craves an ounce of normalcy, even in these unconventional circumstances. You need to go about your business without a hiccup. Make him feel a sense of belonging.

“Fixed yer shower head," he says gruffly, "pressure was shite." A show of his usefulness. He's a black cat leaving a dead rat on your ‘Welcome’ mat and sticking out its neck for a well-earned scratch. 

You sputter out a “What?” and his hands twitch. He sets the mask down, draping it over one of his thighs as he reclines against the cushions. Your cushions. Enigmatic pools flicker to the dark corridor behind you and he tilts his head to the side.

“Shower,” he repeats. Chewing each syllable, like it’s a chore to explain to you. “Fixed it. Heater too, some idiot put the filter in upside-down.”

His gaze crawls up your body and you think you can make out his brows raising under his mask. 

“And yer out of milk.”

[makingyourfavindti]

Welcome to tumblr! Amazing concept for a blog, could I request any of the main girls from Mew Mew Power :)

i made the mews from tokyo mew mew / mew mew power in dress to impress

thanks for the request!

[fureiya]

東京ミュウミュウ // pudding manga icons

✨Free to use, credit not necessary ( ´ ▽ ` )

[bearotonin-international]

Kikki wants you to see the salmon she did such a good job slammin

[sleepytoycollection]

for whatever reason toy companies don't release very many green doll clothes, so I haven't redressed Luigi in a while, but when I saw this set I thought I'd try it for him

it's very nicely made and looks very cute

[starwardzobie]

My version of the mew mews!

[meetherinparis]

Kikki's Delivery, take care that you do not loose your kitty

[usagi-zakura]

Who let the buns out?

[yesisgreat]

[eurovisionart]

🇸🇪 Kikki Danielsson - Bra vibrationer

[dogboyklug]

drawings with wacky effects ive made recently

dead guy (silver beads to read flowers) and the bitch who's possessing them (seven golden glories) both belong to @comrade-slugcat

[darlingkikki]

omg, late to your ghoap post but au where you’re just crying asking if johnny doesn’t love you or take the relationship seriously because he kissed someone else while ghost is sitting there waiting for his kiss. thinks you’re so pretty hiccuping and crying but damn he wants that kiss already

Warnings: Manipulative Ghost, bitch boy Johnny (lmao but seriously), dubcon (mostly for the illusion of choice but the kiss is consensual)

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

I am in a writing funk but I forced myself to at least explore more of this because I so badly want to but my brain is mush :( (not edited so just focus on the vibes)

initial post linked here

Something dark and insatiable claws at the inside of Ghost’s skull. To repress it, his blunt nails bite into his palms. He watches Johnny’s hands cup your crestfallen face, his expression knotted with the heaviness of remorse. Above the sound of your hiccuping questions, he can just about pick up Johnny’s attempts to soothe your broken heart. 

“Course I love yeh. That hasn’t changed.” 

“Nah, dinnae say that. I did a dumb thing. I’m always doing dumb things. It’s nothin’ to do with yeh.”

“I pushed them away, just not quick enough. I didnae do anything more, I promise.” 

He’s unyielding in holding your gaze. His thumbs trace gentle, methodical circles on your cheeks, wiping away the moisture under your eyes. Selfishly, cruelly, Simon wishes you would stop sobbing already so he can take over. Johnny promised him a kiss from you, so a kiss is what he’ll be leaving with.

You seem to be a gentle, sweet thing so far, even with a pouty frown pulling the corners of your lips downwards. Sensitive too. (What other parts of you share that same description?). A few tears evade Johnny’s thumbs. They roll down the swell of your cheeks. Ghost licks his lips, imagining his tongue following the wet trails down to the collar of your shirt.

Fuck, he needs this kiss bad.

If Johnny is desperate enough for your forgiveness, maybe he can push this further with you. Convince him that a kiss isn’t enough. That you deserve—no, need something more. Johnny will be easy to sway. You, however, he’s still figuring out as Johnny calms you into soft sniffles. 

“There you go, now yer ready to meet my Lt.,” Johnny coos. He steps around you, putting his hands on either side of your face and angling you to look where Ghost has been standing this entire time. “Go on, give me hell Ghost.” 

Fucking finally. Ghost doesn’t respond. He can’t. Not when the sight of you has him sucking in a sharp breath. 

Christ, what a sight you are.

His body moves, driven by greed when you stare at him all confused and teary-eyed. His favorite combination.

“Good finally meetin’ you,” Ghost says. His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor. He hasn’t even taken his boots off.

Johnny’s fingers tighten to keep you looking straight at Ghost. Like a puppeteer, though it’s clear who has the ultimate hold on the strings. 

“Why is he here?” You ask, trying and failing to turn your head towards Johnny. Nope, not yet. It’s Ghost’s turn now and Johnny bows out of the equation.

Their positions have switched seamlessly, like dancers performing around your body. Or soldiers following a meticulous plan only they are privy to. The smell of alcohol leaves your nostrils, replaced by mint and heady tobacco. It's sense whiplash and your confusion makes for an excellent distraction from your heartache. A distraction Ghost can use to worm his way in.

“I’m here to make it better,” Simon answers after a beat. His eyes are devilishly dark, indistinguishable from a starless night sky. Inky like pools of tar. He says your name with the familiarity of a lover. An undeniable hunger laces his voice and a shudder slithers down your spine. 

Oh yes, he thinks, smirking like a starving lion, you won’t need much convincing. Your reaction speaks volumes. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “Your boyfriend's hurt you, yeah? You shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

He’s right, you know that. To forgive Johnny would only lead to a forever-repeating cycle of tears and heartache. But what choice did you have now? 

The luxury of choosing for yourself is a privilege these men have taken for themselves. 

Ghost leans in until his lips are just a hair’s breadth away. He’s dangling a carrot in front of your face—the answer to all your pain. 

Johnny's grip on your head loosens. Without it, you'd have forgotten entirely that he was still here, acting as the hard place Ghost urges you towards with a coaxing grasp on your hips, leaving you in his cage and Johnny a willful voyeur. 

He’s tied your neurons in knots, effectively cutting off any chance you have at making a less rash decision. He’s infiltrated your senses and made you his prey. No one could fault you for believing him when he tells you he’ll make it better. Let the warmth of his mouth be a band-aid for your pain and a knife in Johnny’s chest.

"Let me fix it," Ghost whispers, just before his lips are about to claim yours.

It's not a question.

[dark-hate]

Nothing special, just my little sketch