#x-project

[xprojectrpg]

Happy Valentine's Day from X-Project!

(Clockwise from top: Arthur Centino, Amanda Sefton, Jessica Jones and Warren Worthington III)

Art by @thrakaboom

[tilde44]

Under Mi Sensi (Jungle Spliff) X Project Remix

[aerequets]

something about death, and sustenance, and decay. Idk

[buniix3]

[slasherfantasy]

Fuck-or-die sex pollen fic, where Ghost insists on being the one to fuck you and help you through the toxin.

The others think it's because he has a thing for you (he does), but only Price really understands why Ghost is volunteering. Because there was a time where Ghost also didn't have a say in whether or not someone was inside him, where his choice was also 'be fucked, or die'.

And at least if it's Ghost fucking you, he can make sure that it's as gentle and kind as you deserve. He can make sure it doesn't hurt, that it feels good, that you're given all the respect and dignity possible. You can't consent right now, but he's going to ensure you aren't traumatized like he was

And if he can do this for you, and be gentle, and kind, it proves that he really hasn't become who Roba wanted him to be, right?

[tojisun]

when the older man is the one with daddy issues so he's nurturing and careful and indulgent, but he's also so teasing when he's taking you apart. how he draws out the pleasure until you're crying, splintering at the edges, your words coming out in weak babbles. until you're pawing at him, begging for anything - your orgasm, a kiss, him to engulf you in his warm embrace.

but also thinking about how he loves to feed you; cooking up healthy and delicious meals, while you're over there in the living room busying yourself because last time you helped him, the two of you got distracted and forgot that there were potatoes in the oven.

or how he just loves buying you clothes; from shirts and sweaters to pants and skirts, to toques and scarves, down to the things you didn't even know you needed like an extra pair of gloves or stockings cuz you've torn the other one, remember?

and how he starts looking for a bigger house, somewhere with a bigger lot and a wider garage, and more rooms cuz you mentioned that you wanted your own office; that your back is starting to hurt from working in the dining room, with those old but lovingly worn out seats. and this one that he found has a bigger kitchen, with an island and tall, tall windows, and a place for a chandelier.

yeah, he's already imagining cooking for you here while you watch him from the island. this way, you're closer to him; easier for him to reach for a kiss.

and just also thinking about how he always picks you up from work; he's never late and sometimes, he'd even be too early. it's not even like he works odd hours because he should be finishing up at the same time that you do, but he rather bring his work to home - wrap up while you're already in bed, snoozing, not knowing that he crawled back out of it after he's cuddled you to sleep - than not pick you up at all. he loves the drive, anyway, and he's a senior at his position so he's got room for flexibility.

it's just, he is so greedy of every chance he can get to be with you. to be of service for you.

thinking about all of this knowing this is so john price :(

(ext)

[dblsoul]

wonderlands x fyp

[mal-nourish3d]

she was fake.

but i still felt her warmth.

even if it wasn't real, i would relive this feeling a thousand times more.

~ mal-nourish3d

[heartorbit]

MWAH!

[xprojectrpg]

Moment of Awesome - David Haller/Legion: Following his "healing" at the hands of Radha Dastoor, Haller meets with Quentin concerning his newfound ally's methods.

"Quentin. Thanks for meeting me."

Though the double-barreled shotgun Quentin held was only a psychic construct, as evidenced by the fact it was bright pink and glowed, Sydney's gun safety lessons were ingrained, so Quentin lowered it and set it aside before turning to face his visitor. "Jimothy. You seem . . . different. Did you do something with your hair?"

"No. I went to see Radha a couple days ago." The older man paused, as if struggling to find the right word. Then, seeming to find nothing more accurate, he said, "She cured me."

"Of your crippling need to sacrifice your own wellbeing for the sake of helping other people who barely appreciate it?"

"No." Haller looked at the target so recently decimated by Quentin's shotgun and raised a hand.

It happened slowly enough that the process was clear to the naked eye. The noise came first: a tortured snapping, like someone slowly bending a two by four. The wooden posts began to splinter as if unseen hands were rending the wood apart from every angle, shredding them into dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of pieces barely bigger than matchsticks. They hung in the air, a latticework of drifting wood, and the X-Man twisted his hand. The particles began to smolder, then swirl. A column of tiny flames swirled into the air like a swarm of fireflies. With a final snap of Haller's fingers the column exploded outward into a shining cloud.

The tattered paper target fluttered to the grass, untouched.

Ash raining around them, Haller turned back to Quentin.

"My other problem."

It was an impressive display, kind of showboaty considering Quentin's own telekinesis was limited to carrying groceries or packing a bowl, though he could appreciate the drama of it all, particularly the final snap.

"Looks like she just replaced mental illness with compulsory destruction of property," he sighed as he dismissed his psychic shotgun in a puff of pink mist. He would have to take to the Danger Room now to practice, and he really did not care to have any X-Man watching over his shoulder. "Not her best work. But a cure's a cure, I guess."

"I didn't ask for one. She didn't even warn me. She just did it." The words were uncharacteristically sharp. Even as he heard it he tried to rein himself in, but it was difficult. His emotions seemed to be closer to the surface, messier, especially the aspects that had previously been delegated to Cyndi and Jack. Haller took a deep breath and tried to choose his next words with care.

"Look," he said, "Radha saw something she thought was ugly, and instead of asking she just changed it. She went into my mind and made me conform to her expectations of what a real person should look like. Like I was just a piece of broken furniture she found on the side of the road that she could refurbish and sell off again." The counselor shook his head. "I know you respect her, and that she seems to have done a lot of good for a lot of people, but if this is how she thinks -- what are the implications for the world she's trying to build?"

Quentin crossed his arms and defiantly glared at Haller. (Just David now? He wondered. This meant Cyndi was gone. Pity.) "Seems to me she healed a lifetime of trauma and intense psychological impairment, which you've spent how many decades trying to treat? And no one else has ever even come close to it, while she did it in the blink of an eye. Painlessly. She found your problem and fixed you, and I bet she didn't even ask for a 'thank you' in return."

"That's the thing. She didn't fix anything. She just got rid of how I dealt with it. DID is a survival mechanism, not a party trick. If Radha had bothered to ask, I'd have told her the others were created to hold experiences and memories so traumatic I almost lost my mind, and that all she did by removing my ability to dissociate was ungate them for me all at once. Now I remember everything. Feel everything. Unfiltered." Haller took a swift step forward that brought him immediately into Quentin's space, staring the younger man dead in the eyes. A small blotch of brown in his left eye was the only remaining trace of his natural heterochromia, but the ice in his tone could have been Jack's.

"Tell me I'm lucky to remember the sound of fat popping while I burned six people alive," Haller whispered. "Tell me I should thank her for the memory of being trapped in every single one of their disintegrating minds as I tore the tendons from their bones. That I owe her for a memory I didn't even know I had: being trapped in the rubble under my guardian's corpse, smelling charred human meat while the flies crawled over us."

He was breathing hard now, and he could feel the telekinesis shivering just beneath his skin -- close. Too close. This wasn't Quentin's fault. Haller turned away and pressed his hands to his face, steadying himself. He took another deep breath. "Sorry," he said, "but those decades of worthless treatment are the only reason I'm still standing here."

[mikurinkuwu]

ive seen lots of brazilian miku fanarts so i wanted to draw a chilean miku bc im chilean!! HDJSJDHJSJ

[wondashoever]

long bacon store 😢

[gofishygo]

ok guys but hear me out..,

back before simon was drafted and he was still working in some butcher around the outskirts of manchester, he remembers a little bakery a few blocks down from his shop. although never particularly crowded, he's noticed the older locals go by in the mornings for coffee, kids guided in by their parents after schools to get a snack. but he doesn't seem to lounge in the corner of that cafe for either of those reasons- instead, he finds himself fawning over the pretty baker.

and you're nice to him, too- always smiling when you see him around, voice so sweet when you're at the butchers to buy some meat for the pies, sneakily trying to slip him a discount whenever he goes to buy a sandwich- 'hospitality workers gotta stick together, right?' it's no wonder that he finds himself falling for you, a stupid puppy crush that he tries, and occasionally fails, to suppress. and sometimes, simon lets himself believe you like him too, with the way the blood rushes to your cheeks when you spot him across the shelves, with he notes how you nearly fumble a frothing pot of milk when caught staring at him. it's a little attempt of young love that he thinks will be smothered out as he gets older.

but now it is twenty years later, he is working with the sas, and he is meant to be dead. but simon finds himself strolling his hometown, genuinely surprised that he sees the cafe still up, that he sees you, still working behind the display cabinets. you're older now, more mature, but your smile is just as pretty as it was those years ago. and he sees that glimmer of recognition in your eyes, how your head perks up at the sight of his figure outside of the window.

ghost smothers his cigarette and bins it before walking through the doors. may as well pay the bird a visit.

[sigh-tofm]

if you wear glasses …

… price

- makes sure you always feel beautiful, especially if you’re just starting out or feel insecure with them on. kisses the bridge of your nose and your forehead. wears his own reading glasses when he’s working on reports or just puttering around the house. sits with you on the veranda, hand in hand, reading quietly while the sun sets. both of you wearing your glasses.

… kyle

- forgets you wear them and sometimes kisses you so fervently that your combined breath fog them up. you giggle as he picks them off your nose and neatly deposits them on a free surface. you continue kissing him and to make it fair, kyle turns off the lights so he too needs to rely mostly on touch the rest of the evening. turns out touch is all either of you need.

… johnny

- has broken them on more than one occasion. he’s cracked the glass and bent the frame, and it has happened both during playful wrestling matches and, uh, intimate wrestling matches. visiting the optician to pick out a new pair becomes a bi-annual afternoon date for you two. johnny always pays and isn’t even ashamed to admit out loud what he’s done while your cheeks heat and you look anywhere but at the optician.

… ghost

- always makes sure they’re clean. once you take them off to sleep, shower or just rub your eyes, he steals them away (sometimes right from your fingers or even nose if you’ve managed to get something on the glass while cooking). first uses an alcohol wipe and then dries them off with a soft linen cloth bought especially for that purpose. does not let you clean them yourself. likes to make your life easier when he can.

[kibermonakh]