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Fanfic graveyard time!

Um, these are from way back in '01 and '02. I was cleaning out my ff.net account, but then I figured in mid-delete mode that it was too much work, so here's the four that I had already deleted. All X-Men.

Disclaimer: Standard procedure. Marvel owns everybody except for Kate. I own her. The X-Files, Titanic, Mission Impossible, and X-Men movies belong to their respective owners. I’m not making any money off of this, I just thought it up one night while taking a break from writing a college research paper. That alone should tell you I have no money to give anyone, so don’t sue.
Written 4/17/01

Opening Night
ice princess deluxe

The line to the movies was terrible as usual when it came to an opening night for a film. Five people were fidgeting in the middle of the line, counting cash and looking at the clock on the wall. One person in particular was impatiently tapping his boot on the linoleum floor.

“It doesn’t take a person this flamin’ long to decide what kind of drink they want. The show’s gonna start in fifteen minutes,” he grumbled. The woman next to him rocked on her heels and let out a sigh.

“I just hope we can get good seats. The last time we went to a movie, there was this big guy sitting right in front of me and I couldn’t see anything.”

“What was the last movie we went to? I don’t remember it.”

“That’s because you two were necking in the back row. I hope you don’t plan on doing that tonight,” the man in front of them said, pushing his red tinted glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“You’re mad ‘cause Jean just wants to see the movie Cyke.”

“Speaking of Jean, where is she?” Kate asked.

“Don’t know. She and Hank had to finish up some stuff back at the mansion, but they said they would be here before the previews started,” Scott said, looking towards the front entrance.

“At least Chuck, Jubes, and Rogue went in the theater before us to get some seats. I just hope Jubilee doesn’t get the front row ones. You have to scrunch down with your head practically on your seat to see anything from that angle,” Logan complained.

“That’s where you got that crick in your neck from. Didn’t you go and see Titanic with Jubilee one time?” Kate asked.

“Yeah, and before you say anything Scott, I went to see it because nobody else wanted to go with her. She promised it would be the last time she was gonna see it anyway,” Logan said.

“Well, seeing a movie seventy-five times is a record. I wonder how good dis movie goin’ be,” Remy said, breathing a sigh of relief when the line to the snack bar finally moved up. It took five minutes to get to the front of the line and another five to get the teenage guy behind the counter to stop staring at Ororo and Kate, pick his jaw off the counter, and get their goodies.

“For the last time Logan, they don’t serve beer here. Get a soda instead,” Ororo said, balancing the tub of popcorn in one hand and her drink in the other.

“No beer, no smoking, this movie had better be good.”

They finally got inside the theater and found the girls and the professor sitting in the middle section.

“Did you get my Mike and Ike’s?” Jubilee asked, making room for them to find a seat.

“Don’t know how you can eat these Jubes,” he answered, tossing the candy to her. Just then Jean, Bobby, and a man that looked amazingly like Tom Cruise from Mission Impossible found them. They hurriedly seated themselves as the lights dimmed.

“Tom Cruise?” Kate asked, looking to her right.

“I heard this was an action movie. I couldn’t think of anyone else at the moment. What’s the use of having an image inducer when you can’t have a little fun huh?” Hank asked, taking something from his jacket pocket.

“And besides, Mrs. Grey-Summers, Mr. Drake, and myself purchased several packages of cellophane wrapped bliss in the form of a yummy, golden-crusted desert cake at the local convenience store,” he said, waving something in Kate’s face.

“Mmm, Twinkies. Gimme,” she made a grab for one, but Hank pulled it out of her reach.

“Not until you say the magic word.”


“That’s not it.”

“Bobby, may I have one of your Twinkies?” Kate asked, leaning over Hank to get one that Bobby had in his hand.

“That a girl. Let Bobby have fewer than me.”

“Shh, the show’s starting,” Ororo whispered from the aisle seat on the right. The lights went out and the previews started. Bobby settled in his seat and grabbed a handful of popcorn from Ororo’s tub and Logan ‘yawned’, putting his arm around Kate. The screen went black and then the movie itself started. The team was silent for the first five or so minutes of the film, but then when Rogue got a look at who was playing her, the whispers began.

“Oh ma gawd. Her accent,” Rogue gasped.

“What accent? It kind of fades in and out,” Jean asked.

“Ma point exactly.”

“Cher, where’s de streak in your hair?”

“Hey Rogue, when did you get flat-chested?”

“Shut up Bobby.”

“I mean, look at you. Now look at her. No similarities in boob size.”

“Ah said shut up Bobby, or else I’ll give ya a big, sloppy kiss.”

“Robert Drake, I suggest you leave our Southern belle alone for the duration of the film or else I might have to cut off your Twinkie supply,” Hank whispered to his friend.

“Eep. Shutting up now.”

“When am I gonna show up? I know I’m in here, I read the reviews.” Logan asked, getting impatient.

“Shh, this scene looks familiar,” Kate said, pointing to the dimly lit bar.

“Yeah, didn’t we go somewhere like this once?” he asked. They watched the camera pan about to a cage where a bare-chested man stood with his back to the camera.

“Bet you ten to one that’s our Canucklehead there,” Rogue commented. The ladies caught a good look at the actor, looked at Logan, then back at the actor again.

“At least he’s got your hair down pretty much,” Jean said.

“I think I speak for all of us females when I say thank you whoever cast this movie,” Ororo said, taking a sip of her drink. “Hey! Bobby, you ate all my popcorn!”

“Sorry.” Logan noticed that Kate had leaned forward in her seat and his arm had slipped off her shoulders completely.

“Darlin’, you ok? Katie? Katlin.” Kate blinked and looked at him, dazed.

“Huh? Oh yeah Logan, I’m fine. Wow, who is that man?” she breathed.

“Don’t sound okay to me. Jubes, does she sound okay to you? Jubes?”

“Huh? Yeah, whatever Wolvie. We gotta stay for the credits to see who this hunk is,” she said, her eyes glued to the screen.

“Great, I’m surrounded by women drooling over the wrong me,” he grumbled. “Hank, what d’you make of this?”

“Huh? I’m trying to reconfigure this image inducer in the dark, it takes a certain amount of concentration. Did you say something Logan?”


“Hey, it’s Captain Picard! Beam me up Scotty!”

“Wrong era for Scotty. And I think he’s doing a wonderful job portraying me.”

“Aww, why did Logan have to put on a shirt?”


“Sorry Scott.”

“Look! It’s Kitty!”

“And there’s Peter! They’re kids!”

“Look, look! There I am! Do I get any cool lines?” Jubilee excitedly asked.

“Is that boy with the basketball supposed to be Kurt sans the blue fuzz?”

“Speaking of blue fuzz, we just passed a scene in the MedLab and I wasn’t there,” Hank said, chewing on another Twinkie.

“That’s because there’s a shortage of big, hairy blue actors Hank,” Kate said.

“They found a hairy guy to play Logan.”

“I heard that Popsicle.”

“Speaking of Popsicle, don’t look now Bobby, but you’re on,” Scott said.

“I am? Who’s playing me? Robert Redford? Tom Cruise? Brad Pitt? Some tall, handsome man that can give my persona a debonair role?” Bobby asked, sitting up straighter.

“Um no. It’s that kid hitting on Rogue,” Scott answered.

“Do WHAT? You gotta be joking!”

“Shh!” a woman a row in front of them said.

“I can’t believe this. I’m a freaking kid!”

“At least you have a part in de movie mon ami. Remy don’t see himself anywhere,” Remy grumbled as he popped a few Junior Mints in his mouth.


“We heard you de first time lady!”

“Jean, do I come on to you that much?” Logan asked.

“You used to, but I think the screenwriters are just trying to give the audience a sub-plot,” Jean answered.

“Why do you think I never really liked you Logan?” Scott put in.

“I always thought it was because you’re such an ass.”


“Boys, not here,” Jean and Kate said at the same time.

“Ewww! Wolvie, Kate! Go to the back of the theater to do that!”

“See Jean, what did I tell you? I knew they were going to start necking sometime in the movie, I just knew it!”

“Hank, what’s the time?” Jean asked.

“Ah, ninety minutes and four seconds into the film,” Hank replied, looking at his watch.

“I win. Hand over the money,” Scott said triumphantly.

“Wait right dere. I said dey would keep off doing anyt’ing for de longest. Hand de money to me.”

“And I had so much faith that they wouldn’t do anything at all. Katie, I’m disappointed,” Bobby complained, forking over a twenty.

“What did you guys say?” Kate asked, looking around.

“I didn’t hear anything. Get back here you.” Logan pulled her closer to him.

“Twenty dollars says they keep it up until the end credits.”

“You just want to get your money back Bobby. Thirty says they don’t realize we left without them.”

“You’re on ‘Ro.”

“No, I say fifty dollars,” Scott piped up.

“ I’m in. Did Stormy jus’ make a bet?”

“Yes LeBeau, I did, and don’t call me Stormy.”

“Well, movie’s over, good guys saved the day and didn’t get any ‘Thank you’ from anyone,” Scott said.

“Isn’t that how it always is? Prof, we have gotta get a foosball machine for the rec room, Ah just love it!” Rogue said as she stood up and stretched.

“Dey forgot to put me in de movie! Why couldn’t I jus’ get a cameo like everybody else?” Remy complained.

“If they did, then there would have been a surplus of hunky men. It would have distracted the female viewers from the plot,” Ororo said, making Remy feel better.

“If dey make a sequel, I had better be in it though.”

“You and me both my neglected compatriot. And hopefully they will find a rather dapper looking actor to portray me. Sean Connery would be a good choice,” Hank said, glancing at his watch.

“How long has it been?” Jean asked, still looking at the cast credits.

“About fifteen minutes. Shall we be off, or do we watch the entire credits?”

“It doesn’t matter. Remy, hand my money back, I told you they would still be at it come the credits!” Remy muttered something but handed over Bobby’s twenty dollar bill to him.

“Next time we go to the movies, I’m not sitting by them,” Jubilee said.

“I can’t believe I was played by a kid!”

“Bobby, I think they were trying to symbolize your childlike attitude towards life,” Scott said.

“Did someone fail to tell Mystique she was naked the entire movie?” Hank asked.

“I can hear it now…‘Say, does anyone else feel a draft in here or is it just me?’” Bobby joked.

“What was up with Sabertooth’s eyes? They looked like something from The X-Files.” Scott said.

“When the oil slick alien took over people’s bodies?” Jubilee asked.


“Aha! Logan was played by Hugh Jackman! What a hottie!”

“Did Jean just say hottie?”

“I do believe she did.”

“Who’s a hottie? Hugh or Logan?”

“You never call me a hottie,” Scott sulked.

“Look, I want to get my thirty dollars, let’s leave now,” Ororo said, getting up and heading for the door.

“You guys going somewhere?” Logan asked, looking at them.

“Lousy, stupid bet,” Scott grumbled. They were interrupted by the sound of at least ten female screams.

“Omigod! It’s Hugh Jackman!” someone screeched.

“Hank, what are you doing?” Logan asked.

“You see my friend, I was fiddling with my image inducer throughout the movie to conduct an experiment on female hormones. And it seems that it worked,” Hank said, going towards the exit in a hurry as the women in the theater gained on him.

“Can I have your autograph?” one of the women said, showing off her ‘I love Hugh’ tee-shirt.

“Grab his shirt! Don’t let him get away!” The team laughed as Hank staggered out of the theater with his shirt and jeans in shreds, lipstick kisses on his face, and missing one shoe.

He was whimpering something that sounded like ‘Mommy, those bad ladies were touching me’. One of the women that lovingly held Hank’s shoe looked at them.

“You know, if I squint, you look a lot like the guys in the movie. You should consider doing impersonations,” she said, pointing to Ororo, Jean, Scott, Logan, and Charles. Everybody just shrugged their shoulders and went towards their vehicles.

“Hey, I got an idea! Let’s go to Blockbuster and see if the Avengers or the Fantastic Four have a movie out!” Bobby said enthusiastically.



Standard disclaimer: Marvel owns em, I just drool over Logan from time to time.
Author’s note: A long time ago, another author friend of mine said that any Wolverine fan should at least do one story complimenting his ass. Lateo, this short lil’ story is all for you lady, just for being such a wonderful person. I’m more of a chest woman instead of a butt admirer, but this counts as my one silly drool worthy story. Whatever universe you want it to be, no paring in particular, just three women admiring a lovely subject. Written in ’01.
At the Car Wash

ice princess deluxe

The dog days of summer were in high gear in August, which meant that many of the residents of Xavier’s mansion went without many layers of clothing. It was tricky and hazardous to the men’s health, if Bobby’s trip through the wall for ogling Rogue’s cleavage was any example.

One particularly hot afternoon, the X-Women sat in the cool confines of the kitchen sipping iced tea. They had one thing in common; they were bored out of their minds. None of the bad guys wanted to come out and fight, the Danger Room was down for repairs, and it was well into the hundreds temperature wise.

“Whut do ya wanna do?” Rogue asked, twirling the straw around her glass.

“I don’t know, what do you want to do?” Jean asked, pouring another glass.

“I don’t know, what do you…oh Goddess…” Ororo said, her glass clinking on the counter.

The other two women following the weather goddess’ eyes. Rogue shrugged.
“Whut? It’s just Logan,” she commented. Jean nodded agreement. She didn’t see anything worth drooling over with Logan’s apparel, a plain white shirt and faded blue jeans. He had a red baseball cap jammed on his head, strands of hair flipping up under the cap. It was the same old same old, attractive enough on it’s own, but nothing she hadn’t seen daily.

“No, no, no, no. I’m not talking about him, I’m talking about what he’s carrying.” Both women frowned in confusion, making Storm roll her eyes.

“He’s carrying a bucket with sponges. Bright Lady, he’s going to wash one of the cars!” That’s when it clicked and the two other women’s eyes widened.

“What are we waiting for then? Grab some lawn chairs!” Jean cried out, already making a grab for the pitcher of tea to take out with them.

“Hey gals,” Logan said, attaching the garden hose to one of the nearby water faucets. Turning it on, he poured a portion of the bottle of car soap into the bucket. He hummed a wordless tune as it filled up with sudsy water, then cut off the supply.

“Hey Logan,” Jean said from the lawn, pretending to be into the romance novel she had brought with her.

“Hi,” Rogue waved, rubbing suntan oil over her shoulders before settling down on her stomach to read her magazine.

“Hello,” Ororo told him, putting on a wide brimmed sun hat and sunglasses as she settled down in her chaise lounger, the silver toe ring she wore glinting in the sun. Turning his back to the ladies, he stared at his muddy yellow Jeep and frowned. He made a mental note to wait until it wasn’t as muddy as it had been before running all over the outdoors in it. Shrugging, he aimed the sprayer at the body of the car and tried his best to use the hydraulic pressure to blast the majority of the mud off. Dipping his arm in the sudsy water, he brought out one of the sponges from the bucket, suds running down his forearm as he scrubbed the main clods of mud that had collected at the bottom of the jeep.

“Will you look at his back?” Rogue commented, looking up from her magazine to leer. “All those muscles moving…”

“Shhh! He’ll hear you!” Jean hissed, swallowing hard.

Humming another song, Logan bent over to scrub at the tires with a hard bristled brush until the chrome was clean. Standing up, he dunked the brush in the water again and repeated the process to the remaining three wheels.

“Dammit, did he have to do that side first?” Ororo whispered, frowning under the shade of her hat as Logan decided to wash the side that put the Jeep between him and their eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, I think I can do something about that,” Jean said with a smile. She closed her eyes and concentrated, one eyebrow quirked upward.

“Shit!” Logan exclaimed as the sprayer attachment started leaking and wound up getting him soaked. He shrugged, thinking that it was fine with him. The weather was hot and the cold water helped. What he didn’t know was that now his shirt was completely translucent, the wet material clinging to every inch of his skin. When he moved, the material moved with him, showcasing each chiseled muscle, the dark black chest hair slicked down to accentuate his frame.

“Mah, mah, mah…is it gettin’ hot in here or is it just me?” Rogue asked, running the condensation slicked glass of tea over her forehead.

“It’s getting better. Look, wet shirts don’t feel all that good after a while,” Ororo said, tilting her sunglasses down her nose as Logan dropped the sponge back into the bucket and peeled the offending garment over his head, the muscles of his back bunching and gathering as he did so. Throwing the shirt to the grass, he continued soaping down the hood of his jeep, little flecks of soap splattering his upper arms and biceps as he worked, his pectorals jumping every so often as he scrubbed a particularly stubborn section.

Finished with the soap, he hosed the metal down, the sprayer still leaking and mischievously hitting him. The three women sighed as the clouds parted as if on their own violation and shone on him, as if the very sunlight was directed at him. Rogue and Jean smirked at Ororo as the light hit upon Logan’s body, highlighting the beads of water that clung to his skin, slowly rolling down his chest in random patterns. The weather goddess shrugged and pushed up her glasses again, hiding her clouded over eyes.
It was over too fast as Logan finished up his jeep, drying it off with a chamois cloth. Finished, he drove it back into the garage and started cleaning up his mess. That’s when Rogue sat up and called out to him.

“Logan! Could you do me a lil’ favor, sugah?”

“What?” Rogue grinned at Jean and ‘Ro.

“Mah car is all dirty. Could you be a peach an’ wash it for me?”



Disclaimer: Nope, Remy don’t belong to me. I wish, but then again, when I was five I wished for a pony and I never got that. Marvel owns him, even though he’s suddenly disappeared from the books and his own book got cancelled. So nobody sue, ‘kay? If ya do, I’ll just sic the X-Babies on ya. An’ that ain’t something you want.
Author’s note: Well, don’t say I don’t listen to suggestions. Flashgriffin asked me to write a story where Remy goes to college with me, so here it is. Hope ya like it Flashgriffin! This was started last semester, I finally finished it! I’m switching between first person points of view between myself and Remy, and to avoid confusion, I’ll separate them with asteriks , okay? Written 8/31/01.

My Day Wit De Author
ice princess deluxe

I creep into de femme’s bedroom as quietly as a t’ief can. It’s kind of hard ‘cause she’s got de messiest room dat I’ve ever seen. Den again, Jubilee’s room is kind of like dis, so maneuvering wit my burden in my hands takes a lot of concentration.
“Merde!” I hiss out, my foot snapping a pencil dat was left on de floor. De toe of my boot hits a sketchpad, sending it under de bed, where de femme’s chat Boots is sleeping. De cat don’ take too kindly to being disturbed, and she jumps on de bed. Setting my stuff down on Ice’s desk where dere’s a clear spot, I sit on de edge of de bed an’ try to wake her up.


It takes a while for my eyes to focus early in the morning. I don’t know why, I’m guessing it’s because I’m not a morning person at all. I like my mornings to start somewhere around one in the afternoon. That’s what I like about college. You can plan what hours you want, no getting herded around by bells like in high school, no early morning classes. Scratch that. One early morning class. The only time I can take an English class is at seven-thirty in the morning because any other time would conflict with my Drawing class schedule.

Anyways, my eyes start to focus, and what’s the first thing I see? Well, well, well, it’s none other than Mr. Remy LeBeau. He’s sitting on the side of my bed looking oh so scrumptious as usual. I inwardly cringe because I know exactly how I look. My hair’s all tangled and I more than likely have pillow creases on my cheek.

“Mornin’ Remy,” I yawn, reaching over to pet my cat Boots.

“Mornin’ p’tit. You want to start writin’ dat story about moi today, non?” he says, pushing something into my waiting hands. Oh God, it’s coffee. Not just plain coffee, it’s café au lait. Taking a sip, I close my eyes in delight, letting the caffeine laden beverage wake me up.

“Rem, I can’t today. I gotta go to class,” I say.

“What class? Today be Wednesday,” he says, looking at the calendar. I groan, knowing that today is the day that the model comes to my drawing class. I already finished drawing her, and I don’t feel like starting another picture of her. We’ve been drawing from her all semester.

“I gotta go to English, then to Drawing,” I tell him, getting up and picking my way through the clutter on the floor until I reach my closet.

“English? Is dat de class where you sit in a circle an’ write?” he asks. I poke my head out from the closet.

“No, that’s my Creative Writing class. That’s tomorrow. No, this is the class where I had to write that stupid research paper,” I tell him, shooing him out of the room so I can change. Ten minutes later, I come out, dressed in charcoal stained faded blue jeans, a paint splotched red tee shirt, and scuffed boots that have tiny dots of different colored paint on them. I’ve combed out my hair so I look somewhat presentable. I face it, I’m never going to be a sexy, willowy woman like the kind that always hang on Remy’s arm, but at least I can pull off being slightly cute.

“Remy’s decided somet’ing chère. He’s going wit you today,” he says, sipping his own mug. I gotta remember which one he drank out of and make it my favorite from now on.

“Are you sure? It’s going to be boring, all I’m doing in English today is my essay final, and my Drawing class lasts three hours. Add that and the model we have to draw from and it’s gonna be pretty boring,” I tell him. Not that I don’t want him coming with me, oh no that’s not the case, it’s just that I don’t want him getting bored.

“Didn’t you say dat you didn’t like de model?”


“And isn’t dis de last day of classes before summer vacation?”


“Den Remy got an answer.”

“What is it Cajun? And don’t say skip class, I’ve already done that the maximum amount of times. I miss one more day of class and I loose credit.”

“Non, non, non, p’tit. Gambit t’ink he should be de model,” he says with a grin. I can never resist that grin and he knows it.

“Sounds great, but you forgot one thing.”

“What’s dat?”

“How are we gonna get the regular model to not show up?” Remy looks at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Jus’ leave dat to moi.”


We’re in de p’tit’s garage, where she’s trying to start up her truck. She’s been hanging around me too long, her French is getting better. Unfortunately, it’s all cursing.

“Come on Blue, work with me or else I trade you in for a shiny new convertible,” she says to de ancient truck, trying to get de motor to turn over. All de truck does is cough an’ sputter before dyin’.

“Chère, why don’ we take my bike?” I suggest, pointing to de beautiful, sleek, jet black Harley. Dat’s my true love, well, my second true love. Gambit’s heart belongs to Rogue after all. Ice looks like she’s t’inking it over, weighing her decisions. Slinging her bag across one shoulder and her portfolio over de other, she hops on behind me. Revving up de engine once, I take off out of her driveway.

“Remy! There’s a certain thing known as the speed limit!” I yell as we wiz past cars.

“Oui. Remy knows dat.”

“Did you also know that the speed limit isn’t just a suggestion?” I yell again into his ear. From where I have my arms clasped around his waist, I can feel him laughing. The wind is whipping his hair into my face, so I have to burrow my own head by his shoulder blades. Hmm, this is nice. I love the cologne he’s wearing. The strong wind shear is making my hands ice cold, so I stick my hands into his trench coat pockets, bumping into a deck of cards in the process. That Remy, always prepared for anything. We finally turn off the highway and he slows down just enough that the cars we pass don’t look like colored blurs. I direct him to the college and he parks beside the Art department’s building.

“Dat was fun, wasn’t it?” he asks, helping me with my stuff. I let him carry the portfolio, it’s the heaviest and largest of the two bags I have. From the parking lot we walk towards the English department building.

“Okay Rem. What are we gonna do?” I ask, content to be walking beside a guy that makes the females we pass by rubberneck to catch a glance at him. One girl even ran into the side of the Administration building as we passed the Quad.

“Well, I don’ t’ink I like dis English teacher, so I’m going to go invisible for a while. I’ll be back for de modeling session though,” he says. All of a sudden, there is a puff of smoke beside us.

“Hi Hank,” I say to the person that just joined us. We’re in a secluded spot between buildings, so nobody notices what’s going on.

“Salutations my writer friend and my Cajun compatriot. What are you two doing?” Hank asks.

“Oh, nothing much. I’m just going to English class to write my final essay for about forty five minutes. What are you doing?” I ask.

“Not much. Things are relatively quiet around the Xavier Mansion, so I decided to see if you might need some literary assistance. Say, isn’t this the class that you had to do the research paper for?” Hank asks.

“Yep. I got a B on it.” Hank looks indignant.

“A B? Gracious! That piece of writing that you generated deserved at least an A! Did your instructor say what was wrong?”

“No, he just said that some things were a little vague. You should have seen the red ink job he did on my poetry explication.” I say.

“Vague? Humph. I shall accompany you to this class and see for myself what type of educator he is. Vague indeed,” Hank mumbles. I think he’s miffed because he helped me out on some of the harder parts and helped me word my phrases better. I had the main ideas thought out, it was just that he helped me polish the entire thing up. It hadn’t helped that Logan had “accidentally” broken the disk that my research paper was on and I had to start fresh either.

Remy decides to go invisible and walks beside me. That means I’m left with carrying my bag and my portfolio again. That portfolio sure is heavy. I never knew a semester’s worth of drawing paper could weigh that much. Remy is on one side of me, Hank is on the other.

“Hey,” a male voice says. Turning, I see a guy from my English class that is totally cute. Beside me, Remy smirks.

“Hi Thom,” I say. I’m thinking that this guy hasn’t really talked to me through the entire semester, this is just great that he’s decided to talk to me.

“Hey? Is dat de best he can do for a hello?” Remy asks, leaving my side to circle Thom. Of course, I’m the only one that can see this. If he does anything, I swear that I’ll write him and someone vile together in a romance.


Looking at de boy dat’s drooling all over de p’tit, I can’t help but t’ink of better names to call him ot’er den Snake Boy. He’s practically shedding scales, he’s so much like le serpent. Ice shoul’ know better den believe anyt’ing he says. Henri is t’inking de same t’ing as Remy, dis garçon be up to no good.

“So, you ready for the final?” Snake Boy asks. I shake my head, dat boy be standing way too close for Remy’s liking. Now Remy’s never liked to see an amie get taken advantage of. Jus’ so Ice don’ know what I’m up to, I go invisible on her as well. Mebbe Remy shoul’ go an’ get Logan. Non, dat wouldn’t be a bon idée. Logan woul’ tear up dat boy limb from limb. He an’ Ice, dey be close.


“Yeah, the final should be easy, it’s just a poetry explication,” I tell him. I know that I didn’t do all that well on my first poetry interpretation, but I did make a C minus on it. I think I’ll do alright. Hank’s with me. He can help me out with some of the better sounding words. Thom and I walk towards the English building. I don’t see Remy anywhere, but Hank is strolling a little ways ahead of us, his nose in a book on genetics. We get to the room and I notice that Thom isn’t sitting at the other side of the room like he usually does. He decides to sit right behind me. Something isn’t right. I don’t know what, but I don’t see why he needs to move his desk a little to the right. I see that Hank is frowning in the always empty chair in front of me. The teacher comes in and hands us our pieces of poetry that we can choose from. I sigh, there’s nothing on the piece of paper that catches my interest. Maybe this is going to take longer than forty five minutes.


Everyt’ing is going as I t’oug’t it woul’. Snake Boy is leaning over, seeing what Ice is gonna pick to write on. Henri is looking over to see what poem she picked. He’s grinning, so mebbe he can help de p’tit out. In de meantime, Snake Boy is writing mot pour mot, word for word, what Ice is putting on her paper. Dis is when I decide to put my little plan into action. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes an’ merge into de boy’s body. It’s a little trick dat all characters are capable of doing, its jus’ somet’ing dat I don’t particularly like to do.

Taking control of de boy’s hand, I grin as I write out his final for him.

De poem My Papa’s Waltz, is about a boy dancing wit his père. I think dat’s all dat de thing is abouuut. I don’t care. I’m through with this. I hate this class, you’re a terrible teacher. I never even wanted you, but this wuz the ony tiem I coul get dis class; so take dis paper an’ you know what to do wid it.

Yours truly,
Snake Boy

Grinning, I control his legs an’ make him turn in de paper. I leave before de teacher has a chance to look at de nice lil’ note I left him. Remy coul’ have done worse, nobody tries to cheat off of my friend. Taking anot’er breath, I jump out of his body when we get outside de classroom. He looks at me and gives me a confused look. I know what de boy be t’inking. Where did I come from an’ why am I pinning him against de wall? Most importantly, what is up wit my eyes?

“Whhoo are you?” he asks in a shaky voice. Being held up a few feet from de ground must be scary.

“Let’s jus’ say dat I’m a friend. Take some friendly advice mon ami. Don’ try to cheat from a femme dat has amis like moi. You’ll jus’ end up in bad shape,” I say, giving him a sneer. De boy, he’s so scared I t’ink he’s gonna pass out. I let him go an’ he starts walkin’ away fast. T’rowing a card or two at him makes him break into a run. Dusting off my hands, I get back into de class in a puff of smoke.


“Where were you?” I ask in a whisper, looking over to the Cajun that just materialized to my right. As of now, he’s busy staring at the woman next to him. Or should I say, her cleavage.

“Remy was taking care of some business,” he says, looking at Hank with a smirk. I notice that Hank’s grinning back. Going up to turn in my paper, I notice that my professor’s face is getting all red and it looks like he’s going to blow a fuse. Quickly getting my things, I get the hell out of there.

“Well Ice, I would love to stay and chat, but I think I’ll get some more work done in my lab,” Hank said, going off in a puff of smoke, leaving me with the now visible Remy.

“So what next?” he asks me. Looking at my watch, I see that the exam took longer than I expected. It is now ten thirty. My drawing class doesn’t start until eleven.

“I dunno, want to go write something for thirty minutes?” I suggest, heading off towards the library. As I expected, it was practically deserted, save for a few people that were sitting at the tables. Going over to my usual computer, I sit down beside my best friend.

“Hey there,” she says, not looking up from her movie quote page.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Nothing much.” We settle down at our separate computers, her thinking of a good action movie to quote from, me checking my mail.

“Look p’tit, you got de mail Logan sent you,” Remy says, pointing at the unopened document in my inbox. His voice makes my friend look over to her left.

“Who’s your friend?” she asks casually. Then she does a double take.

“Oww! What the hell was that for?” I ask her, rubbing my shin where she had kicked it.

“For getting another muse and not telling me about him! It’s bad enough you don’t call whenever Wolvie’s around, but now that Vic’s been visiting off and on, you haven’t said a word! You know how much I like Vic!” she hisses. Her outburst is getting the attention of the head librarian.

“Chère, calm yourself. Gambit be de free agent,” he says, moving his chair so he’s now sitting between us. I roll my eyes, knowing that he’s applying the charm to her. I start to ignore them and pull up the Wolverine and Jubilee message board instead. Hmm…somebody’s added to the story I put up. I think I’ll write a bit on that one.


Looking at de clock, I see dat Ice has ‘bout five minutes to get to her class. Remy also see dat she’s in de middle of writin’ a big post. Nudging her leg, Remy’s hand only gets swatted.

“Chère, we got to go to your class, non?” I say. Looking at the clock, she gasps.

“Cripes, that’s right! Oh darn it, I was getting to a really good part too!” she says, looking dismayed.

“Don’ worry petite! Remy got de answer to dat!” I say. Seconds later, Logan be sitting beside de femme.

“Hey there darlin’,” he says, kissing her cheek.

“Hi Wolvie. Look, I have this great post, can you finish it for me?” she asks him.

“Sure thing. Be done in a while,” he answers with a grin. Dat’s funny. De Wolverine don’ grin like dat all de time. Ice smiles back at him, whispering somet’ing in his ear dat makes him grin even bigger. She punctuates whatever she said wit a quick kiss. He chuckles an’ swats her on de behind as she’s leaving.

“Oh, chica, check out who’s here to help ya out on yer fic,” Ice tells her friend. She just stares, den dis silly grin plasters itself on her face. Dere’s somet’ing about Logan dat all de femmes like. Remy can’t put a finger on what it is though.


“Gawd Remy, we’re gonna be late,” I tell him, letting him -poof- us from the library to the Art department.

“Non, see? We be here an’ dere be nobody else here,” he says. The only person I can see is the model, who’s setting out her things. Don’t get me wrong, I like her, she’s a nice person, but this is the last real day of drawing and I just don’t feel like drawing her again. Remy straightens out his jacket and saunters up to her with that inborn feline grace that he has. I can’t hear what he’s saying to her, but whatever it is, she’s giggling and blushing like crazy. I see her nod and gather up her stuff. Remy turns back to me and gives me the thumbs up gesture.

“What the heck did you say to her?” I ask. Remy just grins and shakes his head.

“Non, dat be for Remy to know an’ Ice to figure out, neh?” he says, giving me that grin that shows off a little dimple on the corner of his mouth. Around this time, several of the other students start filtering in. I don’t know why I was worried about being on time. Everyone here is notorious for being late. I’ve already picked a good spot in the large room and set up my easel, propping the large pad of paper against the wooden board and taking out my box of charcoals and pencils. Remy is standing beside me, trying not to grin as he notices one of the younger girls staring at him. He notices my surprised look and takes one of my hands in his own, kissing the back of it.

“Don’ worry chère, Remy still love you best,” he says with a grin.

I laugh, shaking my head and taking my hand back. “Just don’t let Logan hear that. He’ll get all possessive on me.” This really gets the Cajun’s attention, and he props his fists on his chin and stares at me.

“Oh? So what be up wit you an’ de Wolverine?” he asks, a mischievous glint in his beautiful eyes. I just noticed that he changed them so that nobody would say anything about him having red on black eyes. Hmm…I kinda like the hazel look on him. Very nice. Clearing my throat, I give him a grin of my own.

“Dat’s for Ice to know an’ Remy to find out, neh?” I ask, imitating his accent and stance, reaching out to tweak his nose. Remy gives me a mock pained look and scoffs.

“Chère, you be so cruel to Remy,” he says, letting out a full bodied laugh. By this time, the class is half full and the majority of the women are either trying not to stare at Remy or are ogling openly at the handsome Cajun. The teacher comes in and looks for the model. That’s when Remy clears his throat and pulls off the most charm I have ever seen him pull off at one time. I swear, the teacher looks like she’s going to faint. She introduces him to the class and asks him to get up on the platform where everyone can see him. I have to repress a snicker as the females in the group almost swoon at his next question.

“Is dis de nude drawing? Does Remy have to strip?”


Fortunately for Remy, dis not be de nude drawing class. Dere’s dis lil’ ole lady dat’s lookin’ at him like he’s a piece of meat. I look at Ice an’ notice how hard she’s trying not to laugh at whatever the t’ree belles beside her are whispering. Remy gives Ice a knowing look and slowly winks. This is the most fun I’ve had all day. Not dat terrorizing de Snake Boy wasn’t fun, but dis…all de women be lookin’ at moi an’ I’m lovin’ every single minute of it.


Oh God! I’ve never seen anyone eat up attention like Remy is now! That and I’ve never seen Miss Prescott leer like that. She’s darn near eighty years old and she’s staring at Remy’s butt! The few guys in the class are groaning and sneering at the attention and the comments Remy is getting from all the girls.

“Ice, where did you find this man?” the woman near me asks. I kind of know her, I think her name’s Susie. I don’t really talk to many people in this class. I smile at her, then turn back to stare at Remy.

“Oh, I have my connections,” I say cryptically. It’s time to take a break, and I join Remy outside where he lights up a cigarette, careful to look like he has a lighter instead of just charging up the tip of it with his finger.

“So, dis be a good drawing session?” he asks, running a hand through his beautiful brown hair. I laugh and take a sip of my Dr. Pepper I just bought, leaning back on the stone bench that we’re sitting at. We’re right in front of the art building, and many of the women that were in the class are outside, “checking” on their vehicles. The others are visiting with their friends. I have a feeling that when we come back from the break that there will be plenty of visitors looking on.

Just then, there’s a large hand on my shoulder and I turn around to see Logan standing there behind me. I crack a large smile and stand up to give him a hug. Remy just stares, the cigarette hanging off his lip.

“Ice! You didn’t tell Remy dat you an’ de Wolverine was like dat! Oh chère!” he says, putting his hands to his chest like he’s clutching his heart. “What will Remy do now?” I can’t see it, but I know that Logan is glaring at the Cajun. I feel Logan’s arms tightening around my shoulders and waist.

“You’ll go back t’ Rogue, that’s what yer gonna do,” he says, growling softly. I chuckle and tilt my head to kiss him on the cheek.

“See? I told you he would get all possessive of me. Come on model, yer break’s over.” Tugging on Remy’s hand, we head on back inside the building. Just as I suspected, the room is packed with other women that didn’t enroll in the class. Logan grabs a spare stool and sits by me, his hand on my knee the entire time. Remy shrugs out of his trenchcoat and hands it to me to watch. Then he gets back in his position, lounging in a chair. The teacher has him looking like he’s brooding, which he does quite well. I don’t think it was necessary, but she also made him model sans t-shirt. Of course Remy positioned himself so he could look at me, so I have a full frontal view of a shirtless Cajun. Logan looks over at my drawing.

“Nice, but doya have to stare at him all the time?” he asks. Remy hears him and gives a little smirk. By this time, we’re in hour number two of the class. I have to hand it to him, Logan hadn’t said a word until then.

“Of course I have to stare at him Logan. How else am I supposed to draw what I see?” I counter, winking at Remy again.

“Well, didja have ta sigh at him like that?” I laugh and lean against his shoulder. Keeping my voice quiet, I whisper in his ear.

“Just be happy I haven’t drooled all over my paper like Jenna over there,” I say pointing with my eyes at the poor girl. Her eyes are all glazed over and she’s not even drawing anymore, just holding her pencil in midair about two feet away from her board, going through the motions of drawing. I don’t think she realized what she’s doing. Then I look at the other women artists. They also have a glazed look to their eyes. Hmm, maybe the concentration of male charm has bad side effects. Who would have thought? “Besides, just be happy the teacher hasn’t seen you. Miss Prescott would more than likely have a heart attack at the sheer display of manliness,” I say, making Logan’s chest poof out.


De drawing class is over, an’ it’s time for Ice to leave for home. Dat’s where it gets tricky. Logan, well he jus’ -poofed- over, but Remy has a feeling he wants to take Ice home. Den again, if Remy -poofed- alone wit his bike, dat wouldn’t look good, ‘specially since de femmes in de class be all crowded around de parking lot.

“Gumbo. Where are yer keys?” Logan asks. Non. He’s not gonna do what Remy t’inks he goin’ to do. Ice looks at me an’ I just give in, handing de keys to de feral.

“You be careful wit my bike Logan.” I warn.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Meet us back up at her house,” he says, revving up de motor. Ice turned in her portfolio so all she has is her bag slung over her shoulder. Dere’s no second seat on de bike, so she’s all cuddly like behind Logan, her arms wrapped all around him. Logan looks at Remy an’ gives him a satisfied grin like “Look who I got an’ you don’t.” Dey roar off an’ Remy jus’ hope dat dey don’ scratch his baby. Den he hears a femme clear her throat.

“So, they just left you, huh? Need a ride?” Now, dis femme be pretty looking and all dat, but Remy know better den say oui to one femme when dere be twenty more standing around dat want a piece of him. I gotta think of somet’ing quick.

“Un moment, chère. Remy be right back,” I give de femme a charming smile an’ head off inside to de men’s room. I go in an’ notice dat de femmes follow up to de door. From inside, I can hear dem.

“He can’t stay in there forever.” I grin at dat. Wonder how long dey’ll stand dere. Closing my eyes, I -poof- out.


I see Remy sitting on my doorstep, cringing as Logan whips in the bike to the driveway. As soon as the motor is turned off, Remy comes over and inspects his pride and joy for any type of scratch or mar. Finding none, he turns to me.

“Dat was fun, non?” he asks, a big smile on his handsome face.

“Oh yeah. Thanks Rem.”

“You gonna start de fic wit moi in it?” he asks. I grin, knowing that today already gave me some writing material.

“Yeah. I’ll get on it, but not today.”

“Yeah, today she’s gonna finish another fic,” Logan says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I fish out my house keys and unlock the door. Remy comes up and hugs me.

“Well den I’ll be off. Got a date wit Roguey.” He kisses me on both cheeks and then goes off in a puff of smoke. Logan follows me inside and locks the door.

“So, that fic ya’ve been wantin’ to write…doya think it’ll wait fer a bit?” he asks, moving in closer to me. I smile and lean into him.

“Would you believe,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck, “that I’ve just been hit with a bout of Writer’s Block?”

“Hmm. That’s a real cryin’ shame. How long do them blocks last darlin’?” he asks, grinning devilishly.

“I dunno. Sometimes just a few minutes. Other times they can last for hours, maybe even days,” I tell him, picking up on what he wants to do in the meantime real quick. Just as he leans in for the kill, he mutters.

“I’m just gonna have ta make sure ya keep on havin’ blocks then.”


Disclaimer: Nope, Wolvie and Scott aren’t mine. Marvel owns ‘em. Don’t sue, just having a bit of fun, that’s all. “We Will Rock You” and “We Are The Champions” belong to Queen.
Written 9/21/01 to 12/3/01.

I just hate you/I’m not a weenie
ice princess deluxe

Wolvie you're a boy make a big noise
Gonna be the king a’ fanfic some day
You got fans in your face
Drink beer by the case
Showin’ your hairy chest all over the place
Singin' I just I just hate you
I just I just hate you Wolvie you're a big man hard man
Shoutin' in the street gonna be a sex symbol some day
You got socks in your jocks
Or else you’ve got rocks
Most a’ that hair is detachable locks
Singin' I just I just hate you
I just I just hate you Wolvie you're an old man poor man
Face it Jean ain’t gonna leave me for you some day
You slash at stuff all the time
You take bikes that are mine
If I had a dollar, wouldn’t give you a dime
I just I just hate you
I just I just hate you


I've taken abuse
Time after time
Fanfic writers bash me
With no reason or rhyme
And goodness sakes,
I'd blow a fuse
I've had my share of bad fics thrown in my face
It makes me so blue! I’m not a weenie - no ma’am.
And I’ll keep on leadin’ – yes I can!
I’m not a weenie
I’m not a weenie
Scott’s not a loser
'Cause I’m not a weenie – I’m a man! You’ve all got smart mouths
When my visor falls
You’ve called me Cyke and One Eye and everything that goes with it
I hate them all But let’s stop now and focus
Let’s stop the abuse!
I consider it a challenge that all authors face
And I ain't gonna get bruised! I’m not a weenie – no ma’am
And I’ll keep on leadin’ - till the end
I’m not a weenie
I’m not a weenie
Scott’s not a loser
'Cause I’m not a weenie – I’m a man!


In response to Dyce’s song “Chesty Man”, yes, I have noticed Logan has that habit of appearing half naked several times in one

A note from me: I was babysitting several weeks ago, and while watching “Beauty and the Beast”, this song just popped into my head. See what song you can sing this to =)
DISCLAIMER: Logan belongs to Marvel, Beauty and the Beast belongs to Disney. Please, nobody sue me. Tuition fees art supplies – small paycheck = dead broke. So there.

See my Chest
Ice princess deluxe

See my chest
See my chest
It’s impressive, beats the rest
Women swoon at my virility
And at my bouncing pecs.
Corded muscles
Wiry hair
This chest’s the best beyond compare
And my arms, they’re pretty scary
Not to mention twice as hairy
Shirts will rip
Shirts will fly
Cameras flash as I pass by
I’m the best at what I do and that’s no jest!
Come on and turn around
And look me up and down
But see my chest
Yeah my chest
See my chest
Bulging here
Bulging there
Rippling muscles everywhere
I like to scare and win with flair at
An arm wrestling exposé
You're alone
And you're cute
And I’m really not a brute
No one's gloomy or complaining
While this Canucklehead’s a gaming
We’ll play pool
I do great
When a beer is what’s at stake
My physique’s in perfect shape
That you can bet
Come on I’ll buy ya a drink
You've got some time I think
To see my chest
If you're stressed
It's fine viewing I suggest
See my chest
See my chest
See my chest!


Disclaimer: Nope, I still don’t own the X-Men, neither do I own the great classic The Wizard of Oz, where I’ve shamelessly taken this parody from. Don’t sue, please.

Author’s note: Spoilers for Wolverine #169. For those of you who have read it, I know, I know, she didn’t die. But one can only wish, right? At least Wolvie’s thorough with that green haired woman. As you can tell, I don’t really like her that much.

Viper’s Song
ice princess deluxe

Come out, come out wherever you are
And meet the clawed mutant that’s hairy by far.
He’s rough and he’s tough, and muscular by par
And has a healin’ factor so that he has nary a scar.

We’ll meet the clawed mutant that’s hairy by far.

He brings you good news, or haven’t you heard
When he came out of Madripoor a miracle occurred.

It really was no miracle,
What happened was just this
The wind began to switch the dock to pitch
And suddenly Ogun had no place to go but the bitch
Just then the bitch, to satisfy an itch
Went flying around the country claiming we were hitched.

(fan 1)
And oh what happened then was rich

The demon’s fit began to pitch, the woman took a slitch
And landed on the claws of Wolvie right in mid-pitch
Which was not a healthy situation for the wicked bitch The demon’s fit began to pitch, the woman took a slitch
And landed on the claws of Wolvie right in mid-pitch
Which was not a healthy situation for the wicked bitch
Who began to twitch, and was reduced to a stitch
Of what was once the wicked bitch

(fan 2)
We thank you very sweetly for doing it so neatly (fan 3)
You've killed her so completely
That we thank you very sweetly (Jubilee)
Let the joyous news be spread
The wicked old bitch at last is dead

Ding-dong the bitch is dead
Which old bitch? The green haired bitch
Ding-dong the wicked bitch is dead
Well she could have gotten worse
Wolvie got to gut her and get a divorce
Yippee up the wicked bitch is dead
She's gone where the goblins go
Below - below - below
Yo-ho, let's open up and sing and ring the bells out
Ding Dong' the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low
Let them know the green haired bitch is dead


Disclaimer: You know the drill. Do I have to repeat it?

The Twelve Days of Christmas
ice princess deluxe

On the first day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me a movie soundtrack CD.

On the second day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the third day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the fourth day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the fifth day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me five BAMF dolls, four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the sixth day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me six claws a popping, five BAMF dolls, four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the seventh day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me seven flights with Warren, six claws a popping, five BAMF dolls, four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the eighth day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me eight shrieking Banshees, seven flights with Warren, six claws a popping, five BAMF dolls, four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the ninth day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me nine paffs a’ sparkling, eight shrieking Banshees, seven flights with Warren, six claws a popping, five BAMF dolls, four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the tenth day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me ten tekeing telepaths, nine paffs a’ sparkling, eight shrieking Banshees, seven flights with Warren, six claws a popping, five BAMF dolls, four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me eleven frozen snowballs, ten tekeing telepaths, nine paffs a’ sparkling, eight shrieking Banshees, seven flights with Warren, six claws a popping, five BAMF dolls, four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, the X-Men gave to me twelve crates of Twinkies, eleven frozen snowballs, ten tekeing telepaths, nine paffs a’ sparkling, eight shrieking Banshees, seven flights with Warren, six claws a popping, five BAMF dolls, four charged up aces, three trench coats, two flannel shirts and a movie soundtrack CD.

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