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3 yrs ago
Current is sexualizing Pokemon a variation of bestiality?
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3 yrs ago
lol. lmao
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3 yrs ago
JOHN TABLE!
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4 yrs ago
hearing rumors that rebornfan is storming the US capitol, looking for whoever's responsible for everyone ghosting his RPs
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4 yrs ago
you got a fat ass and a bright future ahead of you. keep it up champ
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@Saint Maxx What a great post. The dialogue, the stakes, the description was all expertly crafted but what I must say I enjoyed the most about this post was how masterfully you tied your ongoing plot with @DocTachyon's. Using the mutant bias to paint a sympathetic light towards Spider-Man and then just the description with Jean reaching out and being the first in the IC to truly discern between Peter and Symbiote, perhaps even more so than Peter himself, it was a great read. Definitely very excited to see where this Crossover is going to go and the impact it's going to have on both the X-Men and Spider-Man himself.


Shucks, dad, you're makin' me blush
L O N G I S L A N D

Night | Queens Borough, New York City

The wind pounded into Scott's ears with a roar no lion could match as they shot across Brooklyn and into Queens. He jerked the steering wheel to the side to narrowly avoid a car turning into the street he was busy barreling down at dangerous speeds, ignoring every red light along the way. He could already practically hear the professor chiding him about such recklessness, but on this particular night, Scott wasn't all too concerned with following the rules of the road. Anger was cutting through his veins like a virus, seeping into his fingers and forcing them to clamp down on the wheel hard enough to make his knuckles go white.

Jean had been right. Putting the pedal to the metal had gotten them to the 105th precinct in just ten minutes' time. He let his foot loose off the gas at the sound of sirens- they weren't approaching, though; it actually appeared he was coming up on them from behind. The building melded into view as he rounded the corner, revealing a fleet of cop cars as they sped out of the station's garage in pursuit of their mutant attacker. The sight of it made Summers' stomach drop.

Only two nights ago a psychopath who just happened to be a mutant murdered a pair of New York's Finest. It didn't take a mind reader to feel the rage bubbling just beneath the surface of those officers as they raced after the culprit. There were no reports of casualties coming out of the precinct, at least not yet, but...that wouldn't matter. Not when a bunch of angry cops with guns got their hands on whoever did this.

"We'll get to 'em him, Scott." Jean placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, snapping Summers back into the present.

He had a half a mind to give her the 'no mindreading' spiel again, but it felt like a waste of breath at this point. Instead, he let his hand fall down to the gear shifter and eased the gas back down, pushing past the precinct once the police cruisers had gone on their way. "We don't have a lot of time before they catch his trail. Do you think you can reach out to him? Find out which way he went?"

Jean gave a hesitant nod, falling back into her seat so she could concentrate. Her eyes slipped closed and her mind's eye opened in the same instant, revealing to her a hundred faces in her immediate vicinity. 'Face' wasn't an accurate term- not really. What she saw was more of an...imprint. A brief, surface-level imaging of a mind. It was easy to parse through them when they were like this, though it took a bit of strain to reach out for specific traits that might stand out.

'Mutant' was an easy one, letting all the faces that word didn't resonate with melt away. There was Scott right beside her, his image far more detailed than most. And there were a handful of others. A child hidden under a blanket with her cellphone, pretending to be asleep. An old man knocked out on his favorite chair. The police officers spreading out in front of her, though their connection to the word was...dark, to say the least. But she couldn't find their perpetrator.

She cycled through a few labels the criminal might give him or herself without any luck. Whoever they were, they didn't seem to affiliate themselves with the seedier parts of New York City's underbelly. It was possible they weren't any kind of thief, gangster or mobster- this might've been the first thing like this they'd ever done. Hell of a start to a career.

Jean furrowed her brow, glancing over at the precinct itself as they drove past it. She noticed a window was broken and glass had been shattered across the lawn. It was quite a fall. At that height, most ordinary people wouldn't have been able to stand back up, let alone escape the police. She zeroed in on a new word. 'Pain.'

"I've got him," Grey told Summers, raising her voice to be heard over the wind and the sirens. "Keep going straight, then hang a right." There was something...off about him. The imprint read like it was two different people, completely distinct from one another yet placed right on top of each other. One of the faces was recognizable as a person, but the other...The other felt horribly alien. Its very presence near her mind made her throat tighten and her eyes water. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before.

The convertible's driver was none the wiser to the nature of the thing they chased, however, and eagerly pressed on in the direction Jean had pointed him to. Scott's heart was pounding against his chest as he tore across the pavement light lightning, glancing over at his mirrors every other second to keep an eye out for the police that were so very near to them. Trees, houses and the night sky raced passed them on either side like a blur of green, browns and black. He slammed down hard on the break the moment they reached the intersection, skidding across the pavement to make the turn in record time. They were off to the races again without pause, soaring down the road with abandon.

Sure enough, though, his recklessness had proven fruitful: their prey's back had come into sight.

Whoever he was, he appeared to be wrapped up in some kind of costume. He was dressed head to toe in a skintight suit as black as midnight like you'd expect any thief at this hour to be- but then there was that big, ugly beetle symbol stretched all along his back, painted on in a blinding white. When juxtaposed on the field of black that was the rest of his suit, it sort of looked like a giant target.

"You see him, Jean?!" Cyclops roared, his fingers dancing across the rubber of the steering wheel with an equal measure of anxiety, excitement, and anger. "Let's slow him down!"

Jean blinked a few times to get the block splotches out of her eyes, nodding in agreement. She stuck her arms out the side of the car, keeping her palms held straight out and her digits as widely spread as possible. She focused fully on a bundle of objects sitting on the side of the street that they were rapidly approaching: a couple of garbage bins full to the brim with trash and a mailbox filled with much the same. She took in a deep, ragged breath, willing her mind to grasp each of the containers with an unseen hand. A silent scream fled through her parted lips as she strained to tear the mailbox's post from the dirt and lift the pair of surprisingly heavy bins from the ground, bringing them into the air and dragging them alongside as they approached the mutant from the back.

"Hey, pal, you got mail!" She shouted, heaving her arms forward and willing the objects to fling through the air toward the black-clad man's back.
L O N G I S L A N D

Night | Queens Borough, New York City

The wind pounded into Scott's ears with a roar no lion could match as they shot across Brooklyn and into Queens. He jerked the steering wheel to the side to narrowly avoid a car turning into the street he was busy barreling down at dangerous speeds, ignoring every red light along the way. He could already practically hear the professor chiding him about such recklessness, but on this particular night, Scott wasn't all too concerned with following the rules of the road. Anger was cutting through his veins like a virus, seeping into his fingers and forcing them to clamp down on the wheel hard enough to make his knuckles go white.

Jean had been right. Putting the pedal to the metal had gotten them to the 105th precinct in just ten minutes' time. He let his foot loose off the gas at the sound of sirens- they weren't approaching, though; it actually appeared he was coming up on them from behind. The building melded into view as he rounded the corner, revealing a fleet of cop cars as they sped out of the station's garage in pursuit of their mutant attacker. The sight of it made Summers' stomach drop.

Only two nights ago a psychopath who just happened to be a mutant murdered a pair of New York's Finest. It didn't take a mind reader to feel the rage bubbling just beneath the surface of those officers as they raced after the culprit. There were no reports of casualties coming out of the precinct, at least not yet, but...that wouldn't matter. Not when a bunch of angry cops with guns got their hands on whoever did this.

"We'll get to 'em him, Scott." Jean placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, snapping Summers back into the present.

He had a half a mind to give her the 'no mindreading' spiel again, but it felt like a waste of breath at this point. Instead, he let his hand fall down to the gear shifter and eased the gas back down, pushing past the precinct once the police cruisers had gone on their way. "We don't have a lot of time before they catch his trail. Do you think you can reach out to him? Find out which way he went?"

Jean gave a hesitant nod, falling back into her seat so she could concentrate. Her eyes slipped closed and her mind's eye opened in the same instant, revealing to her a hundred faces in her immediate vicinity. 'Face' wasn't an accurate term- not really. What she saw was more of an...imprint. A brief, surface-level imaging of a mind. It was easy to parse through them when they were like this, though it took a bit of strain to reach out for specific traits that might stand out.

'Mutant' was an easy one, letting all the faces that word didn't resonate with melt away. There was Scott right beside her, his image far more detailed than most. And there were a handful of others. A child hidden under a blanket with her cellphone, pretending to be asleep. An old man knocked out on his favorite chair. The police officers spreading out in front of her, though their connection to the word was...dark, to say the least. But she couldn't find their perpetrator.

She cycled through a few labels the criminal might give him or herself without any luck. Whoever they were, they didn't seem to affiliate themselves with the seedier parts of New York City's underbelly. It was possible they weren't any kind of thief, gangster or mobster- this might've been the first thing like this they'd ever done. Hell of a start to a career.

Jean furrowed her brow, glancing over at the precinct itself as they drove past it. She noticed a window was broken and glass had been shattered across the lawn. It was quite a fall. At that height, most ordinary people wouldn't have been able to stand back up, let alone escape the police. She zeroed in on a new word. 'Pain.'

"I've got him," Grey told Summers, raising her voice to be heard over the wind and the sirens. "Keep going straight, then hang a right." There was something...off about him. The imprint read like it was two different people, completely distinct from one another yet placed right on top of each other. One of the faces was recognizable as a person, but the other...The other felt horribly alien. Its very presence near her mind made her throat tighten and her eyes water. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before.

The convertible's driver was none the wiser to the nature of the thing they chased, however, and eagerly pressed on in the direction Jean had pointed him to. Scott's heart was pounding against his chest as he tore across the pavement light lightning, glancing over at his mirrors every other second to keep an eye out for the police that were so very near to them. Trees, houses and the night sky raced passed them on either side like a blur of green, browns and black. He slammed down hard on the break the moment they reached the intersection, skidding across the pavement to make the turn in record time. They were off to the races again without pause, soaring down the road with abandon.

Sure enough, though, his recklessness had proven fruitful: their prey's back had come into sight.

Whoever he was, he appeared to be wrapped up in some kind of costume. He was dressed head to toe in a skintight suit as black as midnight like you'd expect any thief at this hour to be- but then there was that big, ugly beetle symbol stretched all along his back, painted on in a blinding white. When juxtaposed on the field of black that was the rest of his suit, it sort of looked like a giant target.

"You see him, Jean?!" Cyclops roared, his fingers dancing across the rubber of the steering wheel with an equal measure of anxiety, excitement, and anger. "Let's slow him down!"

Jean blinked a few times to get the block splotches out of her eyes, nodding in agreement. She stuck her arms out the side of the car, keeping her palms held straight out and her digits as widely spread as possible. She focused fully on a bundle of objects sitting on the side of the street that they were rapidly approaching: a couple of garbage bins full to the brim with trash and a mailbox filled with much the same. She took in a deep, ragged breath, willing her mind to grasp each of the containers with an unseen hand. A silent scream fled through her parted lips as she strained to tear the mailbox's post from the dirt and lift the pair of surprisingly heavy bins from the ground, bringing them into the air and dragging them alongside as they approached the mutant from the back.

"Hey, pal, you got mail!" She shouted, heaving her arms forward and willing the objects to fling through the air toward the black-clad man's back.


As y'all may have noticed my posts have kind of vanished at this point. Well its sort of because of good news because I've been accepted to do research/serve as a visiting professor in Saint Petersburg this summer at Saint Petersburg State University. Because of that though things have been really hectic around here as I get ready for that. So unfortunately because of this and of uncertainty because of the quality of Russian Internet which can be very spotty, I do not think I will be able to complete the season here. I might return in the future but it would be unfair for me to hold onto characters that others could use if they so desire.

Thanks y'all for the opportunity though and writing in these games is always a pleasure.





I'll miss you. And good luck. Hope to see you around again, sooner than later.
X - M A N S I O N

Two Days Later, Night | Salem Center, New York City

MUTANTS ATTACK SCHOOL, TWO OFFICERS DEAD


Those six words sat like an anchor at the bottom of the television screen. Above them a bunch of Jumped up, make-up caked pundits and talking heads were screaming at one another about what they were calling the 'Bayville Incident.' Over a dozen men and women in suits had appeared to give their expert opinion on the threat that mutants posed to America's youth. There was all sorts of talk about arming teachers, making watchlists and putting armed security in every one-room schoolhouse in the States.

No matter what channel Scott flipped to it was all the same. Lance Alver's photo was plastered across national television and it had stayed there for the past two days straight. They were calling him all sorts of things: the Bayville Menace, a deranged psychopath, a disturbed youth; one particularly bizarre old man had taken to calling him the 'first stone' in an "avalanche of mass killers to come."

All of it pissed him off. But the one thing that really got to him was every time they mentioned the other mutants. Evidently, the media had gotten to one of those kids Lance had attacked because they'd actually started to discuss the X-Men by name. Opinions on them varied, of course. Some people thought the X-Men and Lance had both come to the school with the same goal in mind but had ended up at each other's throats. Others thought the X-Men were vigilantes that had tried but failed, to put a stop to the attack.

Those people were the ones that really got to Scott. They were the only ones giving him and his team the benefit of the doubt, but even they were quick to agree that the 'X-Men' had done more harm than good. "Let the police handle it," they fervently said. "A bunch of kids in masks are just going to get in the way."

As much as it made his blood boil, Summers couldn't help but feel like they were right.

There were other stories interspersed between breaks in the main event, none of them good. Some guy dressed like a Spider had attacked more NYPD officers in the city proper. A supermarket in Atlantic City that had refused service to mutant customers had been burned to the ground by protesters. A millionaire executive at Roxxon named Clayton Burr and his wife had both been abducted from their home and their son was just found dead in his office, his body torn to shreds by metal shrapnel.

They all shared a common thread that Scott couldn't help but notice. Every single story that ran that day- on every single news channel he could find- was about violence conducted by mutants. The talking points differed, the channel logos changed, and even the stories weren't all the same. But the agenda being pushed by everyone with a voice was paper thin. They all marched lockstep in their demonization of people they didn't so much as try to understand.

The remote in his hand crunched, it's plastic shell cracking and the electronics inside crumbling. Scott dropped the remains of the device onto the carpet before he rose from his chair. The voices coming from the TV grew distant as he left the room and started down the hallway toward the garage, stopping at his room to snag a coat and stuff his uniform into a duffel bag before making his exit.

Just as he stepped out of his door, though, he found a hand pressed up against his chest.

Jean Grey was a good six inches shorter than Scott and nearly fifty pounds lighter, but she didn't have any trouble stopping him in his tracks. All it took was a look.

"Oh, uh, Jean-" Scott started, clearly caught off guard. He would've thought everyone else was either asleep or stuck in their usual nightly routines by now. Summers retreated a step back into his bedroom, trying in vain to conceal the bag he had over his shoulder behind the door frame. "Did you need something?"

She let her hand fall away as he stepped back, crossing it over her other arm. She didn't bother answering, a knowing- and disapproving- look on her face.

Scott cleared his throat and turned his eyes away. "I'll be back soon. No need to worry about me."

"Uh huh." Jean sighed, lowering her chin into her chest. "You gonna talk to me or are you gonna keep pretending like nothing's going on?"

"I don't know what you-"

"Dude." Grey cut him off. "You never sneak out. Mister 'up with the sun' should'a been in bed an hour ago."

Summers locked his jaw and turned to look at her. Her hoodie bore on it the image of a skeleton with its mouth duck-tapped closed and two, boney middle fingers held high, and the name of some punk band he'd never heard of right underneath it. That was only what Scott noticed first, though- what he cared about more was the blue material of her uniform that peaked up around her neck.

"No." He shook his head, attempting to squeeze past her. "No, no, no. You're not coming with me."

"Oh, come on!" She snarled, punching the door frame to put her arm directly in his path. "You can't go out there by yourself, especially with everything that's going on."

Scott hesitated for a moment before grabbing Jean's arm and pushing it down, forcing his way out of the room so he could start toward the stairs. "How'd you even know what I was doing?" He asked incredulously, fully aware of the fact that she was just a step behind him.

Grey took him by the arm and spun him around to face her. "How do you think, you idiot?" She poked his forehead repeatedly with enough force that it began to sting. "Your brain's been practically screaming it since dinner."

Summers grabbed her finger and pulled it up over his shoulder, dragging her face closer to his. "How many times do we have to tell you 'no mind reading' until it gets through that thick skull of yours?" He asked in an annoyed whisper.

"You know I can't help it. Dick." She pulled her hand away, though she refused to step back.

"Maybe if you took those meds the Professor gave you-"

"-So I can be a drooling moron? Bobby's already got that covered, thanks." She scoffed.

Scott just threw up his hands. "Whatever. Fine. Let's just get out of here." He conceded. When Jean made up her mind he knew there was nothing he could do to change it, and he wasn't in the mood to argue with her for another forty minutes. The pair made their way down to the mansion's garage, completely unaware of the pair of glowing yellow eyes that had borne witness to the whole ordeal.

H A N ' S P I Z Z A P A R K I N G L O T

Two hours later, Night | Brooklyn, New York City

The classic sound of CCR'S Fortunate Sons rolled out of the convertible's expensive stereo, smooth as silk but as powerful as a typhoon. Jean's black-booted foot tapped against the dashboard in time with the music, her hands currently occupied helping guide a hot slice of pizza into her open maw.

Scott's mood wasn't nearly as good as hers. His expression was twisted in dour concentration as he stared down at his phone, scrolling through endless incident reports and news coverage. Occasionally he'd flip from those over to another page scattered with digital notes, reminders and things to improve or follow up on.

The fight with Lance had been disastrous by most accounts. Bobby had managed to go toe to toe with Alvers, but he'd gotten so cocky that he nearly cost the rest of the team, those students and even himself their lives. And Hank had lost control of his anger again. Scott blamed himself for all of it. The onus was on him to keep everyone in line. He was the leader. He should've pulled them together when it mattered most. If he even had a little bit of real control over his powers, Cyclops knew he could've ended that fight in a second. All it would've taken was one, solid blast to the chest.

As it was, though, Scott couldn't have done that without killing Lance and probably someone else on the other side of the street. He felt frustratingly useless in that encounter. He couldn't control his team, his powers, or-

"Can you, like, stop feeling bad for yourself for two seconds and actually eat?" Jean interrupted, her mouth half-full of pizza. "You're really getting my mood down, dude."

Scott just grunted. "You're the one that wanted to come. And I am eating."

"Uh huh. Sure you are."Grey said, glancing at the slice of pizza Scott had set back in the box after taking exactly two bites. Taking in a breath she focused on it, compelling her psychic energy to surround the unfinished food and lift it into the air. She guided it over toward Scott's face and, in the same movement, reached over and plucked the phone from his hands.

"Hey!-" Summers started, only to find his open mouth stuffed with cheese, pepperoni, sausage and a whole load of tomato sauce. He looked like he wanted to complain, at first, but it didn't take long for him to take the slice himself and start scarfing it down until it was nothing but a few crumbs on his chin. "Alright, there. I ate. Now give me my phone back."

"Noo way, buddy." Grey shook her head. "No work allowed during graveyard-shift pizza time. It's the law. Look it up."

Scott didn't reply, except to lean across the front of the car to try and swipe his phone back. Grey was quicker, however, and managed to swap it into her other hand so she could press it up against her window. "Ahh. Too slow as per usual, Summers."

"Alright, that's it. You asked for it." Summers clicked his seat belt off and lunged across Grey's seat in an attempt to pin her arm down long enough for him to get his phone back, prompting Jean to squeal and squirm to get it as far away from Scott as possible.

The two's struggle only lasted a minute and a half before it was rather rudely interrupted by that same phone pinging in Jean's grip. She only glanced at it, one arm pressing into Scott's face to force him out of her personal space as the other held the phone toward the windshield. Summers took her by the wrist and forced it down, his smile faltering. He recognized that particular tone. "Hold on, that's important."

Jean furrowed her brow, handing it back to Scott. She knew when he was kidding and when he wasn't. "What is it?" She inquired, letting her feet drop off of the dashboard and back down onto the floor, intent on leaning over to get a view of the screen for herself.

"Sentinel app," Scott replied. "It pings me every time the NYPD mention a mutant on their scanners. Looks like...shit, that's not far from here." He quickly fumbled to stick the smartphone onto its mount on the dashboard. "A precint in Queens just got hit. That's twenty minutes from here."

"Ten if you floor it." Jean agreed with a nod.

"Call the team."

"And let them know we were out this late? Alone?" She scoffed. "Bobby and Kurt don't need more ammunition as is. Nah, we can handle it."

Scott just sighed, pulling them out of the parking lot and starting down the road much faster than he should have. "Here's hoping."
X - M A N S I O N

Two Days Later, Night | Salem Center, New York City

MUTANTS ATTACK SCHOOL, TWO OFFICERS DEAD


Those six words sat like an anchor at the bottom of the television screen. Above them a bunch of Jumped up, make-up caked pundits and talking heads were screaming at one another about what they were calling the 'Bayville Incident.' Over a dozen men and women in suits had appeared to give their expert opinion on the threat that mutants posed to America's youth. There was all sorts of talk about arming teachers, making watchlists and putting armed security in every one-room schoolhouse in the States.

No matter what channel Scott flipped to it was all the same. Lance Alver's photo was plastered across national television and it had stayed there for the past two days straight. They were calling him all sorts of things: the Bayville Menace, a deranged psychopath, a disturbed youth; one particularly bizarre old man had taken to calling him the 'first stone' in an "avalanche of mass killers to come."

All of it pissed him off. But the one thing that really got to him was every time they mentioned the other mutants. Evidently, the media had gotten to one of those kids Lance had attacked because they'd actually started to discuss the X-Men by name. Opinions on them varied, of course. Some people thought the X-Men and Lance had both come to the school with the same goal in mind but had ended up at each other's throats. Others thought the X-Men were vigilantes that had tried but failed, to put a stop to the attack.

Those people were the ones that really got to Scott. They were the only ones giving him and his team the benefit of the doubt, but even they were quick to agree that the 'X-Men' had done more harm than good. "Let the police handle it," they fervently said. "A bunch of kids in masks are just going to get in the way."

As much as it made his blood boil, Summers couldn't help but feel like they were right.

There were other stories interspersed between breaks in the main event, none of them good. Some guy dressed like a Spider had attacked more NYPD officers in the city proper. A supermarket in Atlantic City that had refused service to mutant customers had been burned to the ground by protesters. A millionaire executive at Roxxon named Clayton Burr and his wife had both been abducted from their home and their son was just found dead in his office, his body torn to shreds by metal shrapnel.

They all shared a common thread that Scott couldn't help but notice. Every single story that ran that day- on every single news channel he could find- was about violence conducted by mutants. The talking points differed, the channel logos changed, and even the stories weren't all the same. But the agenda being pushed by everyone with a voice was paper thin. They all marched lockstep in their demonization of people they didn't so much as try to understand.

The remote in his hand crunched, it's plastic shell cracking and the electronics inside crumbling. Scott dropped the remains of the device onto the carpet before he rose from his chair. The voices coming from the TV grew distant as he left the room and started down the hallway toward the garage, stopping at his room to snag a coat and stuff his uniform into a duffel bag before making his exit.

Just as he stepped out of his door, though, he found a hand pressed up against his chest.

Jean Grey was a good six inches shorter than Scott and nearly fifty pounds lighter, but she didn't have any trouble stopping him in his tracks. All it took was a look.

"Oh, uh, Jean-" Scott started, clearly caught off guard. He would've thought everyone else was either asleep or stuck in their usual nightly routines by now. Summers retreated a step back into his bedroom, trying in vain to conceal the bag he had over his shoulder behind the door frame. "Did you need something?"

She let her hand fall away as he stepped back, crossing it over her other arm. She didn't bother answering, a knowing- and disapproving- look on her face.

Scott cleared his throat and turned his eyes away. "I'll be back soon. No need to worry about me."

"Uh huh." Jean sighed, lowering her chin into her chest. "You gonna talk to me or are you gonna keep pretending like nothing's going on?"

"I don't know what you-"

"Dude." Grey cut him off. "You never sneak out. Mister 'up with the sun' should'a been in bed an hour ago."

Summers locked his jaw and turned to look at her. Her hoodie bore on it the image of a skeleton with its mouth duck-tapped closed and two, boney middle fingers held high, and the name of some punk band he'd never heard of right underneath it. That was only what Scott noticed first, though- what he cared about more was the blue material of her uniform that peaked up around her neck.

"No." He shook his head, attempting to squeeze past her. "No, no, no. You're not coming with me."

"Oh, come on!" She snarled, punching the door frame to put her arm directly in his path. "You can't go out there by yourself, especially with everything that's going on."

Scott hesitated for a moment before grabbing Jean's arm and pushing it down, forcing his way out of the room so he could start toward the stairs. "How'd you even know what I was doing?" He asked incredulously, fully aware of the fact that she was just a step behind him.

Grey took him by the arm and spun him around to face her. "How do you think, you idiot?" She poked his forehead repeatedly with enough force that it began to sting. "Your brain's been practically screaming it since dinner."

Summers grabbed her finger and pulled it up over his shoulder, dragging her face closer to his. "How many times do we have to tell you 'no mind reading' until it gets through that thick skull of yours?" He asked in an annoyed whisper.

"You know I can't help it. Dick." She pulled her hand away, though she refused to step back.

"Maybe if you took those meds the Professor gave you-"

"-So I can be a drooling moron? Bobby's already got that covered, thanks." She scoffed.

Scott just threw up his hands. "Whatever. Fine. Let's just get out of here." He conceded. When Jean made up her mind he knew there was nothing he could do to change it, and he wasn't in the mood to argue with her for another forty minutes. The pair made their way down to the mansion's garage, completely unaware of the pair of glowing yellow eyes that had borne witness to the whole ordeal.

H A N ' S P I Z Z A P A R K I N G L O T

Two hours later, Night | Brooklyn, New York City

The classic sound of CCR'S Fortunate Sons rolled out of the convertible's expensive stereo, smooth as silk but as powerful as a typhoon. Jean's black-booted foot tapped against the dashboard in time with the music, her hands currently occupied helping guide a hot slice of pizza into her open maw.

Scott's mood wasn't nearly as good as hers. His expression was twisted in dour concentration as he stared down at his phone, scrolling through endless incident reports and news coverage. Occasionally he'd flip from those over to another page scattered with digital notes, reminders and things to improve or follow up on.

The fight with Lance had been disastrous by most accounts. Bobby had managed to go toe to toe with Alvers, but he'd gotten so cocky that he nearly cost the rest of the team, those students and even himself their lives. And Hank had lost control of his anger again. Scott blamed himself for all of it. The onus was on him to keep everyone in line. He was the leader. He should've pulled them together when it mattered most. If he even had a little bit of real control over his powers, Cyclops knew he could've ended that fight in a second. All it would've taken was one, solid blast to the chest.

As it was, though, Scott couldn't have done that without killing Lance and probably someone else on the other side of the street. He felt frustratingly useless in that encounter. He couldn't control his team, his powers, or-

"Can you, like, stop feeling bad for yourself for two seconds and actually eat?" Jean interrupted, her mouth half-full of pizza. "You're really getting my mood down, dude."

Scott just grunted. "You're the one that wanted to come. And I am eating."

"Uh huh. Sure you are."Grey said, glancing at the slice of pizza Scott had set back in the box after taking exactly two bites. Taking in a breath she focused on it, compelling her psychic energy to surround the unfinished food and lift it into the air. She guided it over toward Scott's face and, in the same movement, reached over and plucked the phone from his hands.

"Hey!-" Summers started, only to find his open mouth stuffed with cheese, pepperoni, sausage and a whole load of tomato sauce. He looked like he wanted to complain, at first, but it didn't take long for him to take the slice himself and start scarfing it down until it was nothing but a few crumbs on his chin. "Alright, there. I ate. Now give me my phone back."

"Noo way, buddy." Grey shook her head. "No work allowed during graveyard-shift pizza time. It's the law. Look it up."

Scott didn't reply, except to lean across the front of the car to try and swipe his phone back. Grey was quicker, however, and managed to swap it into her other hand so she could press it up against her window. "Ahh. Too slow as per usual, Summers."

"Alright, that's it. You asked for it." Summers clicked his seat belt off and lunged across Grey's seat in an attempt to pin her arm down long enough for him to get his phone back, prompting Jean to squeal and squirm to get it as far away from Scott as possible.

The two's struggle only lasted a minute and a half before it was rather rudely interrupted by that same phone pinging in Jean's grip. She only glanced at it, one arm pressing into Scott's face to force him out of her personal space as the other held the phone toward the windshield. Summers took her by the wrist and forced it down, his smile faltering. He recognized that particular tone. "Hold on, that's important."

Jean furrowed her brow, handing it back to Scott. She knew when he was kidding and when he wasn't. "What is it?" She inquired, letting her feet drop off of the dashboard and back down onto the floor, intent on leaning over to get a view of the screen for herself.

"Sentinel app," Scott replied. "It pings me every time the NYPD mention a mutant on their scanners. Looks like...shit, that's not far from here." He quickly fumbled to stick the smartphone onto its mount on the dashboard. "A precint in Queens just got hit. That's twenty minutes from here."

"Ten if you floor it." Jean agreed with a nod.

"Call the team."

"And let them know we were out this late? Alone?" She scoffed. "Bobby and Kurt don't need more ammunition as is. Nah, we can handle it."

Scott just sighed, pulling them out of the parking lot and starting down the road much faster than he should have. "Here's hoping."
If we're talking a theme for the game as a whole, you can never go wrong with the classics.

As for the X-Men? I have nooo idea. Been bouncing between a couple of different ones like this, this or maybe this one. Maybe even this one, though that's a little out there. Basically anything overtly political'll work for the team, though, since that's sorta their shtick- the X-Men without the politics are just a bunch of dorks in spandex.

I've never met anyone who's as bad at keeping secrets as Wraith. Honestly, it's kind of impressive.
<Snipped quote by IceHeart>

Please, never use the term Daddy Jim again.


You made it weird, Sep. Why'd you go and make it weird?
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