Disclaimer:  First off, I don't own the X-Men, or hold any of the rights to them. 

Second, I am not specifically lampooning any particular author, just a category of stories.  And besides, if your story is this formulaic, I didn't pay attention to your pen name anyway.  I'm making fun of a basic plot here, and standardized treatment of characters, not Mr. "I wear shoes on my nose" in the corner, specifically. 

Third, if you're offended, stop, and reevaluate your story, don't go off in a tizzy.  It's meant to make you laugh, sheesh. 

AN:  Stormfreak, this is all on you, girl.  I can't believe you talked me into this.

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Damn, it was cold.  Not just cold, cold to the point where the points of his hair were breaking off in protest.  That didn't stop the Wolverine from doing what he had to do, though.  Reaching down, he threaded his fingers under the hem of his shirt, and with a flourish, lifted it over his head.  A satisfying thump in the distance told him all he needed to know:  another devoted female had fainted at the sight of Logan without a shirt on. 

But, it was cold as one of Xavier's glances when you called him Picard, so the shirt went back on.  Sniffing the air, he realized that there was nothing of use here, the compound was abandoned.  He would bother going in and checking, but that would mean his nose deceived him, and Pete forbid anyone that pointed that out to him.  Yup, Logan reasoned to himself, he was a perfect specimen.  Well, he would be, if not for the infernal internal dialogue that kept a running commentary. 

How he loathed that little nagging voice in his head that kept telling him to "go back to Marie, go back to Marie."  In truth, it wasn't a little voice; it was a huge pen point stabbing him in the side of the head, controlled by a mysterious force called "Uncreative Author."  But, admitting that would mean he could actually feel pain, and therefore would no longer be perfect.  So, he called it a voice. 

Speaking of voices, Marie's was rising above all the others in the classroom.  "But, Miss Munroe, I thought that mutants were the next evolutionary step, and that we, as superior, should…"

"Thank you, Robert."

Bobby, or Iceman as he went by when he wanted to feel special, had iced over Marie's mouth, preventing her from talking.  He was getting pretty darn good at it, as it was usually twice a day that Magneto's voice in her head decided to go on a tirade.  After class was over, Marie came up to Storm's desk, and sat down on the edge.  "I'm sorry, Miss Munroe."

"I thought you had an accent?"

"Oops!  I mean, Ah'm sorry, Mizz Munroe."

Ororo smiled, and smoothed Rogue's gloves down.  "That is alright, child.  I understand that it can be hard to control the voices."

"Yeah, especially when…"

"Are you not expected in Dr. Grey's class soon?"

"Oops!  Sorry!" 

Sighing, Ororo congratulated herself on that fast thinking.  If she hadn't diverted Marie's attention, she would have been forced to hear another pity party, complete with "woe is me" backdrops.  She had dated Bobby for a bit, but the whole time she had whined about Logan, making Bobby frustrated.  One day, he had created a Wolverine effigy, complete with ice arrows through the heart and groin.  Marie was upset, but Ororo had been forced to contain her laughter. 

"Must…get…back…to…mansion.  Must…find…Marie.  But…why?  Can't…be…in…love?  Must…stop…self…narration."  Trudging through the snow, Logan set back to his bike with one purpose: to take a piss.  Well, but after that, he would go back and claim his Marie.

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On Scott's bike, Logan thought about his return to the X-Men.  Gees, how he hated to think that he would actually "settle down," and become part of that wackmobile family.  But, since Marie had joined them, it can't be all bad, now can it?  True, he would have to deal with the dick, and Ms. "At least I've chosen a side."  Bah.  She chose a side because she had to, he was the invincible Logan, and he needed no help. 

Speaking of, it was nearly half past time to make a girl faint.  Let's see, what weapon shall he use this time?  Ah, yes.  Standards are good.  Turning to the camera, Logan narrowed his eyes, and slowly grinned, baring a single canine tooth.  Just when hearts started beating faster, he winked, dropping the girls (and a few men) like flies.  He'd better get this out of his system; because once he returned to Marie, he'd no longer act like that. 

Speaking of Marie, she was currently talking to Jean Grey, the resident doctor of the mansion.  A fake smile was on the good doctor's lips as she was trying to discreetly levitate a bottle of aspirin to her hand.  This Rogue was giving her a headache.  These long sessions of trying to help Rogue control the voices in her head were taking a toll on her body, mentally and physically.  Most days, she longed for nothing better than a pair of earplugs. 

"Can you believe it, Dr. Grey?  I never, in all my years…"

"Didn't you have an accent?"

"Right!  Ah never thought that…"

"Ms. Munroe!"  Jean leapt up at the sight of her friend and fellow teacher.  With a pleading glance, Jean pressed Ororo.  "Didn't you need me in the Danger Room?" 

Following Jean's glances, Ororo noticed Rogue in the room, and quickly stumbled onto a response.  "Why, yes!  I would appreciate the assistance."

Turning back to the tragic heroine, Dr. Grey apologized.  "I'm sorry, can we continue another time?"

"Sure.  Not a problem."  As the two adult females left the classroom, Marie pondered to herself.  "Gee, Ah wonder why no one stays near me long.  It's not as if Ah talk too much, is it?  Ah mean, I do have the problems of not being able…"

"Glad I could help."  Walking arm-in-arm, Ororo and Jean ducked into Ororo's attic loft.  "Need a headache calmer?"

Jean flopped down on the large, pristine bed.  "God, yes."

"Bourbon, aspirin, or both?"

"Just some bourbon, thanks."  Sitting up, Jean looked slanted-eyed at her friend.  "And where did you get the bourbon?"

Ororo only smiled.  "Never mind." 

Shrugging, Jean sipped at the alcohol as Storm sat down next to her.  "You know, 'Ro, I was thinking about Wolverine again."

Rolling her eyes, Ororo groaned.  "Again?  What now?"

"Just general.  What he'd be like in conversation, a tux, in bed…"

"Jean!"  Ororo laughed at the doctor's unabashed admittance.  "Well, you know, I was thinking about him, also."

Like a young schoolgirl, Jean sat up, rapt with attention.  "Really?  About?"

"Well," Ororo leaned back, "if he has this healing factor that makes him age so slowly, do you think he had to live through puberty for oh, 35 years?"

Jean blinked, and looked at Storm.  A smirk danced around her lips, "pimply-faced Wolverine?"

"Awkward, girl-shy Wolverine?"

"Trips over himself Wolverine?"

"Voice-cracking Wolverine?"

By now the girls were howling with laughter as they continued to build this geeky, scrawny Logan in their minds.  "Wondering what second-base is like Wolverine?" 

And, once again, it was time for a segue; because the non-puberty impaired Wolverine had just entered the grounds of the estate.