When I picked up my first X-Men comic back in the 80s, I quickly realized one thing: Rogue is bloody awesome. It is truth. It is law.
Every Wednesday I will share with you a moment, a panel, a scene, that proves it.
Because: Rogue. FUCK YEAH.
X-Treme X-Men was a great damn book that never got the love it deserved. It had its problems, yeah – not the least of which was that totally abysmal fucking name – but of all the main X-Titles running at the time (Austen’s Uncanny and Morrison’s Adjectiveless), it was the only one that understood and gave two shits about the characters you came to fucking read about each month.
Not coincidentally, Rogue kicked ass in X-Treme. Like this shit. Check it.
So Rogue’s got a metric fuckton of powers right about now that yeah are kind of out of control. What’s more she’s able to manifest them physically in a long story that doesn’t have anything to do with this scene. The X-Men need info from this dude and he don’t wanna talk.
Like I said Rogue has Wolverine’s claws right now. Don’t question this shit, just go with it. By the way, she’s supporting an entire guy’s weight just by the thin bones coming out of her forearm. I struggle to open a pop can without bending my fingernail back and sobbing. My girl is hard-fucking-CORE.
WE WEREN’T THAT HIGH, STOP SNIVELING.
Rogue. Making you talk and mocking you when you cry. FUCK YEAH.
From X-Treme X-Men #3 by Chris Claremont and Salvador Larroca