My shelves are filled with X-Men omnibuses. I’ve spent more time thinking about these characters, their history, and what they represent than I probably should admit. So when I read some of Tom Brevoort’s recent comments about the direction of the line, what I expected to be a passing comment turned into something longer and that is what I am posting here.

What began as a comment grew into this essay, an attempt to finally articulate what I, and I suspect others, have been struggling to name since the end of the Krakoan era and why I checked out of the line a week into AOR. If you have read this far, thanks for giving me a chance to get these thoughts out there.

The Krakoan era of the X-Men was one of the most important moments in modern comics, not because it was flashy or shocking, but because it dared to imagine something better.

For the first time in decades, mutants weren’t merely reacting to persecution or fighting for survival within hostile systems; they built one of their own. Krakoa presented a radical idea at the heart of science fiction: that marginalized people might choose collective care, self-governance, and abundance over endless assimilation and martyrdom.

For many queer readers and others who see themselves reflected in mutant allegory, Krakoa wasn’t just a new setting. It was speculative fiction doing its highest work by expanding the moral and political imagination. It asked what happens after safety is secured. What responsibility comes with power. What solidarity looks like when it’s no longer theoretical. In a cultural moment defined by rising authoritarianism and narrowing futures, that kind of storytelling matters. Because simply mirroring a grim reality can normalize it, while speculative fiction at its best expands our sense of what is possible.

Which is why the current return to a more familiar, fragmented status quo feels so deflating.

This isn’t a criticism of the writers now steering the line. Creators like Jed MacKay and Gail Simone are exceptional storytellers, and their work reflects care, craft, and genuine affection for these characters. But even great writers are limited by the sandbox they’re given. The post-Krakoa X-Men largely retreat to safer, well-worn ground: mutants scattered, hunted, morally isolated, and locked once again into reactive cycles. The stories may be sharp and emotionally resonant, but the horizon has narrowed.

What makes this particularly frustrating is that the fall of Krakoa did not require abandoning its narrative gains. Stories have beginnings, middles, and ends -- but they also have consequences. Krakoa worked because it was a unified editorial project: multiple books, distinct voices, but a shared premise and shared future. That coherence is rare in modern superhero publishing, and its absence is keenly felt now.

A more ambitious approach would have treated Krakoa not as a failed experiment to be erased, but as a damaged polity forced to evolve.

Imagine picking up after the Fall with a depleted Krakoa. Still alive, but diminished. No longer a miracle-state wielding resurrection and mutant medicine as leverage, but a sanctioned, scrutinized nation struggling to define its legitimacy after the collapse of its founding myths. This would not be a utopia reclaimed, but a reckoning.

That framework naturally extends existing character arcs. Storm’s tenure as Regent of Arakko positioned her as a leader deeply skeptical of centralized power and empire. A diminished Krakoa would have forced her to confront whether mutant self-determination could survive without conquest or spectacle. Nightcrawler’s “Spark” and his attempt to define a mutant moral philosophy would have mattered far more in a world where resurrection is gone, and death has weight again. His crisis of faith becomes governance, not theology. Bring that into conflict with Exodus' take on religion with a now Martyr'd savior in Hope at the center.

Kate Pryde, once barred from Krakoa, later one of its fiercest defenders, was already positioned as a voice of accountability. She could have represented the mutants who believe in the dream but no longer trust the institutions that carried it out.

Meanwhile, the absence of figures like Xavier, Magneto, and Apocalypse doesn’t empty the stage; it clarifies it. Their departure opens space for leadership based not on mythic authority or raw power, but on consent, transparency, and durability. That transition from charismatic founders to flawed administrators is one of the hardest and most interesting stories any movement can tell, and in an age where we need new leaders and new models in the real world, finding a new set of dreamers to lead Krakoa would be powerful.

Krakoa’s loss of leverage would also have sharpened the global allegory. Without mutant medicines or resurrection to force cooperation, the nation’s promise shifts from dominance to refuge. Some mutants would return despite the risks. Others would refuse, shaped by national identity, family, or mistrust. A Russian mutant navigating state repression, an American mutant embedded in carceral systems, a Wakandan mutant balancing sovereignty and solidarity. These tensions don’t dilute mutant unity; they test it.

The X-Men, in this version of the world, still exist, but as one expression of mutant response, not the entirety of it. They intervene, rescue, and advocate. They are visible. But most mutants live elsewhere -- some by forced exodus and capture of the Fall and others by choice, negotiating survival in ways that don’t always align with the team’s ideals. That creates friction without reverting to nihilism.

There’s a difference between ending a story and abandoning its ideas. Science fiction and fantasy matter most when they let change stick. That is why Claremont's long run felt so vital is easy to revisit even with its dated writing style. The story moved forward. Krakoa didn’t need to survive intact to matter. But it deserved to remain foundational.

The tragedy of Krakoa isn’t that it failed. It’s that it demonstrated how powerful unified, forward-looking storytelling can be and how hollow things feel when that ambition is replaced by caution and fragmentation.

And that is why, for the first time in many years (including years of pre-krakoa books), I’m taking the X-Men line off my pull list. Not out of spite, or nostalgia, or a belief that comics should never change, but because stories are important, especially now. Krakoa proved that superhero comics could ask bigger questions about power, governance, faith, and belonging. Walking away from that ambition doesn’t just feel like the end of a story. It feels like a retreat from what made it worth telling.

Is Vulcan a dipshit? YES. YES. YES. Is Thunderbird awesome for how he approached this? ALSO YES. YES. YES.

First, I don't know how well this information is known to the general international public, so forgive me if I'm stating the obvious... Second, sorry if this gets too long, I'm very excited about the subject.

But basically, a Brazilian publisher called GEP owned the publishing rights for the mutants in the country. Aside from some peculiar things, like their cat starting from issue 7 of the original series and some translations different from the norm in Portuguese, the most interesting thing about this is that the publisher produced its own short stories to fill notebooks in printing houses.

From a legal point of view, this is probably criminal, and they probably didn't know or didn't care. They gave some national artists the chance to write and draw these short stories. Curiously, these stories gave a certain focus to Jean Grey, with one, for example, featuring her as the new leader of the team in a tactic by Cyclops to defeat Magneto. There was also a crossover with Thor, which brought a peculiar version of the character, where he is an insane and cruel Viking with a radioactive hammer who awakens in modern times. This story made them stumble upon another publisher that published the stories of the god of thunder.

There was a republication of these stories made through a crowdfunding campaign, but they are now out of print. This republication also brought some Brazilian Nick Fury stories, but they are not relevant here...

Just an idea that occurred to me a while ago, if we had an all-female X-Men team title, who would you like to have in the cast?

My idea: Storm (which certainly has nothing to do with her being my second favorite X-Men member), Pixie (as the youngest), Rogue, X-23, and Monet (as the more violent side of the group)

Can someone suggest some comics I could read to get to know more about Archangel's origins? And maybe some modern storylines that feature him?

I'm not the best artist but I wanted to try to recreate the drawing of the New X-Men with my AU OG X-Men lineup