u/thefrostbitequeen

English class, Wednesday, August 19th. While the students were not required to take summer courses, due to their different ages, many still choose to attend.

Emma, of course, loves this.

Students, today's lesson plans feel especially relevant considering the state of mutantkind. I wanted to discuss one particularly-poignant idea: if you are not actively antiracist, you are racist. We are an oppressed people, we are looked down upon in society, and there is no middle ground. There's an incredible quote that the writer gave me, one I wanted to share with you. "Neutrality doesn't move the needle." I find that as I rub shoulders with society's elites, many love to pretend they do not take a stand on our people, but that is impossible. If you are not staunchly pro-mutant, working to liberate our people, you are hurting us.

However, there is another side to this. As mutants, we are all connected by something beyond our simple human races. I myself am a white woman, and there is a privilege that comes with that, both in the human world and ours. Many of you are different races, some of you not even having visible skin, but we are all still perceived as something.

In general, mutant skin colors are thought of differently than human skin colors, as we as a people bond over our shared mutant identities. This is not to say I have not seen colorisms within our people. Professor Xavier once said that his original class of five X-Men, that being Cyclops, Marvel Girl, Beast, Angel, and Iceman, were all chosen because they are white and would be easier for the humans to stomach. As a people, we need to acknowledge the cultural differences we have, as though we share some, we do not share all culture. Your mutant identity does not invalidate your color, you do not need to abandon your religion or people because you are here.

But, you must make a choice. You cannot choose neutrality, because bystanders only serve the oppressors. You must always take a stance.

So, who has something to add?

(Open to students in Emma's class or anyone who's watching.)

Emma Frost lives a busy life. With all of the coordination and chaos required in her life, she finds it rather difficult to keep track of the friends she doesn't see every day. But as Tessa loves to remind her, she needs to relax more. This is her relaxing, then. She trots down to Rogue and Gambit's cottage down by the lake and says hello, two brisk clicks of their brass door knocker echo through their home.

Have the newlyweds finally returned? Don't let me knock on an empty house like a manic woman.

My X-Men, the time has come for a stronger hand. Not to crush, but to nudge.

In the highest room of Xavier's Mansion sits Emma Frost's X-Men, Storm, Colossus, Sage, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Firestar, and Namor, those that have chosen power and control over brute force. To say she expected this level of support when she ejected Cyclops from manor grounds would be a lie, as she had already mentally prepared for the spring to be flipped, for her to be evicted and forced to hide on Muir Island with Moira Kinross or beneath her Hellfire Club with the Morlocks. Those were not horrid fates, but they would certainly make her goals more difficult to achieve. But fortunately, that is not the world she lived in.

I appreciate you all, but we need to be more proactive in our aid, mend our side of public relations. I am not so low to stoop to sabotage as they do, but neither am I holy enough to play entirely by the rules. Of this, I am sure you are well aware.

"Get to point, Frost. I'm gettin' tired a' waiting."

Yes yes, you have always been impatient, Logan. As such, we will start with your task.

She shows them all a psychic map with a face beside it, one they are all-too-familiar with, a man with a broad forehead, heavy eyebrows, and a segmented moustache.

Bolivar Trask has been spotted in Royal, Nebraska. Whether he is another clone or somehow back from the dead, it matters not. Logan, you and Sage will find him and the Master Mold he is no doubt making and quietly dispose of him. We will make no theatrics of this, as you will upload a virus into the assembly process to corrupt it from the inside and give us the schematics, and you will make him disappear. No one is to find his body. What that entails, I will ultimately leave to your discretion, but I trust you will make it work.

Keep an eye on him, beloved. He's not taking this schism well.

Tessa nods to both the instructions and the psychic message and sends one back herself.

"Yes, Emma, I will."

Ororo, a new treaty regarding global mutant legislation will soon be posed to the United Nations, and I need you to garner the support of Ethiopia, Egypt, South Africa, Nigeria, and Wakanda. If our calculations are correct, these five countries will swing the vote in our favor. I'm trying to minimize the amount of people I brainwash, reduce my psychic signature if you will. If you could, I'd like you to also broach the idea of future, exclusive trade with them as well, though I understand this may be rather cumbersome to fit into casual conversation.

"Nothing about this is casual, Emma."

No, it is not, but I'm sure a queen like you will make it so. You are a beacon of authority and respect.

Moving on, Piotr, Kurt, there's an underground mutant resistance in Volgograd I recently lost contact with. They had been regularly contacting me twice a month for the past few years, but all communication abruptly stopped three weeks ago. It's possible nothing is wrong, but we are never so fortunate. Reestablish a link with them, give them my regards, and give them this.

She takes out a purple flower with large, drooping leaves in a round, silver pot and hands it to Piotr.

Tell them not to lose it, and that I will tell them the use for this in due time.

The two firmly nod, with Colossus examining the flower's beauty as he cradles it in his hands.

Angelica, your task is a similar one, though one I am less certain of the specifics of. There are rumblings of a mutant uprising in Poland, and I want you to assist with it. You will similarly deliver to them one of these flowers. Importantly, though, I do not want this to appear as a mutant mission. Though it pains all of our eyes, I ask that you brand yourself with Avengers insignias and garb to cloak our intentions. Take Pixie with you, and have her focus primarily on support and retrieval. Additionally, I'd like her to bug the Prime Minister's office, a quick teleport in and out, so that I may force his hand in the future. Do return soon, as I need you for something else promptly.

She hands Firestar the same flower and a small black disk, about the size of a dime.

Hide this somewhere. It only needs to stay operational for 48 hours. After that, it will self destruct.

"...fine, Emma. But I don't like it."

You never do, love, but it is the perfect job for you.

She turns to Namor and sets her hand atop his, tapping his knuckles with her fingers.

Namor, it appears Donald Pierce has also resurfaced, and he is commencing construction of a new Reavers training and modification facility on the coast of the Philippines. He is transporting the materials nautically from his previous base in Australia. Sink his ships and bring me his head.

"With pleasure, my queen. The King of the Seas will have him impaled."

Very good. I trust all of you implicitly, and I know that we will liberate mutantkind together.

Oh, and one more thing: if I know Scott, he has already begun to call himself and his mutants X-Men Blue. I see it only fit that we return with X-Men Gold.

Any questions?

The rotors of the newest model of Hellfire Helicopter descents above Utopia, blades whirling as it hovers above the place she once called home.

Scott, darling, be a dear and come say hi to your favorite ex.

Like a dog on a leash, Cyclops marches out onto the lawn, his eyes narrow behind his visor and his posture stilted. Strangely, though, his hair is rather shaggy and disheveled for his liking. Has he been... dismiss the thought, White Queen.

Hello, lover. You left something of yours at my home, and I thought it only prudent that I return it to you.

She kicks the naked body of Maverick onto the lawn, tossing a olive bag out behind him and squishing his flat behind as they both smack the ground.

He seems to really like you. You know, I've been trying to keep this fight above board, but you seem to be positively throbbing at the idea of spiting me.

She flings a dossier out of the chopper, papers fluttering down and smacking him in the face. He pulls one off and sees a picture of the despicable Victor Creed, the Sabretooth, locked up in chains.

I know you think I'm just a remarkable slacker when it comes to our rights, so here, I brought you a gift. Please enjoy knowing of all the mutants I liberated from human custody and took into mine. I considered taking your little Nord to join them, but I thought you deserved your toy to play with once more. Aren't I benevolent?

She bends over and blows him a kiss, her cape fluttering behind her as she stares at him, controlling his mutation from afar so he can really see her. She peers back into his mind and finds his recent secrets, personal and professional, and her heart breaks for just a moment. How fortunate she is blocking out the sun from her eyes, for otherwise he'd see a tear start to well. Kwannon, and that dreadful device... jealousy is a confusing emotion, no? She brushes it off and snaps her fingers at him.

Keep the children out of this, beloved. I tire of watching you create more soldiers because you do not trust my way.

Oh, how horribly they treated you. How they looked at a wounded woman and thrust their daggers deeper. How they called you lesser than and discarded you like rubbish in the bin. None should blame you for your past, for how is a girl to respond when they label her before even laying eyes on her?

Madelyne, Madelyne, Madelyne, how they still cannot forgive you. How they see the lesser face of a woman they adore, and yet somehow they distinguish it into the woman they hate. How they call you all the mortifying words their narrow minds can fathom, for all you are to them is an object.

Oh Goblin, how they hold than man over you like a stain. Like you are responsible for anything he did to you. Like you are responsible for being born broken.

Have you ever noticed that we are opposite in more than just circumstance? You’re red to my blonde, your black to my white, your Limbo to my Hellfire. We share gifts of the mind, we share stories of isolation and rejection, and yet I was forgiven. I am the hero. I am the headmistress. You were scorned, became the villain, the tyrant, the lost. I look into your eyes and ruminate on the shadows you lurked in, the scraps you fed on, just to survive.

Just to come home to us.

And beneath all of that, beneath the endless fires of pain and agony, all you want is to be a real girl, to feel your pulse as your own and let your heart beat. All you want is to escape the hands that pull you back down, to cast aside their foul grips and rise as the phoenix you know you are beneath your skin.

I see you, Madelyne, and I am here.

Emma Frost knocks on the door of Madelyne Pryor’s quaint little cottage, built right beside her own.

"Docket 6732_D3. Only one case today, judge."

"All quiet on the Western front? How would you like to proceed, counselor?"

"We'd argue you've got the wrong man."

The chained Victor Creed spits a sticky bead of saliva onto the floor in front of him, snarling his words like a wild animal. His breath reeks of metals and ammonia, raw meat and cheap beer, blood leaking from his gums ,dripping down his suit, and staining his fur collar.

"Oh, I'm guilty, meat. Phtoo! I definitely got bad manners."

"And the other charges?"

"Guess, fleshbag."

He flashes his lurid fangs and licks his teeth, red globs bubbling on his lips and stuck between his teeth.

"I'm a horrible monster, an' I enjoyed every one of those kids I-"

That's quite enough, Victor. Be a good boy and hush now for mommy.

Victor's jaws snap shut as his lips force themselves together, his eyes sharpening and his nose flaring as jasmine strikes his nostrils and the clicking of heels fills his ears. Emma Frost strides into the courtroom, pushing two heavy oak doors open with a firm shove. Her ebony sunglasses shine as the light reflects off of her, platinum-blonde locks glowing as she basks in the sunlight. Compared to Sabretooth's fur, hers looks positively pristine, radiant and bleached so bright it would blind you if you stared too long. Her gold jewelry gleams under rays of yellow sunshine, sparkling like the diamond she is. All eyes immediately fixate on her, hypnotized and unable to even blink, lest they miss a second of her dominance.

This man is under my jurisdiction, and you will release him at once.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The judge pulls a gun from beneath his desk and aims it right between the White Queen's eyes, his hand shaking as he aims at her. She doesn't flinch in the slightest, staring directly down the barrel and locking eyes with the judge's frazzled hazel orbs.

I'm not sure that's the question you should be asking, as there's quite the difference between what's getting ready to happen and what it really means.

"Enlighten me, Ms..."

Frost, Your Honor. Emma Frost.

"Well, enlighten me, Ms. Frost. Why will I release this-"

Sabretooth, Your Honor. And that is so remarkably simple. May I approach the bench?

The judge cautiously eyes his bailiff but nods. She struts over and tosses a manila file in front of him, embroidered with a silver X and the tag 'S.1429' shining beneath his fingers. He flips it open and scans the first page, and his face drops as he lowers his gun.

I assume you're familiar with the bill Congress recently passed, yes? Proposed by one Senator James Roberts, a fellow Maine man and Georgetown alum like yourself. If I recall correctly, you two may have even shared a class or two, though he entered during your senior year. Professor Dalton's U.S. History, right?

"Objection, Your Honor, relevance?"

Emma turns back to the snapping prosecutor and chuckles, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Sorry, darling, just setting the stage. I'll get to the point.

As of two days ago, mutant crimes are no longer yours to prosecute. With the relatively small population of my people, it was ultimately decided that, if mutants are to be a different people than humans, then they will govern themselves. I imagine you are relieved to be free of the burden that is our troubles, what with all of the superpowered crime you already struggle to adjudicate.

The White Queen removes her sunglasses and sniggers under her breath, slipping her shades into her pocket and examining her nails. Squared-off and pristine, just like her.

Yes, he's a bit of a monster, on that I cannot disagree, but he's our monster. And from this day forward, mutants won't be judged in human courts or by the likes of you. We have struggled far too long to suffer through any more of your archaic trials and dilapidated prisons, and I am so thankful that you have finally seen the light at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps you should thank Senator Roberts with a nice dinner, for saving you so much time on paperwork.

The bailiff raises her pistol and presses it to Emma's temple, resting her finger on the trigger as she looks at the judge. With a scrunched nose and sullen eyes, he shakes his head at her, a silent admission of defeat. When she lowers the gun, the corner of Emma's lip perks up, and she blows a kiss at the failed bailiff before taking the key from her hand and turning to grab Sabretooth. She hands him off to two assistants and prances out of the courtroom, her pompous steps the only sounds in an otherwise silent room. As she leaves, she turns back to the court and narrows her eyes, leaving them a final nugget to chew on as she departs.

It's a brave new world, darlings. Best get used to it.

And with that, the White Queen exits the courtroom, heavy oak doors slamming behind her.

"Keep your wits about you, Emma. Essex is definitely going to try something."

Yes, I'm well aware, darling. Though I suppose you are far more familiar with the depths of his depravity than I.

"Yes..."

My, are you worried about me? I'm flattered!

"Oh, quiet. We're here."

Moira Kinross parks an unfortunately-incognito truck outside the most recent of Mr. Sinister's popup labs, just outside of Akron, Ohio. The White Queen can't help but feel like poachers are hiding behind the trees and waiting for the opportune moment to strike, hunters laying in wait. For what reason he chose to reside in such a deplorable place, one cannot say, but after a quick kick through the door, the unlikely pair descends into the depths of malicious science, red lights illuminating the path into mad experiments. When the elevator reaches the bottom, the doors open to a noxious fog, death lingering in the air around them.

Augh, honestly, how can the man live like this? This is positively repugnant.

"It's Essex, remember? Everything about him is repugnant."

Mm, quite. Well, no use waiting for him to find us.

She puts a finger to her forehead and glares further into the haze.

Essex? Don't keep me waiting here.

Not many understand the depths of the White Queen’s tactics. They assume her influence is limited to what her beauty can charm out of people, what her wit can silently decipher, and what her assets can handily secure. But she is so much more.

Espionage, in truth, is rather simple, especially when one allies themselves with a precognate as powerful and decorated as Destiny, the Golden Queen. To the two of them, world is a series of endless chessboards with all future moves written in bright, bold letters. The only way to lose, then, is to stop paying attention.

And Emma Frost is always paying attention.

Careful not to alert a soul to their mission, the royal Queens depart the mansion in the dead of night, cloaked in shadow and fog as their private Blackbird silently slips away and soars to San Antonio. She parks above the tallest building in the sorry city and drops her empresses onto the roof, looping all cameras in the area and masking their arrival. They slink the line the stairway and psychically blind all of the guards, effortlessly strutting into doctor-turned-politician James Roberts’s office, dulling his senses until he feels hands on both of his shoulders.

Mr. Roberts. Oh how I have looked forward to this.

The White and Black Queens watched the news as the Avengers and the X-Men fought yet another pointless fight. Cyclops made his own choices, and it was not the responsibility of the woman he once called a lover to save him anymore. He had made his choices, and she had to live with that.

Then, they watched as a woman they called a friend died to the blade of an X-Man. And that was enough.

With the assistance of Pixie, the monochrome Queens steps through a portal to Utopia in an instant, wet sand softly compressing beneath their feet. She reaches over to the child besides her and takes her hand, red hair flowing in the beach's oceanic breeze.

Hope, I appreciate your assistance in this matter. I know we do not entirely agree on the matters of the Schism, but-

Hope Summers, the Mutant Messiah, scoffs and grips the White Queen's hand tightly as she interrupts Emma's words.

"Just get on with it, Emma. Or I'm leaving."

Yes darling, as you say.

The Avengers and the X-Men fight all around them, not noticing the four mutants standing together in the center of them. They battle down on the sand and up in the air, trading blasts of power and strikes of fists. It is tiring. They just need to-

Submit.

Man and mutant alike fall to their knees, dropping from the sky like flies. Even the two most resistant to her gifts, Grey and Voodoo, feel the compulsion to give in, to bend the knee. Their minds rattle with the call of compliance, consciousnesses shattering to the White Queen's Dominance.

Now. Are we ready to speak as adults?

You know, Madelyne...

Emma guides a blindfolded Red Queen by the wrist into the depths of the Hellfire Club, the royal equivalent to a conference room. Like lawyers, the Queens are sharks in the water, bloodsuckers of opportunity. Many are entirely unaware of their current business ventures , the success of the Hellfire Trading Company and other smaller entertainment venues, but even those would not justify more than one Queen. Why, then, must there be five Queens with five distinct courts?

It's simple, really: leverage. The Queens currently cast a wide net of influence over the natural world, the Queen of Espionage, the Queen of Information, the Queen of Limbo, the Queen of the Future, and finally, the White Queen, the Queen of Mutantkind. Nowhere else boasts such a diverse roster of influence, and together, they rule the world from the shadows.

But, to be truly effective Queens, to topple the Kings, Aces, and Jokers of the world, they need to work as a united front. With all of the entropy of the Schism and of Apocalypse, the Blue Queen and the Golden Queen have not had the opportunity to be properly reintroduced to the newly-christened Red Queen. It is time to rectify that.

It occurs to me that you may be using your psychic sight to see through the eyes of surrounding peoples. I do hope you don't spoil the surprise.

Madelyne Pryor's feelings for Emma Frost are far more than meets the eye, though perhaps one moderately perceptive would see how she changes around the White Queen. All she wants to be is a real girl, a woman mutantkind respects and treats as having a soul, but she has been denied this right since her status as a clone of the ever-beloved Jean Grey, a reveal destined to alienate her from her people. Clone or not, soul or not, Madelyne deserves respect. She and Emma were two sides of the same coin, both former villains and lovers of Scott Summers, both Jean Grey's temporary replacement, but when push came to shove, only one was accepted by mutantkind. Therefore, when the White Queen extended her ivory bridge to the Red Queen's crimson heart, all of the fires guarding her heart dowsed by diamonds. In this moment, Madelyne Pryor became nothing less than endlessly loyal to Emma Frost, perhaps in more ways than she'd like to admit.

"...I'm not, Emma. I'm trying to respect your surprise, but... your grip is making that rather hard to focus on."

She squirms her wrist beneath Emma's soft hand, but she chooses not to break out. She has been dreaming of this touch for weeks now, but she'd never admit that aloud.

And that is such a dreadful shame, my Red Queen. Truly despicable.

She releases Madelyne and receives a faint gasp in return, but her body quickly tenses as she feels Emma's hands on her head untying the blindfold. Emma slowly pulls it from her eyes and puts her hands on her shoulders, smiling as Madelyne sees Tessa Karisik, Raven Darkhölme, and Irene Adler seated in front of her. She kisses her on the cheek before releasing her shoulders and taking a seat beside the Black Queen, their hands immediately interlocking on the armrests of their chairs.

Welcome to the Hellfire Club, Madelyne Pryor. Welcome, the Red Queen.

Xavier's Mansion is quiet in a way it never quite has been before. The X-Men have fractured, bisected themselves in two because of their splintering ideologies. The White Queen was not happy with what happened, but this is the world she lives in now. So, after the last wave of mutants leaves campus grounds to lodge in the ruins of Utopia, Emma Frost takes her podium in the assembly hall and speaks to those who remain.

Good morning, all.

Good morning, Ms. Frost.

The students' voices echo back to her as they respond to their headmistress.

I know that it is a difficult time right now, and many of you feel conflicted on where your allegiances lie. I would first like to say that I respect all those that chose to leave us. Our blood is still the same, we are still the same people of mutantkind, and nothing will ever change that. This is not an "us versus them," but a different in opinion. Know that the love I hold for all of my people has not changed in the slightest, and that I truly do pray that Mr. Summers succeeds in his efforts. While I may not agree with him, he is still a dear friend and ally, and I would never wish harm on another X-Men. Furthermore, if any of you feel that your opinion changes at any time, you are more than welcome to leave without fear of discrimination or isolation. This will always be a home for you, and I will never allow that right to be taken away.

Now then, because of the radical shift in staff and culture around here, some changes must be made. As of Monday, there will be no official timetable. The traditional human education system, upon which we have based many of our methods here at Xavier's, is to be scrapped in favor of some more fluid approaches to learning. This means that we will transition to more activity based learning, still keeping essential classes but providing far more small-scale missions in the area for you to organically learn through. Our mission is still the same: to teach you the skills necessary for survival in a world which still prefers to see us as freakish and threatening. We live in a world that we must understand thoroughly to thrive in, and through your continued education here at Xavier's, we plan to do such. Mr. Logan and Mrs. LeBeau will be handling your physical education, and to facilitate this, you will be meeting with them outside daily. Ms. Munroe and Ms. Jones will also be teaching a flight class for students looking to master their gifts in the sky, and that will similarly be taught outside. As for the core classes, I will continue to teach English, Mr. Forge will teach basic Mathematics, Ms. Karisik will teach Science, Mrs. Adler will continue to teach History, and Mr. LeBeau will teach Home Economics. Further classes will be revealed in a schedule soon to come.

But do not be mistaken, we also want to learn from you. We need your thoughts and fresh ideas for the future of mutantkind. We educate you because you are our future, you are what propels mutantkind into the strong people it is today. You are the artists, writers, politicians, musicians, and everything in between of the future, and you personally play a guiding role in our next steps. I am so proud to foster the next generation, so proud to call you my students.

With the attention mutantkind has received as of late, it is important to restate our values. Violence of any kind will never be tolerated. You cannot escape the fist by punching the walls. You need to sever the fingers from the hand before they even notice your blades deep inside them. Control, above all else, is paramount. We must prove ourselves a peaceful people and make ourselves invaluable to the humans, and we must never mistake that for trust.

The whole world is watching us now.

We must be nothing less than fabulous.

Headmistress Frost steps down from the podium.

OOC: A couple of things: One, ignore Beast and the Cuckoos in this art, I just love it and it's perfect for this. Two, this is open for interaction! Talk to me or other teachers who would be at the assembly.

Hi there from Emma and Scott! With the progression of the Apocalypse event and the direction of Emma Frost and Cyclops's relationship, we are slowly dividing Xavier's Mansion and the X-Men as a whole into two sides. On one side, Cyclops believes mutantkind is being too passive and needs to display the strength to force equality and a revolution. On the other side, Emma Frost believes that she is able to force diplomacy and equality through a scheme she has currently not publicly revealed, and that she can liberate mutantkind without the need for war or violence. While similar to pacifism, she believes in leverage and control. For those sensing some familiarity, this is drawing a lot of inspiration from both Schism and Bendis's Uncanny X-Men run.

We ask that you truly think about which argument your character would agree with, the interventionism of Cyclops or the long-term strategy of Emma Frost. No characters/RPers will be penalized for their choices and all will be allowed to live at Xavier's Mansion, but the ideological differences reflected in everyone's posts will be amazing to see and set up a big storyline in the semi-distant future. If you'd like to comment your character's allegiance for transparency's sake, that would be wonderful, but do not feel forced to do that.

Please enjoy the Revolution of X. We're going to blow you away!

Callisto is a strange woman. She is tough as nails and a ruthless predator, but she fights for nothing more than a love of her people. She is endlessly kind to mutants in need behind her facade of fangs and venom, a mother to a people with none, but she is also a wild animal. She is a killer who hunts for survival, a huntress who tears flesh from bone like a hot knife through butter. It's been a while since the White Queen checked on the people living in her club's basement, a practical since she saw her beloved Artie and Leech.

So she ventures into the depths of the New Hellfire Club, a winding stone staircase leading into a small village about the size of the entire Weschester campus. Of course, none except for her people knew of her garden below the city of New York, that would be preposterous, and you are silly for even asking that question. Homes with straw roofs and dense trees form the residence of the Morlocks, a pleasant aroma of blooming flowers and budding blossoms wafting into her nose. She finds her White Knight relaxing at a wooden table, as always sharpening her knife, and greets her from behind.

My Knight... how I have missed this place.

Scott Summers is many things, but a fool is not one of them. He knows exactly why she called him to her office, why her posture was sharp and tense. He was in trouble.

Scott...

She quietly said as he entered, her eyes a mix of frustrated and afraid. She sits him down but chooses to stand herself, turning her back to him and looking out her window. Soon, though, he stands himself, his arms reaching out to her instintively.

Do you have any idea how difficult your antics are making my life? I ask for one inch of trust, and you go and crush it like a bug.

She takes a sip of the whiskey she liberated from Shaw and places her palms on the desk, her arms shaking slightly.

It is so... difficult to be around you when you are like this. You invite our students to riot, Scott. You refuse to believe that I can change things, that we can change things.

A tear falls from her eye to the desk, but she quickly wipes it away before he can notice it.

When does it end? When does your crusade kill mutantkind before you save it?

Em(m)a's OOC author's note: for best reading experience, go to the next slide when I say "next," okay? Okay.

Scott Summers.

Scott Christopher Summers.

I've dated a lot of men over the years, but none treated me as well as he did. So many saw my body as a prize or a reward for my, shall we say, passionate personality.

Not Scott. Scott taught me that I deserved more than to be a handbag to a man, a pretty face to raise the price. Perhaps I did it to myself, but he never saw that.

Next.

I remember our first kiss, the first time I knew what I felt was real. It was just after Jean died, and Scott was considering leaving the X-Men. He felt lost without her, and while I did mourn the death of the Phoenix, I will not pretend I was not overjoyed to find him in my arms. The Phoenix was always too big for Scott Summers, at least, that's what I told myself.

Next.

I remember his eyes. God, his eyes are beautiful. Ruby and raging, yes, but that spark in his soul that refuses to let him waste even a single second. That was what I loved. I remember coming back from losing Pryde, all of our scheming to save the entire world from Breakworld's prophecy. Breakworld was the first time he said he loved me, that foolish, reckless man loved me, and I felt my soul break. It was perhaps the first time I knew what love truly was, that it was anything more than a storybook tale. It was certainly nothing I had seen up until that point in my life, not truly. To spend your entire life believing kindness is a manipulation tactic or naivety, trying desperately to prove yourself, and then to meet Scott Summers. It took many years, but even when he met me at my lowest, he was still the same kind man. Perhaps that was the day I truly became an X-Men, though I did not see that for many years.

Next.

I remember the secrets. I remember how broken Scott was, beaten by the constant wave after wave of strife we endlessly faced. It felt like every day was another step down the flaming path I knew I deserved. I remember the Cabal, Utopia, how we both schemed to protect the other, and how he held me when we confessed. How warm I felt, how light my shoulders were, to tell the man I loved that I would never hold a secret from him again. I wish that were still so.

Next.

For all my flawless memory grants me, I cannot remember how we ended. I have never stopped loving Scott Summers, and I believe in my heart that he has never stopped loving me either, but what we had changed. The weight of the world grew too heavy for the both of us, and with the return of Jean Grey, I felt sidelined. I had always feared the return of the prodigal flame, the bird he saw in his dreams, but the day she returned was a knife in my gut. I cannot tell you when it was, I cannot tell you when we knew, but I can tell you that we were broken. For all he was, I could never live up to the burning martyr, she who died so we could live. How, truly, was I supposed to compete with that?

Still, Scott taught me how to be a leader, a lover, an X-Men. There was once a time where my sadness masqueraded as vitriol, but that time has passed. Now, I simply cherish the time we had and know that I will never know another man quite like Scott Summers.

Perhaps that is why it pains me so to see his anger resurface, to hear him spout Erik's self-destructive rhetoric. Though I'd never leave Tessa, I do wish he would look at me with those sanguine eyes one more time and trust me like he did when we were lovers. Just one more time is all I ask for. I suppose I am selfish, always asking for more when I have everything I could want. But sometimes, selfishness is justified.

The diary of Emma Frost, July twenty-fourth, twenty twenty-six, one past one in the ante meridiem.

Hmph.

For as much as she loves the mansion, for as much as she cannot stand the stench of the humans, the White Queen has always enjoyed New York's public parks. With a little psychic trickery, she blends into the crowd like a fly on the wall, nothing more than another minimum-wage employee relaxing for a spell on a bench. This week, despite all of the endless chaos and fighting, despite a second attack on the World Trade Center and the destruction of multiple cities, Central Park is... happy. Absorbed in its own world of faux-Renaissance indulgence, latex, and helium. Still, she cannot deny that she enjoys watching the children enjoy themselves. They are innocent, empathetic without trying, not yet scorned by a world that teaches them that kindness is a weakness. Even if her children were persecuted by the world, these ones were innocent. At least, for now.

So garish. I mean, a turquoise ruff? What a pathetic excuse for a zany.

She tuts and rolls her eyes, but she can't seem to pull herself away from the scene. In a world so uncertain, the bliss of a child is calming. So calming, in fact, that she does not notice the woman approaching her from behind.

"Good afternoon."

Hello, children.

At normal schools, the Club Fair comes a few weeks into the semester.

But Xavier's has never been normal, has it?

The White Headmistress chuckles along with her students' laughter, but continues warmly.

As an academy, we pride ourselves on the diverse student-led opportunities we provide and cultivate. While faculty such as myself are delighted to host, we are equally proud of the clubs and groups you form independently. So, without further ado...

She spreads her arms wide and beams at her children.

Let the Fall 2026 Club Fair begin! Stop by Professor Karisik's table for some homemade punch and Rice Crispies, sponsored as always by the Hellfire Club. To my right, there is also magic tricks by Mr. LeBeau and facepainting by Mrs. LeBeau. Have the utmost of fun, my dears.

OOC: Open to interaction! Pitch a club or show interest in someone else's! The clubs with the most interest will be added to the upcoming semester's schedule. Have fun!