Emma Grace Frost

Telepath, queen of diamonds, sex symbol, mutant. Any questions?

[thelonelyloki-blog]

Well, your instincts are always quite correct and you have very good reason to have them. What with your… ability, and all.

I’m afraid it will continue to give you one. It’s been quite… active with fear and the like as of late. Plenty of, as Midgardians say, ‘drama,’ has been happening. 

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

Asgardians don't say drama?

I'll be fine, I have my industrial-sized bottle of ibuprofen.

[logan-the-wolverine-deactivated]

Bout time someone I kinda like came round again.

Take me with ya next time, Sparkles. It’ll be more interestin’ than here.

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

Would it, Logan? Tell me, how many board meetings having you attended?

The galas are decent, though.

[thelonelyloki-blog]

Mm, yes, just as I thought I could magic myself out of the situation but I’m afraid even that was not an option. I’m also afraid simply evicting them would not work, they appear to do as they please. 

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

Hm. I never really did like any of the male entities. I guess that just goes to show.. always trust my instincts.

This place is already giving me a headache.

[wadewednesdays-blog]

BREAKING NEWS.

[wadewednesdays-blog]

Only 100? And here I thought you hated me. How was the hooker tour? Show yer ta tas? Make da money? 

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

I made "the money," yes, but my stripping days are over. Unfortunately for you.

[thelonelyloki-blog]

Well, I don’t suppose murderous is the correct word choice, but torturous may be an option. Plenty has happened, I assure you. Why, just the other night the embodiment of fear decided to play a little game on all of us and turned Sky High into a living, well, night terror. So I suppose it’s rather a plus you missed that. 

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

That sounds like something I could probably sparkle my way out of. I figured we would have evicted all those "higher beings" by now. They seem to bring nothing but trouble with them.

[wadewednesdays-blog]

BREAKING NEWS.

DIAMOND BOOBS IS BACK AGAIN. 

How cum Stark can run a business and stay here and you can’t? 

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

Because I can't stand to be in a 100-mile radius of you, Wilson.

[thelonelyloki-blog]

Emma! How delightful to see your return. 

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

Well at least tall, pale, and Asgardian missed me.

Holding down the fort while I'm gone, are you? No one on a murderous rampage?

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

It's lonely at the top and it really doesn't seem likely that anyone is going to be joining me any time soon.

Precisely half of that statement is true.

Coming back to Sky High now is like taking a vacation. I come back, watch the little peons go about their business, and then return to the real, corporate world.

Funny.

[tiigrxss]

Everyone seems so stressed.

I watched two people suffer what seemed like severe anxiety attacks, and another two argue over a book in the library. Are finals normally this chaotic?

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

They're normally accompanied by mysterious deaths, too, so this is fairly tame.

I guess there's still time.

[the-wonderous-wade-wilson-blog]

Callin' all wizards... and magic bitches

Listen up ya’ll because this is it.. the beat that I’m…. wait no not that. I need yo fairy ass dust. I’ve been reading… yea I know I can do that sometimes. We’re shocked too. And it wasn’t the pay per view descriptions or that weird ass Spideypool shit. Oh no. Anywhores, if I get like a wizard or some shit I can get my powers back. Some make a deal with the devil bullshit. I donno. Oh and ya know fix the face.. that too

Anyone know where Rickard is? 

Work yo voodoo magic on me Sky High. WERK IT

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

I've been gone for quite some time, it seems. You have no powers? Interesting. Yet you remain as obnoxious as ever. Care for a spar? Round 2?

Ha ha! I'd actually murder you. Fun.

[logan-the-wolverine-deactivated]

Yeah, finals.

All students in Strategics 128, 239, 350, and 490 along with Combat 267, 312, and 456, are to report to Hangar 37 by 5:30 am on Monday, May 20th. One layer of clothes is permitted. Any bags and anything in pockets will be confiscated. For all classes, this will be your physical final. We’re gunna be joined by some of Professor Kinney’s classes as well.

This final will take place in The Savage Lands, where you will have to survive and outwit Professor Kinney and I, along with whatever else smells ya, for 36 hours. Any mutant in these classes are required to wear power inhibitors, since this is to test yourself without your mutations. Any student that does not attend this final without an excuse will fail the course and need to repeat it the following semester. Here’s a hint, don’t take that route.

Students in Strategics 128 have their written final due Wednesday by noon, loss of limb ain’t an excuse to not turn it in. Students with private training sessions must see me about continuing sessions over the summer semester, and may come on the physical final on request.

Have fun, kiddies.

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

Can I come along for the ride and sit there while everything bounces off? Including you. I won't bring anything in my pockets, promise. You can conduct a strip search if you like.

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

best thing you've ever done with your powers?

I probably have not yet experienced that. I’ve been really excellent at this self-control thing but I’m starting to think that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe I’ll finally take Parker out for spin.

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

What would your perfect date be like?

The actual date would be short but overall things would end in an orgasm. Mine, preferably.

[trobador-deactivated20170607]

[bettynotbetsy-blog]

So I guess this is my blog.

This feels so weird.  Yes, I’m not dead anymore.  No, I don’t know how it happened.  Come say hi or something.  Or don’t.  Whatever.

So yeah, I guess I should socialize.  For those who don’t know me, I’m Betty Banner-Ross, biology major.  I used to study here, but then I died.  Now I’m back, and taking some power control classes.

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

Oh. Interesting.

[sparklingtelepath-blog]

Metamorphosize | One-Shot

Frost manor was quiet. It always was. For as many people lived and worked on the estate, you’d think one might hear proof of their existence. There was the family itself: two parents, three children, and a number of hunting dogs and birds. Horses, too, kept at a barn well away from the main home. There were gardeners, maids, a butler, a chef, nannies, and any number of hired help that saw to the maintenance of the grounds. They worked in silence.  Day by day, Emma Frost lived her life in carefully-maintained silence.

The buzzing in her mind, however, was never silent. As much as she wished differently, Emma never had a moment of peace to herself. The constant static of the universe filled her skull. Sometimes it was loud and sometimes it was soft but never was it silent. There were no words to this noise. Nothing intelligible, anyway. The occasional fragment of a word or a familiar tune might penetrate the barrier of static and, in those moments, she’d be presented with hope. A hope that one day this would all change. A hope that the pain would cease. For with the mindless buzzing in her mind came a terrible ache.

Emma knew there had been a time when she hadn’t been in pain but it was so long ago that she could no longer remember. She’d been just a child when the noise started and it had only grown worse, quickly overpowering all her memories of the time before. Everyone thought she was faking it. The best medical attention money could buy had attempted to treat her problems and every last doctor had been sent away after failing to provide an answer. Psychosomatic, they said. Even when she’d been seven she’d known what that meant. They thought she was making up the pain. She’d been a young child with tears in her eyes, unable to face the light of day due to excruciating pain. Psychosomatic.

Expensive, heavily-darkened sunglasses now covered her eyes as she swung lazily on the bench swing. Emma had learned to cope with the pain, had learned not to listen to the chatter. Still, it was easiest when she was alone. There was no one around to distract her, to make her forget to concentrate. No one ever came down to the pond where the swing was set up. This and the barn was where she spent most of her time at Frost manor and had been since she was able to go outdoors again. No one questioned her solitude or sought her out. Christian, her brother, would join her occasionally. Even then, they rarely spoke. Her father was almost always “working” and her mother was almost always drunk. Cordelia and Adrienne, her sisters? Well, they had normal lives to lead, didn’t they? They weren’t social outcasts.

Emma was so lost in her own thoughts, her own worries, her own daydreams about escaping this nightmare she called life, that it took almost a full minute to register the sobbing. When she did, she quickly realized that that was all she could hear. No static, no headache, no constant chatter. A palm arm reached up and took off her sunglasses slowly, experimentally. Everything around her came into sharper focus. The grounds of Frost estate were vibrant in their summer colors, colors Emma hadn’t experienced up close for close to ten years. Her eyes watered at the sudden barrage of light but the deep-seated ache was no longer present.

The unfettered view of her home held her attention for a few minutes before the sobbing ripped her back to reality. Looking around confusedly, Emma very quickly realized that she wasn’t simply hearing the sobbing. Well, she was hearing it.. but it was in the same place the static used to be. It had replaced the static. She stood and took a few shaky steps back toward the house. This feeling of emptiness inside her mind was unusual. Every step back toward the mansion let the crying grow louder. The crying sounded familiar somehow. It wasn’t a voice Emma could place, however.. at least not right away. Hearing voices in one’s head wasn’t like hearing spoken words. You couldn’t see the person speaking, the words and sounds in your mind were just tinged with a sort of flavor that reminded the telepath of the person in question. Emma didn’t know any of this, not yet. All she could tell was that the sounds of misery were getting louder the closer she came to home.

Frost Manor was an old-timey sort of mansion, a huge construction of wood and more wood. It was almost like a hunting lodge on a huge scale. There was a grand staircase and a giant fireplace with an enormous hearth. Everything was mahogany and portraits of long-dead relatives. Not very homey, especially with the mounted animals hanging everywhere. An old bird dog raised its head from its little cushion near the fireplace, which burned constantly despite the season. The crying was louder inside. The thick wooden walls had been blocking some of the volume.

Gilded parlor doors were pushed open slowly and cautiously. No one ever came in this room. Emma could count the number of times it’d been used on one hand. Rarely were people of any sort of importance invited to the house. Her father’s business was conducted elsewhere and the children weren’t allowed friends over. The heavy door creaked with age and disuse, a loud noise in the quiet manse. Her eyes roamed over the vaguely-unfamiliar furnishings of the room. This used to be a place where distinguished guests would be seated and it was decorated accordingly. Expensive wooden end tables, a mother-of-pearl-inlaid globe, ancient books in cherry wood shelving, Persian rugs. Everything in this room was so still that the body wasn’t even noticeable at first.

He blended in with the busy damask sofa. Emma’s gaze actually wandered over him at first. She did a double-take. Christian, her favorite sibling, her only brother, was lying prone on the couch. Rushing over to him immediately, something stopped her in her tracks. Emma had thought him merely unconscious to begin with, but as she approached she noticed the red liquid dripping to form a pool under his hand which dangled limply in the air. It took her a moment to realize that the enormous gash on his wrist was self-inflicted, a product of the hunting knife held loosely in the other hand. Everything hit her at once: the sobbing, the sudden cease of noise, the quietness of the house. Christian.

She felt her knees buckle and hit the floor hard. Nearby, a vase shattered as Emma lost control. She thought she might be screaming but there was no way to be sure. How did one find out if one was making a noise? Emma’s mind raced outward while her physical body collapsed. Everything became flashing lights and jagged shards of red and lightning bolts twisting and distorting into shapes she couldn’t even begin to define.

When she awoke seconds later, her body was still lying still on the rug in front of the couch. Dazedly, she sat up. Christian was still there, unconscious, but the slow drip of blood no longer echoed in the silence. Emma reached for his wrist with no regard to the blood drying: there was no wound. Was she seeing things? The puddle of crimson blood was still there, slowly seeping into the priceless woven fabric. She put her hand in it, unsure of its realness. It felt warm still. Holding up her pale hand, covered in blood, she examined it in the light. It seemed real enough. Just then Christian sat bolt upright and shrieked, convulsing back into the sofa. Emma clutched her blood-soaked hand back to her chest and screamed in unison. This time she knew it was out loud.

--

In the penthouse suite on top of Frost International HQ, Emma Frost woke up suddenly. There was no violent twitch or scream or gasping for breath. Her eyes merely opened and she was aware. She looked at the clock. It wasn’t even 5 AM.  There was a meeting with majority shareholders scheduled for five hours from now. Rolling over, she closed her eyes again and wished for sleep to come quickly. Today was going to be her last day on the surface for a while.

[ajennifer]