𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛

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December 5th, 2022




Gender: Female

Age: 24
Signup Date:
November 21, 2022


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11/23/2022 08:09 PM 

Hallmark Hell

I'm a cruel writer, I do enjoy tormenting characters through my writing.  Sorry, not sorry.  I want to finish this, but I honestly forgot where I wanted to go with this.  Maybe I'll remember or think up a new direction.  Maybe.  Or maybe finish this as a SL.
 



 
"Come on, Emma."

Emma looked up from her phone to regard Christian with a frosty glare. Her brother leaned forward, pressing his hands on the shiny surface of her desk. Offering his sister a charming smile, Christian waggled his eyebrows. Dirty pool. Her brother was one play away from resorting to puppy dog eyes. Setting the phone down, Emma rubbed her temples. But no amount of massaging would spirit her brother away, nor banish the devious plan he clearly had already set into motion. Christian's grin widened, he knew that he had won.

"Where exactly is this place, Christian?"

Emma Frost was again on her phone. This time searching every digital map known to mankind for some--in the words of her brother--charming little town upstate. And despite the effort of well manicured fingers, she came up with absolutely nothing. As far as the internet was concerned, this place did not exist. Glancing over at her brother, who--against her better judgement--was currently driving the Queen's white Lamborghini, Emma found herself faintly grimacing (the scowl lines, darling!). Christian seemed absolutely over the moon. Pursing her lips, Emma resolved to let him have his fun. So she turned her focus on the landscape in silent, suspicious reflection.

"Don't worry, Em. I've got it all up here." Christian tapped the side of his head. This was something of a challenge to his sister, whom he knew would not invade his thoughts, but was also tormented with not knowing their destination.

White. So much white. The whole world was white. White. White. White. Fresh snow covered EVERYTHING; cars were buried, street lights draped, sidewalks concealed. The only thing not white were the brightly colored light displays that shone with a brilliance reserved only for this joy-invoking time of year. Santa and his reindeer looked back at Emma at every turn…mocking her with their unnatural cheer. Every window display offered a tantalizing glimpse into a magical realm of possibility. Christmas even managed to infiltrative her car. Christian belted out carols in sync with the radio. Emma sank deep into her jacket.

"Oh, come on! Emma, look at you." Christian looked over at his sister.

"Oh come on what?" Emma grumbled in return.

"You need a break! You're overworked, tired. Time to let go a little." Christian was far too happy, it put the White Queen on edge.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Emma muttered before taking a long drink from her overly-sweet holiday themed coffee. She could jump out of the car, she would survive without ramification in her diamond form. The thought was rather appealing. But, despite the daydream, Emma remained seated…a holiday hostage…as her brother drove God only knew where.

The city gradually gave way to new landscape. Smaller towns, then rural, before ultimately becoming wilderness. It was beginning to snow again; lightly, but that was still too much for the White Queen's comfort in the middle of nowhere in her beautiful car. Emma's unease was growing and the rapidly approaching night did not help. Glancing once more at her phone, finger hovered over the screen, Christian's screams interrupted any further thought or action...

A deer in the headlights' beam…

Squealing tires…

Tree.





When Emma Frost regained consciousness, she immediately became aware of flashing blue and red lights. Someone hovered just outside of her window. EMS. He was talking, but had all the clarity of an adult in a Charlie Brown cartoons. Focus, Emma. The door was opened, the first responder began checking her over. Emma's gaze shifted towards her brother, but he was gone. Was he OK? Sudden panic brought everything into focus.

"Ma'am?"

"I'm fine!" Emma snapped, brushing away the EMS's efforts to flash a light in her eyes. The errant light flashed against the diamond flesh of her upper torso, causing the responder to wince from the reflection. Emma, it seemed, had managed to partially react to the car accident. Just not fast enough. At her silent command, organic diamond reverted back to flesh. Aside from the throbbing headache, she appeared otherwise fine.

"What was that?" He rubbed his eyes a moment, but otherwise seemed utterly clueless. Emma raised an eyebrow. It seemed odd that a human's reaction would not be 'Oh my god, you're mutant!' Easy on the eyes though he was, his apparent naivety was highly suspect. The White Queen pushed past him to get out of her beautiful, wrecked car.

"You didn't see anything, dreamboat. Now take me to my brother!" It was a command, not a statement.

"Ma'am, I just saw..." He stammered, flustered by her efforts to push past him. If she hadn't be so annoyed at the moment, Emma might have found the whole doe-eyed country boy routine adorable. And then it struck her. Her Jedi mind trick did not work on him.

"I said, 'you didn't see anything!'" She narrowed her eyes on him, daring him to challenge her assertion.

"Uh-oh! I think I know what's wrong." Doc McCutie began to smile. Emma, too busy trying to understand why her telepathy was not working, missed the sudden shift in his personality. "Wait right there."

He ran back towards his ambulance. Taking the moment to try again, she directed her attention towards a police officer. He was a middle aged man, slightly portly, with a generally jolly disposition. The man was writing down a report while chatting with a friendly familiarity to the other EMS responder. Focusing her thoughts, Emma commanded him to hop on one foot telepathically. Nothing. The two men continued their chitchat. All the while, her new buddy had returned with a thermos in hand. Oh for crying out loud!

"I think you need a healthy dose of Christmas cheer." And with that, he poured her a lid-cup full of hot chocolate, no doubt an outstanding quality drink brought to us by Swiss Miss. Offering her the vessel, the slightly scruffy but otherwise boy scout, upstanding citizen of--oh God, was this the cute little town her brother had insisted she simply must see?-- Hollyville.

Someone kill her now.

11/23/2022 07:07 PM 

Snowball

I love, love, love dystopian parallel universes.  This is a work in progress.  I'll add some more along the way.  We'll see.

Earth-4467
Second Snowball Earth
Current year




"Curse this infernal white." She hissed through the heavy scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face, white to begin with, but now dusted with frosty accumulation. Everything was accumulating frost; snow goggles, fur-lined jacket, a bag of supplies, everything. Emma Frost sank deep within the warmth of her jacket, mentally bracing for the heckling that was about to come. Her companion looked at her aghast. And why wouldn't they? Everything she owned was white, from clothing to cars. She was the White bloody Queen, after all. The irony was a million and one jokes waiting to be said. Picking the 'right one' was the hardest part of this whole conversation. She could 'hear' it all, the puns falling into rank and file. Which one, which one. His mind whirled with the very best material for the most snappy reply. Yes, she was eavesdropping. No, she was not ashamed. It wasn't like she hadn't been there before. Often, in fact. (FYI, his astral form was usually in his briefs and webshooters.) If only he put this much effort into focusing on their planetary dilemma, all the world's problems would have been fixed already. And…he got it.

"You know, I've been thinking your wardrobe needed a little change-up. I didn't want to say anything, but the all-white thing was getting a bit played out. And with this lovely change of seasons, you tend to blend in with the environment." He gave a sassy snap of his fingers as best he could with the thick gloves on, doing his best to mimic a competition judge of those ridiculous talent show contests. Oh, she'd do anything to see even those useless sitcoms. Any semblance of normalcy. Resuming his normal voice, Peter cracked a crooked smile from under his heavy winter gear. "Ever consider something more, oooh, I don't know. Maybe a splash of blue and red? We could be twinsies!" Giving the chatty Spider-Man a frosty side-eye, the White Queen shook her head. But, underneath her scarf, Emma Frost smiled. "Darling, I find myself covered in red and blue often enough, I don't need to wear it too."

Smiles were a rare commodity these days. Even the cold-hearted White Queen had come to appreciate levity when she could get it. Despite everything that had happened, somehow, Peter Parker had managed to exude that upbeat demeanor. Though she would never admit it out loud--in public--but Emma envied his positivity. Goofy though he was, he was also intelligent with an awkward charm. The end of the world made strange bedfellows. "Emma, my love." Spidey scooped her up in his arms, twirling her once before dipping her. "You make me want to speak French, and I don't know a word of French. (Except maybe bonjour and oh la la! Does oh la la count?)" He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, dawning what Emma could only imagine as an attempt at a debonair smile. Clicking her tongue, Emma pushed lightly against his chest, breaking up this touching display. "Save it for somewhere warmer, Romeo. We still have a mission to finish."

Every generation since 1918 has feared the next world war. Sometimes it happened, sometimes it was narrowly avoided, and sometimes it was political hyperbole from a pampered generation that had long since been detached from the horrors of the previous conflicts. World War Three began not with nations quibbling over borders, but with the sun. Superpowers carried with them the potential to do great or terrible things. Someone chose the latter. No one is quite sure who struck, but they struck without provocation, without warning. They struck the light bringer, the Earth's resident star. Whilst not totally killing it, they weakened it substantially. The sun grew dim. Earth was plunged into a new ice age on a planet-wide scale. It was a giant snowball. Those who survived the initial temperature drops began fighting for precious resources. Neighbor fought neighbor, nations fought nations, and superhumans were among all of them. Heroes, villains, young and old, it did not matter. War ravaged the freezing planet as life became a daily struggle. Survival of the fittest. When the population grew too few for daily war, people began banning together, trying to gather survivors.

Trudging through the snow, Spider-Man and the White Queen set out across the frozen wasteland that once was the sprawling metropolis known as New York City. Everything was blanketed in white. For the things too narrow for much snow to sit upon such as traffic lights and street signs, icicles hung. Cars, long abandoned, were now just mounds of snow, hidden by the heavy accumulation. The pair had to weave through them, plodding along with the awkward snowshoes. Aside from the whistling of the wind, there was silence. Odd, considering Spider-Man's habit of cracking jokes, even when no one was listening. That was because Emma and Peter kept communications telepathically only. Sunlight bathed the empty city in its dulled light, but their environment looked as though it were barely past dawn. Reaching out with her psychic senses, the White Queen pinged the area for any mental signatures. Their merry band of survivors had received a distress message from within the heart of the city. She couldn't sense anything. Nothing; not bird or dogs, certainly not mutant or human. Peter, on the other hand, began twitching incessantly.

There were other dangers besides the cold environment or even one's own kind. The Dr. Moreau sub-category of evil genius sorts had a field day with the absence of adult supervision. This new ecosystem offered a tantalizing pallet of possibility. The snow-hardy horrors they unleashed were most likely the future inheritors of the earth when the homo genus residents ultimately succumbed to their fate. One such fur-covered nightmare that looked better suited for the Pliocene epoch lurked just behind the duo, triggering the all-too-familiar Spidey-sense. And none too late. The creature looking somewhere between a dog and a dinosaur adorned in silver fur pounced on its suspecting prey, claws poised for the kill. Peter pushed the White Queen out of the creature's grasp, narrowly avoiding the claws himself. "Impeccable timing, darling." Emma huffed, climbing to her feet as the all too familiar veneer of diamond replaced vulnerable flesh. "Well, you know, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man." There was that unwavering positivity.

Twisting around in the snow, the beast let out a low snarl. "A predator." Emma sneered. No, not Arnold's ugly mother--you know the rest. This was a Predator X, a bio-engineered mutant hunter. Left to its own devices, nature took its course; evolution enable the horrid beast to not only adapt to its environment, but reproduce and adjust its dietary needs as required. Mutants were still on the menu, but so were mutates.

11/22/2022 07:58 PM 

Killer Queen

She's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, gelatin
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind
Anytime

 


Lace upon gilding, velvet accented with gold. Opulence hardly seemed the appropriate word. Ostentatious was more fitting, perhaps. It was a mockery of a bygone era, bastardized to suit a fetishized idealism. To the tune of softly playing parlor music, a small social was being carried out. Antique furniture was violated by the scantily covered posteriors that rested upon them. Women were everywhere, their most intimate parts barely covered, but still readily available for the wandering hand's amusement. An even mixture of black and white themed corsets exaggerated their feminine forms, accented with sparkling jewels and their hair drawn back in a complex mixture of braiding and curls; they were too beautiful to be real, as though crafted by Pygmalion himself. Strewn about with glasses of champagne in hand, they flocked around the much smaller population of men. These gaggles laughed and fawned upon each man, treating him as though he was the most interesting human being in the world. And, in a sense, he was.

The Hellfire Club's roster was composed of the most powerful and influential people on the planet, after all. Politicians and captains of industry. The crème de la crème. The most upper crust of the upper crust. To be a member of the Hellfire Club was a prestige limited to only a few, inherited by others. Unbeknownst to most of these talking money bags, however, there was an organization within the organization. It was called the Inner Circle. Themed after a chessboard, the Inner Circle was divided into two courts: White and Black, with ranks ranging from King and Queen to Pawn. Though united in their ambition, the Courts often competed for control of the Inner Circle. It was a little game they played while covertly ruling the world. One such member was about to make her entrance into the social gathering. Unlike the sea of flesh, the White Queen was not some vapid arm adornment. Wearing a white lace mask, she remained--by comparison--overly dressed. Hair so blonde it bordered on white, her bobbed hair was the least of her appeal.

Alabaster skin and ocean blue eyes, she was a regal woman in her own right. But it was the clothes that truly made the woman. Her signature white corset hugged her frame while her pale shoulders were shrouded in a white, fur-lined cape. Thigh-high stiletto boots completed the White Queen's attire. The only thing missing was the coiled whip in hand--this wasn't /that/ kind of party, after all.  On her heels were two White Court attendants. Mirroring their mistress's all-white attire, they smoothed out the folds of her cape, making sure she looked pristine, least they suffered her wrath or her lash at a later time. Signaling the door should be opened, Emma Frost was one step away from making her grand entrance to the soiree when another White Court attendant came shuffling in. With minor annoyance, the White Queen gave the faintest of grimace, barely enough to dimple the corner of her mouth.

"Mistress, there is a phone call." The attendant stammered.

"I will take the call in my office."

With a click of her tongue, Emma turned back the way she had come in a sweeping wave of white. With a deft maneuver mastered over years of practice, she had unfastened her cape and tossed it at the interrupting attendant. Befuddled, the woman clawed wildly at the cape to gather it up against her chest, following behind the White Queen as she advanced down the dimly lit hallways of the Victorian mansion to the White Wing. This was Emma Frost's dominion within the Inner Circle. She was the highest-ranking member of the White Court and, to be quite honest, even if there were a sitting White King, she had seniority; this was her Queendom.

As one might expect from something christened the White Wing, it was white. While the style and coloration of the house itself remained consistent, the walls, drapery, and the overall décor was white and accented with silver or glass. Pushing open the door to her office, Emma set her eyes on the large mahogany desk to the phone. But no sooner had she stepped through the threshold, something blindsided her from the left. The momentum of being hit by what felt like a freight train sent the White Queen tumbling to the ground in a most undignified manner. Reeling from the blow, Emma barely had time to lift her head before the intruder was on her again. Her fist grabbed Emma by the hair on the crown of her head, invoking a sharp yelp as she grabbed wildly at the woman's wrist. But whatever she raked her nails against, it was not flesh. The surface ripped her nails up, even as she struggled to get any sort of traction against the impenetrable epidermis.

"Was I always this pathetic?"

Struggling to look upwards to get a look at this woman, the White Queen was met with herself. But not her. Older. And…shinny.

"I suppose this would be the part where I should say something profound, but, regrettably, I've been around the likes of the X-Men for the last decade or so. I'm reduced to the 'Come with me if you want to live' cliché."

Emma Frost, once and future White Queen of the Hellfire Club did something dangerous. But it was essential for the future. Or at least that is what she told herself. In truth, what she did was the result of a broken heart. Following behind Beast and his stunt bringing the original X-Men to their present, the telepath reverse-engineered his little time travel device. (This is an important lesson, children, never underestimate a blonde with a mission!) While she was seldom credited for her engineering prowess, Emma had invented her own Cerebro--a la Cerebra--and a device for swapping psyches. Programing the time machine, Emma added a special new feature: a tether that would return her to the present. Infiltrating the Hellfire Club was a cakewalk. All she needed to do was command the staff to look the other way, telepathy was handy like that! Luring in her younger self took even less effort. Once rendering the doppelganger unconscious, Emma telepathically summoned henchmen into the office. She silently commanded them to stand guard, no interruptions would be tolerated.

All the pawns were in place, the queen was in check. Emma then wheeled the other Emma to her desk, she was going to awaken with some dignity. "How young I was." She mused to herself, delicately moving a lock of hair from her other self's face. It was…unsettling…touching her own body with new fingertips. She was familiar with every curve, every crease, but it all felt so…alien.

"How much potential I failed to realize within myself." This all needed to fall into place just right. On her belt rested the time travel tether. Upon turning it on, she had exactly the time it took for it to boot up to pull the trigger on the body swap gun before her older body was jettisoned back to the future. Retrieving the White Queen's body swap gun, Emma aimed and pulled the trigger.  Imagine how she could change the future given the chance to do it all over again. But, this time, with the knowledge of the future.

...
...
...


The use of the body swap gun knocks the user and target out cold for a short time. It was a useful side effect, so she had never gotten around to possibly correct it. Slowly waking up, the White Queen needed a moment to orient herself. It was her body, but not entirely her body. It was younger, naive to the potential it carried--and truth be told, this was technically a different universe. Her muscles weren't as finely tuned as her (not all that much!) older body. She was still in fine shape, but Emma had to remember not to give in to the instinct to shift to her diamond form; how dependent she had become! Perhaps she should have flipped some relays in her new head to trigger her secondary mutation sooner than Genosha's massacre. Running her fingers through her hair, Emma smoothed her hair back before she grabbed the top of her corset and adjusted herself. Flashing a glance at the nearest shiny surface, she checked her make-up to make sure it betrayed nothing amiss. Bursting through the double doors of her office, the White Queen strolled past the stunned guards she had ordered into place. She kept marching, leaving the befuddled maids in her wake, as she marched right into the Hellfire gathering. Foregoing her usual pomp and pageantry many had become accustomed to raised eyebrows and garnered a few stray glances. Unmoved by their agitation in her disturbance of their amorous pursuits, Emma strolled right up to one stout, familiar frame. So adorned with women, he looked not all that dissimilar to the scene in Star Wars with that vulgar worm creatures. He certainly had the same level of appeal.

“Shaw, darling.” Emma crooned softly as she shooed away the eye candy. She reclined casually against his shoulder, offering him the delectable view of her ample bosom. “I require your presence in the White Hall. It’s an /urgent/ matter.” She curled the corners of her lips into a vulpine smile as she glanced at the ponytailed buffoon from under her lashes with all the charm of her “come hither” allure. The appeal of a quick dalliance with the White Queen was much too much for Shaw. She stood up, confident her bait had been taken--hook, line, and sinker. She sashayed through the room, her shapely form moving with the effortless grace of a queen with all the calculation of a jaguar on the hunt.

So eager was he that he nearly trampled some guests and their companions as he followed the vision in white away from the soft tones of music and frivolity to the seclusion of the White Queen’s apartment. What Shaw beheld at his arrival was the White Queen in all her splendid glory upon a sea of white bedding. She reclined like a Venus, arms strategically draped above her head on overstuffed pillows, her sensuous form stretched out across the length of the bed. How she got out of the absurdly restrictive corset and thigh-high boots in such a short amount of time mattered not, his lecherous gaze was set solely on the conquest of a queen. All but ripping his clothing from his form, Shaw advanced into the darkened room. Approaching the foot of the bed, his burning desire was very apparent. Gripping her ankle, Shaw pulled Emma downward. His mouth hungrily latched onto the alabaster flesh of her ankle. With a sweet smile on her lips, Emma played coy. She slipped her foot from his grip, curling back up at the head of her bed. Shaw began to climb onto the bed, liking this little game. Much to his misfortune, however, the pretend innocence was not the only game the White Queen was playing. As he approached her, the White Queen struck.

The psibolt knocked him off his feet. Shaw fell onto the bed and rolled. Gripping his head, dazed, the Black King struggled to get off the bed and to his feet. But no sooner did he lay foot on the ground, Emma struck again. Another psibolt, sending the revolting pig spiraling to the ground. Disoriented, hurting from the blows he could not absorb, Shaw lashed out for anything to grab hold of--a weapon, a tether, anything to allow him the comfort of knowing he had control of this situation.

Slipping casually off the bed, the White Queen came to stand over the struggling worm of a man, her face void of any emotion save one: triumph. To finally dispatch this horrid creature, something she should have done years ago--liberating! Drinking in this moment, savoring every last second, she finally struck one last time. Shaw's body went limp. Stepping past him, the White Queen began getting dressed. She had a party to attend.

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