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Lara Stone by Mario Testino Vogue China February 2015

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local, well-known villain becomes Weird Friend (Somewhat) With Slightly Better Morals Who Just Hangs Around All The Time, For Some Reason

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WHITE QUEEN

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x-men aesthetics: emma frost

Of course I’m a threat. Why? Did you think for a moment that I wasn’t?

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Lllllike for a starter?

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person: that's mean

me: i'm mean

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And Emma, ever the picture of perfection- or poise, continued to look the young Czech mutant over with scrutiny (Disdain even, perhaps?). Her cold, pale eyes quietly calculated all the things she would have to do to work her magic on this scruffy girl. Hair, first. Definitely hair first.

"No backtalk." She snapped at Eliska's answer of 'ehh...', she wasn't going to have any of that. The girl, if she was going to be a new protégée, would look the part.

Snapping her fingers, she took a step forward. "You say that now, but...good. If you break these two seemingly simple rules, you'll think you're an orangutan until your last sorry day. And not one of those cute ones who wear little tutus either."

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Emma smirked at that, an upturned quirk to one side of her lips. Oh yes, this could be a fun little project. A new little pet.

“A makeover, top to bottom. Definitely necessary.” The telepath nodded curtly, making some decisions in her mental laundry list. “Of two things, like I said. First, you promise not to kill me– diamond bullets, poisoned food, all out of the question. I mean it, you try anything and I will know, darling, I will know. Second, Eliska, you are not to go all googoo eyes over some boy. …Or some girl. Or Beak. Whatever gets you off, I don’t care. Do it on your own time, do not get distracted from my mentoring you by your school girl crushes.”

“Are we clear?”

 Rearranging her hold, Eliska momentarilly glanced down at the pile of papers before finally deciding there was no point…at all….and placing them on the floor by her food. Once those pesky papers were aquainted with the floor, the messy little bruentte looked back to Emma. 

Makeovers were never really Eliska’s thing. Granted, it probably helped that she was raised by a single father for a good deal of her life before being sent here. Haircuts were always chopping messes, makeup didn’t exist, and clothes were baggy old ones from a resale shop. This wasn’t to say she hated her dad for it, Eliska loved it…and loved everything he did for her by himself. “Eh…” She doesn’t say more on the topic, letting it settle as she stuffed her balled up hands deep into her sweatpants pockets’. Listening hard, she sucked in every detail. Neither seemed too bad, most of the boys here sucked anyway and Eiska had no deal desire to kill anyone. 

“Sound simple enough to me…..so…when do i start?”

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the games are immaterial. what matters are the stakes.

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anyways.. men continue to disappoint me 

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Emma hasn’t actually worn a costume in two years; she just uses her telepathy to make people think she is, when in actual fact she just runs around the battlefield wearing baggy PJs. She learnt the trick from Charles, who hasn’t worn clothes at all for the last decade using the same method.