01/18/2026  The Return of the Surfer Category: Adventure Galactus, a huge cosmic threat had been defeated by the Fantastic Four, with some help from his own herald, the Silver Surfer. Years had passed calmly. Little known to all a new threat was emerging from Latveria.  In space, Shalla-Bal, the Silver Surfer roamed. She had managed to survive pushing Galactus into the portal created by Reed Richards, but now she had no real place to go. Home was the first thought, but when she arrived, the hero's welcome she thought she would receive was not what she got.  Her people, once proud and saddened by her sacrifice to save them, now looked at her with disgrace. She was no hero. She was just as bad as Galactus. Destroying lives. Destroying worlds. Sacrificing the many. They asked her to leave and never return. And so she did. 04: PM 77 Comments  (Add Comment)  | 96 Kudos  Back to Blog List

Showing  46 to 60 of 77 Comments « Previous   1 2 3 4 5 6    Next »

	Wєв Sριηηιηg, Sρι∂єя Vєяѕιηg	Peter perked up so fast it was almost audible — like someone had hit a hidden “activate enthusiasm” button in his spine. The suit responded instantly, red panels flexing across his ribs, blue mesh tightening around his shoulders like it was bracing for impact from his own excitement. His whole body jumped before his brain caught up: chest expanding, fingers halfway into a gesture he hadn’t consciously chosen, the web-shooter ports glinting as his wrists spun in little circles. “Okay—okay, so—cookies,” he said, and the word came out like it had been launched from a slingshot. His hands started drawing invisible shapes in the air, palms flipping, fingers splaying, the red-and-blue gloves catching the light with every twitch. The suit’s forearm segments shifted subtly as if trying to keep up with his momentum. “You have to try the cookies. They’re like… emotional support but edible. And warm. And they don’t judge you. Ever. Even if you drop them. Which I have. Multiple times.” He nodded too fast, then tried to slow it down, which only made the nodding look like he was buffering. His heel bounced under the table, the suit’s soles making a soft rubbery tap-tap-tap against the floor, the blue toe panels flexing with each bounce. When Shalla made her bold little comment about boobs, Peter’s entire nervous system short-circuited. The mask lenses widened in a mechanical gasp, the white irises expanding like he’d just seen a ghost. He made a noise that absolutely betrayed him — a squeak-cough-hiccup hybrid that no human should ever produce. “Uh—yeah—guys—uh—yeah,” he stammered, hands flying up like he was surrendering to the universe. The red gloves caught the overhead light as he flailed. “They’re… popular. I mean—not that I was—looking. I wasn’t. I mean, I have eyes, but I wasn’t—using them. On you. In that way. I’m gonna—just—stop talking.” He slapped a gloved hand over the mask’s mouth, then groaned into it, shoulders curling inward like he wished the suit had a “mute embarrassment” feature. The chest panel dimmed slightly as if the suit itself was embarrassed for him. When Wanda gave him that subtle, quiet warning look — the one that said Peter, breathe before you implode — he straightened instantly. His spine snapped upright, chest puffing out, hands folding neatly in front of him like he was suddenly auditioning for “Most Respectful Boyfriend Material.” The suit adjusted with him, smoothing out the bunching at his elbows, the blue fabric catching a soft gleam as he tried to look composed. “Right. Yes. Food. Ordering. I can do that,” he said, voice cracking just a little at the end. He slid out of the booth with too much momentum, bumped his hip on the table, winced, then pretended it didn’t happen. “Structural integrity test,” he muttered. “Table passed. Very sturdy.” He pointed at the counter like it was a mission objective. “Okay. Cookie run. Priority one. I got this.” Then he jogged off — but his feet didn’t quite agree on a direction at first, so he did a tiny stutter-step, nearly tripped, caught himself with a discreet web-thwip to the underside of a chair, and straightened like he meant to do all of it. The suit’s shoulder seams rippled as he recovered, the red panels flexing like they were sighing. “Totally fine,” he whispered to himself as he walked. “Totally normal. Everything’s great. No one saw that. Probably.” He reached the counter and immediately knocked over a stack of napkins with his elbow. They fluttered like startled pigeons. Peter froze, stared at them, then slowly tried to gather them with the dignity of a man who had absolutely lost control of the situation. The gloves weren’t helping — too grippy, too slick — and the napkins kept slipping like they were mocking him. Behind him, he could feel Wanda’s amused stare like a warm spotlight. And Shalla’s soft, curious smile like a gravitational pull he didn’t know how to orbit yet. But he was trying like only how Spider-Man could. Posted by Wєв Sριηηιηg, Sρι∂єя Vєяѕιηg on Thu Jan 29, 2026, 06:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵	Zombie plague? World gone? The words rushed through her like a raging river. Her jaw tensed, her eyes grew dark and heavy, her fists clenched. The emotion running through her were unable to be pinpointed. Anger? Sadness? Fear? One thing was clear as day though, the need to do something. To save them. She was gripping the sides of her pants in each fist. Tightening her grin with each new sentence. Her breathing growing more erratic. Yet somehow she kept her facial features calm. She had mastered the ability to keep her rage inside and letting it explode on the deserving parties. Her life had been full of loss. This was not new. As Reed and Susan continued to explain in scientific and maternal ways, the realization that they would not let her run home to save her family hit her. She could fight them, make a run for it. She was faster then either of them. Scenario after scenario flickered through her brain. However she didn't move a muscle. She even finally relaxed her hands, letting her jeans finally free. There was nothing she could do. Her parents sent her here to be safe. They were heroes. Always putting the safety of others first. Especially children. Their children. She respected that. "You’re taking all of this far too well,” Sue murmured, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Which tells me you’ve had to do it before. More times than anyone should.” Max's dark eyes flickered over to her 'other' mother. "Yeah, well, as you said. Not the first time I've had to do this." She smirked with the bravado she usually carried herself with. "Tragedy just rolls off me like water." It wasn't that she didn't care. Max actually cared deeply about the people she cared for. And even those she didn't. But showing it was a vulnerability she was not taught to do. Tough times made her lean into her military training. "You can keep me quarantined for the time being, but not forever." She looked directly at Reed then Sue. "I'm not a fragile child that needs protection. I'm a manufacturered assassin. And sooner or later I'm going to leave this building and find someone's ass to kick." She crossed her arms across her chest, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "In my experience, kick enough ass, you can save the world." She locked onto Susan's blue eyes. "And if I know one thing to be true it's that girls kick ass. It says so on a t-shirt." Posted by 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 on Mon Jan 26, 2026, 04:01 [Reply to this]

	④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④	Susan didn’t speak right away. She let the silence settle first, her weight easing into one thigh in a slow, instinctive shift that made her look composed rather than posed. Her chest rose with a steady breath, the blue and white suit stretching subtly across her breasts as she gathered herself. A strand of blonde hair slipped forward, brushing her cheek, and she flicked it back behind her ear with a small, irritated motion — clearing her view so she could read Max properly. “Max,” she said at last, her voice low and velvet‑dry, that unmistakable calm cadence that made everything sound deliberate. “Look at me.” Max did, eventually. Sue stepped closer, her thigh sliding forward in a smooth, unhurried motion, the kind that came from someone who understood the power of controlled movement. She carried herself like someone who’d learned long ago that stillness could be more commanding than force. “You’re taking all of this far too well,” Sue murmured, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Which tells me you’ve had to do it before. More times than anyone should.” Her gaze moved over Max’s face with surgical precision. Sue’s fingers brushed lightly against her own opposite arm — a small, grounding touch, the kind people make when they’re holding more emotion than they want to show. She saw the tightness in Max’s jaw, the way her breath sat too high in her chest, the way her hands curled just enough to betray the pressure she was holding. “And before you start pretending you’re fine,” Sue added, her tone soft but edged, “Don’t. Not with me. I know what that kind of composure costs.” She exhaled slowly, her shoulders easing, her hips shifting in a subtle adjustment that brought her a little closer without crowding. The movement was quiet, instinctive — the body finding balance in a moment that threatened to knock someone off center. “You’ve just lost your world,” she said quietly. “You’re allowed to feel that. You’re allowed to breathe. You don’t have to carry the whole thing alone.” Her eyes softened — not warm, but devastatingly perceptive. “You’re not being locked away. You’re being protected. There’s a difference, and I won’t let anyone blur that line for you.” She glanced briefly at Reed — a small, private exchange passing between them — then returned her full attention to Max. Her hand lifted slightly, fingers hovering near Max’s arm, offering presence without pressure. “You’re not the first version of us to lose everything,” Sue said. “And you won’t be the one who breaks because of it. Not while I’m here.” She drew in a slow breath, her chest rising again, the fabric shifting softly across her breasts with the inhale. “You’ll stay in quarantine for a few days. Not because we fear you. Because we respect what your father died trying to prevent.” Sue stepped aside, giving Max space, her fingers brushing the doorframe in a grounding gesture as she moved. Her thigh brushed lightly against the edge of the doorway, a small, natural contact that anchored her in the moment. “You’re safe here,” she said, elegant‑dry and steady. “And that’s enough for tonight.” Posted by ④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④ on Mon Jan 26, 2026, 03:01 [Reply to this]

	𝙼𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚢	Reed didn’t announce himself, he didn’t need to. The air shifted before he even reached them — that quiet, heavy pressure that came with a man who’d been carrying bad news long enough to know how to soften his footsteps. He walked down the hallway with his hands in the pockets of his white lab jacket, shoulders slightly rounded, head lowered just enough that Sue straightened instinctively. Max felt it too — the subtle tightening of the atmosphere, like the building itself braced. He stopped a few feet from them, not crowding, not looming. Just present. Fully present. His eyes — warm, dark, tired — moved from Sue to Max with a kind of recognition that didn’t need words. “Max,” he said, voice low and rough at the edges, that soft scientific gravel that made even terrible truths sound like they were being delivered with care. “We believe you. Every word of it." Max didn’t flinch, but Reed caught the micro‑shift — the way her breath tightened, the way her shoulders locked into place. He nodded once, slow, acknowledging something she hadn’t said. He exhaled through his nose, a quiet, steadying breath. “Your parents… we’ve been talking to them for months. Great people. Brilliantly intelligent. The kind who send you equations at three in the morning because they ‘finally cracked it.’” A faint, sad smile tugged at his mouth. “You get that from them.” Sue’s eyes flicked toward him — a soft warning, a soft encouragement — and Reed’s voice gentled even more. “They didn’t send you here to warn us about Doom or Agatha,” he said. “Though, yes… those two are absolutely drawing up new dark designs. They always are.” Max’s jaw tightened. Reed noticed. He always noticed. “They sent you here to protect you,” he continued, stepping a little closer, slow and deliberate. “You weren’t the only one. They scattered their children across the multiverse. Different Earths. Different timelines. Anywhere but home.” Max’s breath hitched — barely — but Reed’s eyes softened, warm and unbearably human. He paused, bracing himself before he spoke again. “Forty‑eight hours ago… their world fell to the zombie plague too.” Sue’s posture stilled. Max’s fingers curled against her thigh. Reed didn’t look away. “We tried to help. Containment nets. Barrier fields. It was holding until an infected Quicksilver broke quarantine at Mach speeds. By the time anyone realized what happened… it was everywhere.” He let the silence breathe — not rushing, not filling it, just letting Max have the space to absorb the shape of the loss. Then he shifted his weight, leaning one shoulder into the wall as if he needed something solid behind him before he went on. His voice dropped into that low, thoughtful register he used when he’s trying to make the impossible sound survivable. “Max… what your father is building isn’t just a machine. It’s a… fold.” He lifted one hand, palm up, fingers drawing a slow curve in the air. “Think of reality like a sheet of paper. Flat. Continuous. One timeline running straight across.” He pinched the air gently, bringing two invisible points closer. “A transwarp bubble bends that sheet until two moments in time touch. Not space — time. The beginning and the end. He’s creating a pocket between them.” Sue watched him with that quiet, steady focus she reserved for the moments Reed let himself be vulnerable through science. Reed continued, his voice softening. “Inside that pocket, everything slows. Not frozen — just… suspended. Like holding your breath underwater. The world keeps turning, but the bubble doesn’t move with it.” Max’s eyes narrowed, absorbing every word. Reed nodded, encouraged. “Your Earth will sit at the end of time, where entropy is low and decay is slow. It buys him… hours. Maybe days. Enough to save who he can.” His jaw tightened, grief flickering through his expression. “It’s not a cure. It’s a mercy.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture tired, and all too human. “The math behind it is brutal. You’re talking about compressing a planet’s entire temporal signature into a stable pocket without tearing it apart. Your father’s the only variant I’ve ever seen who could even attempt it.” Max swallowed hard, but Reed kept going — gently, carefully. “And the scattering of the children?” He let out a slow breath. “That wasn’t random. He used quantum entanglement markers — little anchors tied to each of you. When the infection hit critical mass, the system triggered. Putting each of you into the nearest safe universe with compatible physics.” He gave her a small, sad smile. “You didn’t run. You were launched. Like a flare.” Sue’s breath caught at that — the poetry of it, the tragedy. Reed’s voice softened even further. “And the reason you can’t go back… isn’t just because the world is gone. It’s because the bubble is a one‑way fold. Once the Earth enters that pocket, it’s sealed. No doors. No windows. No return path.” He paused, letting the truth settle. “Your father did that on purpose,” he said quietly. “To keep the infection from leaking out. To keep you from trying to go back.” Max’s jaw clenched, but her eyes glistened with something raw. Reed stepped closer, slow, steady, his voice warm and devastatingly gentle. “He didn’t abandon you. He saved you the only way he could. And he trusted us to keep you safe on this side.” He let the silence breathe before adding, softer still. “And that’s why we need the quarantine. Not because we think you’re dangerous. But because your father would never forgive me if I didn’t make absolutely sure you’re clean.” He held her gaze — warm, steady, unflinching. “You’re not a threat, Max. You’re the last piece of a world that’s trying to die with dignity.” Posted by 𝙼𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚢 on Mon Jan 26, 2026, 03:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	Her tense expression began to fall as Peter opened his mouth to speak. The nervous energy overflowing out of him was hard to not ease her body. He had the same calming effect that Johnny did on her. Minus the sexual tension. Then came the word vomiting about cookies and taxes. She had no idea what he was talking about, but the manner he spoke and failed about was captivating. He was like a cartoon character come to life. Her body language eased more, hands falling naturally at her sides, her eyes and lips portraying a bewildered expression. And curiosity of just who was this young man behind the mask? Wanda approached her from behind, settling next to her. Fingers ghosting her arm in a friendly yet intimate way. Like they had grown up together. "You don’t need magic to get with him." Wanda's words lay heavily on Shalla-Bal's heart. Her eyes saddened as she dropped her gaze towards tbe cement beneath her feet. The white and pinksneakers finally feeling like her own. Deciding to not let the sadness of potentially not getting something she never even had, she lifted her head back up. The sadness gone. Replaced with a look of confidence. "Youre right. I don't need magic." She glanced down at her chest, delicately covered in a soft white fabric. "I have boobs. They're fun. And I'm fairly certain guys love boobs too." She glanced back to Peter with a mischievous look. "Am I right?" Her eyes glinted with humor. Feeling lighter than she had in a long time, she entered the cafe after Wanda but before Peter whi was being a gentleman and holding the door open for the two ladies. It was a quaint, little place. The aroma in the air was sweet and bitter. Hushed voices of other customers filled the entire space. Stopping, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the smells and sounds sink in. Once her brief pause was over, she continued following her new found friends over to a table in the corner of the cafe. The lighting soft and intimate. Yet bright enough to see what was going on around you. She sat down, Wanda on one side, Peter on the other. She couldn't escape if she wanted to. Not without cosmic phasing powers. Powers she was adamant about not using unless absolutely necessary. "So what should I try first? You two know the best things to eat and drink." She optimistically spoke as she glanced at the menu. Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Sun Jan 25, 2026, 08:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷	Wanda pushed off Sideswipe with that slow, unhurried grace she carried like it lived in her bones. Her hips shifted first, a subtle, grounded sway that set the rhythm for the rest of her body. Her shoulders followed in a soft roll, loosening the tension of the night as her hair slipped forward and brushed across the upper curve of her breasts. The maroon leather of her jacket whispered with each movement, and the antique silver locket tapped gently against her chest as it settled — a tiny, familiar sound that always seemed to anchor her. She took a steady breath, because she never rushed into a moment; she let herself arrive in pieces. Her arms relaxed at her sides, fingers flexing once like she was shaking off the last of the cold. Her thighs tightened briefly as she shifted her weight, then eased into her natural, fluid stride as she stepped toward Shalla and Peter. Shalla’s posture caught her attention immediately — the raised shoulders, the too‑careful smile, the way her hips angled like she was bracing for impact. Wanda’s expression softened, warm and sure, the kind of look that said she saw the girl beneath the armor. She stepped close enough for Shalla to feel her presence without feeling trapped. Wanda lifted her arm in a slow, easy arc, her fingers brushing Shalla’s elbow with a feather‑light touch. Her thumb traced a soft, absent circle — grounding, instinctive, the kind of gesture Wanda made when she wanted someone to feel held without being held. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice low and velvety, the cadence slow enough to settle nerves. “You’re doing fine. He’s just… a lot of limbs and enthusiasm in a suit. You’re safe.” Peter made a tiny, embarrassed noise behind the mask, and Wanda didn’t even look at him. She just let the corner of her mouth curve in that dry, affectionate way she had — the one that lived more in her eyes than her lips. She shifted her jaw a fraction, a subtle click of steel under all that softness — a quiet warning meant only for Peter, the kind that didn’t need volume to land. Then she angled her hips toward Shalla, opening her posture, letting the café glow catch along the line of her jacket and the soft shape beneath it. “And for the record,” she added, her voice slowly dipping into that cheeky, knowing register when she was telling the truth gently, “Unlike Stephen Strange, I don’t erase memories. Even the stupid boy‑shaped ones. Especially not the ones that make you feel alive, even if they hurt.” Her fingers brushed a slow, grounding line along Shalla’s arm — steady, not claiming. “You don’t need magic to get with him,” she said softly. “You need time. And people who don’t make you feel like you’re being graded every second you exist.” She flicked her eyes toward Peter, giving him a small, pointed nod — a silent be gentle with her. He straightened instantly, like he’d just been knighted. Wanda exhaled, the locket shifting a fraction lower before settling again, then stepped past them both. Her hips moved in a smooth, natural sway as she pushed the café door open with her shoulder. Warm air rolled out — coffee, sugar, something cinnamon — brushing over her skin like a welcome. Her fingers curled lightly around the edge of the door, steady and sure. “Come on,” she said, glancing back with that slow, grounded smile that made people feel steadier just by standing in it. “Let’s get you two inside before Peter webs himself to the sidewalk again.” Peter made a goofy wounded noise. Shalla’s forced smile finally softened into something real. And Wanda — thighs easing into each step, fingers brushing the locket once as if checking it was still there — led them inside like she’d been doing this her whole life: making strange places feel always like home. Posted by 𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷 on Sun Jan 25, 2026, 07:01 [Reply to this]

	Wєв Sριηηιηg, Sρι∂єя Vєяѕιηg	Peter perked up the moment Shalla stepped toward him, his whole body doing that unmistakable Spidey reset — spine straightening like someone had just hit “refresh,” a quick bounce on his heels, fingers twitching mid‑air like they were waiting for a cue that hadn’t arrived. The suit hugged him in Stark‑tech precision, red and cobalt panels flexing with every micro‑movement, the raised black webbing catching the café glow like it had been stitched from memory and meaning. Even with the mask on, the nervous brightness radiated off him — a kind of jittery warmth that made the air feel less intimidating. He tried to settle into something casual, but his shoulders kept negotiating with his anxiety — rising, falling, twitching, resetting — like his body was running a software update in real time. When Shalla greeted him by his hero name, Peter let out a laugh that cracked through the mask’s voice filter, bright and unfiltered. “Yeah — yep — Spider‑Man. That’s me. The spider one. I mean, they’re all spider ones, technically, but I’m… this one.” He winced, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand that looked like it had been designed for precision but was currently being used for emotional damage control. His hand lifted for a handshake, then faltered, then turned into a wave, then a half‑salute before he finally gave up and let it drop. “Sorry. My hands just… do stuff. I haven’t figured out how to stop that yet.” Up close, he could see the tension in Shalla’s posture — the way her shoulders held themselves like armor, the too‑careful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, the stance of someone bracing for judgment. Something in him softened instantly. Peter Parker had always been a magnet for people who felt out of place; he recognized the look because he’d worn it like a second skin. His voice gentled without effort. “It’s really nice to meet you, Shalla‑Bal,” he said, her name landing with careful respect, like he didn’t want to bend it wrong. When she mentioned cookies and coffee, Peter lit up like someone had just handed him a puppy and a warm blanket. “Oh my god, yes. Yes. They’re amazing. Cookies are like… little circles of joy? And coffee is warm bean energy that makes you feel like you can do taxes. Not that I do taxes. I mean, I will. Eventually. Probably.” He slapped a hand over the mask’s mouth, then groaned into it. “Sorry. I talk a lot when I’m nervous. Or awake. It’s kind of a package deal.” Behind them, Wanda leaned against Sideswipe with that slow, sovereign amusement she carried like a birthright — arms folded, posture relaxed, her gaze steady and warm. The locket at her chest caught the light as she dipped her chin in a subtle nod toward Shalla — not a command, not a push, just a quiet signal: you’re safe here. Peter stepped aside, giving Shalla space to choose her own pace, not crowding her, not assuming anything. “And hey,” he added, softer now, the nervous energy settling into something more sincere, “you don’t have to pretend you know what anything is. I can explain stuff. Or we can figure it out together. No pressure.” He noticed Shalla’s smile didn’t vanish, but it loosened — the edges softening, the tension in her shoulders easing by a fraction. Peter also observed how Wanda caught the shift instantly, her expression warming with quiet approval, like watching a flower uncurl in real time. Spidey then gestured toward the café door with a little flourish that was half‑gentleman, half‑chaotic puppy. The red of his suit shimmered under the bakery lights, the black webbing glinting like it had been stitched by someone who believed in symbols. “Yeah. Let’s find a table. Somewhere comfy. Somewhere you can, y’know… breathe.” He moved to hold the door open, nearly tripping over his own foot in the process. A quick, instinctive web‑thwip to the doorframe kept him upright, and he straightened like nothing had happened. “Totally meant to do that.” For the first time since she stepped out of the car, the night didn’t feel quite as heavy to Peter. And he, in all his awkward, earnest brightness, seemed to sense that the girls felt the same way. All of them were standing a little taller, a little steadier, like helping someone feel less alone was something he was built for. Posted by Wєв Sριηηιηg, Sρι∂єя Vєяѕιηg on Sun Jan 25, 2026, 07:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	The hopefullness Shalla-Bal had in her eyes quickly faded as Wanda did not reassure her that one simple kiss would fix her infatuation. It wasn't that she actually believed that it would work. Or that one kiss was even what she wanted. She knew she wanted more than a simple kiss. She wanted the fire he possessed. She wanted his fire to possess her more accurately. And that was why she hoped Wanda would tell her one kiss would kill this desire. She knew what she wanted was not on the table. Unrequited love. Or lust. It was heart wrenching. "That's a shame." She softly sighed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Hmmm... maybe you can just use magic to make me get over him." She wasn't fully serious. But wanted to see the reaction of her newfound friend. Would Wanda erase memories of someone? Silently, Sideswipe captured her attention. He wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, but her cosmic intuition sensed something was off. Like he was alerting someone to her. She didn't react at all, just flashed her eyes at the dash board then back to Wanda. Whatever that was she couldn't be sure of, but something was wrong. Then she spotted a young man in red and blue, skin tight suit. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. This had to be Peter, Spider-Man. Best friend of Wanda and according to her, Johnny. The ease she had began to feel with Wanda was now replaced with the familiar cold and tense body language she normally possessed. The car seemed to be distrustful of her and now there was Peter, a new person to judge her. This night was getting longer. Looking back at Wanda, she forced a smile. "Friend group, huh." She gently shook her head, her blonde hair shifting slightly. With a singular breath, Shalla opened the car door and slid out without making a sound. The clothes she wore still feeling as much a costume as the one Peter was wearing. Mustering as much confidence as she could in her current state of mind, she walked directly over to Peter. Her movements deliberate yet soft. Her hair bouncing with each step. Her cropped shirt riding up ever so slightly, exposing her soft skin and toned stomach. "You must be this Spider-Man I keep hearing about." She made sure to use his hero name and not Peter. She was not one to expose an identity without direct permission. "I'm Shalla-Bal. New to Earth. Looking for friends." It was the truth, friendship was what she sought. She just wished a former Fantastic Four member had also been here. Johnny still plaguing her thoughts in the background, like he was a drug she was addicted to. "Wanda has been telling me this place has good cookies and coffee." Her words portrayed that she knew what those items were, but in reality she had not had coffee or cookies before. Her world did not have those items. Nor did Galactus supply food or drink. And when covered in her silver polymer suit, she didn't really need food or drink to survive. She actually couldn't remember the last time she actually ate. Now that she thought about it she couldn't remember the last time she slept. Galactus always had her roaming the galaxy for food sources for him. She never got to eat, sleep, relax. And now that these opportunities were presenting themselves, she felt strange. Not really knowing what things were or what to do. It was a bit embarrassing. Glancing between Peter and Wanda, she did her best to keep the forced smile on her face. This uncomfortable feeling would only go away if she forced herself to be in it. "Shall we find a table or some sort of seating?" Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Sat Jan 24, 2026, 09:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵	As they walked down the hall of the Baxter Building, towards the room that had been chosen for Max to stay in for thr next few days, she listened silently to the story Susan had to tell. Zombies. "Variant zombie versions." Max shook her head in a understanding manner. "That explains a lot about the manner your going about things currently. The extra cautious behavior." Watching Susan's movements and eyes carefully as she spoke, Max got the feeling that there was something else. Something Susan was not saying. Not showing. A hidden agenda. But for the time being, Max choose to not pry. Whatever Susan was up to, it would be revealed sooner or later. Arriving at the door to her new temporary living space, Max stopped and leaned gently against the door. "I'll be sure to locate you if anything comes up. Though I'm sure I'll be fine." She smiled at Sue. Not a I'm happy to be here smile, but a knowing one. Whatever was about to happen over the next few days, Max would be ready. She always was. "Guess I'll let you get back to your hot tub and wine. See you later." She turned and opened the door to her room. It was a nicely sized room for a spare one. Spacious and full of comforts. A soft bed, chairs, desk. Everything one would need. Without wasting time, Max walked over to the bed and immediately tossed her body down onto the fluffy blanket and soft pillows. Whatever was to come from Susan, or anyone else, was for another day. For now she just wanted a nap. Posted by 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 on Sat Jan 24, 2026, 09:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷	Wanda let out a slow, steady breath, the kind that softened her whole body before she even spoke. The maroon leather of her jacket creaked gently as she turned toward Shalla, the antique silver locket resting between her breasts giving a soft tap against her skin with the movement. Her chest rose in a calm, grounding inhale, the kind that settled the air around her before she even said a word. She angled her hips toward Shalla in that unhurried, grounded way she had — like she wasn’t just shifting in a car seat but settling into a moment she intended to hold with both hands. Her fingers lifted next, loose and relaxed, nails black and glossy under the passing neon, which allowed minor reflections from her aged silver rings she wore proudly. She didn’t touch immediately; she hovered, letting Shalla feel the intention before the contact. Only then did her fingertips brush Shalla’s sleeve — feather‑light, slow, giving her every chance to pull away. Her thumb traced a soft, absent circle, grounding without claiming, the kind of unconscious soothing Wanda did when she was fully present with someone. “Wanting gentleness after what he did to you…” she breathed, her thigh shifting subtly beneath her jeans as she resettled her weight, the movement small but instinctive. “That’s not weakness. That’s your humanity fighting its way back.” Even Sideswipe’s engine seemed to understand the gravity of the moment, dropping into a low, respectful hum as the city lights slid across the windshield. Wanda’s gaze stayed on Shalla, warm, steady, unflinching. “And Johnny?” Her mouth curved into a small, knowing smile — the kind that lived more in her eyes than her lips. She shifted again, the leather of her jacket sliding across her chest, the locket slipping a fraction lower before settling against her skin. “Of course he’s in your head. Fire doesn’t make people spiral. Fire makes people feel. It wakes things up you didn’t know were sleeping.” Up front, Sideswipe stayed unusually quiet. His internal systems were anything but. Shalla’s cosmic signature pinged every Autobot threat‑assessment protocol he had. Without saying a word, he fired off a triple‑coded burst transmission to Rodimus Prime at Autobot Headquarters — encrypted, disguised as routine telemetry, flagged for potential Decepticon or human adversary interest. Then, like the jock he was, he revved his engine just loud enough to make it seem like he’d been thinking about nothing more serious than his own paint job. “But this idea that kissing him will ‘get him out of your system’…” Wanda let out a soft, amused breath, her fingers brushing her own thigh in a small, absent tap before she stilled them again. “Sweetheart, you don’t kiss a man like Johnny Storm and walk away unchanged. Trust me.” She leaned back slightly, settling deeper into the seat, her hips shifting as she found a comfortable angle, still angled toward Shalla like she wasn’t going anywhere. “You don’t want a one‑and‑done. Not really. You want someone who touches you because they care. Someone who doesn’t make you earn softness.” She let a beat of silence settle, not heavy but grounding, her eyes warm and sure as they held Shalla’s. “And you’re not doing any of this alone. Not with me here.” Sideswipe took that as his cue and rolled smoothly into the next turn, the city lights sliding across Wanda’s hair, catching in the soft strawberry‑blonde strands. The locket tapped once more against her skin as she glanced forward, her expression shifting into something wry and fond. “Alright, baby,” she said to Sideswipe, her tone slipping into that dry, affectionate command she used on him. “Take us in.” He revved — proud, theatrical — and pulled up to the curb outside the coffeehouse. Wanda’s brows lifted the moment she saw the figure on the sidewalk. Peter. Full red‑and‑blue suit. Mask on. Standing like he’d been waiting for hours, hands fidgeting, posture trying so hard to look casual and failing in the most endearing way possible. Wanda exhaled a soft laugh through her nose, shaking her head with that warm, amused disbelief she reserved for the men in her life. “Oh, sweetie,” she murmured to Shalla, her voice low and fond. “Welcome to the friend group.” Posted by 𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷 on Sat Jan 24, 2026, 06:01 [Reply to this]

	④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④	Susan slowed to a stop as if the room itself had asked her to, her weight settling into one hip in a way that looked instinctive rather than posed. The faint lift of her chest marked a steady breath, the suit shifting softly with it, still carrying a trace of warmth from the hot tub she’d been dragged out of. She looked at Max with a steadiness that didn’t need volume or threat behind it. “Max,” she said, the correction soft but firm, her voice carrying that velvet‑dry edge she wielded so well. Her arms folded loosely across her breasts, one forearm tucking under the other, her fingertips brushing the seam of her sleeve in a small, thoughtful motion that betrayed more calculation than she let on. When Max lifted her hair to reveal the barcode, Sue didn’t recoil or gasp. Her reaction was quieter, deeper — a tightening at the corner of her jaw, a breath she held for a beat too long before letting it go in a slow exhale that softened her shoulders. She stepped a little closer without seeming to decide to, one thigh easing forward as if her body had already committed to closing the distance. Her eyes traced the numbers with a precision that felt almost surgical, the kind of look that came from someone who had seen too many children turned into weapons by people who called themselves necessary. “Names matter,” she murmured, her voice dipping into something lower, steadier. A damp strand of blonde hair slipped forward, and she brushed it back behind her ear with a small, irritated flick, clearing her view of Max’s face. Her chest rose again in a quieter breath, the suit stretching subtly across her breasts as she steadied herself before continuing. “And I understand reclaiming yourself,” she said quietly. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re someone we need to understand before we open the doors.” Her fingers tapped once against her opposite arm — a tiny, unconscious release of tension — before she continued. “And there’s something else you should know. You’re not the first version of us to walk through these doors. Some families are good. Kind. Whole.” Her eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of warmth passing through them. “Some are… not.” She drew in a slow breath, her posture shifting with the weight of memory. “The worst were the ones we met last year. A world that fell to a zombie plague. They lost their children first. And then themselves.” Her voice didn’t waver, but something in her expression tightened, a shadow passing behind her eyes. “They weren’t monsters at the start. They were us. Just broken. Grief hollowed them out, and the infection did the rest. What was left…” She exhaled, the breath easing through her posture. “…was an abomination of who they’d been. We barely survived that encounter. Reed still wakes up some nights thinking he hears their voices.” She turned slightly, gesturing toward the quarantine wing with a smooth sweep of her hand, the motion sending a natural sway through her hips as she stepped aside. “So when I say we can’t afford to take chances with anyone… it isn’t paranoia. It’s experience.” She nodded toward the hallway. “Your room is this way. Four days at most. Likely less. Reed works quickly when he’s pretending not to.” As they walked, she matched Max’s pace without thinking, her steps steady and unhurried. The suit shifted lightly across her breasts with each breath, the fabric catching the warm hallway light in soft, natural movements. Her fingers brushed the side of her thigh once — a small, grounding touch, the kind people make when they’re thinking three steps ahead. “You’ll have privacy. Food. Water. A shower. And if you need anything, you come to me.” At the threshold, she turned toward Max fully. Her chest rose with a slow, centering inhale before she spoke again, her voice steady and grounded. Her eyes softened — not warm, but aware, reading Max with that quiet, devastating empathy Susan carried like a second language. “You’ve survived worse than anything in this building. I can see that. But you’re safe here. And that’s enough for now.” She stepped aside, giving Max space to enter first, her hand resting lightly against the doorframe for a moment before she let it fall. “Welcome to your temporary quarters, Max.” Posted by ④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④ on Sat Jan 24, 2026, 06:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	Shalla's mind was going on hyperspeed. But as Wanda reached out to touch her arm, her mind calmed. Replaced with curiosity of what Wanda wanted. Could she really just want to be a friend? Sighing to herself, she didn't flinch as Wanda's fingertips graced the leather of the jacket she was wearing. "Painfully human, huh?" Shalla glanced towards the strawberry blonde witch. Her voice had a slight chuckle to it. If that made her more human, she wasn't sure she wanted it. Sideswipe revved his engine and seemed very proud of himself. A car that was cocky? This would really did have it all. But again her thoughts were driven to a stand still as Sideswipe said the name Johhny Storm. He was apparently nearby. Her heart skipped a beat at the thoight of him. Blinking hard to try and get the youngest Storm sibling out of her head, she stared at the city lights as they flashed by. It was beautiful in its own way. And as if on cue, Wanda brought up Johnny again, and the space he occupied in Shalla-Bal's head. Frustrated, she softly tilted her head towards Wanda, looking at her with that frustration mixed with sadness. But she didn't speak, she just listened as the topic went to Peter. "He's a superhero like you and the Fantastic Four, isn't he?" Shalla-Bal was smart when she actually put thought into it. "You called him Peter when you first met me. Then quickly changed to Spider-Man. First I thought that was his last name but now I think he's a costumed hero. And a clumsy one possible based on the amount of bruises you claim he gets." It was becoming clear to her, that this newfound social circle shewas being brought into was full of heroes. Protectors of this world. Would this Peter be accepting of her? Or push her away? At leasts she had Wanda on her side. "Overthink?" Shalla-Bal couldn't help but laugh at that. "Johhny Storm makes me overthink? That's hilarious, Wanda." That statement made by Wanda seemed to be the one to fully break Shalla out of her metallic shell. "You make me overthink. Susan and Reed make me overthink. I'm sure your friend Peter will do the same. But Johnny Storm..." she shook her head with a soft smile. "He has a different effect." Her eyes lit up at the thought of him as she stared off into the distance in front of her. Her soft pink lips curling up in the hint of a smile. "If anything when it comes to him, my thoughts are very singular. I think about how I can get close to him. How, I want him close to me. To feel his skin. His warmth. His lips. The feel of his heartbeat." The truth of how she had been feeling spilling out like a leaky faucet. There was no stopping it now. "I want to be touched by someone caring for a change." She leaned fowards in the seat of the car, placing her head in her hands, her fingers curling around her blonde hair near her forehead. "The last man to touch me was Galactus. And not in a good way. He would psychically squeeze the life out of me. Every time I failed him." She exhaled deeply. "I would like to know what a gentle, caring touch is." She shook her head, dismissive of her own thoughts, leaned back in the seat, resting her head on the head rest and shifted her eyes back towards Wanda. "There. That's my deep secret. What's been plaguing my thoughts. Johnny Storm has somehow infatuated me with the handful of times I've encountered him. Honestly I just need to get him out of my system somehow. Like kiss him and get over him." A look of uncertainty flashed across her features as she looked at Wanda for advice. "Right? That would work? One and done? Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Fri Jan 23, 2026, 20:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵	Max watched silently as Susan handed out orders to her family. Reed was to inspect the device she handed over. Ben to get in contact with the Avengers ans S.H.I.E.L.D.. And Johnny was sent off to chase the Silver Surfer. Leaving mother and different dimension daughter alone. This version of Susan Richards was different then her mother. Yet the same. It would be a major mind bender for anyone that wasnt used to different dimensions and variants. How long would it be before the TVA decided they didn't like her being here and tried to send her home or to the Void? "You don't know I was joking, right?" Max quipped in response to Sue saying she wouldn't be in a dungeon but an actual room and be fed. "I don't think you guys even have a literal dungeon in this building." Her voice had an air of attitude to it. But that was her normal way of speaking. More sass then kindness. It was her nature to seem more uncaring about situations then she really was. Having to grow up in the environment she did, and raise herself, sarcasm became one of her greatest defense mechanisms. "Maxine?" That name stopped her dead in her tracks. She shook her head back and forth gesturing 'no'. Her hands waving in a manner that matched her head movements. "My name is Max. Not Maxine." Being taken from her parents as a baby, Max has not even been named by them yet. For the first sixteen years of her life she was named X5-452. It wasn't until she broke free that she named herself Max. Sighing softly, she turned around and lifted her long dark hair up to reveal the barcode on the back of her neck. The barcode with her "name" of X5-452 on it. Once sure Susan had a good look at it, she let her hair cascade back down around her shoulders as she turned back to face Susan. "My parents lost me before they could name me. The government branded me, named me that. Turned me into a super soldier." The pain of those memories could be seen behind her brown eyes. "When I was sixteen, I broke free with a handful of other kids. My "siblings". We all went our separate ways to keep each other safer. Once in Seattle, I named myself Max." She shifted her weight and tucked a section of hair behind her ear, eyes still on the woman who was before her. "I don't expect you or anyone to understand, but it's important to me that my name is spoken correctly, since it's all I had of my own for a long time." She softly exhaled, as if letting the pain from her childhood escape her lungs. "Now, where do you wish you put me for the next for days?" She brought her gaze up to meet Susan's, not threatening, just understanding that she had to play this families game if she was to be trusted. Posted by 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 on Fri Jan 23, 2026, 20:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷	Wanda eased into the seat beside Shalla like she was settling into a moment instead of a car. The leather of her maroon jacket shifted across her chest as she exhaled, slow and steady, her shoulders softening as the breath left her. The aged antique silver locket resting between her breasts gave a soft tap against her skin when she turned, hips angling toward Shalla with that quiet, unhurried confidence she carried everywhere. She brushed her strawberry‑blonde hair back with a lazy sweep of black‑polished nails, her rings giving a soft clink as her fingers lingered for a beat. “Sweetheart…” she said, voice dipping into that warm, breathy calmness she used when she's about to say something that mattered. “You don’t need a perfect plan. You just need someone who’s not gonna—” she made a small, slow circle with her fingers, “—make you feel like you’re messing everything up just because you’re figuring it out.” Her hand drifted toward Shalla’s arm, slow and visible, giving her every chance to pull away. When her fingertips finally brushed the sleeve, it was feather‑light, grounding without taking. Her thumb traced a soft, absent circle, the kind of unconscious touch Wanda did when she was trying to soothe someone without making it a thing. “And this whole ‘imposter’ thing you're feeling?” she murmured, her chest rising in a steady, calming breath. “People who don’t care never feel out of place. You feel it because you want to belong. That’s human. Painfully human.” Sideswipe’s engine purred like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. Wanda didn’t even look at him — she just lifted one brow, that dry, affectionate exasperation she did so well. “Drive, baby.” He revved once, proud and theatrical, his short-range sensors spotted the Human Torch nearby. “Johnny Storm? I love that guy,” he declared, voice bright and cocky in that unmistakable cocky-Autobot vibe. “He’s a human after my own central processor. Just—uh—Sunstreaker’s still a bit sore with him after he accidentally scorched his celinium shin guards.” His headlights flicked twice, like he was rolling his optics. “I told him, hey, don’t worry — no one’ll notice. Just make left turns.” Wanda snorted softly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.” “Impossible? Who? Me?!” Sideswipe agreed, “but definitely stylish.” The city lights slid across Wanda’s face as they pulled into traffic, catching in her hair and glinting off the locket nestled between her breasts. She shifted her weight as the car turned, one thigh tightening beneath her jeans before she relaxed again, settling deeper into the seat. The movement made her jacket shift across her chest, the locket sliding a fraction lower before resting again. “And yeah,” she said softly, turning back to Shalla, “I know you met Johnny first.” Her mouth curved into a knowing, almost sympathetic smile. “Of course he’s in your head. He’s… a lot. Fire tends to leave a mark.” Her fingers tapped once against her thigh before she stilled them, her rings catching a sliver of passing neon. “But meeting him before me doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It just means the universe threw you into the deep end before handing you a floatie.” She let her arm rest along the back of the seat, fingers hovering near Shalla’s shoulder — not touching, just close enough to feel like warmth. “And Peter? Oh, he’s real. Sweet guy. Too many feelings. Shows up with bruises he swears are from ‘bike accidents.’” She gave a tiny, knowing smile. “He’s… flexible. You’ll see.” A soft laugh escaped her, barely more than a breath, as she shifted her hips again, settling into a comfortable lean. Her thigh brushed lightly against the seat as she adjusted, the movement small but unmistakably Wanda — grounded, present, unhurried. “You wanna talk about what’s in your head?” she asked, voice dropping into that soft‑low register the Scarlet Witch used when she’s telling the truth. “Good. Because you’ve been carrying it alone long enough.” The locket slid again as she turned toward her, catching another streak of neon. Wanda’s gaze lingered on Shalla — steady, warm, and unflinching. “And if Johnny shows up at that café?” She shrugged, her jacket shifting across her chest with the movement. “You’re not facing him alone. I’m right here. And I’m very, very good at handling men who make women overthink...just ask Vision." Her smile softened into something warm and sure. “Let’s get your coffee, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice soft but certain. “Then we’ll figure out everything else one breath at a time.” Posted by 𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷 on Fri Jan 23, 2026, 06:01 [Reply to this]

	④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④	Sue let Max’s outstretched hand linger in the air for a moment — not dismissively, but with that cool, assessing stillness the Invisible Woman played like a violin string. Her weight eased subtly into one hip, the shift drawing a quiet line through her posture. The blue and white fabric of her uniform stretched slightly as she inhaled — her breasts lifting beneath her folded arms, the “4” emblem rising with her breath like a seal of authority. She’d zipped the suit up seconds before the alarms hit, fingers tugging the seam closed over the blue bikini top she’d been wearing for her hot‑tub break. A few strands of blonde hair, still damp from steam, clung to her collarbone. So much for me time, she thought. “Really, darling… a phone call to your parents will sort this in minutes,” she said, velvet‑dry and clipped. As she spoke, her chest rose again in a quiet, steadying breath — the kind a woman takes when she’s already tired of the day’s nonsense but refuses to show it. “This isn’t juvenile detention. You’ve crossed realities — allegedly — and you’d like us to take that on faith.” She paused, “You arrive muttering about Doom and Agatha Harkness like you’re reading from a disaster bingo card. Forgive me if I don’t leap to trust. I’ve survived worse than whatever story you think you’re selling. Don’t mistake my patience for belief.” Her eyes swept over Max with surgical calm. A small exhale softened her shoulders, the white gloves flexing faintly as her thumb brushed the inside of her opposite palm — a tiny, lived‑in tell of irritation she didn’t bother to hide. She finally lowered the forcefields and took the device — delicately, like she was picking up something alive. As she turned toward Reed, her stride carried a subtle sway through her hips, the blue fabric catching the light as it moved with her, not against her. “Reed, love — run a remote diagnostic before we press anything. If this device so much as hums wrong, I want to know.” Reed nodded, already interfacing with the device. Sue pivoted toward Ben — a smooth turn led by her hips, one thigh easing forward to brace her stance. The white boots planted cleanly against the floor. “Ben, be a dear and alert the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. And please — please — don’t let Fury drag you into another cigar debate. I’m begging you.” Ben grumbled, but moved. Then she turned to Johnny — who was already trying to look innocent. Sue folded her arms again, the motion lifting her breastline slightly as the suit’s seams shifted with her posture as she looked at her brother. “Johnny. Go. Now. Before you invent some heroic excuse about ‘monitoring the herald’ when we both know you’re chasing that sun‑kissed blonde who keeps turning into a small star.” Johnny’s jaw dropped. Sue didn’t blink. “Yes, I saw the footage. HERBIE shows me everything. And yes, I know she’s with Wanda and the red Lamborghini robot. Off you go before you combust in entirely the wrong way.” Johnny bolted. The room quieted. Sue stepped closer to Max — her movement slow, grounded, her thighs engaging subtly as she came to a stop. One hand lifted briefly, fingers brushing a stray lock of blonde hair back behind her ear — not vanity, just clearing her field of vision. Her chest rose once more, a quieter breath this time, the kind that steadied her voice before she spoke again. “If you’re telling the truth, Maxine, this little device will confirm it. And if you’re not…” Her voice softened into something quieter, steadier, more dangerous. “…I’ll know. I always do.” Max’s joking gesture about handcuffs earned the faintest smirk — barely there, but alive in Sue’s eyes. “No restraints. Unless you insist on giving me a reason.” She gestured toward the quarantine wing, walking beside Max with that unhurried, sovereign cadence — hips steady, breath even, boots whispering against the floor. “You’ll have a room, food, water, a shower. Quarantine, not punishment. We’re cautious, not cruel.” Her gaze flicked sideways, reading Max’s profile with quiet, lethal empathy. “If you’re genuine, we’ll sort this out. If you’re not… well. Let’s hope you are.” At the threshold, she folded her arms once more — her breasts rising with a slow, centering breath, the emblem catching the light again. Her chin lifted in that elegant, lethal angle that made the air feel tighter around her. “Welcome to the Baxter Building, Maxine. Let’s see what truth you’ve brought through our door.” Posted by ④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④ on Fri Jan 23, 2026, 06:01 [Reply to this]

Back to Blog List