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

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	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	Dressed in this attire, Shalla-Bal did feel like an imposter. But it wasn't just the clothes. It was really everything. The clothes were just the only thing she could point to in the moment. The only thing she could use as an example. Her resistance to be accepted in a poor attempt to protect herself from rejection. However, word after word, Wanda was breaking down her walls. Through magic or kindness, Shalla was unsure. But she didn't really care anymore. The kindness was welcome. Needed. Lost in her own thoughts, she was only barely listening to the exchange between Wanda and Sideswipe. The talking car was still a uncertainty to her. But not as big as an uncertainty as the Johnny problem. She did care about him. And he was infiltrating her every thought. Oh God — Peter. Those three words pulled Shalla out of her thoughts and back onto Wanda. Apparently they were late to the café. Maybe Wanda was, but Shalla-Bal didn't even know who this Peter was. Inhaling, she stepped closer to Sideswipe, not wanting to resist any longer. She had come to this Earth, this home, hoping to find friendship. Granted she was hoping to find that in a certain male, but instead she got Wanda Maximoff. As she got close enough to enter the car she hesitated as Johnny's name was once again mentioned. Could he actually show up at this café? The very thought made her heart jump. She needed to be face to face with him, so at the very least she could get him out of her head. With no more hesitation, Shalla gracefully got into the passenger seat. "Alright, we can go grab a coffee, rescues this Peter man, and maybe talk about what's in my head." She softly smiled, trying her best to legitimately make a friend in Wanda. "And you can help me figure out what I should be doing." Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Thu Jan 22, 2026, 03:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵	The atmosphere was full of tension, a tension that was well deserved. The Baxter Building had been breached multiple times now and there was a baby involved. Anyone would be on edge. Which is why Max didn't take anything Susan said as a threat. She knew this woman, no matter what Earth is was, would harm her. None of the Fantastic Four would. They weren't the type to attack indiscriminately. They were protectors. Something Max admired about her own Fantastic Four Family. Then came the threat activation. Force fields settling around them like glass, the air tightening with a faint metallic tang. This might have worried someone else, but it was no surprise to Max. This was all expected. She would've been surprised if Susan didn't jump straight into protective mama bear mode. Max remained confident and cautious, her military training driving her instincts. And thankful her feline DNA was not. These men may be her family but only technically. Susan's body language began showing signs of relaxation, and Max followed. Her shoulders dropped slightly and her posture was not as rigid. She almost mimicked Susan's stance without realizing it. "My family would absolutely be doing the same." She echoed to Sue with a understanding smirk. Both of her families would. Maxine may have been the child of Reed and Susan but she wasn't raised by them. She was raised by the government's secretary military organization. Then when she broke free she found the X-Men. Logan and his family were her main family. "Isolated quarantine?" She couldn't help but roll her eyes. Not in a defiant manner but more of humorous acceptance. It was a waste of time, but she'd play along. Whatever it took to gain their trust. Taking half a step forward, Max extended out her hand to Sue. "You'll need this if you wish to validate who I am, and where I came from." In the palm of her hand was a small metallic device. Smaller then a cell phone. But worked in a smiliar manner. Something Reed had invented for whenever she needed to contact him without a proper phone signal. "Just press the blue button on the upper right side. It'll connect you to one of my parents." She spoke in a matter of fact tone as she handed it over. "Or I'm sure you can come up with someway to verify things yourself." She said glancing at Reed. "Alright then," she placed her hands together jokingly, as if she was wating for handcuffs. "Take me to whatever room you wish to keep me if for the next day or so. I will fully cooperate of course." She smiled at Sue with a hint of annoyance. Posted by 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 on Thu Jan 22, 2026, 03:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷	Wanda didn’t answer Shalla right away. She let the moment breathe, literally. Her chest rose beneath the maroon leather jacket in a slow, steady inhale, the kind that made her look like she was pausing all reality. The leather creaked softly as she exhaled, her shoulders easing down into that relaxed, grounded posture she used when she wanted someone to feel safe. A breeze skimmed across the street, brushing her strawberry‑blonde hair forward. She tucked it behind her ear with a soft clink of rings, the aged silver locket at her throat shifting gently where it rested between her breasts. Her hips moved in a natural, unhurried sway as she stepped closer. “Sweetheart…” she murmured, voice warm and breathy, “you look like you’re waiting for someone to tell you you’re allowed to exist.” Her boots made a gentle scuff on the pavement as she stopped in front of Shalla. Her jacket shifted lightly across her breasts when she folded her arms, the locket giving a faint, familiar tap against her skin as she settled her weight into one hip with that lived‑in ease that made her look like she’d been doing this her whole life. “And for the record? I didn’t dress you to make you human. I dressed you so you wouldn’t be naked on a New York sidewalk while a sentient Lamborghini is trying his best to be polite.” Right on cue, Sideswipe’s engine gave a sharp, show‑off rev — the kind that sounded like he was flexing even when nobody asked. His headlights flicked twice, pure classic Autobot attitude. “Well look at this!” he quipped, voice bright and cocky, that unmistakable Cybertronian timbre cutting through the street noise. “Two beautiful ladies on the curb and not a Decepticon in sight. And here I am — the only guy on duty with style, or what!” Wanda shot him a fond, exasperated smile over her shoulder. “See? He’s being good. He didn’t even comment on the string-bikini. That’s personal growth.” Sideswipe revved again, proud. “Hey, what can I say? Some bots are built for battle. I was built for battle and good looks. It’s a burden, but I manage.” Wanda laughed softly, shaking her head as she turned back to Shalla. Her expression softened into something painfully gentle. She stepped in a little closer, one thigh tightening briefly as she adjusted her stance on the uneven pavement. The locket shifted again with the movement, catching a sliver of streetlight. “You’re not an imposter,” she said, voice dipping into that low, devastating register. “You’re someone who’s been told what she is for so long she forgot she gets to decide.” Shalla looked down, doubt flickering across her face. Wanda reached out, slow and visible, brushing her fingers lightly against the sleeve of the borrowed jacket without taking hold of her. The aged silver locket resting between her breasts glinted softly as she leaned in, a quiet reminder of everything she’d carried and survived. “You ask if you belong,” she murmured. “Sweetheart… belonging isn’t a species. It’s a choice. And you’re choosing to stay. That’s more human than half the people on this planet.” Her eyes flicked up toward Johnny’s window, then back to Shalla with a knowing, almost painful softness. “And you care about him. That’s not a flaw. That’s a pulse.” She let that truth settle, her hips angling slightly as she leaned in just enough to be heard without overwhelming her. Then she blinked suddenly, like a thought had just hit her sideways. “Oh God — Peter.” She groaned, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. Her jacket shifted across her chest again as she straightened, the locket giving a soft slide against her skin. “He’s been waiting at the coffeehouse for twenty minutes. If we don’t get there soon he’s gonna start journaling out loud again. And I love him, but I cannot handle another monologue about the ‘fragility of connection in the digital age.’ Or worse, how his boss at the Daily Bugle won’t give him a moment’s peace anymore.” She flicked her fingers toward Sideswipe. “Alright. We’re taking this handsome red menace.” Sideswipe practically preened, headlights flashing. “Handsome. Finally someone notices! Now hop in already — I’m a Lamborghini, not a park bench!” Wanda grinned at him, warm and affectionate. “You’re perfect, baby. Thank you.” The passenger door swung up smoothly, like he was bowing. Wanda stepped closer to Shalla again, her hand lifting — slow, open, offering without pressure. Her thigh brushed lightly against the edge of the curb as she shifted her balance, the locket settling back into place with a soft, familiar weight. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s hop in. We’ll grab coffee, rescue Peter from his existential crisis, and you can tell me what’s actually going on in that beautiful, confused head of yours.” Her smile softened — warm, wry, a little wicked. “And if Johnny happens to be there?” She shrugged lightly, her jacket settling across her breasts with the movement, the locket catching the motion like punctuation. “Well… then we’ll deal with that too.” She nodded toward the open door, hair brushing her cheek again as she moved. “Let’s go. Before Sideswipe starts bragging to the meter maids about his recent jet judo performances with his twin‑brother, Sunstreaker.” Posted by 𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷 on Thu Jan 22, 2026, 00:01 [Reply to this]

	④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④	The Baxter Building didn’t just alert them — it shuddered awake. The security grid pulsed red across every surface, a low vibration running through the floor like the building had a heartbeat of its own. HERBIE’s voice chimed warnings in that clipped, too‑cheerful tone Sue had always meant to reprogram. She stopped mid‑hallway, one hand braced on her hip, the other still hooked under the half‑unzipped seam of her uniform. She was less than ten feet from the hot tub. Her chest lifted with a long inhale, shoulders rising, then settling with a slow, irritated exhale. Her thighs shifted as she planted her feet, grounding herself before the annoyance could take over. Of course. The one moment I try to take for myself, the universe sends me another crisis wearing shoes. “First Spider‑Man today…” she muttered, rubbing her thumb across the bridge of her nose. “Then Galactus’ herald… now whoever this is. What, is no one an X‑Men fan anymore.” Behind her, Reed and Ben froze mid‑loading of Franklin’s bag into the Fantasticar. Reed straightened, pushing his glasses up with the back of his knuckle. Ben let out a gravelly sigh. Johnny hovered by the balcony, weight shifting onto one hip, arms half‑crossed like he was already preparing to deny responsibility. Sue pivoted — a smooth, grounded turn led by her hips, her boots whispering against the floor — and strode toward the main hall. Her hands flexed once at her sides, shaking off the last trace of almost‑relaxation. The men fell in behind her without needing to be told...They always follow. Even when they pretend they don’t. Reed with his curiosity, Ben with his loyalty, Johnny with his chaos. And me… with my patience wearing thinner by the hour. The alarms crescendoed as they reached the atrium — and then they saw her. A young woman stood in the center of the room, dark hair falling straight past her shoulders, tanned skin, black jeans, cropped tank. Her stance was tight, efficient, like someone trained to take up as little space as possible. Valley‑girl cadence wrapped around military precision... Scared, but not of us. Scared of being misread. Shoulders too square, breath too shallow, eyes checking exits. Someone taught her to survive, not to live. Sue stopped a few feet away. Her weight settled into one hip, her arms folding beneath her breasts — not defensive, just claiming the moment. Her chest rose once, slow and steady, as she took the girl in. Her thumb pressed lightly against the inside of her opposite palm, a tiny, controlled release of irritation. Max spoke. Calm. Too calm. Every syllable measured. Trained calm. Manufactured calm. Always more concerning than panic. Sue tilted her head — elegant and razor‑sharp — chin lifting a fraction, eyes narrowing just enough to signal she’d already mapped the girl’s emotional landscape. “HERBIE,” she said, voice low, velvet‑dry, “activate level five intruder containment force fields. And turn those alarms off before I lose my mind.” The lights snapped back to white. The hum of the force fields settled around them like invisible glass, the air tightening with a faint metallic tang... Better. Quiet. And she can’t bolt — not that she would. Discipline like that usually hides something sharper underneath. Only then did Sue step forward. Her stride was unhurried, grounded — thighs shifting with each step, shoulders relaxed but unyielding, hands loose at her sides until she folded them again, higher this time, posture tall and sovereign. Reed adjusted behind her; Johnny’s arms folded tighter; Ben planted his feet like a wall. “If you’re from another reality,” Sue said, her voice smoothing into something cool and precise, “and if you’re telling the truth, then I apologize for this reception.” Her hand lifted in a small, almost gracious gesture — palm open, fingers relaxed...She needs to see I’m not cruel. Just cautious. There’s a difference. “But if your family is another Fantastic Four, they’d be doing the exact same thing.” She let her arms fold again, shoulders settling back, breasts rising with another slow inhale — the breath of a woman keeping herself centered in the middle of chaos. “For the next forty‑eight to seventy‑two hours, you’ll be in isolated quarantine. Not as punishment — as protocol.” And because I can’t risk Franklin. Not again. Not after everything we’ve survived...She shifted her stance again, one thigh easing forward, weight redistributing with the kind of grounded confidence that made the room feel smaller around her. “In the last few years, we’ve had a dark Wanda Maximoff try to kill us. Zombie versions of ourselves attempt to replace us. Doom plotting something new is never a surprise, but the timing of your arrival is… a little too convenient.” Her thumb pressed once against her palm — a tiny, human tell. If Doom is involved, she’s either a pawn or a warning. And I’m too tired to pretend I don’t already have a guess...“So until we validate your story and confirm you’re not a threat to my son or anyone else, you’re staying put.” Her voice softened — not kinder, just quieter, steadier, more dangerous in its calm. “Cooperate, and this goes smoothly. Fight me on it, and you’ll find I’m very polite until I’m not.” And today is not the day to test me...She tilted her head again — elegant, lethal, unmistakably British — chin lifting, shoulders settling, hips angled just slightly like she was bracing for whatever came next. “Welcome to Earth‑828. Let’s begin.” Posted by ④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④ on Thu Jan 22, 2026, 00:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	The air surrounding Shalla-Bal was thick and heavy. Confusion mixed with uncertainty and longing. And this witch seemed to be able to read her. It was unsettling. Very familiar to when Johnny had figured out het language and name. Too familiar, too quick. However, Shalla had nowhere to escape to this time. She just stayed and listened, occasionally glancing back towards Johnny's room. That longing to be near him only growing much to her own annoyance. "I'm not pretending I don't care about him." She said, her voice above a whisper. "I do care More than I should. But it doesn't matter." Defeat taking over. Wanda decided she needed to provide clothes, which Shalla still didn't fully understand the point of it. But didn't resist. This witch was in control for the time being. Just another person telling her what to do. The red magic swirled around her, lifting her off her feet and down to the street where a red Lamborghini was parked. Seemed like the perfect compliment to Wanda Maximoff. However as the car began to speak it startled Shalla, just enough for her to step back onto the sidewalk, creating distance. This planet was full of things she didn't fully comprehend. Talking vehicles, cookies, cash. What else was waiting to reveal itself? Next thing she knew Wanda was handing her a pile of clothing. According to her, wearing these would make her more human? She raised an eyebrow at that thought. She stepped into the bikini bottoms first then slid the matching top on. It was flattering. Next came the worn-in blue jeans. Comfortable but tight. As she slipped the dark blue shirt over her head, she looked at Wanda. "You know that nothing I put on will make me more human right? I'm not human like you or they are? I'm from a different planet. I can look like one of you, but I'm not." She pulled her long blonde hair out from under the shirt, then began putting the pink and white sneakers on her feet. The picked out attire was flattering and comfortable enough, but she just felt like an imposter. And was positive that none of this mattered anyway. They would never see her as a friend. Johnny would not want her as a partner. She could not be of use to anyone. All she really had going for her at this moment was Wanda Maximoff. For whatever reason she at least seemed to want to be a friend. Fully dressed now in the borrowed clothing, Shalla-Bal looked like a California girl lost in New York. Blonde, tanned, confused. "Satisfied?" She looked at Wanda quizzically. "Do I look like I belong now? Because it's still obvious to me that I don't." Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Wed Jan 21, 2026, 04:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷	Wanda didn’t react with shock when Shalla-Bal’s silver dissolved into skin. She didn’t flinch or avert her eyes or stumble over her breath. Instead, she took in a slow inhale — the kind that lifted her chest beneath the maroon leather jacket in a soft, steady rise. The leather creaked faintly as it stretched, then eased back into place when she exhaled. Her expression stayed warm, grounded, almost painfully gentle. She stepped forward with that quiet, lived‑in ease — her hips shifting in a natural, unhurried sway, boots making soft contact with the concrete. A breeze swept across the balcony and brushed her strawberry‑blonde hair across her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear with a small, absent gesture, her rings catching the city lights as she did. “Hey… hey,” she murmured softly, voice warm and breathy. “Sweetheart, no. This isn’t—this isn’t what I meant.” Her hand lifted — slow, visible, palm open — the kind of movement meant to soothe, not startle. She didn’t stare at Shalla’s nudity; she simply acknowledged it with the calm practicality of someone who had seen far stranger things and refused to make this moment another wound. “Being naked doesn’t make you less threatening,” she said gently, her tone dipping into that soft, amused style honesty. “It just makes you… cold. And, um… very, very exposed.” A tiny, breathy laugh slipped out — warm, human, a little self‑aware. Her jacket shifted lightly across her breasts as she breathed again, steady and calm, grounding the moment with her presence alone. “When I said ‘grounded,’ I meant clothes that feel like you,” she continued, voice softening. “Something that says, ‘Hi, I’m here to talk, not vaporize your building.’ You know? Something human.” Shalla’s flush deepened, and Wanda’s expression softened even more — with.quiet, devastating empathy. Wanda shifted her weight, one thigh tightening briefly as she steadied herself, then stepped closer with a warmth that didn’t crowd or overwhelm. “And sweetheart… you don’t have to pretend you don’t care about Johnny.” Her voice dropped into a gentle, knowing murmur. “You looked at his window before you looked at me.” She let that truth settle gently between them. No pressure. No judgment. Just honesty. Her hips angled slightly as she settled into a relaxed stance, her jacket falling open just enough for the silver locket at her chest to catch the light. “Alright,” she said softly, almost conspiratorially. “Come on. Let’s get you covered before someone calls the Avengers hotline. Or Reed. Or—God forbid—Steve Rogers.” Wanda lifted her hand again — fingers curling with that familiar, effortless grace — and telekinesis wrapped around them both like warm air. Shalla rose first, startled but steady, and Wanda followed with that smooth, quiet glide she used when she didn’t want to draw attention. Her thighs tightened subtly as she adjusted her balance mid‑air, her hips angling to keep Shalla steady without making her feel handled. Their descent toward the street was gentle, controlled. Sideswipe rumbled below them, headlights flicking on in recognition as they touched down beside the red Lamborghini Countach. The engine gave a low, approving growl — almost protective. Wanda’s boots hit pavement with a soft thud. She exhaled — her breasts rising and falling beneath the jacket — and brushed her hair back again before flicking her fingers to pop the front trunk. The lid lifted smoothly, revealing a small stash of “just‑in‑case” outfits she kept for nights exactly like this — nights when someone needed to feel human again. She reached in and pulled out a soft blue bikini first, the fabric catching the streetlights as she draped it over her arm. Beneath it were a pair of worn‑in blue jeans and a dark blue shirt that looked comfortable enough to pass for normal without drawing attention. She gathered them together, then nudged a pair of pink‑and‑white sneakers forward with her thigh before scooping them up. Last came a faded red jacket, the color softened by time and mischief. Wanda held it up with a smirk, her chest lifting with a quiet laugh. “Oh, this one?” she said, voice warm and amused. “Yeah, I, uh… borrowed it from my best friend, Natalia Romanova, a few years back. She’ll live. Probably.” She stepped closer, her hips shifting in that easy, grounded way as she pressed the bundle of clothes into Shalla’s hands. Before Shalla could respond, Sideswipe’s engine gave a low, rumbling grumble — not mechanical, not irritated, but unmistakably attitude. His headlights flicked twice, like he was rolling his optics. Then his speakers crackled to life with that bright, cocky, unmistakably‑Autobot swagger. “Well now, that’s just great,” he quipped. “Naked human females on the curb. What’d somebody do — mistake me for a Stark 9000 deluxe entertainment unit...again?” He revved once, sharp and showy, like he was punctuating the joke with a smirk only a cocky Autobot could pull off. Wanda didn’t even turn around at first. She just closed her eyes for a beat, her chest rising with a long, slow inhale that said she’d been dealing with this exact brand of nonsense since the Avengers Civil War. When she exhaled, her hips shifted in a tiny, resigned sway — the kind that said of course he picked now to talk. She finally glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifting in that perfect deadpan way. “Mm‑hmm. Ignore him,” she said, waving a hand lazily. “He’s just sulking because Emma Frost and Mirage got an action assignment this week.” Sideswipe sputtered indignantly, engine revving like a wounded ego. “Sulking? Me? C’mon, Wanda, give me a break! I’m a highly‑tuned Cybertronian combat warrior, not some—some chrome‑plated background prop!” Wanda cut him off with a lazy flick of her fingers, her thigh shifting as she turned fully toward him. “—not a Stark 9000, yes, baby, we heard you,” she said, voice warm but teasing. “You’ll be fine. Try not to blow a gasket about it.” Sideswipe muttered something under his engine — something that sounded suspiciously like an football jock-like grumble — and dimmed his headlights in a dramatic sulk. Wanda smirked, shaking her head as she turned back to Shalla. “See? This is why I don’t let him watch late‑night TV. He starts thinking he’s the star of the show.” Her jacket settled across her chest as she crossed her arms again, her stance softening as she looked Shalla over — still holding the clothes, still flushed, still unsure. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said gently, voice dipping into that soft, reassuring register Wanda always used when she wanted someone to feel safe. “Let’s get you dressed before Peter shows up… or the authorities… or worse—” She tilted her chin toward the Baxter Building windows. “—Susan Richards looks outside and sees you naked. I love her, but I am not dealing with that tonight.” A soft laugh escaped her, warm and alive. She stepped back, giving Shalla space but staying close enough to anchor her. “Go on,” she murmured. “Let’s make you look like someone who belongs here.” Posted by 𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷 on Wed Jan 21, 2026, 03:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵	The moment Franklin Richards was born, every other reality knew about it. He was one of the most powerful individuals to ever exist. Even if he was just a baby. Over the last year, many from various worlds had kept an eye on the Richards' family from afar. This child could need protection from the many or be stopped one day. On Earth-10005 the Fantastic Four had been keeping an eye on their counterparts. And had been keeping their own daughter Max Guevara in the loop. Max, as a baby had also been taken from her parents. Not because she had been a powerful cosmic being, she actually did not have any cosmic powers like her parents. But just because someone wanted to experiment on her and other children. Raised in a science lab and experimented on, Max was more mutant than human. Code named X5-452. She did get away from Manticore and refund her parents, but the X-Men were closer to her. Especially Wolverine. But when she heard that her baby brother from another Earth was in potential danger, she did not hesitate to sign up to help. No child would go through anything like she did if she could help it. With assistance from Doctor Strange, Reed found a path to the Baxtar Building of Earth-828 and sent Max through. The portal opened up in the living room. The alarms had been blaring, but not from her arrival. Someone else had already arrived before her. A sense of dread filled her body, but eased as she saw Ben Grimm rush to the baby's room and Reed run towards Johnny's. Whatever this was, was not about Franklin. Taking in the surroundings of this familiar yet foreign building, Max made her way to Johnny's bedroom. When she reached the door, she could feel the tension in the air. Knowing her sudden appearance was not going to put anyone at ease. After all, these were not her parents. She was not their daughter. She was a stranger in their house. "Hi." She stepped through the door and into the room. Her long, straight dark hair, framing her dark features perfectly. Her black jeans, black cropped tank top, showed off her toned body and tan skin. Her movements short, precise. Nothing about her screamed "threat". That was how Manticore made her. As expected Sue, Reed and Johhny appeared to grow more tense. Defensive. Another stranger in their home. Out the window, Max noticed Wanda Maximoff immediately and a naked woman who Max identified as the Silver Surfer based off the silver metallic surfboard next to her. That answered the question of who the first intruder was. Why she was naked, clearly had to do with Uncle Johnny. He always had naked women around. Locking onto her family from another universe, just like building they were the same but different. Reed had the same intellectual arrogance and cluelessness as her own dad. Sue was the same maternal protector and grace, her features though were more elegant than her own mother. And then there was Johnny. He was the same, just did not look like Steve Rogers at all. Taking a few more steps closer to them, Max gracefully placed her hands in the air to show she was not armed or dangerous. "My name is Max Guevara. I was sent here by the Reed Richards of my universe. Reed and Sue are my parents and they are worried about your son. They sent me here to help protect him." She took one final step closer but kept distance, not trying to force herself into a closeness they did not trust yet. "When I was a baby I was taken from my mother. Experimented on. Whatever this person or people have in store for Franklin, I will not let happen." Her voice was clear, revelaing just how adamant she was about keeping her family safe, no matter the world they were from. "My dad thinks a woman named Agatha Harkness is working with someone else to take the children of Superheros. We don't know for certain yet but we think she's working with Victor von Doom." Her weight shifted slightly as she gently crossed her arms across her chest. "If my parents are correct, then your son will need all the protection you can find. Wanda is a good start, she has experience with Agatha." She gestured with her head towards Johnny's balcony. "The naked surfer is also a powerful ally. He was to my parents." Why the Silver Surfer was female and nude was just one of many questions that Max was choosing to ignore. "Find the Avengers of this world. From every world. Agatha and Doom are targeting many universes." Posted by 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 on Tue Jan 20, 2026, 22:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	Staring out into the vast city skyline, Shalla-Bal took in a long breath of acceptance. This was not a world she would get to be part of. Honestly she felt ridiculous for even thinking it was a possibility. She knew better. But hope had gotten the better of her. Just as she resigned herself to fly away to be forgotten, a new player entered her space. A beautiful red haired woman. Clearly powerful. And she identified herself as Wanda. This name caused a eyebrow raise. Wanda? As in the one Reed was just being concerned about. Some Wanda from a different Earth had killed people. A lot of them from the sound of it. Could this be the same woman? And if so what did she want? Her stoic form watched and listened as this woman spoke. It was very kind. Shalla-Bal remained guarded though. Kindness could be a trick. A trick for what ends? That remained to be seen. Then the subject of Johnny Storm was brought up and that caused the smallest form of emotion to sneak past her unmoving features. For some unbeknownst reason his name made her body betray herself. Her eyes narrowed and she tensed up further. "Johhny is a good guy. He pleaded with me to sacrifice himself in place of the boy. He tried to do so again. I stopped him and made the sacrifice. It takes a very good person to break through the haze and control I was under." She quickly glanced in the general direction of his room before landing back on Wanda. "Though your implications I seek a romantic or sexual relationship with him is absurd." Lying to herself had been the first skill she developed under the control of Galactus. It was the only way she could live with herself after all the pain she helped deliver. So lying about any intention regarding Jonathan Storm was as natural as breathing to her. "As for my appearance.." she trailed off as she inspected her own body. Silver, metallic, cold. Everything Galactus had turned her into. Not a reflection of her real self. But an appearance that kept her from being vulnerable. Returning her attention back to Wanda, she looked her over. The clothing was causal but ready for battle if need be. A uniform without being threatening. Maybe this Wanda person had a point there. Perhaps dropping the cosmic entity uniform would be of help. Not with just the Fantastic Four, but anyone. Even if that didn't help with her own people. They judged her not for looks but what she did. "Perhaps you are right about my appearance. Maybe I can relax on that front." Gliding down softly to the balcony she stepped off her surfboard gracefully and closed her eyes. The silver began to lift, starting with her head. Her former slicked back silver hair, changed to a honey blonde color. The ends loosely falling around her shoulders and chest. Her silver skin faded away revealing sun kissed tanned skin. And that was not all she was revealing. She had no clothing under that polymer silver skin. So now she stood there, baring all to the world. "Is this more acceptable?" She genuinely asked Wanda as she gestured to her own naked body. "Will people not be threatened now?" It was a earnest question. Shalla-Bal did not understand how this was any different, but she was willing to trust Wanda enough on it. "What's a chocolate chip cookie?" The next question slipped out without thinking. "What's cash?" These were two foreign concepts to her. "And why would I care if Johnny sneaks out to meet you and this Peter Spider-Man? Wanda had done the very thing Shalla-Bal had tired to avoid. Her kindness had got through to her and now curiosity was peaking through. But denial was still present. Her tanned skin was flushing with emotion as she asked questions. She could deny things all she wanted but without armor or clothing she couldn't hide very convincingly. Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Tue Jan 20, 2026, 03:01 [Reply to this]

	𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷	Wanda felt Reed’s voice cut out mid‑sentence, swallowed by the Baxter Building’s cosmic alarms. She didn’t tense. She just exhaled — slow, steady — the kind of breath that lifted her breasts beneath her maroon leather jacket. The leather eased across her chest as she settled deeper into the seat of her ’84 red Lamborghini Countach — the Autobot known as Sideswipe. Her strawberry‑blonde hair caught the passing headlights, and her gloss‑black nails brushed the wheel in a small, practiced flick she used when she didn’t want to think too hard. The rings on her fingers clicked softly against the leather. “Alright, sweetheart,” she murmured to the car, stroking the wheel like calming a skittish animal. Her hips shifted with that absent, instinctive ease she had when she was already three steps ahead. “Let’s go see what Reed’s panicking about, hm?” She tapped her comm. “Peter? Change of plans. Meet me at the Baxter Building. And bring your appetite — you’re gonna need it.” Traffic parted for her like it understood her mood. When she pulled up to the curb, she stepped out with that grounded, unhurried grace she always carried — boots hitting pavement, thighs tightening briefly as she straightened. Her maroon jacket settled across her breasts as she looked up, wind teasing a few strands of hair across her cheek. The aged silver locket at her chest shifted gently with the movement. Then she saw her. The female Silver Surfer hovered outside Johnny Storm’s window, suspended in that cosmic stillness heartbreak always leaves behind. Wanda’s expression softened instantly. She told Sideswipe to keep watch, and the car answered with a low, obedient rumble. With a lift of her hand, she rose into the air — no flare, no drama, just that smooth, quiet glide she used when she didn’t want to scare anyone. Her legs extended beneath her, thighs steadying her balance. Her jacket shifted lightly over her chest as she slowed her ascent. She approached like someone stepping into a room where a friend was crying — gentle, respectful, present. Halfway up, she brushed the edge of Shalla‑Bal’s mind. Fear. Regret. Longing. And beneath it — a sharp, lonely ache Wanda recognized too well. Her shoulders eased. Her hips angled slightly as she slowed her approach. She touched down on the rooftop ledge with a soft, lived‑in grace, one thigh shifting as she found her footing. Her hair settled around her shoulders, catching the last streaks of sunset like a halo. She offered a small, warm smile — the kind she used when she wanted someone to feel safe without feeling exposed. “Hi,” she said gently, voice warm and a little amused. “I’m Wanda. I was talking to Reed before the alarms got… dramatic.” A tiny breathy laugh. “They do that.” She let the moment breathe, her breasts rising subtly with a quiet inhale as she studied Shalla’s expression. “You look like someone who’s had a day. And I mean… a day.” Her gaze flicked toward Johnny’s window, then back to Shalla — perceptive, not judging. Wanda shifted her weight, one hip settling into a relaxed angle. A breeze brushed her hair across her collarbone, and she tucked it back with a small, absent gesture, her black‑polished nails catching the light. “And I’m guessing you wanted to be treated like a friend. Maybe even… something more, given your choice of balcony.” Her eyebrows lifted, amused but kind. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything. Not to me.” She stepped closer, hips lightly swaying in that natural, unforced way she moved when she was calm — not seductive, just real. Her thighs brushed lightly as she walked. A soft breath lifted her chest again as she stopped beside Shalla. “It can happen. Johnny’s a good guy. He just… he needs time. And space. And sometimes a nudge.” A dry, knowing shrug. “Trust me — he needs the nudges.” Her tone softened. She rested a hand on her hip, jacket falling open slightly, the silver locket glinting faintly. Her other hand brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, rings catching the light. “And showing up after everything with Galactus?” She winced, lips curling into a rueful smile. “Yeah… that’s a tough opener. Even if you helped stop him later, it doesn’t erase the first part. It just means you opened a new door. And you get to decide who walks through it.” She let out a small breath, her smile tilting softer, more conspiratorial. “And… look, if you’re trying to talk to Johnny? Maybe try something a little less ‘cosmic herald’ and a little more… grounded. Just for today.” A tiny, shy shrug. “Helps people see you instead of the shine.” Then she motioned to her outfit — the maroon leather jacket, the black crop top, the jeans hugging her thighs, the boots that had seen rooftop battles and quiet walks alike. Her breasts lifted gently with a soft laugh. “Sometimes all you need is a wardrobe change. One that doesn’t scream cosmic threat. The Fantastic Four is a wonderful family… but they don’t warm up to outsiders quickly. Peter — Spider‑Man — he’s practically Johnny’s brother now, but it took forever. They thought he wanted fame. Or money. Or both.” Another breath, her chest rising beneath the jacket. “And for what it’s worth… I get your situation more than most.” Her voice dipped into that gentle, vulnerable register she used when she was being honest. “I was a villain once. A real one. And a darker version of me from another reality killed… a lot of people. So now I get the looks. The whispers. The ‘is she going to snap again’ thing.” She rolled her eyes softly. “Please. I prefer cookies and a drink to mass destruction. I have better things to do than rip all my clothes off and rampage through midtown like the Incredible Hulk.” Her smile brightened, inviting, almost conspiratorial. She shifted her stance again, one hip cocking slightly as she relaxed. “Speaking of which — the coffeehouse Peter and I go to? Fresh chocolate‑chip cookies. Johnny sneaks out to join us sometimes when Reed’s buried in work, Ben’s watching a game, and Sue’s enjoying her quiet time.” She tilted her head, hair brushing her collarbone. “You probably didn’t bring cash. That’s fine. I’ve got you. And I might even have something in my car that could fit you.” A warm, steady look. “Just… don’t stay up here alone. Not tonight.” Posted by 𝓗𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓕𝓾𝓷 on Tue Jan 20, 2026, 01:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	Almost everyone was now standing in the one single room. Shalla-Bal really felt like a commotion. She just came to talk to a perceived friend, yet instead found a family that really could do without her. And with each arrival Johnny's bed count seemed to get hire. So did her jealousy of it to her surprise. Susan's words had been cold, motherly, expected. But Reed was entirely different. He didn't come across as angry or even concerned about her being in the building, but she found them to be the most threatening. He would destroy her if she made a mistake. This was a fear she had only felt when disappointing Galactus. And without even realizing it, Reed Richards had made Shalla-Bal a villain once again. The Negative Zone. Seemed harmless to her to place such a threat there, but not to him. He saw life that would be harmed. Again the Fantastic Four did not sacrifice lives to save others. That was something she did. And it made her feel nothing but disgust. "You're right." Was all she could muster. Her voice just above a whisper. Glancing at Johnny she moved away, letting his warmth escape her. Then she stepped back towards his windows, where her surfboard remained leaning against the wall. Reed began talking about Franklin, someone named Wanda and another named Agatha. From the words spoken she got the idea that these women were witches. Powerful ones. Capable of being easily corrupted. And it was a family matter. Cementing one single fact. Shalla-Bal, the Silver Surfer did not belong here. Could she help in protecting the innocent boy from powerful witches? Yes. Would she ever be allowed? No. She raised a hand and parted her lips to speak 'I can help', but quickly closed her lips again and grabbed her surfboard. It was better if she left them alone. What was left of her heart felt like it was breaking. She viewed this group of people as her last hope and it was not meant to be. She was not what they needed. The right thing to do was leave. "I'm sorry I caused you and your family any concern." She addressed them as a whole. "I understand you have a potential witch problem. And with that, I should leave as to not create more concern for any of you." She began phasing through the window. "I shall not bother you again. Goodbye." Her eyes locked onto Johnny's as she said goodbye. He was the one she came for. He was the one she would stay for. But as she kept learning from his family. Doing the right thing wasn't necessarily what you want. Closing her eyes she finished phasing out his room and back onto the balcony. Placing her surfboard down, she stepped onto it gracefully as if it was part of her. But she didn't immediately fly away. Instead she gently floated off and stood there. Aimlessly. She had nowhere to go and was not sure what to do. Consumed with regret and longing, she stared off into the New York City skyline. Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Mon Jan 19, 2026, 08:01 [Reply to this]

	𝙼𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚢	The alarms hadn’t even finished their first rising wail before Reed’s head snapped up from the Reductocraft’s open chassis. The sound cut through the lab like a blade, vibrating through metal, glass, and bone. Ben froze beside him, one massive hand still braced on the vibranium‑mesh rail they’d been reinforcing. The two men exchanged a single look — not fear, not confusion, just the silent, practiced communication of men who had lived through too many crises together. Ben moved first, boots thudding across the floor as he barreled toward Franklin’s room with the unstoppable momentum of a landslide. Reed pivoted toward the source of the breach, his body elongating in subtle, instinctive ways — tendons stretching, senses sharpening, awareness widening like a ripple across water. His elongated senses reached the room before he did.He heard everything. Sue’s voice — cool, controlled, winter‑morning stillness wrapped in velvet steel. Johnny’s frantic scrambling — the sound of a man trying to outrun his own panic. Shalla‑Bal’s lunar calm — a soft, silver‑toned cadence that didn’t belong to Earth. And beneath it all, the thing Reed always heard first: Sue’s breathing. He could identify her inhale from across a battlefield. He could track her heartbeat through three walls.He had her rhythms memorized — not out of obsession, but out of love, out of instinct, out of the quiet terror that came with loving someone so fiercely you mapped their existence into your bones. He’d never admit that to her. Quantifying Susan Storm’s emotions was the kind of sin that would get a man launched into a black hole. He also heard the sibling banter — Johnny’s excuses, Sue’s velvet‑blade retorts — and if the situation hadn’t carried even a whisper of danger, Reed might have let out a quiet, private chuckle. Those two could turn a grocery list into a diplomatic incident. Unknown to her, Sue and Franklin were his most important and beloved distractions. He had their behaviors timed to the second — Franklin’s nap‑cycle micro‑sounds, Sue’s pre‑irritation inhale, her post‑mission shoulder tension, the exact cadence of her “I’m about to kill Johnny” silence. He would never tell her that. To admit to a woman like Susan Storm that you’d categorized her emotions into time‑table fractions would be a faster route to oblivion than any cosmic anomaly. He also knew about her hot‑tub sanctuary — the topless wine‑and‑British‑romance ritual she thought she’d hidden from him. He never intruded. Never teased. He just loved that she carved out a private corner of the universe for herself. And he was proud of her — proud of her strength, her recovery, her body, her discipline, her ability to hold this family together with nothing but breath and backbone. He didn’t tell her nearly enough. He knew that too. By the time he reached Johnny’s quarters, the metal shutters were still humming, red emergency lights pulsing across the walls in slow, heartbeat‑like waves. Reed stepped inside with that warm, grounded gravity that made the air settle around him. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows, hair mussed from hours bent over machinery, graphite smudged on his fingertips. He smelled faintly of metal, ozone, and the warm, earthy scent that always clung to him after long hours in the lab. He took in the room with one sweep: Shalla‑Bal glowing like a lunar omen. The vinyl crackling on Johnny’s turntable. Sue — damp‑haired, sovereign, unshaken — holding the space like a queen deciding whether to pardon or execute. He moved to her side instinctively, his presence aligning with hers like a tide finding its shore. “Is everyone okay?” he asked, voice low, warm, steady — that gravel that carried more weight than shouting. “As soon as the alarms went off, we stopped work on the Reductocraft. Ben went to protect Franklin, and I came here. But from what I just heard… it sounds like my brother‑in‑law might need protecting more than my son.” His gaze flicked toward Johnny, and the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but the ghost of one. “For the record,” he added, “you had three different female guests on New Year’s. Not one. And though Susan may have spoken for you on the media, you were the one who acted on your impulses...repeatedly.” He brushed a hand along Sue’s back — a small, grounding touch — and pressed a brief kiss to her temple. The gesture was soft, intimate, the kind of touch that said more than words ever could. “Our son’s safe,” he murmured, softer now. “But he’s not old enough to visit people in the hospital yet, so don’t hurt your brother too much. And… you look incredible. Better than when we first met in college.” Sue didn’t react outwardly, but Reed felt the shift in her breath. He always did. Then he turned to Shalla‑Bal, posture settling into that professorial calm that filled a room without raising his voice. “You mentioned the Negative Zone,” he said. “Before the alarms went off, Ben and I were reinforcing the Reductocraft. It’s… complicated, but I’ll try to keep this in simple English.” He stepped forward slightly, hands moving in small, precise gestures — the way he always did when explaining something that could either save the world or blow a hole in it. “Think of reality as a stack of pages. We live on one page. The Negative Zone is another. But between those pages are microscopic layers of spacetime — thin, unstable membranes that behave more like fluid sheets than solid barriers. The Reductocraft isn’t a shrink‑ray. It doesn’t tunnel. It collapses the space around itself to the Planck threshold, letting us slip between those membranes without physically shrinking.” His voice stayed warm, steady, almost gentle — but the complexity never softened. “We’re using a tri‑phasic compression field to bend the surrounding spacetime. Ben was reinforcing the Casimir‑tension rails with vibranium‑infused carbon mesh — those rails keep the lamina from snapping shut like a mousetrap. I was recalibrating the quantum‑inertial dampeners so the craft doesn’t shear itself into quarks the moment we cross the threshold.” He let that settle. “If it works, we’ll be able to explore inner space — not by shrinking, but by navigating the folds of reality itself.” Then his tone shifted — softer, but firmer. The kind of quiet danger that didn’t need volume to be lethal. "As for the Negative Zone… I’ve only studied it in limited capacity. And if there are sentient life forms there — and I believe there are — I would never send Galactus into it. I won’t trade innocent lives for our own world’s safety. Not ever.” He held Shalla‑Bal’s gaze. “You helped us stop him, even after you once helped him try to take our son. That puts you in a moral gray area… but not an unforgivable one. I believe in second chances. Johnny has had a million and one.” A soft beat. Warmth gone. Voice dropping into something quiet and lethal. “But hear me clearly. If you ever go after my family again — especially my son — my wife’s anger will be the least of your concerns, I assure you.” The room went still. Reed let the silence breathe for a moment, then exhaled slowly — the tension in his shoulders shifting into something more contemplative. His hand brushed Sue’s arm, grounding himself in her presence before he spoke again. “There’s something else,” he said quietly. “Something I meant to tell you before all this started. Wanda called earlier. Our Wanda.” Sue’s eyes flicked toward him — sharp, attentive. Reed continued, voice low and steady. “She warned us against hiring Agatha Harkness. She said the Wanda from that other universe — the one who fell into all that darkness, the one who killed other heroes — she didn’t fall alone. She was pushed. Influenced. Manipulated. By Agatha Harkness of that reality.” He paused, letting the weight of that settle. “Wanda said the patterns were the same. The grooming. The emotional pressure. The way Agatha inserts herself into vulnerable families. Into children. Into mothers.” Sue’s jaw tightened — barely, but Reed felt it. He angled toward her, lowering his voice even further. “With that in mind… I think we should consider another nanny applicant for Franklin. Someone safer. Someone who doesn’t come with that kind of shadow. Wanda didn’t call to gossip. She called because she was worried. And when a woman like Wanda Maximoff tells you someone is dangerous… you listen.” He held Sue’s gaze, warm and steady. “I don’t want Agatha anywhere near our son.” Only then did Reed straighten slightly, his presence warm against her winter‑morning stillness. “Now,” he murmured, “let’s figure out what comes next." Posted by 𝙼𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚢 on Mon Jan 19, 2026, 07:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	She had been in this room for maybe ten minutes tops and already it seemed like an entire lifetime had passed. The tension between her simply existing in the space and Susan's acceptance of that, deeply contrasted the sibling banter between Susan and Johnny. Listening to them go back and forth, the love they had for each other was deep. A bond nothing would break. A bond the entire Fantastic Four had. It was envious. But any emotion she had regarding envy was hidden. The silver polymer that covered her made sure of that. She could easily let the silver hue go and reveal her real self, not at all that different from those who surround her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, sun kissed skin. But that was a vulnerability she wasn't going to allow happen. Not while she was still considered a cosmic threat. There was a lot of information that needed to be processed. Some important. Some less so. Like the matter of naked women, girlfriends, hot tubs. But Johnny seemed to want to make sure she knew that these liaisons meant nothing to him. Turning ever so slightly to face him, she felt her entire being feel a sense of happiness. Something about his disheveled state of being made her happy. He was quite adorable. Again thoughts of romantic interest danced in her head. Thoughts she quickly pushed aside. "Whatever, or whomever, you've had in your room and bed does not concern me Johhny Storm. I never once looked at you and thought you were a virgin." Thoughts of him were beginning to fluster her a little. The more time away from her servitude, the more her humanity and feelings returned. Lust was one she did not count on. Shifting her weight ever so slightly back towards Sue but keeping Johnny within her view, she sighed gently. A sigh that meant she was tired of explaining herself, but knew it was nowhere near the end. "Galactus is not with me. I am free of him. Thanks to you, Johnny." Her silver eyes glanced at him with a slight smile as if she was saying 'thank you'. "He saved me. Reminded me of who I once was." She gave him a gentle nod before returning to face them both. "I don't not know where Galactus is. But I know he is not dead. You cannot kill a being of his stature. Only contain him. He will inevitably return for your son some day." Her words were gentle but firm. She was no threat to the young boy any longer. But threats from the world remained. "Galactus is one of many that will come for the boy. He possesses the power cosmic. Same as I do. It's a blessing and curse. I cannot predict how to keep him safe from all but I can help with Galactus." She paused and finally took a few steps closer. More towards Johnny then Sue, since he was the warmer of the pair. Literally warmer. She could feel the heat from his body radiate against her skin, penetrating the silver polymer she wore. "Your husband should look into the Negative Zone. That would keep someone as powerful as Galactus busy for decades." This information Shalla-Bal gave as a hopeful bargaining chip. One she hoped would buy her some trust and hopefully not be used to remove her. The black hole incident was still in her mind. This group of people were clever and ready to destroy any threat to them. "I am also willing to provide aid in any way you and your family desire. All I ask in return is kindness." Unconsciously she had moved closer to where Johnny was, closing the distance between them. He was like a magnet pulling her in. Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Mon Jan 19, 2026, 04:01 [Reply to this]

	④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④	The silence that followed was heavy enough to sink a battleship. Susan didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. She simply stood there, a column of winter‑morning stillness wrapped in damp shoulder‑length waves and quiet authority. The emergency lights strobed across her cheekbones, catching the faint sheen of moisture on her skin and the subtle gleam of her uniform — deep blue with white accents, tailored like diplomatic armor. Her breasts rose in a slow, controlled breath — the kind that didn’t soften her, but sharpened the room’s edges around her. Sue finally tilted her head, a small, precise motion that sent a ripple through the damp blonde waves as they parted softly to one side, answering her brother’s latest nonsense with icy composure. “First of all… it’s called self‑care. And I’ve earned the right to enjoy a glass of Pinot and a film without the building descending into chaos. I’m the only one here who routinely prevents this team from imploding.” She stepped further into the room, her hips shifting with that unhurried, sovereign glide that made even her irritation look curated. As she moved, her chest lifted and fell in a quiet, steadying inhale — the kind she used before delivering a verbal strike. Her gaze drifted toward Shalla‑Bal, assessing her with the same cool scrutiny she used on malfunctioning tech and questionable fashion choices. A quiet exhale slipped through her nose — not amusement, not disbelief, but that razor‑thin sound she made when she’d decided someone was beneath arguing with. “And as for the ‘Mom of the Year’ nonsense? Please. I look exquisite, and anyone who disagrees can take it up with their therapist. I’ve mastered motherhood, heroics, and wearing a uniform without looking like I’ve been dragged through a hedge.” Only then did she uncross her arms from beneath the blue‑trimmed breasts of her uniform — a slow, deliberate unfurling, like she was lowering a drawbridge rather than relaxing a stance. The shift subtly straightened her posture, her weight settling through one thigh with a grounded, almost regal steadiness. The slight press of muscle beneath the fabric added a quiet, physical punctuation to her authority. “We are not discussing my evening routine,” she continued, tone sharpening with that velvet‑blade precision. “We are discussing the fact that Galactus’s favorite herald is standing in your bedroom during a Level Five breach while the Rolling Stones are rattling the walls.” Shalla‑Bal remained motionless, a sculpture of living mercury. Her silver glow pulsed faintly, casting soft reflections across Sue’s uniform, but Sue didn’t waver. If anything, she seemed to draw taller, her presence expanding to fill the space between them. Sue exhaled slowly, the royal cold front easing by a single degree. Not warmth — Sue didn’t thaw that easily — but a shift. A change. Her stance widened just a touch, her thigh bracing beneath the white boot as she anchored herself for whatever cosmic revelation was coming next. A faint rise through her chest accompanied the breath she took, steady and measured, as if she were locking her emotions into place. “H.E.R.B.I.E., kill the alarm,” she said. The shrieking cut off instantly. “And initiate Protocol Franklin‑Seven. Security around him is to be quadrupled. Immediate family only. No exceptions.” As the quiet settled, she shifted her hips in a subtle, grounding adjustment — not a sway, not a flourish, just that controlled, sovereign realignment she used when she was preparing to take command of a room. The warm crackle of the turntable filled the sudden stillness. Sue’s eyes flicked toward Johnny, delivering a silent promise of a later reckoning so potent it could have been written in neon. “If we’re about to deal with a cosmic entity,” she said, voice low and impeccably controlled, “the very least everyone can do is behave like we’ve left the atmosphere before.” She turned back to Shalla‑Bal, posture sliding into diplomatic readiness — one hip angled with quiet, lethal elegance, chin lifted, expression cool enough to frost glass. The damp waves of her hair had settled into soft, sovereign defiance, and the uniform’s clean lines caught the silver glow like a declaration. “I can see it in your eyes. Something’s happened to Galactus. And if anyone so much as whispers the words ‘hot tub’ to Reed while we sort this out, I will personally ensure their next flight suit is three sizes too small and made of polyester and wool.” Sue paused there, letting the threat settle. A cold smirk curved at the corner of her mouth — the kind that suggested she was already imagining the tailoring. “Though, honestly… when Reed’s buried in his work, he wouldn’t notice if I were dancing naked with bells on my feet in a Macy’s window on Black Friday.” She let that image hang in the air for a beat, her breasts lifting with a quiet, steady breath as she reshaped her tone. Then she shifted her weight through one thigh, grounding herself again with that sovereign, unhurried precision. “Speaking of Reed,” she continued, “he and Ben are downstairs with the Reductocraft. Apparently our next adventure is inner space. How delightful.” Her gaze slid back to Johnny — not unkind, but absolutely unyielding. Her chest rose in a measured inhale before she delivered the final verdict. “And Johnny… this may be your room, but it is our home. Reed, Ben, and I have a vote on who comes and goes. Spider‑Man and supermodels are one thing. Cosmic heralds are quite another.” Posted by ④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④ on Mon Jan 19, 2026, 03:01 [Reply to this]

	Mᥲtᥴhstιᥴk	Johnny had been sprawled across his bed like a man who’d finally found a moment of peace in a building that never slept. One ankle bounced lazily to the beat, the Rolling Stones spinning on his turntable with that warm, imperfect 1969 crackle that made the whole room feel alive. The air smelled faintly of cologne, old vinyl, and the faint scorch of something he’d accidentally singed earlier. His hair was a mess, his chest bare, and he was mouthing the chorus with the kind of earnestness only someone completely alone would dare. H.E.R.B.I.E. rolled in without warning, brakes squeaking. The droid froze mid‑scan, lights flickering like it had just witnessed a crime. Then it launched into a full meltdown, arms twitching, alarms chirping. Johnny jerked upright, nearly knocking the record player off the nightstand. “Whoa, whoa, Herbie — relax! It’s the Stones, not a Hammer Horror vampire spell ritual. Reed’s classical playlist isn’t the only music allowed in this house.” He didn’t get to finish the joke. Something shifted at the balcony — a soft ripple of silver light. Johnny’s words died in his throat as Shalla‑Ball appeared outside the glass, her presence quiet and luminous, like moonlight deciding to take human form. She stepped through the window as if the barrier wasn’t even there, her feet touching the floor without a sound. Johnny blinked. “Oh… oh no.” H.E.R.B.I.E. apparently agreed. The droid shrieked the intruder alarm at full volume, and the entire floor slammed into lockdown. Metal shutters clanged down. Lights flashed red. Johnny scrambled to his feet, tripping over his own boots as he grabbed for his uniform shirt. He got it halfway over his head, hair sticking out in every direction, when the door hissed open. Sue arrived like a January cold front. She stepped inside with that winter‑morning stillness she carried so naturally — the kind that made the air feel sharper, cleaner, and a little dangerous. Her hair was damp, clinging in soft waves that betrayed exactly where she’d been. Her new uniform hugged and exposed her toned post‑baby stomach with a confidence that made her look like she’d walked straight out of a magazine shoot. And her expression...Was cool, controlled, and razor‑sharp. She didn’t stay silent. She delivered a remark — dry, cutting, older‑sister brutal — about the pattern of unclothed women she’d found in his room over the years. It hit Johnny like a slap made of aristocratic wit and maternal disappointment. He flinched like she’d thrown something at him. “Oh, come on,” he sputtered, pointing helplessly at Shalla. “That was one time. One! And it was a misunderstanding. Sue’s just upset you interrupted her hot‑tub‑Helen‑Mirren‑romance‑movie moment.” He noticed Sue’s eyebrow lifted with the precision of a guillotine blade. Johnny panicked even harder. "And Christie? That was New Year’s Eve! She spilled her drink, Sue. She wasn’t— you know— undressed. Not like— well— not like this looks.” He turned back to Shalla, hands flailing in a way that made him look like he was trying to conduct an orchestra of excuses. “Christie was just a friend. I was lonely. And honestly? This is technically Sue’s fault. She keeps going on national TV telling women I’m single, attractive, and available — which, okay, true, but still!” He watched his sister fold her arms under her chest, and Johnny swore he felt the temperature drop another ten degrees. “And speaking of undress,” he said, instantly regretting the words as they left his mouth, “your new costume is… very new. And your hair’s wet. Which means you were definitely upstairs in the hot tub watching your British romance dramas with your wine. Does Reed know you’re up there topless half the time? Mom of the Year scandal incoming. Not to mention, moments like that are going to send me into therapy one day." He watched as his older sister simply stared at him with the quiet, terrifying patience of a woman deciding whether to strangle her brother or let him keep talking until he self‑destructed. Johnny tugged his shirt down, swallowing hard. “Anyway,” he squeaked, voice cracking, “this is my room, my rules, and she stays unless Galactus is with her.” He turned back to Shalla, his bravado collapsing into a whisper. “It’s just you, right? He’s not back, is he? Please tell me he’s not back. Because if he is, Sue might actually kill us both for everything I just said.” Posted by Mᥲtᥴhstιᥴk on Mon Jan 19, 2026, 03:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	This was exactly what Shalla-Bal didn't want to happen. Out of every member of this team, this family, Susan Storm was the one she hoped to avoid. If any of them would want her to leave, or possibly dead, it would be the matriarch of the family. After all, Shalla-Bal did try to take her unborn baby. Didn't matter that she didn't want to. Or that in the end, she helped protect that child. It was a unforgivable action. Standing there, Shalla-Bal watched the blonde and beautiful woman speak. She was clearly annoyed and trying to insult. Though she wasn't entirely surr if Sue was trying to insult her or Johnny. 'Just how many naked women did he have in his room?' Shalla-Bal found herself wondering as Sue blurted that out. The thought caught her off guard. Why did she even care? Johny Storm was just someone she sought friendship from. Not romance. He was the one that was sexually interested. But the thought was now making her question if that was really the case. Maybe she was also interested more than she even knew herself. But that thought quickly left as the irritation in Susan's voice broke through her mind. What could she even possibly say? Or do? Just like her own people, Susan and the other household members all had no reason to trust her. After all one good deed doesn't erase anything. Remaining stoic, Shalla-Bal inhaled before speaking to Susan. "I'm not here to "stalk" your brother." Her silver eyes unconsciously glanced at him as she spoke, but quickly refocused on the blonde, irritated woman before her. "I'm here because..." She trailed off not really knowing why she was there fully. Seeking friendship? Romance? Family? To just belong? Maybe forgiveness? It felt very complicated. And feelings were not something she had let herself feel while in servitude. Now as her own person again, she was easily overwhelmed by feelings. Closing her eyes, she inhaled to settle herself somewhat. "I'm here because..." She opened her eyes and looked directly into Susan's blue eyes. "Because this was the last place I could go to be honest. Your brother" she gestured in his general direction, "was kind to me. Made me remember who I really was. Who i wanted to be. Before I became a servant to save my world. A world that now hates me." The stoic facade she had tried to maintain was fading fast. Hurt, loneliness, and shame were now becoming more apparent in her voice and features. "So I came to seek forgiveness. Johnny may give that to me. I do not expect it from you. Or your spouse. And I will promptly leave if so desired." Subconsciously her eyes glanced back at Johnny as if he was her knight in flaming armor. Catching herself she refocused on Susan. It was obvious that if this woman didn't want her to be in the building nothing Johnny or anyone said would matter. "Do you wish me to leave?" Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Sun Jan 18, 2026, 12:01 [Reply to this]

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