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 95 Comments  (Add Comment)  | 130 Kudos  Back to Blog List

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	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]

	④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④	Steam drifted off the water in lazy ribbons, curling into the sharp January air before the wind cut through them. The cold had a bite that kissed the tip of Susan’s nose, making the heat of the tub feel like a luxury she’d earned. She sank deeper, the water hugging her collarbones, her shoulders finally dropping. This was the only time she didn't have to be "The Invisible Woman"—just a woman, unguarded and alone. Her FF‑blue bikini top lay folded beside her, forgotten the moment she’d decided she deserved to feel weightless. She tipped her head back, exposing her throat to the cold. Her chest rose with a long, indulgent breath. Her champagne sat on the ledge, condensation tracing slow paths down the glass. The projector bathed the roof in a soft, cinematic glow. For a few minutes, the world wasn't asking for a miracle. Then the screen glitched. A violent, jagged red flash shattered the mood: H.E.R.B.I.E. PRIORITY ALERT. Sue’s eyes opened with the slow, regal annoyance of a woman whose peace had been stolen once too often. She tilted her head back, a low, fed-up groan vibrating in her throat. “Oh, marvelous,” she murmured, her voice velvet-soft and bone-dry. “The universe really does have impeccable timing.” She set the glass down with a deliberate, disciplined click and pushed herself up. As she rose, the warmth of the water slid off her skin and the cold rushed in to take its place. Her thighs shifted instinctively, finding her balance on the slick tile as droplets chased each other down her stomach. The sudden chill prickled her skin, and her breasts reacted to the temperature change with a sharp, natural lift. Her nipples hardened instantly against the freezing air—a sharp, honest response to the New York winter. She stepped out onto the ledge, her movement fluid but heavy with the weight of the water. The soaked, clingy fabric of her bikini bottoms offered no resistance to the cold, pressing tight against her skin and tracing the soft, distinct curve of her vulva as she adjusted her stance. She reached for her bikini top, her fingers moving with a practiced, thoughtless grace as the fabric tugged across her chest and settled back into place. A shiver rippled up her spine, and her hips gave an involuntary, tiny sway to shake off the cold. “What now,” she sighed. “A meteor? A portal? Johnny attempting adulthood?” UNIDENTIFIED COSMIC SIGNATURE IN THE BAXTER BUILDING — LOCATION: JOHNNY’S QUARTERS Sue froze. Her breasts rose sharply—the deep, focused inhale of a woman who knew exactly how much paperwork a 'cosmic signature' involved. “Splendid. That’s never a small problem.” She snatched a towel, wrapping it low around her waist as she stepped out. The heavy fabric settled against her thighs, grounding her as she moved toward the storage bench. Her chest found a steady, unhurried rhythm with each stride—the kind of movement that didn't need to try to look commanding. It just was. She flipped the lid of the bench. Her blue and white FF uniform was there, folded with military precision. Sue exhaled, the sharp breath fogging the air and lifting her breasts as she reached for the gear. “Heaven forbid I enjoy ten uninterrupted minutes.” She pulled the top on first. The fabric caught for a second on her damp skin before smoothing down. Her chest rose as she worked the fitted material over her torso, the blue fabric hugging her tight, leaving her midriff bare. Her abs tightened against the cold—toned and proud. She’d had Franklin less than a year ago, and she wore that exposed stomach like a badge of honor. She stepped into the leggings with a subtle roll of her hips, the towel dropping away the moment her legs were free to move. She braced a hand against the wall to slide into her boots, her calf flexing as she stepped in. A small, natural bounce followed as she straightened up. Finally, the gloves. She snapped them on with a sharp flick of her wrist. No theatrics. Just a woman getting dressed for work. The shift was instant. The wine-soft woman from the tub was gone, replaced by the one who walked into disasters like they were mild inconveniences. She strode down the hallway, damp hair clinging to her neck. Her thighs carried her with that grounded, British-esque elegance—deliberate and completely unbothered. Her core remained tight, muscles shifting beneath the blue fabric like quiet armor. “Right then,” she muttered. "If this is another interdimensional houseguest, I’m instituting a sign‑in sheet.” HERBIE was hovering outside Johnny’s door, flashing like a panicked Christmas tree. Susan pushed past the droid and stepped inside. The female Silver Surfer was standing in the center of the room—luminous, bare, and utterly serene. Sue stopped. She took her in, blinking once. Then she tilted her chin, giving that subtle, aristocratic look of a queen surveying a trespasser. “Oh, darling… truly?” she said, her voice dropping into a low, rich register. “I believe in love at first sight, but this is bordering on a stalking farce.” The Surfer tilted her head, light rippling over her metallic skin. Susan crossed her arms under her breasts with a calm, indulgent authority. “You’re not the first unclothed woman I’ve found in my brother’s room, mind you… though they’re usually sneaking out, not boldly strolling in.” Posted by ④𝕴nvisible 𝖂oman④ on Sun Jan 18, 2026, 10:01 [Reply to this]

	ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡	Roaming space for years, planet hoping to only be shunned, Shalla-Bal eventually decided to return to Earth, the only other planet she had managed to save. The only planet she might still have a friend. Though she wouldn't be surprised if she was not welcome there either. As she entered the atmosphere of Earth, she knew that her presence would be picked up by Reed Richards and his team. It had been years since she had last been to this planet and hoped that time would be enough to forgive her for the mistakes she made while working for Galactus. And hoped they would remember her heroic deed. At least one member of the Fantastic Four she was sure wouldn't immediately paint her as one of the bad guys. Softly she landed on the balcony outside of Johnny Storm's bedroom. He liked her before. Or at least was fascinated by her. She hoped he still had that fixation. He was her last chance at a meaningful connection. Stepping off her surfboard she propped it up next to his sliding glass door that was partially covered by curtains. Inside she could see him sitting at a desk, headphones on. She couldn't help but wonder what he was listening to. Her next thought was, how will I get his attention if his hearing is limited. Sighing softly to herself, in a somewhat defeated manner, she knocked on the glass. No immediate response. She sighed again. It would be easier to just phase through the door and enter his room but that seemed like something the herald of Galactus would do, not Shalla-Bal. So she tapped the glass once more. Again no repsose. Again she wasn't surprised. She thought about giving up for now. Maybe go fly around the planet. Do some sightseeing. Try again later. But a glimmer of hope arrived. The little robot friend of his, H.E.R.B.I.E., it rolled into his room and it noticed a presence outside his room. Staring at her, she gave the robot a friendly wave, which in turn prompted the robot to poke Johnny in the leg while pointing at his sliding glass door where she stood. Posted by ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔡 on Sun Jan 18, 2026, 04:01 [Reply to this]

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