Mar 17
WHITE FOX Marvel Rivals | Season 7: The Hunt Is On
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seen from Norway
seen from Canada
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WHITE FOX Marvel Rivals | Season 7: The Hunt Is On
white fox
I need to gnaw on her like a stale marshmallow
Other scribble
Got this beautiful winterfox commission from crookdbnz on Instagram!! LOOK AT THEM
Felicia & Ami transparents!!
Me? Excited for Felicia? What would give you that impression?
Serious time now
Marvel rivals self aware au but its the presence directly answering certain quotes and voice lines
Whitefox: You have amassed an intelligence network on par with Wakanda's own. Impressive Just imagine what we could accomplish if we shared our files..No offense, your majesty, but what good are you secrets if you take them to your grave?
Reader: not happening, I know governments and their "good intentions" I don't doubt your character director han I doubt who you work for and with that doubt Wakanda's secrets will be taken to the grave as they have by every king before BP and that is final
Wanda: Do you have a problem with me I should know about, Emma?
Emma Frost: Only the years of unnecessary pain and strife you caused my people.
Scarlet Witch: Whatever your Wanda Maximoff did, that blood is not on my hands.
Emma Frost: And yet there you are, bathed in red from head to toe. How fitting...
Reader: emma i understand fully why you don't trust wanda and I've seen why but this isn't your wanda and you aren't her emma, please be civil with wanda, she's been threw enough so do it for me sweetie....please?
Human Torch: Hey, Dr. Banner, what's a Gamma Door Portal?
Bruce Banner: Gamma? …You mean a GREEN door?!!
Human Torch: Yeah yeah. Reed's been working on it so much as if… someone put that idea into his head…
Bruce Banner: Make him STOP! No matter what!
Reader: REED IF YOU'RE LISTENING TO ME AND I KNOW YOU ARE DESTROY ALL YOUR RESEARCH OF THAT GREEN DOOR IMMEDIATELY THE ONE BELOW ALL MUST NOT BE RELEASED, I'LL RESET EVERY UNIVERSE TO ZERO (delete the game) IF I HAVE TOO
Black Widow: With skills like yours, it's a good thing the X-Men got you out of Russia at an early age.
Magik: Leaving my family farm to become a mutant soldier was no life for a child.
Black Widow: You wouldn't have stayed on the farm for long. The Red Room would have snatched you up.
Magik: If I would have ended up a weapon either way, I suppose I am glad to be pulling my own trigger.
Reader: to me...neither of you are weapons, despite being trained to be you've both become amazing and beautiful heroes that people look up too...never forget that either of you
Marvel Rivals Self‑Aware AU: What The Presence Says
WHITE FOX (AMI HAN)
“You have amassed an intelligence network on par with Wakanda’s own. Impressive.”
T'Challa’s voice came without warning as the heroes gathered in the hub, waiting for their newest mission to begin.
Ami blinked, caught off guard—not just by the compliment, but by how… off it felt.
The words sounded right. Perfect, even. But the tone? Hollow. Practiced.
She turned slightly, watching Black Panther as he passed by her, his posture just a bit too stiff, his movement just a fraction too deliberate—like a marionette trying very hard not to look like one.
Ah.
So these were the infamous scripted interactions she had heard whispers about. Moments dictated by something greater—something unseen.
The Presence.
Ami exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing as realization settled in. Of course. She supposed it was only a matter of time before she experienced it firsthand.
Now, how did this work exactly—
“Just imagine what we could accomplish if we shared our files.” Oh. Never mind. The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them—smooth, effortless… and completely detached.
Ami felt them form. Felt the intention behind them. But they weren’t hers.
It was a deeply unsettling sensation.
Like trying to fit a key into the wrong lock—it almost worked, almost made sense, but something fundamental refused to click. She could feel the shape of the emotion, the logic of the argument… yet there was a distance, a disconnect that made her skin prickle.
And yet— She would have said something like that anyway.
Which somehow made it worse.
“I… am sorry.”
T'Challa hesitated, and for a moment, Ami could almost believe the uncertainty in his voice was real.
“Wakanda is not quick to trust outsiders with its secrets.”
Again—close enough to truth to pass.
“No offense, Your Majesty,” Ami replied, her tone calm, measured—too measured—“but what good are your secrets if you take them to your grave?”
The logic was sound. She agreed with it.
But she hadn’t chosen to say it.
And that—that was the problem.
A faint distortion rippled through the air.
“Not happening. I know governments and their ‘good intentions.’” The voice came from above, muffled yet unmistakable. Firm. Certain.
Watching.
Ami didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
The Presence.
She felt it—not as a sound, not as a sight, but as a pressure deep in her bones. A weight pressing down on her thoughts, judging, measuring.
Deciding.
“I don’t doubt your character, Director Han,” the Presence continued, colder now, “I doubt who you work for. And with that doubt, Wakanda’s secrets will be taken to the grave—as they have been by every king before Black Panther. That is final.”
“Character…?” Ami echoed silently, the word catching strangely in her mind.
There was something there. Something important.
But before she could grasp it—the feeling vanished. Like a string being cut.
The invisible hold over her body snapped, and control flooded back all at once. The air felt sharper, the silence heavier.
Beside her, T'Challa straightened almost imperceptibly, as if he, too, had just been released from something unseen.
“The answer is still no,” he said, more naturally this time—grounded, present. Real.
Ami let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Do not worry about that, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice softer now, edged with something more genuine as the Presence’s words lingered in her mind.
“Your secrets are safe…with yourself.”
SCARLET WITCH (WANDA MAXIMOFF)
Wanda Maximoff would be lying if she said she wasn’t used to something else speaking through her.
It wasn’t new—this loss of control. This surrender of self.
If anything, it was familiar.
Which was why, compared to most, she adapted far more easily to the Presence and its… scripted interactions. When it guided her words, when it moved her like a piece on a board, she didn’t fight it.
Didn’t panic.
Didn’t break.
At the very least… it didn’t hurt.
That alone set it apart from everything else that had ever taken hold of her.
No choking on her own breath. No blood spilling from her lips. No thick, suffocating tar leaking from her eyes.
Just a faint stiffness in her limbs. And words—words she might have spoken anyway.
“Do you have a problem with me I should know about, Emma?”
Wanda’s voice was steady as she addressed Emma Frost, who stood across from her, posture pristine as ever.
“Only the years of unnecessary pain and strife you caused my people.” Emma’s response came sharp, laced with sarcasm—but like everything else in this moment, it rang just slightly hollow. Like a performance she hadn’t fully chosen.
“Whatever your Wanda Maximoff did, that blood is not on my hands,” Wanda replied calmly.
…Thank Chaos for that.
Because if those words had truly been hers—if she had been the one in control—she doubted she would have sounded nearly so composed.
Guilt had a way of slipping through the cracks.
“And yet,” Emma continued, lips curling faintly, “there you are—bathed in red from head to toe. How fitting…”
The line landed exactly as it was meant to.
Precise.
Scripted.
Unavoidable.
“Emma, I understand fully why you don’t trust Wanda.” The voice descended from above, cutting cleanly through the tension.
Both women stilled.
The Presence.
“I’ve seen why,” you continued, calmer now, almost gentle. “But this isn’t your Wanda… and you aren’t her Emma. Please be civil with Wanda. She’s been through enough.”
A pause now — longer this time, softer.
“Do it for me, sweetie… please?”
The tone shifted, suddenly warmer—like a tired mother trying to coax peace from two stubborn daughters.
And just like that—The strings were cut.
Control returned in an instant, the air feeling heavier now that it was truly theirs again.
Neither woman spoke at first.
But the looks they exchanged? Sharp enough to draw blood.
“It must be difficult,” Wanda said at last, her voice edged with something more genuine now—something almost catty, “for a telepath to have someone else control her body. Right?”
Emma huffed softly, lifting a hand in a dismissive, elegant wave.
“Please,” she said coolly. “It is nothing more than a child playing with dolls.”
Her tone was flawless.
Her posture, impeccable.
Her control—Absolute.
…On the surface.
Because beneath it, buried deep where no one could reach— It had felt strange.
Wrong.
A quiet, invasive violation she couldn’t quite name.
And for the briefest moment, Emma Frost wondered if this was what karma felt like.
After all those years of slipping into other minds…
Of bending them. Shaping them. Using them.
Perhaps, for once— She was the one being held between someone else’s fingers.
HUMAN TORCH (JOHNNY STORM)
“Hey, Dr. Banner—what’s a Gamma Door Portal?”
Johnny Storm barely even questioned the words as they left his mouth, turning toward Bruce Banner.
At this point, why would he? As two of the first heroes active since the Timestream Entanglement began, they’d had more than their fair share of these… interruptions. Scripted conversations. Forced dialogue.
Courtesy of the Presence.
By now, they’d learned not to fight it. Not to question it. Just let it happen. Ride it out.
Sometimes, if they were lucky, the information was actually useful. Entertaining, even.
But a Gamma Door Portal?
Yeah. That didn’t sound good. And judging by Banner’s reaction—
“Gamma…?” Banner echoed, his voice faltering. “You mean—a green door?!”
His tone spiked into panic so quickly it almost gave Johnny whiplash.
The weird part? His face barely changed. But his eyes— His eyes were terrified.
“Yeah, yeah.” Johnny dragged out, a nervous edge creeping into his voice despite the script. “Reed’s been working on it so much, it’s like…”
A pause.
Unnatural.
Forced.
“…like someone put the idea in his head.”
Oh, that was not good.
Johnny didn’t like that pause. Not one bit.
“Make him STOP!” Banner snapped suddenly, grabbing onto the moment like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “No matter what!”
And wow— Johnny knew this was scripted. But that fear?
That didn’t feel fake at all.
A thunderous slam then echoed from above, like something colossal striking against reality itself.
The air trembled.
“REED—IF YOU’RE LISTENING TO ME, AND I KNOW YOU ARE—”
The Presence.
Louder than Johnny had ever heard it.
Furious.
“DESTROY ALL YOUR RESEARCH ON THAT GREEN DOOR IMMEDIATELY!” The voice cracked through the sky like a breaking world. “THE ONE BELOW ALL MUST NOT BE RELEASED!”
Then, colder. More terrifying—
“I’LL RESET EVERY UNIVERSE TO ZERO IF I HAVE TO.”
Johnny’s face went pale.
Reset… the universe?
Could you even do that?
…
Of course you could.
You were the Presence.
There didn’t seem to be anything you couldn’t do.
And if it was this panicked—this desperate—then whoever or whatever this “One Below All” was…
Yeah.
That was definitely not something you wanted walking around.
Johnny got so caught up in that thought spiral that he didn’t even notice when control snapped back into place.
Not until—
“THE PRESENCE IS RIGHT!!” Banner grabbed him by the shoulders and started shaking him like his life depended on it. “YOUR BROTHER-IN-LAW MUST NOT OPEN THAT DOOR—NO MATTER WHAT!!”
“Woah! Hey—hey!!” Johnny yelped, stumbling as he tried to steady both of them. “Relax, man! It’s okay!”
It took a bit of effort, but he finally managed to pry Banner’s hands off him.
“Reed’s not investigating any doors!”
“He’s…” Banner froze mid-motion, his grip loosening completely. “…not?”
“No!” Johnny said quickly, holding up his hands. “That was just—y’know—Presence stuff! Scripted! Not real!”
Silence. Then—
“OH THANK GOD!!”
BLACK WIDOW (NATASHA ROMANOFF)
“With skills like yours, it’s a good thing the X-Men got you out of Russia at an early age.”
Natasha Romanoff delivered the line smoothly, her tone even, controlled.
Or at least—it sounded that way.
In reality, the words weren’t hers. Not entirely.
They slipped out the same way they always did during these encounters—effortless, inevitable. Like a current pulling her along whether she wanted it to or not.
Still, Natasha Romanoff had built a life out of adapting.
This was nothing.
She had spoken in code, in lies, in half-truths layered beneath half-truths. She had endured encrypted conversations far more humiliating than this—like that ridiculous shrimp recipe one.
…God, she hated that one.
Across from her, Illyana Rasputina stood poised, expression unreadable.
“Leaving my family farm to become a mutant soldier was no life for a child,” Illyana said.
The words were guided.
Scripted.
And yet—
There was truth in them.
Not all of it had been taken.
“You wouldn’t have stayed on that farm for long,” Natasha replied, her voice steady as the Presence continued to thread its will through her. “The Red Room would have snatched you up.”
That part wasn’t difficult to say.
It wasn’t speculation.
It was fact.
Cold. Certain. Inevitable.
Illyana’s gaze shifted slightly, something flickering behind her displayed nonchalance.
“If I was destined to become a weapon either way…” she murmured, “then I suppose I am glad I learned to pull my own trigger.”
There it was.
Something real.
Something hers.
Natasha recognized it immediately.
That quiet defiance.
That refusal to be reduced to what others made of you.
For a brief moment, the script and the truth aligned.
And then—
“To me… neither of you are weapons.” The Presence, yet not like before.
No booming declarations. No overwhelming force.
Just… quiet.
Almost careful.
“Despite being trained to be,” it continued, “you’ve both become amazing and beautiful heroes—people others look up to. Never forget that. Either of you.”
The words settled into the space between them, lingering longer than any command.
The hold lifted.
Control returned as subtly as it had been taken.
Natasha exhaled, slow and controlled, though something unfamiliar lingered in her chest.
Not discomfort. Not tension. Something… lighter.
Across from her, Illyana didn’t speak.
But her posture shifted—just slightly. Less guarded.
Natasha tilted her head, studying her.
“…You still prefer the sword?” she asked casually, as if nothing had happened.
Illyana huffed faintly, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips.
“It’s more honest.” Then, quieter—
“…Thank you. For what you said.”
Natasha didn’t ask which part.
She didn’t need to.
Instead, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Some truths didn’t need to be spoken twice.