An entity of the Multiverse

If it's possible I'd like to see Hela getting mad that The Presence controls her brothers masterfully and wins most of the battles they fight with them, but when it controls HER they make her look like an idiot, missing a majority of her shots. Angela tells her to be glad she gets attention at all. (I have the Lord icons of Thor and Loki (still working with the newer proficiency system), but don't have the aim to work Hela. Never figured Angela out)

OR The Presence has a cat, and some heroes had to deal with random, jerky movements while they yell at a 'Momo' (or another hilarious cat name like 'Destroyer' or 'Potato'

Marvel Rivals Self‑Aware AU: Sibling Rivalry 

Hela Odinsdottir—true firstborn of the All-Father, regardless of what anyone dared to claim.

Queen of Hel. Goddess of Death.

She was the first of his offspring to witness her father’s cruelty—long before he attempted to bury his blood-soaked past beneath flowers, treaties, and hollow diplomacy, as if such things could make the Nine Realms forget.

How could she not?

She had been his finest weapon. His deadliest general. The hand that carried out his will when his conscience could not.

But Hela’s ruthlessness—her perfection—had proven too much even for Odin.

So, once he had carved out his “perfect” kingdom, he cast her aside. Banished his own daughter, as though she were some shameful relic of a past he wished erased.

And yet… even in exile, she had made the All-Father tremble.

Such was her power. Such was her majesty.

So why…

Why did the Presence dare to make a mockery of her?

It was absurd. Insulting beyond measure.

Whenever it seized control of Thor or Loki—her two buffoonish little brothers—there was precision. Purpose.

Thor summoned lightning with divine accuracy, shielding his garish collection of mortal companions as though he were born to protect them.

And Loki—pathetic, conniving Loki—suddenly became useful. His tricks sharpened, his illusions refined. It was almost amusing to watch him reduced to a glorified caretaker, tending to mortals he would otherwise disdain.

Yes… under the Presence’s control, the two simpletons won. Battle after battle.

But what of the Goddess of Death? What of Hela?

When the Presence took hold of her, it was as though some drunken fool had stolen her body.

Her blades missed their mark. Her strikes turned wild, erratic—sloppy. Even her beloved crows—faithful extensions of her will—were intercepted by embarrassingly simple means.

Blocked. Dodged. Wasted.

It was an affront to everything she was. An insult to her name.

Today had been one of those cursed days.

Her team of incompetents had secured victory—but not because of her.

No.

Because of that man of iron.

An armored mortal… claiming triumph? Hmph!  Hela had slain countless warriors clad in metal across the centuries. Their screams had echoed just the same as any other.

And yet now, she was forced to stand aside while one was praised.

Unacceptable.

The Queen of Hel stormed through the halls, her presence alone enough to chill the air.

Mortals scattered instinctively, celebrations dying in their throats as she passed.

She had no interest in their meaningless victories.

No—

She needed something to destroy.

The training grounds would suffice.

Perhaps fate would grant her a worthy distraction. A foolish soul eager enough to request a sparring match… and foolish enough to believe they might survive it.

She would remind them — Remind everyone — why Hela was still to be feared.

But the Norns—Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld—must have still held a grudge (understandable, given her past attempts to destroy their precious well), because fate offered her something far less satisfying.

Angela.

Her “dear” sister.

Hela’s lip curled the moment she saw her.

“You.”

The word left her like venom—sharp, deliberate.

Angela descended gracefully from the air, where she had been practicing her aim. Her landing was controlled, precise—annoyingly so.

Her gaze met Hela’s without hesitation, matching hostility with ease.

“Back so soon, Hela?” Angela asked, her tone dripping with false politeness as she crossed her arms over her broad chest. “I assume everything went well… despite your recent performances?”

Hela scoffed, unimpressed. “If you are attempting to ‘rub it in,’ as the mortals say, do not bother. I have far more pressing matters to attend to than indulging your pettiness.”

“Not at all,” Angela replied smoothly—too smoothly. The faint curl of her lips betrayed her true intent. “I merely wished to congratulate you. You should be grateful.”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes gleaming. “After all, you receive attention from the Presence. Some of us are not nearly so fortunate.”

That… struck something.

A slow, cruel smirk spread across Hela’s face.

Yes.

Her brutish sister was correct.

Humiliating as it was, the Presence always chose her.

It watched her.

Used her.

Controlled her.

But Angela?

Angela remained among the forgotten. One of many—never chosen, never touched. Invisible.

And that—

If it's possible I'd like to see Hela getting mad that The Presence controls her brothers masterfully and wins most of the battles they fight with them, but when it controls HER they make her look like an idiot, missing a majority of her shots. Angela tells her to be glad she gets attention at all. (I have the Lord icons of Thor and Loki (still working with the newer proficiency system), but don't have the aim to work Hela. Never figured Angela out)

OR The Presence has a cat, and some heroes had to deal with random, jerky movements while they yell at a 'Momo' (or another hilarious cat name like 'Destroyer' or 'Potato'

Marvel Rivals Self‑Aware AU: Sibling Rivalry 

Hela Odinsdottir—true firstborn of the All-Father, regardless of what anyone dared to claim.

Queen of Hel. Goddess of Death.

She was the first of his offspring to witness her father’s cruelty—long before he attempted to bury his blood-soaked past beneath flowers, treaties, and hollow diplomacy, as if such things could make the Nine Realms forget.

How could she not?

She had been his finest weapon. His deadliest general. The hand that carried out his will when his conscience could not.

But Hela’s ruthlessness—her perfection—had proven too much even for Odin.

So, once he had carved out his “perfect” kingdom, he cast her aside. Banished his own daughter, as though she were some shameful relic of a past he wished erased.

And yet… even in exile, she had made the All-Father tremble.

Such was her power. Such was her majesty.

So why…

Why did the Presence dare to make a mockery of her?

It was absurd. Insulting beyond measure.

Whenever it seized control of Thor or Loki—her two buffoonish little brothers—there was precision. Purpose.

Thor summoned lightning with divine accuracy, shielding his garish collection of mortal companions as though he were born to protect them.

And Loki—pathetic, conniving Loki—suddenly became useful. His tricks sharpened, his illusions refined. It was almost amusing to watch him reduced to a glorified caretaker, tending to mortals he would otherwise disdain.

Yes… under the Presence’s control, the two simpletons won. Battle after battle.

But what of the Goddess of Death? What of Hela?

When the Presence took hold of her, it was as though some drunken fool had stolen her body.

Her blades missed their mark. Her strikes turned wild, erratic—sloppy. Even her beloved crows—faithful extensions of her will—were intercepted by embarrassingly simple means.

Blocked. Dodged. Wasted.

It was an affront to everything she was. An insult to her name.

Today had been one of those cursed days.

Her team of incompetents had secured victory—but not because of her.

No.

Because of that man of iron.

An armored mortal… claiming triumph? Hmph!  Hela had slain countless warriors clad in metal across the centuries. Their screams had echoed just the same as any other.

And yet now, she was forced to stand aside while one was praised.

Unacceptable.

The Queen of Hel stormed through the halls, her presence alone enough to chill the air.

Mortals scattered instinctively, celebrations dying in their throats as she passed.

She had no interest in their meaningless victories.

No—

She needed something to destroy.

The training grounds would suffice.

Perhaps fate would grant her a worthy distraction. A foolish soul eager enough to request a sparring match… and foolish enough to believe they might survive it.

She would remind them — Remind everyone — why Hela was still to be feared.

But the Norns—Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld—must have still held a grudge (understandable, given her past attempts to destroy their precious well), because fate offered her something far less satisfying.

Angela.

Her “dear” sister.

Hela’s lip curled the moment she saw her.

“You.”

The word left her like venom—sharp, deliberate.

Angela descended gracefully from the air, where she had been practicing her aim. Her landing was controlled, precise—annoyingly so.

Her gaze met Hela’s without hesitation, matching hostility with ease.

“Back so soon, Hela?” Angela asked, her tone dripping with false politeness as she crossed her arms over her broad chest. “I assume everything went well… despite your recent performances?”

Hela scoffed, unimpressed. “If you are attempting to ‘rub it in,’ as the mortals say, do not bother. I have far more pressing matters to attend to than indulging your pettiness.”

“Not at all,” Angela replied smoothly—too smoothly. The faint curl of her lips betrayed her true intent. “I merely wished to congratulate you. You should be grateful.”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes gleaming. “After all, you receive attention from the Presence. Some of us are not nearly so fortunate.”

That… struck something.

A slow, cruel smirk spread across Hela’s face.

Yes.

Her brutish sister was correct.

Humiliating as it was, the Presence always chose her.

It watched her.

Used her.

Controlled her.

But Angela?

Angela remained among the forgotten. One of many—never chosen, never touched. Invisible.

And that—