Marvel Rivals Girlies

The living room was massive, a high-tech yet cozy space that seemed to accommodate each of its inhabitants in some way. Large windows overlooked a neon-lit skyline, the furniture was a mix of sleek futuristic designs and comfortable, well-worn couches, and the air hummed with quiet conversation, the occasional spark of energy, and the rustling of movement.

At the center of the room, Psylocke—or rather, Sai—sat cross-legged on the couch, lazily twirling a small, glowing psionic blade between her fingers as she listened to Scarlet Witch and Hela argue philosophy. “Power is something you take,” Hela declared, lounging in an armchair like a queen on her throne, one leg crossed over the other. “It’s about control.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes, arms folded. “Or maybe real power is knowing when not to take control.” Her fingers crackled with scarlet energy, an unspoken challenge.

Across the room, Squirrel Girl perched on the arm of another couch, tossing nuts to Tippy-Toe while chatting animatedly with Luna Snow, who was idly forming delicate ice sculptures in her hands. “So you’re a superhero and a pop star?” Doreen asked, wide-eyed.

Luna smirked. “Yep. Can’t decide which one is harder, honestly.”

On the far end of the room, Sue Storm was looking over a holo-map of what seemed to be a mission briefing, her expression calm but focused. Black Widow stood beside her, arms crossed. “I don’t trust this intel,” Natasha muttered, her voice low.

Sue glanced up. “You don’t trust anything.”

“That’s why I’m still alive,” Natasha shot back.

Near them, Mantis was watching their conversation with innocent curiosity, sipping a large cup of tea. Magik sat nearby, sharpening her Soulsword against her armored knee, only half-listening.

“Why does everyone in this room look so serious?” Peni’s voice cut through the room as she wheeled over a chair, SP//dr’s robotic head peeking from behind her. “We should be playing video games or something.”

“She has a point,” Tandy chimed in, stretching on the couch. “Feels like we’re waiting for something to happen.”

“You are,” Came Galacta’s voice from the kitchen area. she was staring at the fridge with clear disappointment. “You humans never have enough cosmic snacks.”

Storm, who had been calmly sipping tea by the window, finally spoke. “If you’re so hungry, why don’t you just make something?”

Galacta turned, looking genuinely offended. “I am a herald of the cosmos. I don’t cook.”

“That explains a lot,” Illyana muttered.

As the room continued to buzz with conversation—some lighthearted, some on the verge of igniting into full-on battles—one thing was clear: this was the kind of chaos that could only come from assembling this particular group of women in one place. And whatever came next, it was bound to be interesting.

So, what do you do?