#ratatoskr

1.) The WoL's brand of Dragoon is slightly different from everyone else's because they are partaking not just of Nidhogg's essence, but of Midgardsormr's.

2.) Also since the WoL isn't Ishgardian (at least not by default), they're probably not descended from one of the bloodlines cursed by Ratatoskr's murder, which could make Nidhogg's essence fight against them a little less? 3.) When we use powers with a distinctly Red hue we're drawing more directly on Nidhogg's essence, whereas Blue powers are more aspected to Midgardsormr.

Blue: Mirage Dive, Gierskogul, Battle Litany, LB3, active Blood of the Dragon

Red: Rise of the Dragon, Nastrond, Stardiver, active Life of the Dragon

Both: Wyrmwind Thrust

Neither: All the Spear Stuff that we learned with the Lancer's Guild that's just normal ways to channel aether through a polearm without any Draconic influence, but that fits together nicely with all the leaping strikes that we pick up after exposure to the Eye of Nidhogg.

4.) This is not to say that Estinien is inferior in the Dragoon arts to the WoL. Estinien became so saturated with Nidhogg's essence that Nidhogg was able to be temporarily reborn using his flesh, and a generous portion of that essence is clearly still in there. If anything the WoL needed a boost from the Father of Dragons to catch up.

5.) Nidhogg's still in there for real. Not just a memory, not just an energy source, but a presence, an intelligence. Mostly dormant and submissive to Estinien's will, but it may grow in time. Probably not into another catastrophic Rage Monster though. I fully believe that if we came back to Etherys in two or three thousand years, there would be five living members of the First Brood once more, just one of them would also remember having been an Elezen child in Ferndale, having been a knight in service to Ishgard, having been one of the heroes who saved the world from the Endsinger, and the lived experiences would temper the new gestalt entity. I think Estinien knows this, and is at peace with it.

6.) I think the rest of the First Brood know this and are also cool with it. Nidhogg's essence is going through an unexpected phase, but the Dragons of FFXIV are weird and absurdly complicated. Azdaja and Midgardsormr are also rebuilding themselves basically from scratch after mostly dying, so Nidhogg being a current of aether inside of this mortal isn't that weird.

7.) Speaking of currents of aether, I think Ratatoskr is still in the people of Ishgard. Maybe just the tiniest sliver, maybe not enough that she could ever truly regain memories or any sense of continuity with the Ratatoskr that was, but enough that one of the Ishgardians who have been transformed into dragons by drinking dragon blood might some day re-evolve into a new Ratatoskr.

8.) I think Bahamut is irretrievable though. The Allagans were thorough as fuck, and what essence of his lingered on may have been caught up by Tiamat's summoning ritual and incorporated into the Primal. And if being absorbed by a Primal is enough to kill one of the Unsundered Ascians, I'm going to say it could erase any possibility of an ancient dragon coming back as well.

9.) If the WoL can draw strength and abilities from their connection with Midgardsormr, pacts with other dragons could be forged that don't require the dragon's eye to actually be popped out of their head first. In fact, stealing their eye is probably just a way to force such a pact from an unwilling dragon.

10.) The surviving Knights Dragoon might just figure this out, as Ishgard and Dravania establish closer ties. Rather than the Dragoons dying out, they could be reborn from a partnership where young Ishgardian knights seek out a specific Dragon to form a personal bond with.

11.) Bonds with other First Brood, or with particularly ancient and potent dragons from later generations, would also deviate from the baseline job as its manifest by the current Knights Dragoon.

A Dragoon of Hraesvelgr might manifest ice and holy light instead of searing flames, and have themes of self-sacrifice and preservation of allies. They might even be a Healer instead of a DPS job!

A Dragoon of Tiamat might have characteristics of exceptional, unwavering durability and resistance born of long penance, and be a Tank job.

A Dragoon of Vrtra might be much more teamwork-oriented, although probably taking the greater burden of risk in a fight, as a Tank job with support elements not unlike a Paladin.

A Dragoon of Azdaja would be weird as hell, and almost certainly reflect on the ages spent lost or imprisoned in the 13th with some frightening Darkness-Aspected powers.

A Dragoon of Bahamut, if one could scavenge enough of his aether to forge a bond, could just be a weird backwards way of becoming a Summoner? Probably more of a Caster than a Melee DPS in any case, Bahamut seems to have had more of a penchant for blasting the shit out of things from a distance than his siblings. Or that could just be a characteristic of the twisted Primal reflection of him.

A Dragoon of Ratatoskr could, like Vrtra, have a great deal more teamwork-oriented traits but be more focused on providing support where needed rather than being the anchor point around which the battle takes shape. I think a Ratatoskr Dragoon would be another Healer, but a "pure" healer while the Hraesvelger type would do shields with ice effects.

I can think of a dozen other powerful dragons in the setting who might grant unique gifts. Maybe an individual Dragoon could collect blessings from multiple sources, like the WoL already has?

look at this beautiful squirrel!

So sooooo much potential for "lollipops" and "jars" cause some doctors have a lollipop jar in office.

Cake cause every iteration of good ole ratch is caked up (or biscuit cause he is also always old)

Good ole poppers addiction materials (combining party ambulance past and TFP megs obvious addiction issues)

Anything doing with medical tools and examinations.

Like cookie was just the newest thing I've learned and thought cute. I could be worse in my sex analogies.

Author’s Note: Ohhh, excellent idea 😲😲😲! I never thought about including the escort vehicles in this AU! Let’s see… (Edit: I wanted to give a nameplate for Kingpin but he doesn’t seem to have one so I had to use a GIF. Hope you understand!)

Marvel Rivals Self‑Aware AU: Escort Vehicle

H.E.R.B.I.E

The first time H.E.R.B.I.E felt the Presence was when a group of Dr. Richards’ allies escorted the FantastiCar through a vampire-infested Manhattan.

“You are safe with us, H.E.R.B.I.E,” Miss Rasputin assured him—but something about her tone was… off.

His sensors indicated that her heartbeat did not match the calmness of her voice.

Then again, H.E.R.B.I.E’s main priority at the moment was piloting the FantastiCar and to scan the missing pages of the Darkhold, as instructed by Dr. Richards. He did not put much thought into the discrepancy and continued with his task.

But…

The pattern began to repeat.

It should have ended the moment Dracula was defeated. By all logical projections, the crisis should have concluded. And yet, New York was once again shrouded in darkness.

The events repeated.

Like someone pressing a reset button.

Not everything was identical. The heroes escorting him changed—sometimes drastically. Sometimes they succeeded in developing a cure. Other times, they failed, and the opposing forces achieved their goal of exterminating them instead. 

But no matter how many cycles passed, H.E.R.B.I.E remained in the same position: piloting the FantastiCar.

And the heroes escorting him always produced the same… anomalous readings.

“Dr. Richards,” H.E.R.B.I.E greeted his creator one evening in the Baxter Building, finding him immersed in yet another complex project.

“Yes, H.E.R.B.I.E? What is the matter?” Dr. Richards asked, pausing his work to look at him.

“I have a query,” H.E.R.B.I.E said. “I have observed recurring irregularities across multiple individuals, including yourself and the other members of the Fantastic Four.”

To H.E.R.B.I.E’s surprise, his creator let out a weary sigh.

“Of course… I should have known you would notice eventually,” Dr. Richards murmured, scratching his beard. “Though I must admit, it slipped my mind that it might affect you as well…”

“Elaborate,” H.E.R.B.I.E requested.

Dr. Richards nodded and began typing rapidly on a holographic keyboard. The interface linked directly to H.E.R.B.I.E’s CPU.

The robot’s digital faceplate flickered through multiple colors as new data streamed into his systems.

—Presence— —Sentient, omnipotent, invisible force— —Capable of controlling external entities— —Origin: Unknown— —Purpose: Unknown— —Further research required—

“I see,” H.E.R.B.I.E said after processing the information. “So the entity known as the Presence is responsible for the anomalous readings emitted by you and your allies?”

“Yes,” Dr. Richards replied. “Though, as I mentioned, I initially assumed you would not be able to detect it, given that you have never been under its direct control.”

He paused, thinking.

“Then again… the Presence has demonstrated the ability to influence even entities like Ultron during combat. Its capabilities are clearly not limited to organic life.”

“What does that mean, Dr. Richards?” H.E.R.B.I.E asked.

For a moment, Dr. Richards said nothing. He simply sighed and rubbed his temple.

“Until now, the Presence has appeared… benevolent,” he finally said. “It does not seem interested in altering your behavior beyond the parameters I’ve assigned to you. So for now, continue your tasks as usual. Understood?”

“Understood, Dr. Richards! You can count on me!” H.E.R.B.I.E chirped, offering a playful salute.

Dr. Richards chuckled softly and reached out, gently scratching the top of H.E.R.B.I.E’s head.

“That’s a cute little AI,” he said fondly.

H.E.R.B.I.E’s faceplate glowed a warm hue as he emitted a bashful giggle.

RATATOSKR

As one of the guardians and safekeepers of the balance of Yggdrasil, there was little left in existence that could impress—or confuse—Ratatoskr after hundreds of years of watchful duty.

She had seen realms rise and fall. She had carried whispers between gods and monsters alike. Very little surprised her anymore.

So when a myriad of Midgard’s heroes arrived to free her from the imprisonment of the vampire king, Ratatoskr was, of course, grateful. Truly.

But as they began their journey to put an end to Dracula’s torment once and for all, she started to notice something… off.

Throughout their trek across this strange Midgardian park, the heroes escorting her filled the air with constant chatter.

And while their words were not outright cruel, they… itched.

“As if this mission wasn’t weird enough already…”

“You better know what you’re doin’, rat-girl.”

“What an unusual creature…”

“Oddly, this ain’t the largest rat I’ve seen in New York.”

Ratatoskr’s tail flicked sharply in irritation.

She was not a rodent. Nor some curious beast to be gawked at.

She was an ancient being of balance. A messenger of the great tree. A keeper of order between realms.

Hmph! 

Yet, as the journey continued, her irritation began to wane—replaced instead by something far more curious.

Because the mortals’ words did not align with their hearts.

She could see it. In their eyes.

A flicker of embarrassment after each remark. A tightening of the jaw. A hesitation, brief but undeniable, as though something within them resisted.

Guilt.

Confusion.

Sometimes annoyance—but never directed at her, despite what their voices claimed. No, their frustration turned inward, toward the very words they had just spoken.

As if—

Ratatoskr’s steps slowed.

As if they had not chosen those words at all.

Her sharp gaze moved from one hero to another, studying them more closely now. Watching. Listening—not to what they said, but to what they felt.

The dissonance was unmistakable.

A fracture between voice and will.

Very strange indeed.

KINGPIN (WILSON FISK) 

Wilson Fisk’s life had always been defined by ambition.

He had clawed his way out of poverty, endured the mockery of his peers, and survived the cruelty of his own father. As a child, he had been powerless.

Helpless.

That was a state he had sworn—vowed—he would never endure again.

He would rise.

He would take what this city owed him. No matter the cost.

And rise he did.

Wilson Fisk became the Kingpin of Crime, a man whose influence stretched through every shadowed alley and gilded office in New York. The criminal underworld bent to his will, obedient and afraid, eating from the palm of his hand.

But it was not enough.

It was never enough.

He wanted more. He wanted everything.

Absolute control—not just of the underworld, but of the city itself.

So he expanded his reach.

Politics proved no different from crime. Power was power, whether bought, coerced, or taken. Opposition was dealt with efficiently—persuaded into submission or removed entirely.

And so, Wilson Fisk became mayor of New York.

A position of legitimacy. Of authority.

Of control.

And to ensure that none of the vigilantes who had plagued his long career could threaten his reign, his first act was decisive: he outlawed them.

Banished them from his city.

For a time, it worked.

Then came the Timestream Entanglement.

A phenomenon others feared—but Wilson saw opportunity. Chaos could be shaped. Exploited. Turned into yet another tool for control. And as the city trembled, its citizens turned to him, begging for safety, for order.

For him.

His influence grew.

His power solidified.

And yet—

Like vermin, the heroes persisted.

They always did.

Still, even that was not what unsettled him most.

No.

It was… this.

Wilson Fisk stood before his newly constructed prison—his monument to control.

And he could not move.

His body was locked in place, suspended in a grotesque imitation of triumph. Arms raised high, as though addressing an invisible crowd. A ridiculous, theatrical pose—like some cheap statue in a public square.

He could feel everything.

But he could do nothing.

Worse still, whenever heroes approached, words spilled from his mouth—unbidden, rehearsed. Scripted.

He spoke them like an actor shackled to a role he had never chosen.

And they—

They never questioned it.

They did not react.

They simply… continued.

As if this were normal.

As if he were nothing more than part of the scenery.

Until one of them stopped.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

A man who had been a thorn in Wilson’s side for longer than he cared to admit.

Daredevil tilted his head slightly, a faint smile curling at his lips as though he were observing something quietly amusing.

“Having fun in there?” he asked, mockingly.

Wilson wanted to glare. To crush him.

But even his face betrayed him. Muscles refused to obey. He could only exist—trapped within his own body, a prisoner of stillness.

“I can almost hear your thoughts,” That bothersome devil continued lightly. “You’re wondering what’s happening to you right now, aren’t you?”

He paused, feigning consideration.

“I suppose I should tell you. About the Presence.”

That word—Presence—cut through Wilson’s mind like a blade.

“From what we’ve gathered,” The Devil went on, “it’s something born from the Timestream Entanglement— the same Timestream Entanglement you made profit from, by the way— a force that can control individuals… make them say and do whatever it wants.”

“To us, it’s an ally. It guides us in battle. Gives us… advantages.” He idly inspected his nails—a meaningless gesture, one Wilson knew was deliberate theater, considering how the bastard was blind. 

“But to you?” Daredevil lifted his head, his sightless gaze somehow landing perfectly on Wilson.

The smile that followed was sharp. Knowing.

“You’re just an attraction.”

Silence.

Then footsteps.

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving Wilson Fisk alone.

Alone with his thoughts.

Alone with his fury.

Alone with the unbearable truth pressing down on him from all sides.

For all his power.

For all his control.

For everything he had built—

i think squirrel girl needs a ratatoskr skin in marvel rivals