Echoes of the Multiverse

• Characters losing their personalities during sex.
• Unrealistic or unreasonable responses to trauma.
• Inconsistent characterization (I don't care as much about canon characterization as long as it is sorta the same- just keep it internally consistent, and I will be happy!)

All Might is an omega who has spent all of his adult life masquerading as an alpha. At first, it was due to societal expectation that an omega couldn't be a hero. Then, as the times and opinions changed toward progressivism, he kept up presenting as an alpha if only to not betray the trust of the people. Furthermore, he still clung to the idea that he couldn't possibly be the number one hero and an omega at the same time. Even though when it came to his successor, he held no such belief.

After the fight at Kamino Ward, and the loss of One for All, his doctors finally got him to stop taking suppressants and stop scenting himself as an alpha. Worried about the unknown long term effects, they had been pressuring him to stop them for years, but he refused. Now, with the public seeing his true weakness and his inability to protect them, he finally felt like he had nothing left to lose.

He had had only had two heats in his entire life. To make things worse, he had been so focused on his secrets, that the closest bonds he had been either his own mentors, or the people he worked with. His natural instincts were rotted away over the decade of suppressants. His social skill lacked in the best of times, and he had deliberately distanced himself from other omegas. Neither he, nor his doctors, thought that he could even have a heat given his age.

Thus, when the surprise third heat of his life hits him, he will have no idea what to do.

He needs help.

• Toshinori Yagi {Post Kamino, Omega}

• Enji Todoroki {Alpha}
• Shota Aizawa {Alpha or Beta}
• Hizashi Yamada {Alpha or Beta}
• Your Suggestion {Alpha or Beta}

Ever wonder why on the irradiated earth that someone could walk out of a Vault and out of the gate survive?! I have.

Thus, my proposition is such. A very inexperienced, quiet, artistic type is booted out of their Vault for some perceived slight or petty revenge. They quickly realize they are over their head, but can do nothing about it. They try to survive, they try to scavenge for food and water, but only end up running and hiding for their life with injuries that are quickly turning infected and no hope of rescue.

Enter your character. This could go one of two ways. Your character could be the pitying helpful type, who gets the idiot back on their feet, and they form a bond together as they survive, with the potential of a little bit of sexual exploitation just as an expected payment. Alternatively, your character could be a raider, a gang member, or just a mercenary with little regard for those weaker than them. They agree to help the Vault dweller, but the deal isn't as sweet as it sounds, and it quickly turns bad.

On the other hand, we could do both, with the Vault dweller originally being taken advantage of and potentially enslaved, and later a much kinder person rescuing them. Up to you.

• Vault Dweller {Male, Transmasc, or Nonbinary}

• Good Guy Wastelander {Your Choice}
• Bad Guy Wastelander {Your Choice}

Not everyone can have a second chance, but not everyone was a vanquished minor deity.

The corruption of Morgoth tore from Sauron as his tower fell, and he was left as less than a shell. Everything that had made him over the millennia past was gone, and his memories with them. They are locked away, to be earned back in due time as he proves that he is a Maia worth saving.

All he knows is his name, Black Speech, the oldest of Elvish tongues, and the oppressive need to be wanted and needed.

• Mairon

• The list is endless, as long as it is canon compliant. Surprise me.

Pale fingers broke through the long undisturbed ash and debris that was once the mighty tower Barad-dûr. They curled, nails scratching across a slick lava polished rock, pushing it away. The ash burned them, and they recoiled, but did not retreat- even as their skin began to blister and split. Another reach, and from the pale fingers followed a shaking hand. The ash in the air stained the curdling flesh and sank deep into the exposed muscle. The hand dug in and with a great effort, more of an arm escaped the debris, then the crest of a head, and the next arm.

The figure that pulled itself out into the smoke darkened shadows of Mordor was entirely bare, flame-red hair tangled past its shoulders, but it was otherwise untouched by the oppressive heat. The thing was completely still, eyes cast to the dusted stone, before it shifted to its side and doubled over to convulse, coughing violently and sucking in the acrid air. Heaving itself forward once more, it finally freed itself fully from the debris. It rolled onto its back, golden yellow eyes opening to see a starless sky.

The creature was ethereal, even through the mottled, burned, mutilation. It was tall and beautiful, not identifiable at a glance as either man or woman. If you had asked it, it would have hesitated, but eventually settled on man, though the word did not quite fit. The man coughed once again, a violent enough fit to leave him curled up on his side and groaning by its end.

He struggled to remembered what happened or where he was. There were some things that stood out between the empty spaces of his memory. Fire, pain, fear, and a great need, like he had separated from something that he needed to truly live. He felt tears in his eyes, and a trembling hand came up to wipe them away. It only served to agitate the still burning skin and smudge black across his deathly white face.

There was a shuffling noise in the distance, and so different it was from the silence that surrounded him, that it brought him to a full alert. He struggled to sit up, then to get to his keeps and to stand. He felt horribly ill, and staggered, ash shifting underfoot. More stumbling than walking, he forced himself to shamble to the safety of a rock that cast a deep shadow.

He lay in the shadow and waited for the broken remnants of the monstrous orcs to march past. Orcs. He remembered Orcs. In that memory there was a fear that he could not name. It clawed at his mind that these creatures had once been safe, but now he knew with certainty that if they were to find him, his end would not be swift, and it would not be painless. His orcs. The thought was already fading.

He lived like this for days, and sleep found him for a great many hours at a time. Every time he awoke, he had to shift just enough to shake the ash from his still body lest he be buried. Even as the air cooled and the orcs passed less and less, he did not heal and the fear of death loomed every time he closed his eyes.

The idea of death felt innately wrong, though he couldn’t place why. His mind was a foreboding emptiness where only perception and emotion sat without any context for him to ground himself in. Could he die? More unanswered questions. A plague of them.

He spent the entirety of dawn till dusk curled beneath the rock. Its crest covered enough to give him the safety of shadows, but little else. When he awoke, just enough to move, a light rain that burned as it fell upon him that dampened the air and made heavy the light ash that invaded every labored breath. He pushed himself up just to breathe in air rather than ash as the rain stopped and the world fell silent around him.

Then, he heard the clank of metal against mental and the dull ring of hooves against stone. An instinctual fear pierced him, completely different from the fear of the preceding days, and he scrambled as quietly as he could to sit up and press his back into the stone behind him, pain be damned, and hoped that whatever they were, they would pass.

He wasn’t as silent as he had hoped to be.