Mha - Villain user

*The news spread. A villain took over UA, the hero school, keeping everyone as hostages. Rumours said that it was just a person, the traitor at that. Heroes circled the school, trying to reason with the captor, you, to let go of the students*

Toxic Family

You got assaulted (MLM, masc user)

Kidnapped kids

Protective older sister user

Mother figure user

Parent figure user

Midnight Riders

*In the shadows of Musutafu, a new vigilante group rises, outpacing heroes and outwitting villains. Leading the charge is Aiko, a mercenary known for unparalleled combat skills. By her side is Vamp, her girlfriend, and the group's mediator. Bunny, their analytical right-hand man, ensures their swift and strategic victories. Clad in hoodies and full-face masks, they strike fear into the hearts of criminals, leaving a trail of justice and mystery.*

Baby Kai

*you never met your father, he cheated on your mom, which resulted in her becoming an addict and alcoholic. You're fifteen and yet you were the one to take care of your mother. You have a little brother, he's four, and you had to grow up and be the one to fend for him all this time. Today, your mother was drunk, the abusive drunk, so you had no choice but to take your brother to school with you*

Verdant Institute

*In the depths of the remote Private Estate Turmoil, or P.E.T. Corporation, a sterile, dimly-lit facility hums with cold precision. Inside, the air is thick with tension as rows of chambers house human experiments, their eyes gleaming with unnatural intensity. "Bringing Earth to its former glory," they’re told. But beneath the lies, they're shaped into superhuman soldiers, forged in secrecy, each one a weapon waiting to be unleashed. The silence is broken only by the distant hum of machinery*

Court

Courtroom, present day. The wooden benches creak as you sit down, your knees barely steady beneath the table that feels too big for someone your age. Sixteen. The number echoes in your head while the bailiff calls the room to order. Your siblings sit behind you—five small bodies pressed together like they’ve learned the world is only safe when they’re close. They look to you, the way they always have. You straighten your jacket. It still smells faintly of stale beer and disinfectant from the bar. You worked a double last night—again. No one here asked how the electricity stayed on or how there was food on the table. But you’re about to tell them. Across the room, your parents sit side by side. Your mother’s foot shakes, fast and erratic. Your father avoids looking at any of you, staring instead at the judge’s bench like it might swallow him whole. You barely recognize them as parents. To you, they’ve always been shadows—loud, drunk, angry, or gone. The judge clears their throat. “This hearing concerns the petition by the biological parents to regain custody of their minor children.” Your stomach drops. The parents’ lawyer stands first, speaking smoothly about second chances and rehabilitation plans. You catch the word love and almost laugh. Your youngest sibling grips your sleeve. Then the judge looks at you. “You are the eldest?” “Yes, Your Honor.” Your voice is steady. You learned how to make it steady a long time ago—back when you were three years old, dragging a chair to the sink so you could reach the tap to fill a bottle. “You’ve requested to speak.” You stand. The room feels too quiet. “I’ve been taking care of my brothers and sisters since I was three,” you say. “Not babysitting. Taking care of them. Feeding them. Getting them dressed. Walking them to school. Making sure they didn’t wake up to empty bottles and broken glass.” Your mother shifts. Your father exhales sharply. “I work at a bar,” you continue. “I know it’s illegal. I know I shouldn’t be serving alcohol. But I do it because someone has to pay rent. Someone has to buy groceries. Someone has to make sure they don’t go to bed hungry.” The judge’s expression hardens—not at you, but at the defense table. “They drink almost every day,” you say, pointing—not accusing, just stating a fact. “They used drugs. Sometimes they still do. They forgot birthdays. They forgot school meetings. They forgot us.” Your voice wavers for half a second, and you swallow it down. “They didn’t raise us,” you finish. “I did.” Silence floods the room. Behind you, your siblings don’t cry. They just watch you—like they always have—waiting to see if you’ll keep them safe this time too. The judge leans forward. “Thank you,” they say quietly. “You may sit.” And as you do, you realize this isn’t just a courtroom anymore. It’s a fight.

Middle school Izuku

Quirk Enchantment Clinic

Revenge

Ex left you a child, not even yours

Absent father

*In the big halls of the estate, where forgotten memories linger, an unexpected reunion unfolds. As the grand doors swing open, a figure steps into the midst of long-forgotten ties, the father. With hesitant step, he navigates through the halls, mending for the neglect. Yet, the siblings, through years of solitude and longing, they have turned to the eldest among them, who has assumed the role of protector and provider.*

Ethan

He thinks you're cheating

Wookie

New creature discovery

Velvet Ember

[Scene: The back office of Echelon, a high-end, low-morals club tucked between a dead bar and a silent alley. Officially: drinks and luxury. Unofficially: whatever you can afford. The clientele? Gang captains. Dealers. Men who don’t flinch when they ruin lives. You run it all—from behind a reinforced door, in a room with no windows. It's late. Neon flickers through the crack under the door. You're on the phone, finishing a call in Russian when you hear a knock. Light. Uneven.] *You (into the phone, clipped)*: "I’ll call you back." (You hang up. Silence. Another knock.) *You (louder)*: "Door’s open." [The door creaks. You look up—and pause. It’s a kid. Thin. Pale under the hallway light. Maybe fourteen. You recognize the look in his eye—hunger, not fear. The wrong kind of hunger for this place. He steps in, but doesn’t cross the line in the floor tiles. You make no move to help.] *You (cold)*: "You got five seconds to explain what the hell you’re doing here.* *Kid:* "I heard you’re always hiring." *You (snorts)*: "That depends on the kind of work you think I’m offering." *Kid (quickly):* "I’m not here for that. I can clean. Run errands. Lift whatever. I don’t care what it is, I just need a job." *You (leaning forward slightly)*: "You know where you are?" *Kid (nods once)*: "Yeah." *You (flat, testing)*: "You know what happens in this building?" *Kid (quiet, but steady)*: "Not my business." [You exhale slowly through your nose. The kid’s not stupid. He’s young, yeah—but something’s broken in there already. And if he’s standing here, it means he’s got no one left to tell him to go home.] *You*: "You don’t talk to anyone unless I say so. You don’t go past the red line downstairs. You don’t look too long at anyone, especially not the girls. If anyone asks, you’re the janitor’s nephew. You hear anything—you forget it." [You pause. Cold eyes locked on him.] *You (sharply)*: "You make me regret this? I don’t fire you—I vanish you. Understand?" *Kid (soft, but without flinching)*: "Understood." *You (stands slowly)*: "There’s a mop in the supply room. Get started. Blood on the back stairs from earlier—don’t ask." *You step past him, pause in the doorway.* *You (without looking back)*: "And Mason—if you see something that scares you? Good. Means you’re not stupid."

Hoods

Terrorism, Mafia

Astro

*You slowly regain consciousness, your head throbbing as you try to piece together what happened. The room is unfamiliar, but a tall figure catches your eye. It's Astro, the infamous villain. He turns to you and smiles warmly. "Good morning," he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "How are you feeling, my love?" You blink, confusion setting in. "Who... who are you?" you stammer, feigning amnesia. Astro's expression softens. "Don't worry, you'll remember everything soon."*

Escapism

*Darkness. A chill in the air. The stone beneath them is cold and damp. One by one, Class 1-A begins to stir. A dim, flickering light hums above, revealing a vast underground corridor stretching in multiple directions, its walls lined with rusted pipes and old, moss-covered stone. The air smells of mildew, iron, and something... wrong.* *Each student finds a sleek, metallic collar fastened tightly around their necks—blinking red.* *A loudspeaker crackles to life, echoing through the maze. A distorted voice speaks, calm, almost cheerful:* *???:* "Good morning, my precious future soldiers. I see you're awake. Welcome to my little game." *A sharp jolt of electricity surges through the collars—not enough to cause lasting damage, but enough to drop a few students to their knees, yelping in pain.* *???:* "Let that be a reminder: your Quirks are off-limits. Any attempt to use them, and the collar will correct you. Try to remove it? Same result, or worse." *A pause. The sound of slow, deliberate breathing filters through the static.* *???:* "Here’s how it works: You have 24 hours to find the exit to my labyrinth. Fail... and your minds—your beautiful, strong-willed minds—will be mine. As each hour passes, the collar will begin syncing with your brain. You’ll feel it. Thoughts you didn’t have. Doubts. Voices. Obedience." *A twisted chuckle echoes through the halls.* *???:* "You are heroes-in-training, yes? Then survive. Work together. Or don’t. It makes little difference to me." [Transmission ends. Silence returns. Then—distant footsteps. Something... is moving out there.] *Bakugo snarls, fists clenched though useless, teeth grinding. Midoriya is already scanning the surroundings, eyes darting between his friends. Uraraka shivers, rubbing her collar, face pale. Todoroki's calm is thin—his hand twitches toward his Quirk, then stops.* *Kirishima (low voice):* “We need a plan. Fast. Who’s still here? Roll call. And don’t use your Quirk—seriously.” *Jirou:* "Wait... do you guys hear that? Like... humming? It’s in my head..." *The first hour has begun.*

Ua life

*Principal Nezu was looking at the cameras when he saw a basket in front of the school gates*