#mortala

the flaws that MC does have is possessiveness. not in a romanticized or obsessive way, and it's very subtle in most routes. it could come off as jealousy if you squint. definitely not the main point and doesn't show up a lot. (their possessiveness doesn't mean that they want their RO all to themselves. its not like that.)

another is that their actions seem slightly... selfish... and do things that contribute only to them and finding their brother-- they're loyal to a fault to Finn, pretty much.

one of the biggest ones is that they are manipulative. and they lie. they don't manipulate the main cast, but they do lie to them... a lot.

(and there might be choices to add to this list by the player, but that is 100% not set in stone)

this story is messy. the characters, not just the MC, are messy. they all have problems that they need to solve within themselves. this story is set in a very cutthroat and dangerous world, so you can imagine what living in these kinds of environments would do to them.

feel free to ask about any and all of these!! i also want to note that none of these are healthy things to have-- that is why they're called flaws-- and it isn't treated like that. MC is well aware of this.

For Medusa's route, I'd give her a 7.5/10. It's not so much the relationship that brings her so low- it's the work-up, and this ranking might be surprising 'cause... like... Hiro... but if you saw my outlining for the others, you'd understand. (Her route's ranking may vary if you're a Hiro-lover or a Hiro-hater)

For Vivian's route, I'll give them a 5/10. Maybe self-explainable? MC has to prove themself to them since the last relationship they slacked HARD LMAO. That and then some... 🤭

For Monroe's route, I'll give him a shining, whopping, BEAUTIFUL 3/10. I'm keeping his route's details kinda close to my chest, but let's just say they BOTH have some problems they need to sort out before they even THINK about getting together.

This hasn't been the first time he's done this, blabbering about a newfound crush- not even close- but it always makes your throat close- and your eyes prickle, your demeanor bubble up into unbridled annoyance. But, it's not like you're going to say anything. . . you're just going to sit there, nodding along to each honeyed word that falls from his lips. He always listens to you, right? What kind of friend would you be if you didn't listen to him. . ?

Your name falls off Hiro's tongue smoothly, confusion drawn around each syllable, and it snaps you back into reality, your head tilting to the side while your eyes focus back on him rather than a spot on the wall devoid of paint. "Are you listening?" He asks, his soft smile tainted downward.

"…Yeah, of course," you reply, shuffling and tugging up one of the blankets he patched in a sewing phase in his early teens, "She seems nice." The compliment is practiced, lazy, and repeated- you have not been listening. You can tell he knows when his smile dissolves completely. You scramble to fix it. . . right your answer- to pull the corners of his lips back up. "I mean. . . like, you guys seem like you'd be really cute together." You offer up, a placating grin added along with it. The words don't feel right- they leave a sense of bitterness tanging your mouth. Your nails press into the skin of your legs where they lay idly.

"Really?" He beams, pointy teeth shining, "I think so too," he shifts forward, grabbing your hands like it's the easiest thing in the world. It is- to him- but it makes your breath hitch, your attention glued to the absent-minded touch. Your fingers twitch, "She's so pretty, and her voice. . ." he trails off, dramatically at a loss of words, as if nothing could describe it.

"Hiro," you say, and you catch the shake in your voice at the beginning, inwardly cringing. His brows furrow, cocking his head, doe-like eyes staring at you with traces of concern and puzzlement. You gently bring your hands back to yourself, placing them in your lap. With your withdrawal, worry attacks him, lips parting, no doubt with reassurements about to leave him. This has happened multiple times before- your jealousy showing itself- but it still manages to irk you every time, even if you're the one who made your discomfort aware. You wish you had kept your mouth clamped shut and let him ramble on about the girl, who you've already forgotten the name of.

"What's wrong?" He questions. He knows you're jealous, but not because you're in love with him. He thinks you're worried he'd get distracted by the girl and forget about you, let your friendship fade. You guess he's half-right, but the in-love part… has started to outweigh that. But you can't confess to that. You don't want to. So, you let the silence hang heavy in the air until he continues. He eventually does once he realizes you won't answer,

"You're my best friend, okay?"

. . .Yeah. That's the problem.

"I won't let some relationship ever change that." He promises, looking like he's about to reach for your hands again and squeeze tight, but he composes himself, keeps his hands to himself- part of you wishes he wouldn't. He's smiling gently at you, an expression reserved only for you, this kind of unmeasured love. Platonic love.

You force yourself to nod, a trembling grin plastered onto your face, "Yeah, I know. . . I'm just dramatic." You look at him, tight-lipped, and he shakes his head in disagreement with your claim. You're not dramatic- you're possessive. You know you are. You've been called it by him and Finn- jokingly, of course. You know they sorta mean it. They aren't wrong, though. Every time Hiro- or Finn- mentions someone new, all your breath leaves your lungs, and a tightness settles into your chest, swirling and clinging to you.

After a moment, he slants forward, pats your thigh, then leans back. "It's fine, don't worry about it. I think it's cute. It reminds me that you love me." He grins. He's teasing, but it still sends shocks down your spine and causes your posture to turn slightly rigid.

"Who would love you?" You retort, scrunching up your features with faux distaste. He laughs, eyes crinkling, the sound shimmering.

"You, duh."

You stride through the streets of The Cinders, your head lowered and your eyes glued to the dirt staining your shoes. The sun crawls in from atop the mass of crumbled buildings, splashing light over the streets. You stick your hands into your pockets, idly tracing over the hem connecting fabric to your jacket as your mind wanders.

"Excuse me?"

You startle, your chin snapping upward. Of course, you've been interacted with in public, but never on the road by people you don't know. And you've never wanted to be; most strangers aren't kind- you mainly want to disappear when walking from place to place. But, looking at this stranger, it feels weirdly different. You feel somewhat safe- as safe as you can feel being approached on the street, anyway.

The person who captured your attention has black hair that falls to their shoulders in wind-blown waves with eyes a glittering amber. They smile at you, close-lipped, causing their eyes to crease a little around the corners. Freckles are sprinkled along the bridge of their nose, gliding across and to their golden cheeks.

"Do you know where the..." they pause, looking down at an organized stack of papers held together by a shiny paperclip, "The… Bear Cave is?" They tilt their head at you, crinkling their eyes even more. It makes your stomach twist, and suddenly, you feel like your legs are made of jelly.

Why are you so nervous around this person? You don't even know them.

"Uh… yeah," you stop for a moment, the following words thick on your tongue, and they blink at you, ever so patient. It's weird. They're weird. That must be why you're acting like this. "Go straight 'til you see a busted-up lamppost, then go right… and go straight again until you see it. It's huge, you can't miss it." You glance in the direction of the restaurant.

They nod at you, following your line of sight, "Thank you! I've asked… like three other people," they expel a half-amused and half-exasperated laugh, a grin plastered onto their delicate features.

You stare for a moment, then splutter as they're about to go, "Wait-- uh," you start, "What's your name?"

They squint at you, "Who's askin'?" They lean closer, moving the papers they hold closer to their chest. Your lips part, and you feel your eyebrows shoot up, the shock and panic seeping into your mind quickly. They let out an airy laugh, shaking their head with closed eyes and a hand clasped over their mouth. "I'm just playing." They reassure, softening their voice. "I'm Vivian."

Vivian uses they/them and is of Mexican descent. They're 21, the same age as MC.

Vivian's presence is like a river, tranquil, but you used to find yourself drowning it. They made it harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to function.

—

You met when they had just moved here from Orboa, confused and lost, and they asked you for directions after getting ignored. The way they stared at you is imprinted in your brain. Their hair was black then, ruffled by the wind, and their golden skin was a little darker. They had freckles prominent on their nose and cheeks. They were beautiful. The light of the sun glinted in their brown eyes, making it a shining amber as they looked at you, hopeful. You offered them the directions, along with your name, and everything beyond that is a lovesick blur.

They were your first love; while your memory is a bit fuzzy on bigger details, you remember the little things. Like. . . their eyebrows pinch together when they're focusing, how they like their coffee, how their bottom lip quivers before they cry.

They made sure to appreciate you and made sure you knew that they did. They were an attentive lover. They weren't the problem. You were. You started taking their affection for granted like you deserved it, lazily claiming the handfuls of love they graciously provided.

Sometimes you wish things could've been different, that you were different, but wishing doesn't change anything.

—

Their style is comforting, filled with light colors and patterned clothing. You remember when they used to offer you their cardigans with all different animal prints.

Their appearance is gentle, their golden skin contrasting the baby blue of their wavy hair. They have downturned brown eyes that look amber in the light and a gap-toothed smile that they cover with a hand. You've memorized their features- you can recall every slant and curve of their face, the barely-there splash of freckles along the bridge of their nose.