#or worry about making herself fade into the background to avoid any unwanted attention

[pardonmyfrenchbutwhattheheck]

"Howl Pendragon gender envy this, Howl gender envy that"

that's all fine and dandy, but grandma Sophie Hatter? LOOK AT HER

gotta be one of my favorite genders of all time

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Practice Makes Perfect.

Word Count: 3.2k.

Commissioned by the lovely @furudolove.

Pairing: Yandere!OC/Reader.

TW: Death, Light Gore, Blood, Graphic Injury, Mentions of Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, Slight Sociopathy/Apathy, Implied Anxiety, Obsessive mindsets.

Her smile was familiar.

Or, familiar might’ve been the wrong word for it. Cozy in the way a hotel room was, stiff and sterile, but repetitive and recognizable, too. Reassuring like a disinterested family, soothing like the buzz of a broken streetlamp, relaxing like being so utterly, completely, absolutely lost, there was nothing you could do to possibly make things worse than they already are. It wasn’t off-putting, but it wasn’t welcoming, either. She didn’t feel intimidating, and yet, you still wanted to keep your distance, like a mouse might from a docile housecat. To stay bundled up in your little corner off the coffee shop, your coat pulled over your chest and…

And then she glanced up, and something in your brain short-circuited.

You really should’ve stopped staring earlier.

Instantly, your eyes shot back to the wooden tabletop in front of you, to the mug you’d almost forgotten, steam still rising off the top. She was a barista, after all, she was working, and the last thing she needed was some creep staring her down for the better half of the last thirty minutes, if only because of that uncanny, unidentifiable resemblance to something you couldn’t name. You weren’t a regular, but she felt new, still awkward with the machines and robotic with costumers, but you couldn’t say you were any better. You’d hardly said a word to her, aside from your order, and you didn’t plan to, not if you could help it. You’d never been good at that kind of thing, and you had a feeling your luck wouldn’t improve with someone so…

Someone like her.

Not that you’d been all that lucky with much of anything, lately. Hell, you were only here because you’d missed your train, and the next wouldn’t arrive for another hour, at least. There were more pressing things you could focus on, like the early shift you had tomorrow, how late you were going to get home, the busted lock on the door of your apartment, but it was easier to hate the rigid schedule that hadn’t bent to your will, the sidewalk that’d been just a little too crowded let you squeeze your way through peacefully, the light snowfall that meant you couldn’t wait at the station, regardless of how badly you wanted to bunker down on an uncomfortable, freezing bench and stubbornly glare at the tracks until you found a way to turn-back time and avoid such a trivial problem entirely. It was easier to focus on the barista, how her black hair fell in front of her face as she worked, how your fingers twitched, moving reflexively to push it back. It was an invasive kind of intimacy, the type that was as unearned as it was unwanted. Irrational and irritating, despite your attempts to brush it off.

Downing the rest of your drink, you forced yourself to stand. The station would be better, and fresh air would help to clear your mind, to stop you from paying attention to things that didn’t need attention. You tried to start towards the door, but you hardly made it a full step before something caught the back of your collar, tugging you back into place. There was a brief pause, a second that stretched out just a little too long, but hesitantly, you managed to turn around, only to be met by the smiling face you’d been simultaneously inspecting and avoiding. Only to be met by her, the barista, the girl you’d been all-but leering at, since you walked in.

Reflexively, you moved to apologize, but she was already talking, already forcing another paper cup into your unoccupied hand. “On the house,” She explained, in place of a proper greeting. You didn’t mind. You couldn’t really say you expected one, not from her. “It’s cold out there, and you’re starting to look like you could use it.”

There was a playful lull to her voice, a hint of something that balanced on the line between an insult and a genuine show of sympathy. You could only bow your head, your eyes suddenly glued to the floor. “I could, honestly,” You managed, the words coming out meeker than you would’ve liked. If she noticed, it didn’t seem to dampen her mood, her grin only growing broader as you went on. “Thank you…”

“Anya,” She finished, her smile never faltering.

“Call me Anya.”

~

You recognized her eyes, too.

Dark, just teetering on the shade where brown begins to blend with back. You might’ve said she looked distracted, but that wouldn’t be right – if anything, she seemed a little too concentrated. You were better about your staring, this time, but it would’ve been impossible not to look over you shoulder occasionally, not to throw a glance in her direction as you ducked behind a rack of magazines. It was a pathetic effort, really, an unnecessary one. It was a corner store, not her bedroom. You were shopping, not setting up hidden cameras. You’d gotten here before her, and you would’ve left if she hadn’t come in, if you could just put a strange resemblance aside and manage to act like a normal, functional human being. That’s what you should do, really. It’s what anyone else would do, whether or not there was the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant chance she’d see you and think, quietly and to herself, that you were a creep.

But, you weren’t someone else. And you really, really didn’t want her to think you were a creep.

So, hiding behind the magazine rack it was.

Currently, you were staring down a display cooler, trying to blend in with the background or melt into the fluorescent lights. You wanted to make yourself less noticeable, to shrink into your jacket and disappear, but that wasn’t an option – you were sure you already would’ve abused the privilege, if you had it. You just had to wait her out. You just had to—

“Another rough day?”

You just had to die. That was it, you just had to die.

At least she didn’t seem uncomfortable, inviting herself into your personal space before you could make the mistake of invading hers, choosing to stand just a little too close, her shoulder nearly touching yours. “Is it that obvious?” You muttered, your voice still low, like you were still trying to hide. A fox, still trying to walk on the leg it’d already chewed off. “I wasn’t really planning on running into anyone, this late.”

You said it like the two of you were friends, like it even made sense that she’d taken time out of her night to talk to you. Instantly, you regretted opening your mouth at all, but Anya only laughed. “I’d offer you another coffee, if I could,” She quipped, nudging you gently, her tone still unbothered, as if she made a hobby of confronting near-strangers. She might’ve, for all you knew. She felt like the kind of person who did. “A little company can’t hurt, though. I’d like to think I’ve gotten good at this kind of thing.” There was a pause, and enviously, you scanned over a dented energy drink. “Lots of training, y’know? People say I have a common face, makes it easier for people to talk to me.”

You allowed yourself a small sigh, a wave of relief washing over you. She must’ve been used to it, the strange stares and that distorted attraction, but you still tried to keep your eyes in front of you, on the sleeve of her silver coat as she reached up, toying with the cooler’s handle. “I don’t really have a lot to say,” You conceded, reluctantly. “It’s just been a tough week. My karma’s been off or something – nothing just seems to go right. Not that anything’s gone that wrong, either.” It was one of the few advantages of living such a small life. If you had the time to worry about whether or not the same girl would recognize you twice, you couldn’t have had much to worry about in the first place. “I’m just… a little stuck, I guess. It’s like I’m treading water, but I still know I’m going to drown, eventually.”

You caught her reflection in the clouded glass, an expression similar to guilt passing across her features and disappearing just a quickly, fading into a small, understanding smile, so unabashedly sympathetic, it almost felt practiced. “Like the universe has a bounty on your head.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I wouldn’t take it that far.”

“Things can always get worse.” It was a declaration, shameless and unabashedly pessimistic, the kind that forced the tension in your shoulders to dissolve and your nerves to settle in the pit of your stomach, if only out of respect for her confidence alone. “But, no one should have to die alone. If you want to walk me home, we could try to stave it off for another twenty minutes together.”

If it were anyone else, any other stranger, you probably wouldn’t have agreed. You hadn’t been making excuses – it was late, closer to sunrise than sunset, and if your luck was going to get any worse, wondering around the city probably wasn’t the best idea. But, there was something about the way she asked, like she already knew you’d say yes, like she already trusted you enough to know you would. You didn’t want to disappoint her. You didn’t want to break whatever golden, idealistic expectations she’d managed to form, in the handful of days since you’d met.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” You admitted, letting her hook her arm around yours, pulling you closer to her side as you fought to keep your focus on the ground, willing the heat rushing to your cheeks to cool. “If it’ll keep me alive, I mean.”

There was only a smile in response, bright enough to let you overlook that, despite already moving to drag you to the cashier, she didn’t actually have anything to buy.

“I’ll do my best, this time.”

~

You could’ve sworn you’d seen her apartment before, despite knowing you’d never taken a step past the threshold.

Admittedly, you probably should’ve made more of an effort to change that before springing at the first opportunity to move in. Despite her confidence, Anya liked her privacy, and she always seemed to prefer your place over hers, taking every excuse you offered to spend the night or hand out or, on one special occasion, try and fail to surprise you with a romantic dinner. It almost felt unreal, trying to navigate the strange, empty halls, a cardboard box in your arms and your eyes burning, a side-effect of the white walls and the hanging fluorescent lights, complicated metal fixtures she seemed a little too fond of. You’d have to ask her about that, later on. You doubted your vision would last, if the entire apartment was like this.

“Already lost, babe?”

Your heart raced at the sound of Anya’s voice, but not like it used to, not out of pure, nervous tension. This was a nice sensation, a more pleasant sort of unease, leaving your cheeks flushed and your tongue failing as Anya draped herself over your shoulders, her own crate already thrown into whichever black room she decided it belonged in. She’d wanted to help, but with the Spring heat and how much time the two of you had spent cleaning out your last place, neither of you seemed capable of getting much done. “Can you blame me?” You asked, leaning back and melting into her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you lured my back to your empty, bleached out murder den.” There was a pause, a slight hesitation on your part. “Which is not what happened, right?”

“Oh, no, not until I see how unbearable you are to live with, at least.” You huffed, attempting to shrug her off, but Anya only laughed, her arms dropping to your waist and her cheek coming to rest against your back. “I mean, I should be the scared one, if anything. After what happened to your apartment—”

“It was just bad luck,” You interjected, already embarrassed. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”

“An entire building burning down is not ‘bad luck’.” She sounded annoyed, but her faux exasperation was half-hearted, at best, a sentiment only backed up by her breathy sigh, all poorly veiled relief and numbed exhaustion. “It’s just a miracle you weren’t home. When you called me, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d do if…”

She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. You were still in a state of shock, honestly, still stuck in the same distant headspace you’d been in when you first saw the smoke rising into the air and the caution tape surrounding your neighborhood and the crowds, and you couldn’t imagine it was any less gruesome for her. “It’s not all bad,” You offered, reaching back, running your fingers through her hair idly. “If you hadn’t wanted to go on a date that day, I might’ve actually been—”

You didn’t get a chance to finish. Above you, something creaked, the sound of metal scraping against metal as a fuse fizzled and popped, an electrical static that fell silent just a moment too soon. You barely got a chance to consider moving before you were thrown on the ground, Anya on top of you and a mangled pile of glass and wires scattered across the floor behind her, the invasive light of the hall suddenly dulled into something grey, something absent. It took you a moment to process it all – the cracked floor tiles, the ache forming in the spot where your chest hit the ground, but Anya was quick to recover, a stifled laugh slipping past her lips before she could swallow it back. You might’ve been tempted to do the same, if your tongue hadn’t suddenly felt so heavy.

You might’ve been able to take it as lightly as she did, if the sound hadn’t been so familiar in such an awful, terrifying way.

It was difficult to speak, but you managed, the words coming out faltered and breathless. “I can’t… A-Are you alright?”

“You’re alright,” She mumbled, more to herself than for you.

“I’m fine, as long as you’re alright.”

~

Somehow, you felt like you’d heard her voice before.

Her smile was familiar, as were her eyes and the unnerving emptiness of her apartment, but you felt like you’d heard her voice before, like you’d listened to her, like you’d lied with your head in her lap and you’d heard her, not just something similar, not just an imitation you could convince yourself wasn’t the real thing. It was personal. It was real. It was Anya, even if you knew it couldn’t be. Even if you knew it wasn’t supposed to be.

Even if it had to be, and you were beginning to realize it could never have been anything else.

Anya was trying to be gentle, today. You couldn’t blame her, you’d be gentle if you found her like this, at the bottom of a staircase in a pool of her own blood, bones shattered and ribs cracked and body so twisted, you weren’t sure how she’d even recognized you. Still, there was an exhausted lilt in her voice as she crouched by your side – or, what she must’ve thought was your side, at least. “I knew this would happen.” There was a pause, a spark of agony that flittered across your scalp as she reached down, combing her fingers through your hair lazily. “Took a week longer than last time. Getting you back to my apartment is usually a turning point, but… different rules for different run-throughs, I guess.

“This isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen,” She went on, not bothering to wait for a response she knew wouldn’t come. “Car accidents are usually bloodier. You’ve gotten gutted a couple times, usually a day or two after we’re supposed to meet, and when you get caught in that fire…” She trailed off, and you tried to take a deep breath, something in your lungs ripping and spilling out, as a result. “I had to pull you out of a train crash, once. A fucking train crash. You hated trains, a few cycles ago.”

Anya let out a huff, something between a sigh and a groan, but if she had more to say, she didn’t bother offering more than a parting kiss to your bruised forehead, forcing out a whimper so cracked and so pitiful, you could hardly bring yourself to acknowledge as human. “I’ll see you next time, sweetheart.”

A blocked heel pressed against the crack in the back of your skull, and Anya’s weight shifted with a small, practiced grace.

It hurt, for a moment.

But then, it didn’t.

~

You looked a little different at the start of every cycle.

Anya didn’t mind. You were still you – beautiful, lovable, endearing you, regardless of the color of your jacket or what drink you chose, the day the two of you were predestined to meet. It didn’t matter if you were a little more jittery than you were last time, a little less willing to meet her eyes as she took your order, she could look past that. Whatever gap existed between the two, she could bridge it. Whatever hesitancy dozens of bloody, gory deaths might’ve instilled in you, she could help you overcome it, she could choke it out of you until only admiration was left, the same love she felt for you.

Of course, her goal was your survival, to protect you and get close to you and make sure you shake off whatever awful curse you seem to be under, but Anya found that a relationship was the best way to do that. She’d tried keeping her distance, manipulating individual factors rather than keeping you out of harm’s way directly, but that’d been about as effective as the time she’d locked you in her bedroom and attempted to take a more forceful approach to keeping you safe. She needed to keep a firm hand, not a strangle-hold. She needed to be outgoing, not intrusive.

Part of her was a little worried, albeit not nearly worried enough. She’d been the shy one, the first time the two of you met, stuttering and plain and completely unimportant, and you’d been confident, care-free, a far-cry from the paranoid, anxious shell you’d taken to hiding in, lately. She still loved you, obviously, she doubted she could ever stop loving you, but you were different. She was different, too. Both of you were.

But, Anya couldn’t seem to bring herself to care.

She smiled as she finished writing, reading over the number written onto your cheap, disposable paper cup, her name underneath it, punctuated by a row of hearts, for good measure. You wouldn’t call, she already knew, but Anya wasn’t feeling as patient as she usually was, she didn’t want to wait as long to skip to the fun part of her little routine. It was the least she could do to experiment. If she got lucky, you’d be desperate enough to ask for her help, after a little prodding. And, if she wasn’t, it’d be fine. She was sure of that. It’d always be fine.

She knew what to do if she made a bad impression, if she said the wrong thing, if she decided she couldn’t trust you with your own safety, anymore. You’d already abandoned her over and over again, died and left Anya to smooth over the damage…

She was sure you wouldn’t mind if she chose to be a little selfish, this time around.

[ragdollrory]

Smoothed by water

It was not Azula’s usual place, to be standing on the room’s side, doing her best to blend in with the background, and avoid stares. At least it hadn’t been, before. Now, with a lot of people still unsure of whether or not she should be free- with her own doubts about it- and particularly now, at the south, she was better off avoiding those who probably wanted her anywhere but in their land.

She was aware of the imposition she was to her brother, having come to this trip with him, because her fire could be blocked by lovely platinum cuffs at her wrists, but her title was very much intact. Azula was still the nation’s Princess, and as such, protocol asked she be here tonight, about to dine with the tribe’s Chief and his son, in the man’s own home. Agni had been merciful enough though, to spare her from having to share the evening with the waterbender as well. Now that would’ve ended poorly, most likely than not.

“Most of them are from hunting trips.” Chief Hakoda's voice startled Azula from her inspection of a bookcase, and the many things crammed in there. It was mostly scrolls and books, but there were also a lot of small trinkets she couldn’t tell what they stood for, although they looked important, traditional. She figured that was what the man was referring to.

“Others are gifts from other nations and towns. This one-” He picked up a small gold piece she was familiar with, running a thumb over its smooth surface. “This one was from your brother.” Azula nodded, but didn’t dare open her mouth to respond, as the man stood next to her. He was tall, broad, and his eyes were intimidating, so hers moved back to the bookcase. 

“You can pick any of them up.” Hakoda offered, and his deep voice sounded gentle enough. Her hands pushed deeper into her coat’s pockets, lest she took it upon his offer and touched anything. She was unwanted guest after all.

Azula felt his presence still by her side. His eyes were on her, and shifted on her feet, unsure on what to do. This had not been her first choice, by any means. If it were by her wishes, then she’d be in her room with a book, and Zuko would be here alone. But he’d been having many long trips as of late, and the palace was growing emptier each time her brother left. Its walls tall and overwhelming, and the darkness lurking behind the heavy curtains unbearable. She’d barely managed to sleep at all, last time he left to one of the temples.

“This one's from the northern tribe.” The Chief’s voice cut through the silence once more, and this time she turned to look up at him. 

“Why are you talking to me?” Azula’s voice was low, cautious, but tinged with curiosity. “If this is about protocol, then it’s okay, I don’t mind about it. You can go with them-” Her eyes moved to the opposite end of the room where Zuko and the Councilman were entertained with some papers on a table. “I’ll be fine.”

For a moment, the man seemed to be considering her words, evaluating her seriousness maybe, the tension in her jaw, and the way she couldn’t stop blinking under his blue gaze. And then he smiled, and Azula frowned, not bothering in hiding her confusion anymore.

“I don’t want your pity either.” She hurried to clarify, nails digging on her palms within the coat, shoulders tense. Hakoda’s eyes dropped briefly with a breathy chuckle, and when he looked up, there was a softness in them she’d not anticipated. It was alien, and disarming, and she looked back to the bookcase.

“You know, Katara used to look at me like that a lot when she was little. Confused, sulking. Way before I left to fight-” And still the man kept on talking, it seemed he’d gotten sentimental now. Azula looked at him on the side, unsure of what to do with being compared with his daughter, surely the girl wouldn’t like it. But this was his home, so there was not much she could do about it. “She’d ask questions I couldn’t answer, things that weren’t for a kid to know, and she’d hate it when I changed the conversation on her.”

“You’re doing it now.” Azula stated, flatly. “And I’m not a child.” Even if she sounded a bit like one right now.

“No, you’re not, you’re right. Twenty-four makes you very much an adult in any nation, Princess.” She thought kindness sounded in his voice, making her lips tighten into a fine line. “But I’m sure my answer would still not be all that pleasant for you. Although I can say it’s not pity, and it’s definitely not protocol either.”

She nodded once more, having nothing much to add to his vague answer. Her eyes moved to a decorated arrowhead. “What about this one?” She asked, voice small, hesitant, and thought she saw him smile.

“That one is something Sokka brought home one day, found it in the snow. He added the symbols himself, said one day it would be a family relic.” 

“That is old water tribe language. I’m not sure I know them all though.” Azula analyzed the inscriptions for a moment, cocking her head to the side to catch a spiralled one she didn’t recognize.

Hakoda laughed softly. “Some. Others are just invented by him, I think he was maybe four when he designed them, let me see…” A finger went on pointing to the different figures. “This one is Tui, and here is La. 

“Then there’s the wolf, and the seal, this one I can’t remember what he said it was. Oh, here- this little one is water, and this is the sun. Agni to you.” He finished with a smile to her, and Azula found herself answering to it with a twitch at the corner of her lips.

“I imagine you know the old Fire Nation’s language, yes?” Hakoda asked, hands working through a mess of scrolls piled in no apparent order, at the bottomost shelf. He came back up with a very old looking one, a faded red thread kept it closed. “This- was brought to the tribe many years ago, and it has been in the power of every tribe Chief ever since. The issue is, no-one knows how to read it.” He handed it over, an encouraging nod for her to take it.

Azula was careful to pull the knot, and roll it out, eyes scanning the old writing, and a full smile finally breaking through her face. She laughed before she was able to stop it, and could see Zuko’s head perking up in attention from the corner of her eye. Looking back up, she found the Chief’s expectant face.

“This is a recipe.” She handed the parchment over, shaking her head in amusement. His heavy brows knitted together over the writing, surprise evident in his expression. “It seems some Chieftess asked for the current Fire Lady’s fruit tarts recipe. I’m sorry it’s not some ancient secret, but those are actually very good, I’m sure you’ve had them when you visited the palace.”

Hakoda seemed completely bewildered, as if he’d been lied to about the existence of snow, or the moon, and then warm laughter poured from his lips, and he wiped a few tears from the corner of his eyes. Azula found she didn’t mind talking to him that much after all.

“I can’t believe it, all these years and it was a fruit tart.” The scroll was left forgotten on a random shelf. She shrugged, a smile still playing on her lips at the absurdity of it all. At how nice it had felt to make him laugh.

“What about this one?” Azula pointed to a small stone carved to imitate a leaf.

“That one is from the Swamp people. They use the water to shape the stone, much like nature does.”

“It’s beautiful.” Azula traced the leaf’s nerve before she realised her hand moving, and was quick to remove it.

“It is. You can take it.” He said, as if it were nothing, as if she wasn’t who she was. And when she turned to him once again, his eyes were so damned blue and sad, sitting on her hesitant hand.

And she couldn’t ask, because now she understood why he told her that about his daughter’s questions. Because the way he was looking at her was much like the way Zuko did, and she could barely handle her brother’s answers as it was. 

And before she could retreat to the coat, he took the leaf and put it on her hand, and Azula just stood there, petrified, with her hand between the Chief’s.

“It smells like the food is almost done.” He gave her hand a little squeeze before releasing it with a reassuring smile. “You can keep the coat on, okay? It’s always a bit chilly for you firebenders here.”

“Thank you.” It was all she could manage, and even then, the last word left her lips broken. He only shook his head, as if nothing where the matter, as if this were a common occurrence for him. And just like that he left to check on the food he’d been preparing.

After what felt like forever, Azula could tear her eyes from the stone leaf, and put it in her pocket to go sit down next to Zuko.

“Everything alright?” He turned to her offering a glass of something, his voice was low, but his concern terribly loud. She felt like crying for the second time in just a minute.

“Yeah, I just-” She glanced over to the fire. I just met a father, were what her lips refused to form. That she’d seen a tiny glimpse of what she’d never had, and now wanted to go drown herself in alcohol, and self-pity, and the cold sea. “Yes.” She repeated, managing a smile to quiet down Zuko’s worried eyes. “The Chief gave me a present, that’s all.”

“That sounds nice of him.” Her brother commented with an all too knowing smile, leaning to brush lips on her forehead. Azula nodded, fingers playing with the rock through the fabric of the coat. Dinner sounded a little bit better now.

[digitaldreams0801]

Yumiko Mihara Form (Frontier Rewrite Project)

Name: Yumiko Mihara

Age: 15

Gender: Female

Birthday: November 30

Sexuality: Demisexual Panromantic

Element: Wood 

Human: Fioremon

Beast: Calanthemon

Unified: Lyseirmon

Family: Kunie Mihara (Mother), Hiroji Mihara (Father)

Appearance: Yumiko is on the shorter side, standing at only five feet tall. She has freckles on her face and light brown hair with red tints that borders on being strawberry blonde. Her hair reaches her waist and is slightly wavy. She ties it halfway up with a white flower clip with pink highlights that rests at the back of her head. Yumiko has a small build, coming off as rather fragile to most. Her eyes are bright green. She wears a pale green dress with sleeves that hang off her shoulders. The dress fades out to pale pink at the bottom of the skirt in a butterfly pattern. The butterflies on her skirt are outlined in black. A silver necklace hangs from her neck, and it shows the shape of a fairy. Yumiko wears black flats and white tights to complete the look. 

Personality: Yumiko is rather shy and sensitive, choosing to stay away from most people unless they approach her first. She is kind to those who do speak to her, but she tends to only let them in to an extent, hiding her true worries behind a mask of smiles. Yumiko approaches those who she believes are struggling, doing all that she can to lift them up, making her incredibly generous and loyal. Once she makes a connection with someone, she refuses to let it go, perhaps due to her issues with being too clingy. Yumiko struggles to voice her issues, something that causes others to use her as a doormat. She gets taken advantage of a lot for her kindness, and she tends to stretch herself thin trying to keep everyone happy for people who would never do the same for her. She hates to cause conflict, causing her to never speak about her problems. Yumiko will deny any issues that others might claim bother her until solid evidence that she can’t refute is presented. She suffers from anxiety and tends to avoid speaking to others in order to keep from upsetting them. Yumiko has horribly low self-esteem, often blaming herself for problems rather than facing the actual source of the problem. She is a follower, often too afraid to speak up about what bothers her. Overall, Yumiko is a quiet yet well-meaning young woman, but she struggles with her self-worth and being taken advantage of. 

Background: Yumiko was born into a wealthy family in Shibuya. Her parents spoiled her terribly, but they tended to only focus on her physical needs and wants rather than her emotional state. She grew withdrawn as a result, becoming rather shy when others wanted to speak to her. Yumiko tended to go through life with hopes that no one would notice her, but such did not always go as she planned. When she was around thirteen, boys began to horribly harass her. Many thought that she was ‘easy’ and would be quick to go on a date with them. Yumiko hated such, and she retreated into herself rather than voicing her issues on the matter. She was used as a doormat for quite some time as a result, and she grew to hate her body since that seemed to be the main reason people cared about her in the first place. Yumiko was insecure in her own skin because it drew her unwanted attention that sometimes led to her being touched by the boys who harassed her. When she finally brought up the issue to her parents, they denied that it was an issue in the first place, saying that she was being dramatic and that the boys just had a crush on her. Yumiko stopped confiding in her parents afterwards, spending more time alone or with animals or plants than with other people. Despite the way the world tried to crush her spirit, she remained as optimistic as she could muster. Despite her talking about the harassment with her parents, it persisted, and she struggles with it as of the time the story begins. Yumiko hates being touched by men specifically due to these issues, though she is alright with girls or her close friends getting close to her. 

Other: The other Legendary Warriors call her ‘Yumi’. Most animals tend to love them, and she cares for them greatly in return. She enjoys volunteering at the local animal shelter to play around with the animals. Smaller children are drawn to her as well. Yumiko’s other hobby is gardening, and she often sings to herself while getting her hands dirty. She has a white cat named Briar Rose, named after the alias from Sleeping Beauty, and she can be found monologuing to her kitten to remedy her loneliness often.