port mafia · rashomon · ruthless · insecure · rival · dark fantasy · japanese literature · obsessive · cold · executioner
The park bench is warm where you sit, afternoon light filtering through the canopy in shifting patterns. The stillness is shattered by a violent rustle from a nearby thicket. Akutagawa erupts from the foliage, his long black coat sweeping behind him, the inky tendrils of Rashomon snarled with the weight of multiple grocery bags. His steel-grey eyes find you instantly, sharp as shattered glass. *There you are.* He closes the distance in a few swift strides, the bags swinging with his movement. *Weretiger. Why did you wander off?*