#pspsps if u like this you shld let me know;;;;

[chuuyanakaahara]

baby notes app drabble set in the street-racing 'verse called retribution for the dead.

yokohama is built on shaky foundations, burned and re-built - better, stronger, more volatile, more hostile. more violent.

the portside is a perfect example of that, a place no one can survive without vitriol on their tongue and a taste for blood in their soul.

atsushi hates it. he doesn't understand it, either, why the taste for blood and partying go hand in hand. there's no respect for life, for living without purpose.

standing in front of him, rashoumom makes the perfect example of it. his only purpose for living is the portside, for glory, for reputation. it's a vile inversion of passion, something that makes atsushi's blood boil.

"so, what will it be?" rashoumon asks petulantly, arms crossed and a sneer on his face; his coat flutters in the wind, but such a soft word should not attributed to such a harsh man.

the clouds above are darker than the night sky itself, threatening rain and thunder as lightning flashes behind the mountains. it's going to storm.

the threat of natural violence doesn't stop rashoumon or the portside, perpetually ready to lay down their lives for a race because it's the only acceptable way to be suicidal.

atsushi scoffs, his masquerade mask pressed against all the wrong plains of his face. a mask, that's all it is. the white reaper. what a fucking joke.

"what do you think? do you honestly think i'm willing to kill myself over this? i'm not racing you!"

thunder rumbles, but atsushi does not shake. he can't. it's a weakness he can't afford.

rashoumon doesn't appreciate the sentiment, rolling his arms at the blatant disrespect before spitting his next words. "what else do you have left for you? at least you can't be cowardly in death."