The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Contagious Smile

Feb
22

“You want me to do the song with you?” Atsushi demanded, eyes wide.

“Of course!” Kenji shot him a radiant smile. “You’re perfect for it!”

Atsushi doubted it many times over the following days of practice before New Year’s, learning not only the drums but how to match Kenji’s tone and rhythm without tripping over his own feet and while adjusting to their outfits for the performance.

“That’s the tone we want! Let’s celebrate!” Kenji’s smile was as contagious as ever.

When finally the night came and they beat the drums in time together, Atsushi finally smiled, having caught it.

Death, Taxes, and Paperwork

Jan
31

Kunikida pushed up his glasses on his nose and went over another stack of reports, marking them up with a judicious (and vicious, in Domyouji’s opinion) eye. “Crayon again?” he demanded while Domyouji made an attempt to disappear into the floor.

It was bad enough when Fushimi got on his case, because Fushimi cared more about removing the offending annoyance than correcting the one instigating it. Kunikida’s sense of order and the rules of society was far more personal.

“I’ll fix it.”

Kunikida sighed when he’d dismissed yet another member of the sword squad to fix their mission report. Somehow he always started following a wonderful, sword-bearing leader of justice and high ideals and ended up buried in minions with an allergy to well-written paperwork.

“Kunikida-kun!” a terrible, no good, very bad voice suddenly sing-songed through the space as Dazai poked his head in Kunikida’s office. “We have a case!”

Kunikida didn’t have to go take one, but he was more than ready to get out of the office Munakata had given him. “You’re writing the mission report.”

Dazai blinked, then smiled in a most disturbing way. “Of course!”

Kunikida sighed. Death, taxes, and bad mission reports they would ever have with them.

A Happy Child

Jan
25

Love wasn’t the kind of word that Accelerator said. It wasn’t because he didn’t care, though he tried not to. It was because he hadn’t known love in a very, very long time.

Sometimes he thought he could almost remember it, the feeling of parents who loved him, could almost remember his name if he reached back hard enough, thought long enough. He still knew the number of characters, remembered that it was ordinary. It had been easier to discard himself and any happiness he’d once expected to be his, once it was obvious he’d never be that innocent happy child again.

“Accelerator! Misaka Misaka admonishes you to pay attention to Misaka when she’s talking to you,” a different happy child bounced onto the couch, halfway landing on top of him. She waved her arms as if she didn’t have his complete attention at this point already.

He tumbled her over on the couch to her delighted squeals and picked up a pillow with his hands, not his esper power.

Maybe it was safe now to remember love.

Festival

Jan
25

Kyouka’s eyes were shining beside Atsushi as they stared at all the good things offered in the stall at the festival—crepes, chazuke, warm buns with different spices and fillings. Colorful lights had been strung over stalls and the stars twinkled down on festive music and chattering crowds. It was all in all a delight.

Atsushi grimaced at his poor purse. An expensive delight.

But as Kyouka gasped softly, biting down on soft crepe and sweet warm fillings, the stars in her eyes as bright as the ones in the sky, he thought to himself that it was worth it.

Crimson

Jan
25

Chuuya is crimson, the color of blood and destruction. Dazai runs his hand through his sleeping partner’s red hair, when he can’t protest (likely with a fist) nor think it means something it doesn’t.

It doesn’t mean friendship, but it is partnership. They share the blood, but not the wine.

Dazai is fascinated by the conundrum of Chuuya’s humanity versus his inhumanity, his equal passion for life and bloody violence. It’s a reason to keep living, to keep looking. Chuuya straddles the line between life and death more closely than even Dazai.

It’s almost odd that he never realizes it.

to breathe (poem)

Jan
19
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Untouchable

Jan
10

Rogue was just a teenage girl who couldn’t touch anyone. Accelerator was just a teenage boy no one could touch.

(more…)

the little birdies (poem)

Jan
09
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I wait (poem)

Jan
09
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lamp on the wood (poem)

Jan
07
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a name (poem)

Jan
07
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labels (poem)

Jan
07
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In Small Moments

Jan
05

The asset wasn’t known for tender compassion or warmth. If he was, Nicky assumed, he wouldn’t be an asset.

But there was a certain amount of liability in being an obvious plant that disappeared at irregular intervals, always when someone of import within the country died, and there was something to be said for the traditional old standbys for covers.

(more…)

Movement

Jan
02

Prompt: any. any. “Do not waste your breath with some nonsense about how I should… move on with my life for their sake. That is merely the logic of the living. It is meaningless.” ~Dmitri, Fire Emblem Three Houses

Looking back, there was a lot of sake after Oda died. (more…)

Take Care

Jan
01

Yata was frowning when he got the door to Saruhiko’s dorm open. He had Saruhiko practically slung over his shoulder and back, and there was an audible hiss of pain between Saruhiko’s teeth as Yata carefully maneuvered him through the door.

Honestly, Yata’s heart couldn’t quite decide between worried and furious. “I was fine.”

(more…)

a poem (poem)

Nov
24
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I promised you stories (poem)

Nov
24
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Silence (poem)

Nov
24
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feeling (poem)

Nov
24
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We Wake (poem)

Nov
24
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