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.

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…)

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…)

The Rock They Break Themselves Against (Interactive Fiction)

Oct
23

You reflect.

It’s what you do.

Noise you don’t want to hear, fists thrown, bullets fired—all of it bounces back and strikes your attacker with the slightest bit of your attention, or even less.

Continue

Lost Child

Oct
13

“I found my lost child,” she said, a small quiet familiar voice reaching through the maelstrom of Accelerator’s blackened heart and the black, black wings sprouting from his back and his own scream wailing into the sky.

(more…)

People

Oct
01

They weren’t people, they’d told him over and over. They were windup dolls. They didn’t live.

Accelerator wasn’t supposed to defeat them. He was supposed to kill them, or none of this would actually work.

It made him be creative. He had to find something to enjoy in all this, solving a problem differently, in a new way, with a new application of his power. He hurt people who deserved it to find some taste for the damage he was going to inflict, leaned into the adrenaline rush each time.

He spoke to them before each experiment, tested the theory again, and time and again, they failed to respond because they weren’t people.

So this wasn’t cold-blooded murder.

Like a Loaded Gun

Sep
26

The gun is in his mouth, and there’s something about the glint in Chuuya’s eye that makes Dazai react by smiling around the barrel (more…)

Accelerator’s Rules on How to Be a Villain

Sep
25

1. Damage the enemy. If you can’t bring the power, don’t bother showing up. If you can’t hurt your enemies, then stay home and out of the way. Villains do damage.

2. Be ruthless about those who get in your way. If you can’t be heartless and hard-hearted, then go be a hero instead. Villains get the job done, no matter what, no matter who they have to hurt.

3. Commit to your goals. If you’re going to cause mass destruction, destroy it all. Be powerful enough to leave the rest unhurt. If your goal just happens to be that no one lays a finger on your sister… Well.

“I’ll show you a real villain aesthetic!” He throws back his head and laughs.

A Small, Unwanted Intruder

Sep
25

“You’re too loud,” Accelerator grumbled at the unwanted intruder in his bed.

“‘Don’t be so mean!’ says Misaka Misaka, glaring at you.” Last Order was indeed glaring, but she only managed to look pouty and not at all intimidating from where she’d sprawled against his side over the blanket, her frog strangled in her arms.

“You should be in your own bed.” He didn’t bother to prod her away.

She burrowed in closer. “‘It’s nicer here,’ says Misaka Misaka, stifling a yawn.” It didn’t stay stifled.

Accelerator watched her yawn, head dropping, eyes closing… and sighed.

Last Order was asleep.

The Proof is in the Pudding

Sep
23

Proof that Yata loves Saruhiko: he’s making pudding without any fruit or vegetables for the third time in a row, while muttering about immature picky eaters.

“Oh?” Saruhiko asks, with his most annoying, sideways smile and glittering eyes. “I’m the immature one?”

Yata just glares at him. “You can’t go shopping right now because you did in your leg,” he reminds Saruhiko, pointing with the stirring spoon.

Saruhiko scowls.

“Because you were reckless. And that’s the only reason I’m cooking for you.” Yata huffs.

Lying. He’d cook for Saruhiko anyway, does cook for him. He just adds fruits and vegetables.

Let’s Knot (And Say We Did)

Sep
23

“Of course, I went to Chuuya!” Dazai beamed—right before he was slammed off the barstool by a furious small redhead with his hand pressed hard enough over Dazai’s mouth, he tasted blood.

(more…)

What Might Have Been

Sep
22

He might have been someone important, might have been loved by a mother, a father, embraced by family before he became the human body wrapped around the power of catastrophe and destruction. ____ didn’t feel anything about that, or about the seal between self and the world, or about the seal between that vessel and the world, where people moved in the distant light beyond this blue grey glass.

(more…)

A Perfectly Good Monarch (Remix)

Sep
15

Mendanbar was a perfect fine King of the Enchanted Forest, capable and magical in all the right ways, and really, the Forest, the sword, and the magic all had no problem guiding most issues to his castle steps to be handled.

But Mendanbar also had excellent taste in choosing his Queen.

It really wasn’t the Forest’s fault that she had the good favor of the dragons, the good sense of the nonmagical, and warm relationships with everyone else that could solve any problems she couldn’t.

Mendanbar liked to hide himself away sometimes, but Cimorene was delightfully available on her walk, and only frowned with a puzzled expression as she met lost princesses, a knight on a quest to rescue a princess and another on a quest to collect some magical cure, a few excited bunny rabbits who wanted an arbitrator between them and an overprotective gardener, and a flying spatula that really oughtn’t to be looking glumly at her with its non-face as if she could solve whatever ailed it.

Finally, they reached the end of Cimorene’s journey—home again, and she quietly emoted all that puzzlement and exasperation at Mendanbar. “Mendanbar, I don’t mean to interrupt, but the forest does know I’m only a member of the royal family by marriage, and therefore unable to handle big problems by waving my hands and wishing very hard, right?”

Of course, it did. But there were large problems and small in the Enchanted Forest, and no need to waste a perfectly good monarch.

That Face

Sep
15

She hated that face. It wasn’t her own face.

Gray prepared herself each day without availing herself of a mirror. She could do up her hair without looking, clean even her face simply by feel, hide herself beneath a hood from shishou, from herself.

Her mother used to smile at her lovingly. The smiles had changed once she’d acquired this alien face. Everyone had been so happy—everyone but Gray.

And now…

“Shishou?”

“Ah, Gray.” He looked at her without looking at her, without wanting her to house someone else’s spirit, without wanting her to be anyone but Gray.

Gray smiled.