The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Make My Morning


Fushimi’s morning didn’t start off well. He’d never been a morning person, and someone drank the last of the readily available coffee. But then he was off on a morning assignment to retrieve something for the Captain–”a parcel of great import”, he said, but most likely no more important than coffee–so it’s not like he had time to raid his backup stash.

He was scowling when he left and by all rights, that should have been the start of a terrible day.

Instead, he bumped into Misaki. Literally.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

A few grumpy words turns into a halfhearted wrestling match, that nonetheless leaves Misaki flushed and breathless and staring right at Fushimi for the longest few moments of Fushimi’s week.

By mutual agreement, they brush themselves off and go their separate ways without much in the way of further comment, but the warmth stays with Fushimi for hours afterward, and it’s not such a terrible day after all.

Death, Taxes, and Paperwork


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.

Take Care


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.”


The Proof is in the Pudding


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.

Like Nothing Ever Made


Scepter 4 was responsible for all kinds of supernatural activities and cleanup. It was perhaps forgivable that in the course of one of these cleanups, Fushimi Saruhiko packed up into the van a particular bundle of odd-looking feathers and scales that reeked of magic, noted it on his report, and thought little more about it. (more…)

The Morning After


Mikoto stood in the doorway to the bar, and Kusanagi just looked at him for a long moment before Mikoto shrugged and dropped onto his usual seat at the front.

It wasn’t his way to apologize. Kusanagi had been the one to tell him that ages ago.

“You’ve had that in your system for years,” Kusanagi commented. His voice was just slightly sharper than usual, more disappointed.

Mikoto leaned his head back. Kusanagi was too close to this, too close to Mikoto’s inability to protect Totsuka, and he’d be the first hit when Mikoto left him holding all the pieces. There wouldn’t have been comfort in Kusanagi’s bed.

Munakata should know this was the only warning he was going to get.

“Did you find the gun?” Mikoto asked.

Kusanagi studied him for a long moment, seeming to pack up his pain, his disappointment, his face and tone smoothing out to something both casual and dangerous. “Yes.”



Shame crashed in right after the high. (more…)

Do You


Do you love me? They don’t ask it in words.

Saruhiko asks in the curve of his mouth, a bitter-tasting smile Yata swallows down in a kiss.

Misaki asks with hesitant hands before Saruhiko grips him hard enough to make him wince. He doesn’t wince, he surges up into the embrace to more easily devour each other mouths and skin in hunger.

Do you love me? An arrested hand, an open mouth, those wide eyes wondering as Saruhiko pauses before turning his back.

Do you love me? A fierce grin, demanding words and sword to draw Misaki’s attention.

They answer.

Chocolate and Kisses


Typically, it was the boy walking the girl home from school, but Kukuri was the most familiar with Ashinaka and had once served as a guide to Kuroh. It was natural for her to keep walking him back to the dorm at times, especially on days when Shiro promised to keep Neko out, generally with a promise of “Shopping!” or “Food!” explained by Neko as she hung off him excitedly and he blushed a little and waved in his sheepish innocent manner.


Smile Recklessly


“Smile recklessly,” Kusanagi asked, desperate for a bit of hope and normalcy in their crisis.

Totsuka thought of his childhood wish to be the joker in the King’s court, to make the King laugh. He smiled recklessly. “Hey, hey, don’t sweat it. It’ll all work out.”

Yata was holding him, and there was Kusanagi standing over him stricken shock instead of the emotional composure that carried him through all major and minor catastrophes.

Smile recklessly.

Totsuka struggled to breathe. “Hey, hey, don’t sweat it,” he managed to get out. Normalcy in their crisis. “It’ll all work out.”

The Sound of Contentment


Kuroh’s heartbeat was warm under her head. Kukuri hummed softly under her breath in time with the feeling. It was the first time they’d gone beyond kissing, and the first time she’d ever woken in the warmth of another’s arms. She felt it when he woke, slight tension, but not immediately speaking.

“What are you humming?” he finally asked.

“Nothing.” It was nothing, no particular melody or tune. She sat up just enough to slide up and kiss him properly awake, enjoying the freedom and feeling of doing it.

It was nothing, really, but the quiet sound of her contentment.

The Warmth of His Voice


Kukuri woke in Kuroh’s arms, groggy and lightheaded and wondering what had happened to her, if everyone else was okay. Except she couldn’t remember and for a moment, she tried to panic. Had she hit her head, gotten amnesia, but there was Kuroh’s warm smile as he reassured her, “Just rest.”

She listened to the warmth of his voice, the sound of his heartbeat as he carried her away. She looked back, something in her heart disquieted enough to realize something was still wrong.

But Kuroh would make it better, she thought. She would believe the sound of his voice.

No One There


Why did you leave me? Yata’s heart demanded. Weren’t you there when my friends turned against me? Weren’t you there when my family no longer needed me?

Wind whipped through his hair.

He couldn’t quite believe the feeling, flames burning on Saruhiko’s chest. He didn’t need Yata anymore and could not have made it more clear.

Yata slipped and lost his grip on the skateboard, flying into a wall. It hurt, it hurt, but that was good. He could focus on the pain in his knee, his arm, and pull himself upright.

It hurt so much less than his heart.



“Sometimes you’re a real piece of work,” Kusanagi commented dryly, (more…)

Too Quiet


Quiet fills the space, and Yata bounces one foot as he turns the food in the wok. He’s alone and no one’s here.

He never knew how much noise Saruhiko used to make until there was no clack of typing keys or those quiet sounds when he clicked his tongue in displeasure or disgust, no rustling of clothing or blanket, no quiet footfalls on the threadbare carpet. The toilet doesn’t flush in the background, no clank against the bunk bed railing. The door doesn’t open or click shut. No thunk of small objects tossed.

He turns off breakfast, eats—alone.

Days Are Cold


The days are cold. He shrugs on his jacket and steps out into the chill winter air, knives under his clothes, up close against his skin. They’re sharp but they keep him safe. He’s used to sharp edges.

There used to be warmth and heat burning beside him, welling up inside when he thought of violence. Now it feels cool and crystal clear, except where he reaches up to scratch at the itching scar on his chest. There used to be heat beside him, near him, throwing an arm over his shoulders because he used to walk with Misaki. It used to burn inside him because there was no cool blue aura to outweigh the flaming red.

Now, both simmer and lie below the wind-kissed cool of his skin, and he feels the sharp electric buzz that goes with electricity and technology and change. He fingers a knife with knowing fingers, feels the eerie light of jungle green welling up across his knuckles, through his palms. Anna had looked at him years ago and known he’d never stay red.

The days are cold. There is no Misaki beside him. The fire within is banked. It’s time to go to work.



His friends come to the funeral.

Mikoto stopped next to Kusanagi, hands in pockets, radiating warmth in the chill but without expression. Totsuka stood on the other side, close enough to brush arms and shoulders, a frown on his usually cheerful face. Neither of them looked “free.”

They stayed through all of it, caging him in with their bodies and their wordless care. He wasn’t alone in this world yet.

Kusanagi sighed. “Let’s go back to Homra.”

They stayed there too, Totsuka talking lightly, Mikoto quiet but present.

Yes, Uncle. I have friends that might help me serve.

First Time’s the Charm


Their first time was horrible, Saruhiko could admit to himself in hindsight. (more…)

Say My Name


He hadn’t meant to stay a cat long enough for this to happen. By the time Saruhiko had an opportunity to change back (after a harrowing long time trying to leave the group he’d been spying on inconspicuously; he hadn’t planned on being found and adopted), he’d almost forgotten how to human.

He was still curled up, catlike, when he heard a loud, very familiar voice, “What did you do to him?!”

He tried to say Misaki. What came out was a meow.

Misaki swore and settled in beside him, soothing hand on his back. “C’mon, let’s get you up.”

He didn’t know how to get up, his paws not working right, and Misaki wanted him on only two. He buried his face in Misaki’s neck and scratched the arm supporting him.

“Stop that,” Misaki said sharply, but he reached up and scratched just so, much gentler, on Saruhiko’s neck.

Saruhiko found himself melting with a loud exhale. Misaki knew just how to do it.

“Good,” Misaki said. He helped Saruhiko sit upright. “Now say my name.”

It took a minute, a few tries, but finally he got out a low, human rasp. “Misaki.”

The Most Obvious Unstealthy Thief of Hearts


Fushimi Saruhiko wasn’t exactly hiding his heart, so much as he’d shelved it a long time ago as not particularly useful to him. There was always far too much pain involved with feeling things for as long as he could remember.

Then Misaki came, poking and prodding and asking a million stupid questions with that glowing look on his face as he pronounced Saruhiko amazing.

It was stupid how it made his heart beat, how every time Misaki came around, Saruhiko felt so much, he was practically vibrating with it.

Without stealth or skill, Misaki stole his heart.