The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Happy

Oct
22

Last Order wouldn’t stop staring at him.

“That’s creepy,” Accelerator told her, shoving her off the end of the couch with one arm.

“‘Don’t be mean!’ Misaka Misaka protests, flailing her arms for balance,” Last Order squawked indignantly. She shot back upright and glared.

He eyed her from the corner of his eye, but she just huffed and clambered back up beside him.

“Misaka thinks that you look happy, Misaka Misaka notes with satisfaction.” Last Order grinned. “Misaka thinks that you should stay here with her forever.”

“Happy, huh?” he murmured and closed his eyes.

Such an odd feeling. Happy.

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.

Speak to Me With Thine Eyes

Sep
14

Attolia raised his eyes to hers, and for a moment, Eugenides was staring at her, not her earrings. She did not change expression, she willed him to see, and then he did, frozen.

“Do you know what’s going to happen to you?”

It was everything spoken without words, an offer made and rejected under duress, accepted now for reasons that somehow no longer seemed purely political. But Eugenides had never needed her words to understand, had never needed words to make himself understood.

Even so, he found them, closed his eyes a moment, then stared into her eyes anew. “Yes.”

Eyes to See

Sep
14

She looked into those ugly eyes—all the pain and anger and fear that had built up in Kyo over years and years of knowing the truth about his own self—and saw him.

Not just the beautiful moments they’d managed to share. Not just his humanity lying over the top of this cat spirit. Not just the person and form that people loved, but the one they hated, the one that smelled and looked disgusting, even in the eyes of those who swore they loved him.

He saw it in her eyes that she saw him truly.

And stayed.

Beautiful

Sep
13

He had beautiful eyes.

From the first moment Violet saw the Major, she saw something she’d never seen before in the eyes that looked at her. She couldn’t name the feeling there, nor the feeling it struck within her own breast, only that when he reached for her, held her, she didn’t feel compelled to bite or hurt him. She didn’t feel threatened by his touch.

From the moment she looked in his eyes, they calmed and reassured her in a way nothing else had or could. She held onto her broach now and looked into that beautiful color—remembering.

Like Nothing Ever Made

Sep
08

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…)

A Numbered List of Reasons (Remix)

Sep
01

“The thing is, Chuuya himself couldn’t spell out a numbered list of his reasons for leaving. He didn’t weigh up the good and the bad and make a logical choice. He saw an opportunity, received an offer from Fukuzawa, and he took it because it felt right.” — Find I’m Between Love And Anguish by geckoholic


Dazai thinks he knows why Chuuya joined the Port Mafia, and because he thinks he knows that, he also thinks he understands why Chuuya left it for the Armed Detective Agency.

(more…)

The Morning After

Aug
07

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.”

Thinking

Jun
21

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

A Work of Art

Jun
21

He’s a work of art, Dazai—most beautiful when he’s bruised, bloody, with the faint curve of his scheming smile to match the glint in his eyes.

Chuuya buries his hand in Dazai’s hair to pull him closer, grinning fiercely. His blood is pounding. Every nerve ending feels alive and on edge. There aren’t many feelings that can compare.

This is what a job should feel like. Like despite the superfluous chains on Dazai’s arms, despite the clear power difference, each wears equal strength and provocation on their tongues, in their faces, in their bodies.

“After all, I’m your old partner.”

The Scars, Our Masks

Jun
21
Sometimes when it had just happened, Shouto felt like the newly healed scar on his face was a mask. He’d touch it and think of his mother’s face when she saw him, before she’d burned him. He’d think that it looked red, like his hair, like his father and wish he knew how to take the mask back off.

He rolled over in the bed and reminded himself he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He couldn’t turn to his mother for comfort. He had to protect her. He couldn’t go to her when he wearing a reminder of his father.