The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

The Ghosts of White Day


The ghost of white days past said to Chuuya, “Chuuya is all work and no play. You need to get some good, sweet loving, find a nice felinoid girl and settle down.”




The beanie had never been decorative. It kept people from bothering him, just as the loose sweatshirt served its own purposes to hide some of Yata’s less common features. He’d never liked leaving his tail out in public where anyone could grab it and pull and he’d only ever let one person give him scritches behind his ears, and that was a long time ago.


Can You Feel the Heat?


A/N: Thank you to the wonderful people who cheered me on and brainstormed and helped make this story a reality, geckoholic and mornelithefalconsbane. Massive amounts of support, kink consultation, and straight up bribery made this happen. Thank you both!

People in heat were picky, even pickier than when they weren’t, which always seemed ridiculous to Kusanagi because that’s when you generally needed to be significantly less picky if you were going to get any relief.

And that was the trouble right now. First heats weren’t quite like later ones, when you’d gotten used to the whole thing and could probably ride one out without a partner or take suppressants without destroying any kind of regular cycle you happened to have. First heats were when you were pickiest because nothing felt quite right and you hadn’t learned yet that it wasn’t always your partner, and when a heat could turn lethal if you didn’t get relief and weren’t in the kind of familiar surroundings and scents and people that meant you didn’t panic in blind instinct.

In short, the last thing Kusanagi knew how to actually deal with was Yata Misaki curled up in a feverish ball at the bottom of the stairs. (more…)

This Was My First Love


A/N: Thank you so much to geckoholic for the beta read and helping me when I fretted over consent issues. Also, title from the song “Last to Know” by Three Days Grace.

The adrenaline rush of fighting Misaki was always the same, pleasure and violence dancing up Saruhiko’s spine as he threw knives and aura at his former friend and partner. But for once, Misaki clearly wasn’t all the way into it, distracted, reflexes slightly slower, barely keeping up with Saruhiko’s insults and jibes.

Misaki failed to fend off the last few knives, and Saruhiko managed to pin him down, away from the rest of Homura, and close as he was now, he suddenly knew exactly what was off, the scent overwhelming.

“You’re in heat,” he said, frowning, barely containing his surprise.


Blood, Bone, Ash


A/N: I took a little poetic license with the way Nagare’s power works, and I definitely didn’t get these two quite as far along the curve as I hoped, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Every person is strong or weak themselves. We can give them each their own opportunity to save themselves.

Green power leaks out of the hole where Nagare’s heart ought to be. It doesn’t even bother Mikoto anymore, not that he ever paid it much mind. He slams into Nagare, so he gasps, panting as his dark hair curls with sweat and his limbs tremble under Mikoto’s hands. He has the Green King in front of him, bent over, face down, and there’s nothing gentle about it.