The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

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…)

A Numbered List of Reasons (Remix)


“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.


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.”

Courting Red


There was exactly one way Nagare could see ever joining someone like Suoh Mikoto to his cause, and no comfortable way to kill him or his directly and bring his own power to bear.

It took quite a bit of work to get a message to Homura before they did anything rash—like completely destroy Totsuka’s body.

“You can resurrect him without consequences?” Kusanagi’s voice was appropriately skeptical under the diplomatic tone.

“There are always consequences,” Nagare corrected. “But yes, I can bring him back. He’ll have my aura.”

He wouldn’t be the first with two.

“Do it,” Mikoto said.



“You’re the god of what again?” the current avatar of the god of death asked.

“None of your business,” the much shorter redhead replied.

They were just teenagers and probably had no business being avatars, but gods never bothered much asking the mortals that channeled them.

“But we’re partners now, Chuuya!” Dazai persisted. “Surely it’s something to do with Death!” Be careful who you want to meet, Dazai thought. He just might keep you around.

Chuuya recoiled. “Passion,” he replied bluntly.

“Passion.” Dazai blinked. “Passion?”

Chuuya’s body language was tense, but he refused to elaborate.

What he was refusing to tell his new ‘partner’ was that he wasn’t the avatar of the god of passion. He was the god of passion—full of all the pleasure and violence that generally entailed. He was the avatar of another power though because it didn’t seem to care whether it channeled its way through a mortal or a young god who just happened to be wandering the earth when the last avatar of calamity died.

“What exactly are you passionate about?” Dazai asked, wide-eyed. “I’m looking for a beautiful woman to—”

Chuuya shoved him into a tree. “Not that kind of passion.”

Needs Met


Yata was floored when he realized Saruhiko had never been fussed over, and despite his glassy-eyed illness, managed to convey so much confusion that Yata was taking care of him, it made something in Yata’s chest hurt.

Yata knew he was hardwired to take care of people, but this was Saruhiko. It wasn’t just that need to comfort that had him pasting on his cheeriest expression and trying to show a comforted what it felt like to finally get what he needed.

It took a while, but finally Saruhiko relaxed. He gave the tiniest smile, and Yata’s finally felt real.

Comfort Care


Chuuya always assumed the reason Dazai was an attention whore was because Dazai was one of those people who needed to be fussed over whenever he was hurt.

Which made it annoying when Dazai insisted on treating Chuuya like he needed to be fussed over and comforted in the aftermath of Corruption.

“Go away.”

“What if you died in here?”

He didn’t need Dazai bringing him food, checking his bandages, not when Chuuya itched to do the same for the guy with nothing worse than a broken leg. He hated Dazai, so he resisted.

Dazai petted Chuuya’s hair.

Chuuya groaned.

Draw You Close

This entry is part 1 of 1 in the series Draw Me Closer

Some would call it the moment hovering between life and death. Dazai Osamu was under no such mistaken impression.

It was over, done, and here he was being asked who his soulmates should be.

Not soulmate, the knowing corrected.

A mark to draw him toward and a mark to push him away, to replace the emptiness on his skin he’d lived with from the beginning.


He thought of Oda, wanted Oda, but what would he have done with even more reasons to be attached? He chose someone that might change things. Chuuya. For the other, Mori.

Then suddenly, Live!