The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

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.

to breathe (poem)

Jan
19
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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.

dream of you (poem)

Sep
18
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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.

Lost in Space

Sep
03

Technically, Ekos wasn’t lost.

Hurtling end over end, nose over thruster through the cold deep in the dying light of a riftspace tidal wave. He only hoped the wave of byte and digit and signal flares he’d worked it in passed all the intended checkpoints.

He felt lost.

He’d destroyed the solar system, shredded riftspace throughout, and left the enemy squadron in smatterings and pieces. His own hull was damaged, engines not firing, adrift wherever he’d fall or riftspace would take him.

Ekos had been alone too long already, but now—

It burned within him coldly, he wouldn’t be found.

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.”

bruises (poem)

Jul
26
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Thinking

Jun
21

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

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.

Everyone Is Terribly Human

Jun
01

“You’re really fucked up, aren’t you?” a low, rough, altogether too familiar voice sounded in Dazai’s ear.

He raised his head muzzily and looked around for a too short redhead with anger management issues. “Chibi.”

(more…)

Count

May
06
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First / Most

May
06
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Minimal

May
06
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Blood

May
06
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She Dances

Apr
28

Grace dances because she’s good at it. It’s the only thing she’s good at.

She doesn’t know how to be a good person or how to love. She doesn’t know how to be a good friend.

(She does know. Only it doesn’t last after the jealousy rises up inside her to fight against being abandoned again—and again, and again, and again.)

Her mother fractured under the weight of her own genius, and they’re waiting for Grace to do the same. (Is she manic to suit them? To perform?)

She dances because there, at least, she knows exactly what to do.

Smile Recklessly

Apr
24

“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.”

Where Is

Apr
18
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