The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Eyes to See


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.

Let It Go


Cor knew it wasn’t a lack of trust that made Rhezere shy away from displaying any kind of vulnerability with his own integrate. There were enough issues bubbling between their minds that the filter couldn’t hide for Cor to know it wasn’t even personal. But it grated.

“You okay?” No matter how neutral and offhand the delivery…

“Aww, Cor, you were worried about me!” Rhezere always managed to brush it off with brilliant smiles, a light tone, deliberately changing the subject to something annoying. Anything to avoid letting Cor acknowledge there was vulnerability.

Never talked about the scars they both knew weren’t from accidents. Never talked about the people Rhezere wouldn’t admit to caring about. Never talked about the fact that Cor preferring to sleep in Rhezere’s room wasn’t only because they were synced.

Cor sighed in disgust and let it go.

Define Lonely


She’d never kissed anyone’s mouth, or anyone at all but her little brother after he’d become the only family she’d ever keep. Zana ran the Ijeve pilot and integrate training program with iron will, turning out batch after batch of fleet-ready spaceships and pilots. It didn’t leave time for romance.

“Have you considered—”

“No, Hasu,” she ordered her fellow station head.

“You’ll be lonely,” he suggested quietly. She thought he’d married at some point, had children.

A ship sang in her mind, though anchored, her brother called frequently, and her students and staff filled her days. “I’m not lonely.”



“I love you.” The words were spoken hesitantly enough, slow and thoughtful, with that gleam in Dazai’s eyes that meant he found them just as strange as his hearer did.

That didn’t make his hearer believe them.

Chuuya stared at him, eyes hard, heart full of doubt. “Did you ever love anything or anyone in your life?”

Dazai drew back, visibly stung. “How rude, hatrack. Even you knew about Oda.”

Chuuya hissed through his teeth. Yes, he knew about Oda. Dazai had never looked at Chuuya like he’d looked at Oda.

Dazai? Love Chuuya? He scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”