The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Contagious Smile

Feb
22

“You want me to do the song with you?” Atsushi demanded, eyes wide.

“Of course!” Kenji shot him a radiant smile. “You’re perfect for it!”

Atsushi doubted it many times over the following days of practice before New Year’s, learning not only the drums but how to match Kenji’s tone and rhythm without tripping over his own feet and while adjusting to their outfits for the performance.

“That’s the tone we want! Let’s celebrate!” Kenji’s smile was as contagious as ever.

When finally the night came and they beat the drums in time together, Atsushi finally smiled, having caught it.

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Death, Taxes, and Paperwork

Jan
31

Kunikida pushed up his glasses on his nose and went over another stack of reports, marking them up with a judicious (and vicious, in Domyouji’s opinion) eye. “Crayon again?” he demanded while Domyouji made an attempt to disappear into the floor.

It was bad enough when Fushimi got on his case, because Fushimi cared more about removing the offending annoyance than correcting the one instigating it. Kunikida’s sense of order and the rules of society was far more personal.

“I’ll fix it.”

Kunikida sighed when he’d dismissed yet another member of the sword squad to fix their mission report. Somehow he always started following a wonderful, sword-bearing leader of justice and high ideals and ended up buried in minions with an allergy to well-written paperwork.

“Kunikida-kun!” a terrible, no good, very bad voice suddenly sing-songed through the space as Dazai poked his head in Kunikida’s office. “We have a case!”

Kunikida didn’t have to go take one, but he was more than ready to get out of the office Munakata had given him. “You’re writing the mission report.”

Dazai blinked, then smiled in a most disturbing way. “Of course!”

Kunikida sighed. Death, taxes, and bad mission reports they would ever have with them.

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Festival

Jan
25

Kyouka’s eyes were shining beside Atsushi as they stared at all the good things offered in the stall at the festival—crepes, chazuke, warm buns with different spices and fillings. Colorful lights had been strung over stalls and the stars twinkled down on festive music and chattering crowds. It was all in all a delight.

Atsushi grimaced at his poor purse. An expensive delight.

But as Kyouka gasped softly, biting down on soft crepe and sweet warm fillings, the stars in her eyes as bright as the ones in the sky, he thought to himself that it was worth it.

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Crimson

Jan
25

Chuuya is crimson, the color of blood and destruction. Dazai runs his hand through his sleeping partner’s red hair, when he can’t protest (likely with a fist) nor think it means something it doesn’t.

It doesn’t mean friendship, but it is partnership. They share the blood, but not the wine.

Dazai is fascinated by the conundrum of Chuuya’s humanity versus his inhumanity, his equal passion for life and bloody violence. It’s a reason to keep living, to keep looking. Chuuya straddles the line between life and death more closely than even Dazai.

It’s almost odd that he never realizes it.

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Movement

Jan
02

Prompt: any. any. “Do not waste your breath with some nonsense about how I should… move on with my life for their sake. That is merely the logic of the living. It is meaningless.” ~Dmitri, Fire Emblem Three Houses

Looking back, there was a lot of sake after Oda died. (more…)

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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…)

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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…)

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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…)

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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…)

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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.”

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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…)

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Let’s Go Home

May
11

“Let’s go home.”

It’s the end of a long day—longer. They’re all weary from battling the Guild, and there’s plenty of mop-up work for the Black Lizard dealing with those who would capitalize on anything left behind. The Port Mafia still rules the local underground and has no interest in letting others get a foothold in their territory.

But at home, they shed that. Ryuunosuke eases into their home with a sigh—perhaps relief, perhaps comfort. Gin makes tea and curls up in a chair, freed of the hard silence that guards her during work.

“Drink,” she suggests.

Her brother drinks.

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Actions Speak Louder

May
11

Gin proves herself strong. She’s quick, agile, and more driven by the need for vengeance and to no longer be helpless than by gratitude for Dazai’s choice to take them in.

It was the Port Mafia that killed their companions, and the Port Mafia that punished the killers and rewarded Gin and her brother. The Port Mafia values strength, values proficiency with knives and body and all goes well—until she hits puberty and her voice doesn’t change.

“Nobody listens to me,” she vents, frustrated, to Ryuunosuke as she washes blood from his shoulders where Dazai’s training has harmed him.

“Words mean nothing,” he says in a low rasp. “Actions are everything.”

Gin pauses, considers that, stops her brother from escaping, and finishes dressing his wounds.

She’s getting to be pretty and that’s a problem. She ties up her hair and forces it to be just the right amount of wild, the right amount of out her way. She covers her delicate features with a mask and stares keen-eyed into the mirror. She closes her mouth and makes her points with the tip of a knife instead.

They listen to her. She rises in the ranks. She takes command.

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Welcome to the Mafia

May
02

“Mori’s asked me to look after you.” The woman folded her hands into her sleeves as she looked Chuuya over, assessing. “I’m Ozaki Kouyou,” she introduced herself.

Chuuya remembered Mori’s comments that someone was responsible for teaching and caring for new Port Mafia recruits, and it was only a relief he clearly didn’t consider that devil Dazai his recruiter. He stood up a little straighter for Kouyou. “Thank you, Ane-san.”

She paused, a hint of surprise on her face, but waved it aside for the moment and handed him a small box. “For you.”

He opened it curiously, then slowly slipped off the band marking him a member of the Sheep. He reached up and fastened the choker around his neck.

Kouyou smiled. “It suits you.”

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The Point

Apr
12

“What is the point of living?” Dazai demanded with a sigh.

“How should I know?” Chuuya demanded right back.

They were both fifteen years old and neither of them had a very good grasp on being human. Chuuya though, Chuuya was intent on figuring it out by doing everything that made him feel alive. Dazai seemed to flirt so strenuously with death in an effort to figure out what being not alive felt like, the better to see a contrast he could make sense of.

Dazai studied Chuuya out of one eye.

Chuuya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We just live.”

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Feel It

Feb
04

They didn’t have to say anything to each other to know how important they were. They just had to feel it.

Chuuya sighed, barely able to make his body move and not overeager to try, regardless of Dazai making a point of telling him not to.

“The fog isn’t gone. I don’t feel like fighting Corruption.”

It was a thought that struck him then. This fog could give Chuuya back his own body and remove Arahabaki from it. His ability wasn’t natural to him the way others’ were.

But Dazai was warm, Chuuya was here, safe, and that’s what mattered.

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The Usual Suspect

Jan
20

Dazai always looked like he’d just done something wrong. (more…)

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The Ghosts of White Day

Jan
10

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.”

(more…)

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Lies Unspoken

Jan
08

Dazai was already lying on the futon by the time Chuuya got in. He was too stiff, his lanky form stretched out with his back to the door, face to the wall, almost radiating with tension.

Chuuya sighed. “Did you even get patched up?”

Dazai didn’t answer.

It had been a hard enough fight and Dazai had never been good at self-care.

Chuuya hung up his jacket and his hat and changed into one of Dazai’s overlong shirts. He glanced over Dazai’s body for any major injuries. Finding none, he curled his body around his partner’s until finally Dazai relaxed.

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Don’t Talk About It

Nov
19

Some things they don’t talk about.

They talk about battle plans and mission parameters. They talk about each other’s bad taste in clothes and vehicles and extracurricular activities, like trying to get oneself killed. They talk about video games and bets and how the other ought to get themselves killed.

They don’t talk about moments like this, washing each other’s wounds, unwrapping and rewrapping bandages because they don’t trust anyone else to do it, lying down on the same bed until morning because they’re partners. It’s as good an excuse as any.

Chuuya never asks why Dazai holds so tight.

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