The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

That Moment of Peace


A moment of peace, rain falling gently against the windows, the scent of fire and red aura mingling with mundane smells of an apartment shut up against the weather, stale scents of breakfast and cigarette smoke.

It’s rare and remarkable for highly ranked blue and red clansman to share that moment of peace together.

Seri lets her wary edge slowly fade before Izumo’s openness. He seems so close to his king, in ways she doesn’t have with the Captain. Friends.

She looks at him talking about friends and wonders a little to herself if this is what that feels like.

Start a Fire


He was lighting a cigarette when Seri asked curiously, “How precise are you with that?”

Izumo stopped, stared at her for a moment, then smiled. “How precise do you want me to be?”

She shot him a look he could read easily, Don’t get too cocky. But her expression turned speculative, finger running over the lighter cap. “Hot but not painful.”

Which meant getting very close but not touching her skin. He glanced appreciatively over her skin again as she stretched out on the bed.

“You sure?” he asked one more time.

“Get on with it,” she commanded.

“Yes, Seri.”



She’d scrupulously avoided the mistletoe. Seri was pleased with the Captain as her King and liked him well enough when he chose to mingle during holiday parties, such as at Christmas, but not well enough to let him kiss her for spirit or tradition. The one subordinate who’d suggested she’d yet to try the mistletoe had visibly wilted under her unamused stare.

It was well after HOMRA’s party by the time she went over, everyone cleared out or asleep except Kusanagi.

“Here for your free drink?”

“No.” She paused under the mistletoe.

He stared, surprised, but didn’t keep her waiting.

Mutual Support


“Seri?” Kusanagi blinked in surprise at recognizing the person behind the largest pile of boxes from shopping he’d ever seen. “Would you like some help?”

She studied him warily around her pile, not a look he was unfamiliar with.

“You certainly helped me enough with Anna and the Slates,” he said quietly.

Man to woman, there was always tension between them, but Seri softened when he said that. Clansman to clansman, they’d always been able to communicate.

“Certainly. Thank you,” she said with the snap of authority in her voice she’d mastered long ago.

Then she buried him in boxes.



She was beautiful, truly beautiful, and he didn’t just think that because she was hot.

Kusanagi enjoyed watching Seri take charge of her clansmen with firm authority and easy competence. He admired her elegance and the way she’d sometimes soften her expression when she cared. He liked that they could talk comfortably about their mutual difficulties taking care of their clans.

“Always a pleasure, Seri.” He smiled when she found her way into his bar, ordered her horrible drink, sipped it slowly.

“Surely you jest,” she commented, eyebrow raised.

“Why wouldn’t I be pleased to serve such a beautiful woman?”



“You’re not exactly what I expected,” she stated.

Kusanagi looked up with interest from mixing her martini.

Awashima Seri had been coming to HOMRA more often, even regularly. They’d discussed mostly clan affairs. Despite the destruction of the Slates, Scepter 4 had plenty of work policing the strains created before its destruction, and Homura remained useful as an organization rooted in the city streets and too familial to disband.

But occasionally, they talked about other things than clans.

“You’re quite responsible,” Seri told him.

He chuckled and gave her the drink. “Not frivolous?”

“Still frivolous.” She softened. “But also responsible.”