Kaito-oyabun

Damsel/Writer in training

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Hana's Dream [reedited] by Kaito-oyabun, literature

Literature

Hana's Dream [reedited]

"It's getting late. Guess it's time to go to bed." Hanabusa looked at his laptop's clock. 2 A.M. And he will have to go to school tomorrow. School. Even if he often got good grades, he never liked going there. Too noisy, perhaps? He always felt attacked there. Friendly faces? None. All students, and even the teachers, treated him like a lunatic. Some even used that reputation to humiliate him daily. He brushed his teeth and looked at his reflection in the mirror. It showed a dark-haired, a bit overweight, sad looking young man. He did not like it. He must be weird, or really ugly, to turn anyone hateful towards him. The only thing he liked

Chapter 3:First steps by Kaito-oyabun, literature

Literature

Chapter 3:First steps

[1st October, 6:35 P.M., the apartment] F was in the bathroom. She was focused on putting some eye pencil. She wanted to look perfect for her first evening as an employee at the Morpheus. She had almost finished, but she was a bit nervous : in less than half an hour, she would be in her room, waiting for her first customer to join her for the evening. She put her pencil in her makeup bag and took a deep breath. "Almost ready!" September had passed rather quickly when she was thinking about it. Every night, she had been taught by D and S to be a good submissive. The whole month had been far from rest for her and her roommates, she had had to

Chapter 2: D and S by Kaito-oyabun, literature

Literature

Chapter 2: D and S

[4th September, 9:30 A.M., the apartment] F's phone alarm rang. Six O'Clock, by Lovely Rita, started to play. F turned it off before Raphaël Passerin started to sing. She groaned. She had almost slept ten hours. "I needed it, I guess", she thought while rubbing her eyelids. She got out of bed with difficulty, stretched a bit and approached Thalia's cage. Thalia looked at her, the eyes shining of impatience: -Krrwee! -Good morning to you, Thalia!Want some breakfast too? The tiny cockatiel nodded. Although she probably did not know what humans were saying, she knew however that when F was talking to her in the morning meant time

Chapter 1:A Job Interview by Kaito-oyabun, literature

Literature

Chapter 1:A Job Interview

[3rd September, 4:52 P.M., in front of a building] Stream City, the city of all possibilities. This is what any real estate brochure said. It was probably true, forty years ago!Now it became like any western city of the twenty-first century: plagued by poverty and pollution. Every street looked straight out of a film noir. A young woman was standing in front of one of these old, blackened buildings. She was a slim woman in her twenties with short, dark hair and big, green, sad eyes. She was wearing a long black coat and next to her were a big luggage and a little cage in which a lutino cockatiel was sleeping. The woman had also big da

Santa's Last Delivery:A Christmas Story by Kaito-oyabun, literature

Literature

Santa's Last Delivery:A Christmas Story

[24th December, 11:30 P.M., Florence's apartment] Florence put out the lights of her Christmas tree. She wanted to go to bed early this time, to appreciate the next day without being sleepy. She sadly looked at the two presents under the tree. One was for Martin, the other one was from Martin. He was her boyfriend. "If only he didn't have to work tonight. At least I'll see him tomorrow." She went to the bathroom. Wiped her face with a washcloth, and took a look at her reflection. Her big green eyes looked so sad. "At least I'll see him tomorrow." She turned off the lights and went to bed. She looked at her phone. She read, for the fifti

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Hana's Dream [reedited] by Kaito-oyabun, literature

Literature

Hana's Dream [reedited]

Chapter 3:First steps by Kaito-oyabun, literature

Literature

Chapter 3:First steps

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Chrysalis Ch2: The Market by HeartGear, literature

Literature

Chrysalis Ch2: The Market

The Leannán sídhe, or Fae mistress, will prostitute itself to any knave fool enough to trade in blood for lust and inspiration. Vampiric in her tendencies, once the pact is made only a maddened life and early death await the man; save he find an even more fool soul to fill his unholy contract. There is a trick to her, however. A gift to us mortals. Deny the vile mistress her offerings, and she is cursed to be your slave for however long you may live. And may you live a long life, good sir, for what a lucky man such as yourself might do with such an exotic whore at his disposal, I leave entirely to your imagination. -From the writing desk of Alastor O'Reilly, 1827 There are no dreams. No strange narratives or visitations. Just a white blanket of light...soft. Warm and soothing. Familiar but distant, comforting... Intoxicating. He drifts through a haze of static and lost time. "..." The first thing to return is his hearing. Something pops, followed by a long, drawn-out

Chrysalis Ch1 : The Hidden by HeartGear, literature

Literature

Chrysalis Ch1 : The Hidden

The fae can appear as we do, with their glamours and trinkets... but a seasoned hunter knows the ways to pull their quarry out of its dank burrow. Invite it in but refuse its bid for departure, and you will see it trapped at your threshold as surely as though it were met by stone and mortar. Hold its hands to iron and see it sizzle and thrash, begging for release. Take out its eye and observe a certain iridescence... something beyond mortal constitution. Use these tools to discover those rats among us The hidden in our midst. -From the writing desk of Alastor O'Reilly, 1823 The neon sign of Cro Mart flickers, giving off a slight buzz just outside the little late night convenience store. Moths flutter nearby, fascinated by the light, occasionally bumping against the little tubes. On the other side of the glass is a young man in a half-tucked red uniform, a green jacket pulled loosely over in spite of the stale atmosphere. His face is upturned, dark hair tumbling back as he

Chrysalis: Prologue by HeartGear, literature

Literature

Chrysalis: Prologue

He shouldn’t have let go. If he hadn’t, if he had managed to hold on to the monkey bars, then he wouldn’t have fallen down. If he hadn’t fallen down, Marcus wouldn’t have looked back before he could turn away. He wouldn’t have seen him crying, or yelled for the boy’s mother, or… He is eight and a half years old. The world around him is alight with color, crackling red-orange leaves and strangers in bright jackets, children running back and forth playing games he knows he can’t join in. He shivers miserably inside his over-large coat, sniffling and looking down at the bright red marks across his palms. The monkey bars are all the way on the other end of the playground, but the smell they gave off when he grabbed them hasn't dissipated. Frost and icicles and winter storms. His mother fishes a tube of ointment out of her purse, squeezing the paste out onto his mutely-offered hands with a squeak. It’s strong, the medicinal smell covering up the cold, even if he knows it hasn’t gone