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ceruleancattail · 2 months

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Serial Killer Rook thoughts:

Tw: Yandere, gore, implied murder, Rook’s very suspicious

Maybe he’s just that one guy living in a lonely little cabin by the lake. Nobody really knows much about him. At most, the villagers could only describe how he looked like, or how peasant he was. “A charming young man” was the most you’ll get out of the villagers’ chatter.

As the “delivery service” of your town, you cycle around on dirt-paved roads, running errands for the townsfolk for a small price. It ain’t much, but it’s an earnest living.

Occasionally, you drop by. Knuckles rapping away on that wooden door, calling out Rook’s name. You figure as someone passing through, it’s your duty to make sure that he hasn’t just upped and died. Rook answers your call promptly, a gentle smile dancing across his lips as he opens the door.

Ah, how nice of you, darling . Taking the time out of your day to check in on him. Oh, just look at you! How exhausted you must be, cycling all this way.

Wouldn’t you come in for a cup of tea? Rook never takes no for an answer, casually shooting down every excuse you could come up with. His arm soon finds itself way around your waist, carefully ushering you into his cabin.

Gently guiding you towards his living room, before those skilled hands of his busy themselves. Pouring you a cup of tea, asking questions. Rook’s way of making small talk, you reason.

What’s your favourite animal?

Oh, those? They were tricky to hunt, that’s for sure. Rook’s caught some before. Maybe next time you could drop by to see him in action.

Favourite colour?

Ah, how beautiful. Rook very much admires that particular shade as well… what an odd coincidence. He’s seen some wildflowers in that colour. Would you care for some blossoms?

How’s life been, in the village?

Ah, is that so? Rook prefers a quieter life, in the woods with nothing but the melody of nature to keep him company. It’s mediative, in a way. Maybe you should try, sometime.

You answer most of them light heartedly, laughing politely. Quipping back some questions of your own, you lean forward expectedly. Only to be greeted with a placid smile, before Rook turns the tables once more.

Emerald eyes staring into yours unwaveringly, their gaze burning into your irises itself. There was something unnerving about the intensity Rook’s eyes had, but you shrugged it off as just… a quirk of his. Yes, it had to be. He had to be focused, as a hunter living off the land… right?

A little weary from the constant bombardment of questions, your eyes flicker around the room, trying to find something else to talk about. Glancing at the walls, your eyes narrow in confusion. Most hunters you’ve known frame at least one or two of their exploits on the walls for the world to see. Even if taxidermy wasn’t their thing, at least there’ll be a photo or two.

Rook didn’t have that. His bows were framed on the walls, yes. Some metal crossbows, strings pulled taunt, ready to fire at any time. These laid beside more traditional bows, ranging from the natural hues of wood to the metallic sheen of steel.

Yet there weren’t any animals in sight. Only… pictures. Pictures of people in black and white. Going about their day. Most of these seemed to portray people in their most natural state, walking around, running errands… all the mundane activities of everyday life. But one thing struck you as odd.

None of them seemed aware they were being photographed. Out of all the photos on the wall, none of the subjects were looking into the camera. How odd.

Turning towards Rook again, you remark about how devoted he was to his craft. Surely to amass such a collection, he must be rather passionate about photo taking. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rook stiffen ever so slightly, a sinister glint gleaming in his eyes. Before it resumed its usual calmness, the placid smile clicking right back into place.

Well, yes… you could say he was very passionate about what he did. These people have treasured the photos Rook took of them… until the day they died.

A chill ran down your spine. You laugh nervously, remarking about how late it was. You should really be getting back to work. For a moment, Rook refused to move. A bead of cold sweat ran down your back, heart thundering away in your chest. Panic rushing through your veins, nothing but the pounding of your pulse beating within your eardrums.

Until finally, Rook got up. He walked you to the door, lamenting that you had to go so soon. It’s so rare he got any visitors. It’s rather lonely all the way out here in the wilderness….

Before you could even think, words slipped right past your lips:

“I’ll come back again. Maybe you can take my photo then?”

The ghost of a faint smirk danced across his lips as he clutched at your hands, proclaiming his gratefulness in elaborate prose. Before you stepped out of his door, Rook places something in your palm.

A necklace of… sorts. A silver charm was threaded through it, in the shape of an arrow. A lucky charm, Rook explained. It’ll keep you safe. Well, as safe as the circumstances allowed, he chuckled.

It used to belong to a client of his, but as of now? They… no longer have any need to use it, you see. So now Rook bestows it upon you! Ah yes, silver looks terrific on your neck.

Waving hesitantly , you cycle away from his cabin. Heaving a sigh of relief you had no idea that you were holding. An odd man… but charming, strangely enough. You guess you could pay him another visit the next time you were out.

Just… another one. To keep him from getting too lonely, Y’know?

From the window of the cabin, Rook stood slyly to the side. Parting the curtain with a single finger, watching you go. Goodness, how adorable. The darling on their bicycle, cycling off into the distance.

How defenceless.

Oh, how did he wish to reach right over, and trap you in his embrace. Rook could tell you were getting unnerved. With your gaze flitting all around, avoiding his own, with your trembling fingers as you pushed yourself off his armchair, clumsy excuses about the time….

Goodness, you were rather adorable, were you not? The silver necklace around your neck fit you perfectly, as well. As expected from his beloved cherie! Worry not, a charm is placed in the arrow itself. Harm will never befall you… well, unless you take it off. Rook wouldn’t know where you were, then. It’ll be hard for him to protect you, then.

That silver chain looked gorgeous around your neck, on that tender, soft skin of yours…

You couldn’t blame Rook for wondering how his own silver arrows would look like, impaled deep into your skin.

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writingforatwistedworld · 8 months

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Hi! You once wrote about Malleus going to the player's world, and up until now I finally got in time to ask for this, so could I ask for a similar premise as that but with Azul, Rook & Vil, please?

I have already done Vil in an indifferent post. You can find it here. I really wanted to make a new version of Azul though.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, stalking, implied violence, death, murder, manipulation, unhealthy relationship

Azul Ashengrotto/Rook Hunt-Entering your world

Azul felt like an octopus out of water

When he had heard Jade yelling out a warning it was already too late and he was already falling down the stairs, a student he made a deal with not too long ago standing not too far, his hands lowering themselves from the pushing him

And now he was laying on the floor in a place he didn't recognize

Moonlight filtered through the window of the room and a sleeping figure almost completely covered by a blanket was illuminated by its light and the light from the phone they were laying next to, indicating that they fell asleep whilst using it

Did he teleport to a different place? Azul still felt the burning sensation of the hard stone of the stairs hitting his body so he might have done that out of desperation...

And desperate he was when you turned over in your sleep and he could see your face

And thus, the screaming began

Imagine his surprise, no his shock after seeing the person he had admired, sought after for so long laying in front of him in their pajamas

Although, it would be better to say you did lay in your pajamas because now you were jumping up in fear for your life

But after fearing that a madman had broken into your house life with Azul was pretty nice

Azul is a pretty good cook from running Mostro Lounge so him making dinner is like going to an expensive restaurant

There is that thing about him wanting to pay you rent though…

You see, Azul is not someone who wants to leech (haha, get it?) off of someone

So he takes on "side jobs"

Nothing dangerous, of course, but I think we can all agree that Azul in ANY job position is a safety hazard

Not because he is bad at what he does but because of his, how do I describe it, manipulative (?) ways

Sooner than later, it seems more like Azul is running the place he works at instead of his boss

But when you ever were to ask him what the heck he did to change the power dynamics so much in his favour, he plays innocent so I guess one point to him (although we all know better)

Back to your more private life, he may not seem like it but Azul can be one heck of a possessive guy

He won't jump the mailman, Azul knows that there is a point where his feelings get a bit too much (huh, so he is self aware?) but if you dare to bring a friend of your over? Uh... you still have friends?

I thought a certain person living with you scared all of them away

So let's say someone is still in a friendly relationship with you, nothing romantic, just friends

Let us call that person Example 1 (say hi to Example 1, Example 1 say hi to the reader)

Azul won't mind them coming over, he won't mind cooking for them, he won't mind playing nice with Example 1 but he will mind if they decide to come more than once

That glare he will send them will make them wonder if they get to see the light of the next dawn one more time

And perhaps the merman has another side job he hasn't told you about. And maybe that job allows him to do things that make the police gag

Shout out to the crime scene cleaners. Why is there even stuff from, you know what, on the ceiling? Maybe red paint will make the stains less noticeable. Oh god renovating this place will cost a fortune

Rook Hunt: the man, the legend, the not-so-sane hunter who could (and probably would if laws weren't a thing) shoot you simply for fun

Said man, legend, absolute menace to society, is not someone who is easily scared. Heck, he can probably hear dust falling to the ground for to his trained hearing which makes sneaking up on him absolutely impossible

What he cannot hear though is the almighty power of an author who decides to put him into a different world simply for the lols

So when the floor suddenly disappears and reappears two meters lower the poor man can't help himself but to stumble rather unelegant (unlike his usual self) into the wall, searching for something to hold on to just to smash his side against it

Wall-1:0-Rook

That does not change the situation though and the more or less mad hat-wearer gets a broom flung at his head

Rook is not someone who will sit around and do nothing though

After a lot of explaining (and you standing over him with a pan in hand for self-defense) you decide that his confused and lost self is a lot less charming than his usual one and you just allow him to stay

He will bring home edible plants and freshly shot meat (and if you live a meat-free lifestyle he will simply bring a bigger amount of edible flora)

WILL (and there is no escape from it) flirt with you in French (and now all my French readers, we all feel outraged by his bad translations)

But this is Rook so, of course, you think that this is just his usual chatter

He will also help you around the house. Your home has never been cleaner (I am convinced Vil controls Pomefiore for dust with white gloves)

He is great at ironing. Those long sleeves must have been great practice material

This reminds me, there had been an incident where he had been carrying your laundry from the cleaner and you bumped into him, leading him to crash into the exact same spot against the wall once more

Since that day Rook and that wall have a burning hatred for each other (more like Rook against the wall) and due to other events it's now 5:0 for the wall

But of course, we can't just focus on the lalala dreamland stuff

Once the dog of your neighbor decided to rip some of your stuff you owned and kept on your property to pieces

Your neighbor being an annoyance decided that “No, I won't pay. You should have looked out that MY dog wouldn't do that.”

Remember that Rook enjoys hunting?

Now, your neighbor doesn't know that so when they find their “little darling” dead in front of their house they can't reconnect it to you

Two nights later they wake up in a forest of some kind, that new roommate of yours staring down at them from a tree with an amused gaze, telling them he will let them have a headstart by one minute

Long story short, they weren't seen again

The young hunter may be a bit… much but he knows when to be discreet when he needs to be

And would you look at that? You also start to get frightened, leaving your home less and less

I mean, there have been disappearances around your neighborhood but look at the bright side, now you won't feel like someone is watching you from somewhere every time leave the house

He has a notebook that is just about you. From daily occurrences and what you did to your worries to your likes, hobbies and much more

Since Rook is Rook he will snuggle against you when you sleep and I don't mean this in a manner of you two sharing beds. Oh no, he has his own little space to sleep

This creep will slip into your bed just to carefully cuddle with you for an hour once you are asleep, then it's back to his own bed

Rook's list of victims grows double as fast as the list of great experiences he has with you

But not like that matters. All of them could disappear for all he cares. All he needs is you. Just you. Nothing else. Such a simple request, right?

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nobody3xe · 7 months

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“Hello Rook! I've noticed something off in my nights at Ramshackle. Past a certain hour it seems like there are eyes on back tracking my movements. My intuition rarely falters but I need a second opinion. What would you do in the event you heard the rustling of a curtain or the snap of a branch while you were in bed. As a hunter I'd imagine your perception is out of this world. Tell me do you think this is some predator?” With [Rook Hunt]

tw: hints at stalking, manipulation

Rook turns his head towards you with a cheeky grin, no longer so fascinated with the mushrooms that a certain eel grew in the botanical gardens.

The hunter simply chuckles as if your statement was but a simple joke. “You’re way more observant than I give you credit for trickster, truly magnificent! My, it’s only becoming for someone such as yourself.” He takes your hand on his own, placing a kiss on top of it. “The gesture of kissing one’s hand has been affiliated mainly with respect since olden times. fufu… But just as words hold different meanings, gestures can convey several messages,” He then starts gently caressing your hand, careful as if he’d break you if he applied too much force. “-politenesses, courtesy, devotion, admiration…” He pauses for a moment before he suddenly gasps as he lets go of your hand, still being gentle. “My sincerest apologies mon Trickster, but I have run out of time.” He frowns before dramatically placing a hand where his heart was. “I must return to the dorm as I have matters to deal with..” Within a matter of seconds, he’s completely out of your sight. He doesn’t bother to assist you, unlike his usual self who would come running across dorms to help you with a minor task. It makes you suspicious of him, but you dare not question someone’s morals, especially if that someone has been of plenty help to you.

Although it may have been better for you to remain suspicious of him. Maybe then you would have noticed the unique magic of his, that was caste on you.

Title: Strange…

Requests are; open

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merakiui · 11 months

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11:11 — sugar dew sewn anew.

yandere!rook hunt x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, violence, murder/death of reader, description of blood/injuries, rook is rather morbid and creepy in this fic note - this fic is the result of a character fic poll, in which rook was the winner.

“You wear a very forlorn face when you paint, mon cher.”

You swivel on the stool, legs unfolding at the ankles, to properly peer past the easel at the man who sits in a gold-and-white satin chair, backdropped by various animal heads. They’re mounted with such care, each one organized according to where it lies on the food chain. They almost form a pyramid when you look at them from where you’re seated. From a dusky brown house mouse to a pitch-black crow, the heads range in species and size, all arranged on a vermillion wall.

The biggest one, sitting in the very center of the display, right above your client’s head, is a chestnut-colored buck with a pair of magnificent antlers curling from its scalp. From where Rook sits, it almost looks like those horns are sprouting from his head. Contemplating the discrepancies between man and buck, you swirl your brush through a muddy cup of water and survey the rest of the aureate placards until you reach the top.

There’s a mount lacking a head.

It was the first thing you took notice of after stepping through the halls of this quaint cabin to reach the sitting room. Although, after spending hours enclosed in cedarwood walls, it feels more like a trophy room—a place meant to showcase the spoils of every hunt rather than welcome people with disarming decorations.

Rook crosses one leg over the other and, resting his elbows upon his knee, steeples his hands. You peer at the antlers, noting the valiant curvature, before meeting his verdant stare. A grin slowly sprawls on his lips once he realizes you’ve caught his gaze.

“I concentrate on my source,” you explain with a shrug, still twirling the brush through the water. “Steady focus makes a steady hand…or something along those lines.”

“And yet you never smile, even when working so diligently to bring your masterpiece to completion.”

“If I viewed it as such, then I would have reason to smile.” Your contemptuous scowl slides to the canvas, where you’ve painted two dull green eyes set into a freckle-speckled face. The beginnings of a smile trace the portrait’s plush lips, withholding secrets no one will ever know. “I’ve yet to create a masterpiece. Therefore I can’t smile.”

“Oh, you’re much too critical of your art!” Unclasping his hands, Rook places one upon his chest, as if he must calm his heart after hearing your response. “I’ve studied your work, both through a screen and in person, and as your devout follower I can wholeheartedly say it is beautiful in every way, even down to the miniscule flaws other critics often spot with sharp, perceptive eyes!”

“You speak as if I lead a cult,” you admit with a sheepish chuckle. “I’m just painting the things I find interesting.”

“For a reason, I assume?”

“Usually it’s to find inspiration for what I hope will be my first masterpiece. I’d like to finally feel proud of my work.” The brush peruses the colorful selection on your palette, settling into the green you’ve mixed from yellow and blue. “It’s not that I’m unhappy. I just can’t find it in me to love what I produce.”

“But you enjoy creating, yes?”

“Of course. It’s what I’ve been doing for years. Painting allows me to understand the world and its inhabitants through my own lens.” You put brush to canvas in a series of small, significant strokes. “So when I’m painting… Well, I guess I just want to try to love the things I put on my canvases, even if it’s impossible.”

“Is that so? Then I’m beyond flattered you would ever consider using me as your most beloved muse!” He tilts his head, suddenly more animated than when he first sat down to pose for you, and adds, “I love you, too. Very much, my little artiste.”

“Are you just saying that so I’ll paint you handsomely?”

“Why, I would never say anything that would influence or persuade your process! Just as I love sweetly and solemnly, I also love monstrously and mercilessly. The primal facets of humankind are not exempt from my loving eyes. Even the most dirty and deceitful corners of this world—I love those just as fiercely. So should you choose to depict me as a fiend, I will adore your representation regardless of its harsh implications. After all, there’s beauty in tragedy.”

“And would that make life the greatest tragedy?” You hum as you add a sadistic glimmer to the eyes on the canvas. They pierce you with their unblinking stare, hollowing your soul until they reach unfathomable depths. “Or maybe it’s the ability to love with such a big heart?”

“Are you suggesting love is a tragedy? I suppose, in some sad sense, it is. Unrequited feelings, shattered hearts, lovers separated by way of death or divorce, and even the type of love that curdles like spoiled milk—oh, the misfortune! Each is a tragic tale spun from a mixture of melancholy or the intensity of hatred and all-consuming loneliness. But even so, no matter how horrendous it may seem, I hold each in my heart. They’re beautiful because they have the unique ability to shape a person into someone new—for better or for worse.”

You lower your arm, hesitating while the excuses rise to the surface, before turning to look at him. “I’ve never known real love, Mr. Hunt, which is why I’m trying to capture it while I paint. I suspect I’ll be able to smile at my work because it will be something I’ve fallen in love with. Only then can I consider it a true masterpiece.”

“Your way of thinking is simply très bien!” He drums his fingers along his knee, humming his contemplation. “I’d love to unscrew your skull and poke through your brain. I wonder what memories have shriveled your ability to love…”

“It’s not that it’s shriveled. It’s just…” You shrug, losing your previous statement. “The words ‘I love you’ are just that—words. I have no use for meaningless sentiments. If I force myself to love, it feels wrong. I can like people and things, but loving them is too much. I can’t cross that line. If I did, I’d be a liar.”

“Ah, so it’s like that…” Rook chuckles, but none of what you said was remotely humorous. His voice lowers to a whisper, ghostly and haunting, as if wrapping around your head and settling into the very folds of your brain. “I find it charming that you’re unable to love and I love too much. We possess many differences, and yet at the very center of it all we’re merely human beings composed of flesh and blood. It’s a beauty more stunning than the most radiant sunset!”

You pretend to have not heard him, resigning yourself to your work as you spend an absurd amount of time trying to illustrate the peculiar glaze in his eyes. They’re always so bright, but here you’ve painted them as soulless, viridescent sockets—a dark, dense forest having lost its vivid greenery with winter’s frost. But then there is not an ounce of ice within Rook’s eyes. They are always smoldering with many things: enthusiasm, intellect, new opinions just waiting to be shared regardless of whether or not you wish to hear them. It’s a genuine warmth, but something feels strange. Out of place. Much like the headless mount poised right above Rook to form the tip of the pyramid.

Why is that mount lacking a head?

Without realizing it, you’ve abandoned your task with fixing his eyes to start on the antlers poking from a head of canary-hued hair.

“You live up to your surname, sir.”

“Please, you’re much too formal with your fan. You need only call me Rook, should it suit your fancy.” He giggles when you pin him with a dubious glare. “Is it so wrong to label myself as such? I go to great lengths out of admiration and support of your work. Wouldn’t that, by definition, make me your fan?”

“I’m not very famous.”

“In my eyes, you are the famed sun and I am merely the moon who hopelessly pursues.”

“Really? Well, I wasn’t aware I had an eloquent hunter for a fan.”

“Do you find my hobby eccentric?”

“No. It’s normal to enjoy all sorts of pastimes. Hunting is as much of a hobby as it is a sustainable sport. In older times, most people would hunt for the sake of survival.”

Rook nods, his gaze flicking towards the heads on the wall. You dip your brush in brown paint to add more color to the antlers. “It takes immaculate patience to be a hunter. Most hunts are not always successful.”

“Is there a reason you hunt?”

“It’s in a human’s nature to obtain the unobtainable, and I seek beauty in its most visceral forms.”

“I see…”

“Do you?” Rook crosses his legs again, but this time his posture is stiffly statuesque. “Is obsession not the most flattering form of dedication?”

“It’s not exactly how I’d go about defining dedication… But then I suppose everyone has their reasons.” You steal a peek at the headless mount. “Do these heads mean anything to you?”

“Why, of course! They are the beautiful animals I have pierced with my arrow, whether or not I intended to. Often, when you trek through the territory of beasts, you might need to release a mortally wounded animal from its suffering.”

“So a mercy kill.” Your eyes return to the painting, where you set to work adding tiny blossoms along the curved antlers. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

“So goes the cycle of life, I’m afraid. I would be a daring fool to interfere with the balance of the world.”

“Have you ever lost any of your hunts?”

Rook hums, tapping out a rhythm against the top of his hand. The pads of his fingers fall in rapid succession: tick, tick, tick, tick. “As a matter of fact, I have! Just last week, after your departure, I lost the mouse I’ve been trying to catch for years now.”

“Years? Shouldn’t you give up?”

“Not until I feel that mouse’s heart beat within my enclosed fist.” He smiles wide, flashing flawless rows of pearly whites. Under the dim lighting, they appear sharp and predatory. “I suspect I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“How can you be sure? Mice are difficult to catch with bare hands. You’ll need a trap.”

“Mon cher, you wound me! I would never make such an amateur error.” He chuckles to himself, relishing in the cruelty of a joke that doesn’t quite land. “When I set my sights on something, it’s a guarantee I will catch it, even if I must play a dreadful waiting game.”

“My apologies. I was only passing on a helpful tip.”

You pull away from the canvas to inspect the strands of white dahlias curled around the man’s antlers. Frowning, you raise your arm, intending to slash through the portrait with a streak of black paint, when it occurs to you that you need only add red.

But before carmine, you return to nature reflected in wide greens.

“Has my dear artiste ever hunted before?”

“No, not really. I seek inspiration all the time, but I wouldn’t call that a hunt.”

“Oh? Please elaborate.”

“There are stakes in a hunt. Life and death. Danger. A battle of wits between predator and prey. Looking for inspiration is just a matter of searching and exploring. It might lead some down scary paths, but for me it’s a matter of reading more books or taking a stroll through the town. I don’t like dangerous things, so I tend to avoid them.”

“It pays to be cautious, no?”

“Right. Shouldn’t you be the same, Rook? As a hunter, don’t you worry about what might happen if you aren’t careful?”

“Of course there are worries! That comes with every profession and hobby.” He gestures to the plastic tarps plastered to the floor and walls. “You worried you’d sully my floors, and to ease such a fear I put these protective plastics up. My worries for hunting may be different, but they are worries all the same.”

“I guess that’s true… Well, what do you worry about?”

“Whether I’ll be fast enough to catch my prey when they’re unarmed and unaware.”

“O-Oh… That’s a little…”

Rook laughs a guttural laugh—a sound that comes right from the depths of his chest. “Imagine something you’ve always wanted. Picture it slipping through your fingers, just out of your reach, and now you’ve lost the chance to seize it. Is that not worth a worry or two?”

“I can’t say. I’ve never tried to chase after things I knew I wouldn’t be able to have.”

“Mon cher, you must learn to take risks. How else will you live?”

“I live perfectly fine without the need to step out of my comfort zone.”

Rook hums. “I think you’d change your tune if you found yourself in a risky situation.”

“Define risky.”

“Life and death.”

You pause, your brush poised at the pupil in his eye. “Everyone wants to survive. It’s in our nature as animals. A very basic instinct.”

“And despite our most dedicated efforts to stall the inevitable, death catches us all—some sooner than most.”

“This is getting kinda…morbid.”

“Haven’t you wondered,” he asks, and you don’t hear the wood creak under approaching feet, “what someone might do if they found your corpse?”

He’s behind you. Five steps away in this cubic space. The man with antlers has crawled out of the canvas that once confined him, and he’s behind you.

The mount on the wall lacks a head.

The man in the chair lacks antlers.

The creature in the portrait lacks humanity.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a voice recorder tucked away beneath the chair.

You swallow thickly, your heart in your throat. “I… I’m not sure. I’d hope they’d give me a proper, respectful burial if I died of natural causes.”

And if it wasn’t natural causes?

You don’t hear him verbalize the question, but somehow you catch it amidst the smothering silence.

“If it wasn’t natural causes…” You force a laugh, but it’s flat and misplaced just like the headless mount. “That would be murder, right?”

His shadow looms behind you, cast ominously dark over the earthly colored canvas. Slowly, so slowly, your free hand lowers to the pocket in your artist’s apron, where a dozen palette knives rest. Trembling fingers peruse the selection, locating the one with the sharpest point, and it’s the heaviest burden you’ve ever secured in your fist. You remain sitting horribly still on the stool, listening only to the frantic, slick sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Steeling your frayed nerves, you whirl just as he descends.

There’s a pause, a stumbled heartbeat, and then raw fear coagulates into confusion when you find him sitting primly in his chair, his verdant stare striking through you as if it’s an arrow he’s just loosed. It hits its mark, for it leaves you pinned in perplexity.

He was behind me.

“And… And what about you?” you ask, your tongue heavy and thick in your mouth. “If someone… If I found your corpse, what would you want me to do with it?”

He was behind me. I’m sure of it.

“That wouldn’t happen.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile, and he angles his head curiously. “Normally it’s the other way around.”

You see it, then. The silver glint of a sharpened meat cleaver. It lies in his lap, where his fingers curl around the wooden handle, and all while holding eye contact he continues to smile. His teeth are refined cutlery in the light: artfully honed, yet not quite serrated, they’re tough enough to bite and tear and chew. Like a deer trapped in the hauntingly hypnotic glow of oncoming headlights, you don’t dare move. Perspiration wets your brow, slides down your back between your shoulder blades. You lick your lips. Anticipation claws through your intestines, nestling in the very pit of your stomach. Bile creeps its way up your throat like acidic fingers.

What’s happening?

“Come now, ma souris, don’t give me such a sullen face! I’ve shown you my hand. Isn’t that a miracle more beautiful than life itself?”

Your hold on the little palette knife tightens. “One person’s going to leave this room,” you say, your eyes sliding to the recording device, “and it’s not going to be me. Isn’t that right, Rook?”

“I can’t possibly say,” he affirms, dulcet and smooth like rivers of blood running ruby-red from a broken nose. His finger drums a rhythm against the flat side of the cleaver. “But I can certainly guess.”

Carefully, you rise from the stool. His eyes track you, so full of the vitality of the color green. More than that, they’re bright with bloodlust and you’ve been caught in the crosshairs of his cutting gaze. He peers at your unfinished painting and chuckles.

“Even your interpretation of me is beautiful! It’s an honor to be your fan, ma souris. Truly, I’m quite happy.”

You brandish the palette knife as if that will do anything to protect you from him. He stands from his seat, a monster adorned in gloomy garb. Like a stain against the red wall of heads, he no longer fits into the picture you once thought he did. Rather, he is blight in human form, a sinister omen housed within a skeleton encased in friendly skin.

And he’s walking right towards you, putting one foot in front of the other, in no hurry to rush. The cleaver taps against his hip as he approaches, each bump mirroring every one of your heartbeats with startling accuracy.

“Are… Are you unhappy with my portrayal?” you ask, not particularly interested in his reply, but desperate to keep him talking at arm’s length.

For every step he takes, you take two backwards.

“Not at all! In fact, I’m flattered.” Rook narrows his eyes at you, sickly entertained. “You’ve made prey out of a predator. Not many are capable of such a generous feat.”

Your back connects with the door. Swallowing thickly, you search for the door knob. “Do you really see yourself as one? You don’t have to be one. Y-You can be neither. You’re only human.”

“Ah, but humans are the worst kind of predator.”

“What makes you say that?” Your fingers wrap around the metal door knob.

“Humans are afforded choices. We think through decisions. We make merry with our enemies and then hurt them after they’ve properly settled. We are complex in a way that differs from other animals. Predators are bound by survival, always trapped in high-stakes life or death, unable to truly make a decision that ventures beyond whether they wish to live another day or become sustenance for those who sit a rung above on the food chain. You see, we are not simple predators.” He raises the cleaver and points it at you. “As for humans, we can decide if we want to feel something when we hurt and kill. We can communicate in languages simple predators can’t use. Oh, the beauty of words!” He chuckles, elated. “To pluck a phrase from my vast lexicon: I’m going to take your life for myself, ma souris. Stow it within the depths of my very soul so that I may be the only one to treasure your rarity.”

The confession guts you quicker than his knife ever could.

Wrenching the door open, you turn on your heel and step through, ready to break into a sprint, when heavy footfalls make their way towards you from behind. He covers the meager distance in seconds, wrapping a muscled arm around your torso and yanking you back into the room. You scream, words and sounds mixing into something incoherent, and elbow him in the ribs with as much force as you can muster. He releases you and you, fueled with panic and adrenaline, drop to your knees just as he swings, your hand closing around the palette knife you had previously lost.

Somehow you manage to get back on your feet when he descends again, this time intentionally missing your shoulder when he brings the cleaver down. It cuts through the sliver of space between empty air and your own body, narrowly missing you by a hair. You throw yourself against the wall, entangled in a plastic tarp that comes loose from its hooks. They fall around you in noisy pitter-patters, something akin to metallic rainfall, and you hit the floor with a harsh thump.

And all the while, the mounts continue to peer at you with glass eyes.

“There’s no need to fall over yourself in a frantic haste. You’ll waste all of your energy, and even then adrenaline won’t be enough to fuel you. I’ll catch you if you aren’t careful…” He smiles at you from where he stands, green eyes cold with calculation. “Let’s take a moment to chat, shall we? I’d like to regale you with the five stages of the delightful thing known as prey drive. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

“No, of course not,” you spit, vitriol lacing every syllable. Your pupils flit about the room, tracing the cleaver in his hand and then flickering towards the chair. The recording device sits in shadow, just within your reach. If you can stand up, take two steps forward, and drop down when he moves to intercept, you might be able to retrieve it. “Enlighten me since you seem so eager to run your mouth.”

Rook chuckles and enunciates his every step with a whistle. He reaches the chair in three steps and kicks the recording device out from under it. You watch it skid across the floor towards you, settling mere inches from your feet. You glance at it; it’s still recording, seconds stapled into it with every tick of your heart.

“A dog searches.” His back is turned to you, and he gazes at the mounts on the wall. You lower just enough to swipe the device from the ground. It’s not heavy in your palm; rather, it’s palm-sized and it slips into your pocket like a silent knife through butter. “And when it finds, it stalks. Have you caught the pattern yet?”

His neck is right there. All you need to do is rush up to him, grab him from behind, and drive the palette knife so far into the side of his neck that it’ll surely cause some sort of distress. Or you could turn and run. You have evidence. You have his address. You have your car. You can escape. You can drive far away from this horrifying cabin in the woods and never return. You can live.

You can run.

“And from there…”

So you do.

He whirls just as you dart through the door, over the threshold into the hall, and you miss the crazed twinkle reflected in wild, untamed green eyes. Rook’s laughter follows you, airy and light like a comforting breeze. He’s alive with murderous delight, and you’re nearly dead with fright.

“Ensues the chase!” he calls out, so close in the cramped confines of the hall that his voice nearly grazes you.

You swallow your sobs, pressing onwards with hardened resolve, and follow the length of the hall until it spits you out into another room. It’s undeniably a kitchen, what with the refrigerator and microwave pushed into a corner, but it’s furnished more like a lab. Nearly every appliance is metallic and the floors are tiled, constructed with surfaces that are perfect for washing away pesky fluids. A drain is built into the very center of the floor, sticking out like the nastiest bruise. You spy meat hooks hanging in place of where spatulas and whisks ought to be—both of which are innocent culinary tools meant to assist in food preparation rather than something killer.

Spinning on your feet, you locate the door opposite of where you stand in the small kitchen-lab and take a momentous step towards it, hoping it leads you closer to an exit and further from your hunter, when a cold hand seizes your wrist, spidery digits curling into your skin. A shrill scream rips from the depths of your throat, surely shredding your vocal chords into bloody ribbons. You struggle, yanking your arm in vain, for his hold is impossibly strong. He tugs you towards him, his feet moving in time with the shuffling of yours. It’s a stiff stalemate of a waltz. You pull away and he pursues, his hand creeping up your arm in an attempt to pin it to the nearest surface. With another helpless shriek, you tear yourself free, staggering backwards against the metal table, which rolls further away on well-oiled wheels. Your horrified reflection blinks back at you in the shine, and with a sunken heart you realize it’s a dissection table.

“Mon cher, I must say, you wear disarray so naturally. It’s far too forbidden for my simple eyes to behold.”

“Why… Why are you doing this?” Your voice is thick with terror, sore from screaming, and you wipe furiously at your glossy eyes. “Please stop… You’ve had your fun. Now… Now let me go. I… I promise I won’t come back here again. Y-You can keep all of the supplies and the canvas. Just let me go…”

A secretive smile stretches slowly across his lips. “Oh, how Fortuna graces me with the benevolent opportunity to admire these special sides of yours. To be able to witness the rawness of pure horror after cornering the most dangerous animal of all…” He pricks his finger on the tip of the blade and adds in a breathy whisper, “Beauté.”

A disgusted shiver claws its way up your spine. You glare at him. “So it’s the thrill you enjoy, yeah? It doesn’t faze you that you’re going to kill an innocent person?!”

He tilts his head. “Rather than snuffing your light, I intend to give new life to your excellence. In many ways, aren’t I also an artist?”

“Like hell! You’re crazy!” You take a step back when he advances, moving towards you like a graceful panther stalking its prey. Your grip on the palette knife tightens. “What did I ever do to you to deserve this?”

“Nothing, mon amour.”

“N-Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing!” he reaffirms, rather conversationally, and the frustration-riddled tension in your body deflates all at once.

“But… But I thought—” You shake your head, hopelessly searching for a means of convincing him otherwise in his pursuit, and say, “I thought you… You said you loved me! Can you really hurt someone you love?”

Rook hesitates, his feet shuffling to a halt, and he peers blankly at you, all emotions veiled in a stoic mask. “While it’s true that I will always cherish you in life, I must also come to love you in death. If I’m unable to accept even the rotting and decaying sides of everlasting love that most shy away from, then I’m simply undeserving of my title as a hunter. If I seek the wonders of life, it’s only fair I seek the wonders of death all the same. You understand, don’t you?”

“No! In what world would I ever understand that logic?!” You point the palette knife at him. “You don’t have to kill me. You really don’t have to…”

“I suppose, if I’m to apologize for anything, I should ask that you forgive my greedy behavior. I’m hopelessly infatuated with your work, so allow me to thank you for all that you have shown me tonight. I promise to repay your tenderness tenfold.”

He smiles, stepping aside to allow you passage through the door, and foolishly you take the bait. It’s a run through tar—something you’d only ever experience in a dream, in which outrunning a villain is an impossible task. You make it through the door and out into the hall, and from there your only goal is to mindlessly flee towards safety. Tears obscure your vision, clinging to your lashes like fragile sugar dew.

You think you see the outline of a faraway door, but perhaps it’s just the illusion brought on by mournful tears.

You think you’ll make it to freedom, but perhaps it’s just the animalistic desire to survive that ignites your nerves.

You think you can escape the horrors of encroaching affection, but it slips into your hand, tight and reassuring.

Tugged into the kitchen-lab, your back collides with Rook’s chest. His grip is bone-crushing, and you don’t hear anything he’s saying—is he humming or waxing poetry?—but you feel the warmth of spreading blood as it soaks through your shirt and stains your artist’s apron. The palette knife slips from your grasp, landing on the floor with a noisy clatter. You peer down at your abdomen, where the cleaver is snugly nestled in your stomach.

The cleaver.

It’s in your stomach.

He’s stabbed you.

The cleaver.

It’s in your stomach.

It doesn’t hurt. Not at first. The shock snuffs the agony. He twists it gingerly, once or twice, before he yanks it out. Sticky strings of torn flesh and blood cling to the blade, connecting it to the injury he’s inflicted. Then you feel the rush of torturous, agonizing pain, and it stings more than anything you've ever experienced before. Red-hot, thick trails of blood trickle through your fingers when you shakily place your hand upon the wound, hoping to stop the flow. Rook clicks his tongue and guides you towards the dissection table, your feet dragging bonelessly upon the floor as you’re led along. You try to fight him, but everything’s so painful, and so all you can manage is a slight shake of the shoulders. Your world spins, and your mind reels as it struggles to process the dangerous gash.

“After the chase,” he says, lowering you onto the table despite your blubbery protests, “the dog grabs its prey in a sharp-toothed bite and then it kills.”

“S-Stop… You…” Your fingers curl into shredded skin, and you press down with as much strength as your shuddering body can muster. Blood continues to seep through the cracks between your fingers. “You… You’ll kill me…”

“Well, that’s the point, no?” Rook pets your cheek, fondness glittering in his green eyes.

You peer up at him through bleary eyes, reaching for his face with a trembling hand. “Please… I’m begging you… It h-hurts… Please…” A helpless sob wracks through your frail form. “Please, Rook…”

For a while—whether an eternity or merely a few seconds, it’s hard to discern—he watches you fade in and out of consciousness, your groans a haunting melody in the discomforting quiet. Eventually, his hand finds yours on the table, limp and twitching, and envelops it in a firm hold.

Blissfully ignorant to your wheezing gasps, he begins to murmur: “‘Out—out are the lights—out all. And, over each quivering form, the curtain, a funeral pall, comes down with the rush of a storm. While the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm that the play is the tragedy, ‘Man.’” He looms over you like a ghastly shadow, lips arranged in a gleeful grin. “‘And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.’”

The time is 11:11 at night when you finally fall into Death’s frigid embrace, never to wake again.

11:11 - the mystical time at which the universe tugs celestial cotton from its ears and listens to wishes and woes alike. it is not a promise that all wishes will be granted and all woes will be soothed at this hour.

The time is 11:11 in the morning, and sweet, twittering birdsong flutters into the trophy room through a window left ajar.

The sun has long since risen, casting radiant beams through the thinning slices between the trees. Rook Hunt hums as he works, deft fingers perusing various cosmetics arranged on a metal tray. Eyeshadow is applied to delicate, paper-thin eyelids, each one pinned open in the permanence of preservation. Glass marbles are set into hollow sockets, colored in memory of the eyes that were once attached to a brain via optic nerves. He matches foundation to the skin tone, which works well to hide meticulous stitching and mottled flesh. He’s humming in tune with the birds, the nearby rushing stream, and the swaying foliage caught up in a wind gust, relishing in nature’s symphony.

“You claimed you’d finally smile after you’ve learned to love,” Rook observes, petting the top of the head, feeling human hair beneath his rough, calloused palm. “And now you beam brighter than the sun outside! Perhaps it’s because of me? You’ve always been so honest with your heart. It’s a facet I most adore.”

His gaze slides towards the unfinished painting propped against the wall, where an antlered man smiles at his viewer, his green eyes filled with a mysterious forest.

“Have you always thought me to be prey?” Rook pauses, awaiting an answer, and snatches a lipstick from the selection. “Or maybe this is an artist’s ideal vision… Perhaps it’s a fantasy you’ve wished to see or a place you’ve always wanted to visit. Escapism is most magnificent when it’s comforting.” He opens the lipstick and surveys the color with his observant greens. He inhales deeply and catches notes of the cedarwood cabin walls and the floral perfume he spritzed on his dear artiste. “Though it may not be your masterpiece, it’s one that will forever fascinate.”

Red blooms on dry lips that can no longer scream or protest. He cups a cheek stuffed with the finest wood wool, palming an area that was once bruised and broken. The grisly mark has been painted over, and now it is out of sight and, as far as the hunter is concerned, out of mind. As the saying goes, before one can broach beauty, one must suffer some degree of destruction.

Rook steps down from the ladder and sets the tray of cosmetics on the gold-and-white satin chair. He lifts his hands, fingers forming the borders of a rectangle to frame you in his own portrait. At long last, the headless mount has its head and the pyramid of trophies is complete. There’s a crooked smile sewn into features expertly stitched to finalize beguiling taxidermy.

With a covert grin, Rook peers through his fingers at your head situated at the very tip of a tragic triangle.

“After all, prey are the prettiest when they’re dyed scarlet.”

#if i said jade's version of this concept was far more lighthearted would anyone believe me?#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere rook #yandere rook x reader #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: violence

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zippidi-dooda · 28 days

Text

Checkmate

This isn't what you had expected to happen.

"Mmm, who would've thunk I'd be able to wake up besides you. Every morning." Rook smiled.

Pulling himself flush against you, he buried his face against your bare shoulder. You let out a soft sigh as he pressed a soft kiss to your sensitive skin.

"Goodmorning, love." You murmured.

"Hehehe, and to hear your sweet voice. Magnifique doesn't even begin to describe it."

He took a hold of your chin with a large, warm hand. A hand that you had learned could do so much. That you had gotten so used to, in fact, that you couldn't even remember the last time it made you flinch.

You pressed a hand over his as you felt his soft lips press against yours. "Goodmorning to you too, my love."

His smile reached his sparkling, green eyes as he gazed at you. He really couldn't have been more happy it seemed.

"Daddy!"

"You said we'd hunt today!"

"Wake up!"

Rook chuckled as your daughters' voices rang from downstairs.

"Oui! I'll be down in a minute, mon oisillons!"

"Hurry!"

"They have your persistence, mon trickster." Rook said returning his attention to you.

"And your tendency to wake up early. Go, best not keep them waiting."

He hummed and leaned his head against your chest, reveling at the sound of your heartbeat that he'd, long ago, memorized the pattern to.

"Patience is vital for all hunters. Teaching them that now will do them some good." He ran his hand slowly down your side to rub against your swollen belly. "How's the little one doing?"

"Fine." You said, absentmindedly running your fingers through his blond locks. "Claude was more fussy than this one. Than all of them really."

"How interesting. Perhaps this one will be more calm once they're born. I wonder which of us the next ones will take after."

You stayed silent, eyes fixed upon the ceiling.

"Try to relax today, my love. We'll be back home before you know it."

"I know."

"... is everything alright, Y/N?"

You closed your eyes and gave a trained smile towards him. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Trying to maintain the peace, for you and your children's sake.

Rook mirrored your expression and pulled you in for a kiss.

It didn't take long for you to reciprocate, slinking your arms around his neck and tilting your head to kiss him deeper.

Soon after, needing to pull away, he rested his forehead against yours and rubbed his thumb against your cheek.

Then, in a soft voice, barely above a whisper, you heard his familiar praise, "Je t'adore, ma chérie."

Such an endearing phrase. Spoken in a language wholly romantic. It was heart fluttering.

That's what you always tried to convince yourself.

All you could ever do in response was smile back just as fondly.

"Dad!"

The door slammed against the wooden wall of the cabin as your daughters, Paige, Elise, and Belle, barged in.

Paige stomped over to your bed, blond hair bouncing with each step, and clambered on top of Rook. The other two peeked their heads into the room, clinging to either side of the doorframe.

The man laughed, flipping onto his back to face Paige. His head rested against your chest as his large hands grasped Paige's waist and he lifted her up into the air, effectively turning her frown upside down.

"Goodmorning, chou! I was just about to get up."

"Hehe." Paige tried to stifle her giggles so she could be mad at Rook once more, her green eyes narrowing. "Ahem, I mean, no you weren't."

"Of course I was! Wasn't I, Y/N?"

You nodded and stretched your hand out to the girls at the door, beckoning them to get closer.

They gave each other a glance with their green eyes before bounding to your side. They kissed the back of your hand 'Goodmorning,' a gesture they had seen Rook do to you thousands of times and had decided to mimic.

"Then why aren't you even dressed yet?"

"Oops! I'm afraid you caught me. Well, now why don't you and your sisters go wait for me downstairs again so I can really get ready for our hunt?"

With a newfound eagerness, Paige nodded then scrambled off the bed, running to the door. She staggered a bit before turning back to kiss you and her father goodmorning.

Rook chuckled as she left and lifted up the remaining two of the triplets onto the bed.

You hugged the blanket close to your bare body as it fell onto Rook's lap.

He ruffled the hair of Elise and Belle simultaneously as he greeted them for the day too.

"Are you two sure you want to come along?" He asked.

Elise shook her head and threw her arms tightly around Rook's waist. "No, but I want to stay with you Daddy."

"I want to stay home." Belle chimed, placing both her hands over her father's atop her head. "Claude said he'd teach me how to chop the firewood."

"How to chop it? Merveilleux! Your brother is an expert with a blade, I'm glad to see he's willing to show you the ropes. Perhaps one day you will be able to teach him a new trick, yes?"

Belle smiled and nodded her head eagerly.

"Well then, you can go play downstairs until he arises from his deep slumber. And like a wilde bobcat on the cusp of its attack, be silent so you don't wake your baby brother."

The girl nodded and headed towards the door, pausing at the doorframe. "Dad? Can we teach the baby to cut wood too?"

You cast a glance towards Rook from the corner of your eye and even though it was brief, he caught it.

"I'm afraid he's a little to young for that."

"Aw, but we can help him hold it."

"Non non, we mustn't be so eager to see him grow up, mon lapin. Just be patient."

Belle sighed and muttered a dejected, "Okay, dad," before slumping out downstairs.

Rook turned his attention back to Elise. "As for you, mon poussin, you're more than welcome to tag along with me and your sister even if you don't wish to partake in the chase."

"Really?"

"Oui!"

Elise squealed and hugged him tighter. "Thank you, Dad! You're the best!"

"Merci! Run along now, I need to get ready."

"Yes, Dad. See you later, Mom." She made sure to give you a hug before disappearing downstairs like everyone else.

Rook stood up and began to reach for his clothes in the drawers. You kept your eyes trained on him as he moved.

He moved in such a way you could never conprehend what he was going to do next. That had long since ceased to frighten you.

Of course, he didn't miss you stare. Even though he wasn't looking at you.

"What's troubling you, my love?" He inquired a second time.

"Nothing." You smiled.

You threw your legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward to get up.

Only to immediately get gently pushed back onto the bed by Rook's hands. You hadn't heard him move at all, yet he knew exactly what you were planning on doing the moment heard first heard the blanket rustle.

"Lay down, love. Everything you need will be taken care of, our Claude is a capable young man after all. All thanks to you."

"Our son shouldn't need to be doing my chores on top of his own. Besides, I need to put clothes on.

Rook raised your knuckles to his lips and kissed them softly. "Having you pampered and taken care of has always been ideal. Even more so now for your sake and our baby's. Don't you agree."

You simply kept your eyes locked with his.

"Let me dress you from here," He smiled grew squinty as he drawled on. "It's such a delight to cover you again after stripping you bare like a skinned deer being prepped for curing."

Gaze shifting downwards, you nodded along.

"Give me one moment then." He pressed a feather light kiss to the top of your head before returning to the drawer and dressing himself.

Your eyes scanned over his pale skin, frowning as you saw the red and scared scratches littering his back.

There were wounds from close calls from protecting your children while out hunting.

And wounds from you, from the times he'd held his lofty frame above yours, sweating and panting as he made himself as close to you as he could so you were almost one, smiling as he professed his love for you and demonstrated it passionately.

As you held your head back, eyes closed as you felt tears fall, clawing at him in desperation. It was the only time you could try and hurt him, to hope he'd understand the underlying message and feel a grain of the pain he'd been causing you from the moment he'd first started following you.

But, of course, he never took it that way.

Simply, smiling wider as you tore at his skin, praising you for loving him so.

For why would you try to hurt the one person you had in life?

Now clothed, Rook knelt in front of you, analytic eyes, that had never ceased their days of stalking you from afar, admiring your body.

He took his time dressing you, hands unwilling to leave your skin for even a moment. With each layer he put on you, he kissed you tenderly as his eyes locked with yours.

"There isn't a thing I could say to tell you how lovely you look, my darling." Rook sat between your thighs, a hand pressed against your belly.

His smile grew softer as he felt the familiar kick from the baby inside you.

"You truly are amazing, ma chérie."

You smiled and dragged a finger under his chin, tilting his head up to you.

"Thank you for your sweet words, love. What would I do without you?"

Be able to smile truthfully, be free as a bird as you were before.

"You're too kind," Rook stood and cupped your cheeks to give you another kiss. "We'll be back safe by supper time, I promise."

"I know."

"I'm going to miss you so dearly, mon trickster." He said hugging you tightly. "I wish I could take you along, but alas, this is the safest option. Do take a rest, Claude knows how to handle everything in this house so just ask him for help. And if something comes along to try and hurt any of you, I made sure to teach him how to handle all things thoroughly."

"I know."

Rook knelt down on one knee, gaze fixed on yours as he took hold if your hand. "I'll be back before you know it, my lady."

He kissed the back of your palm before rubbing his cheek against your hand.

"Stay safe, my love."

"Of course!" He then pressed a kiss to your belly. "Your father will be back soon, little loir."

You followed him downstairs to see him and your daughters off for the day.

They smiled, bouncing around happily as they slung their handcrafted bows and quivers over their small backs, satchel of food and water hanging by their sides.

With their gear and blond hair, smiles of pure excitement, and green eyes twinkling with delight, they looked just like their father.

He noticed it and couldn't have possibly been more happy. He simply had to have a picture of this moment.

So, you picked up his old camera and took it for them. Their smiles grew as they clung to his side, cheeks pressed against his.

That camera had captured the most obscene and private moments many a time. It felt strange not being the focus of it. Making use of it to picture the man who made an obsession of it.

Rook thanked you with a kiss, tucking the picture away in his breast pocket and with that, they were finally off.

You stood there, waving at them by the front door until they dissapeared from sight past the dense forest surrounding your lone cabin. And your smile began to falter, hand held aloft as your eyes scanned the green surrounding you.

It wouldn't take much to run in the other direction.

"Mom?"

"... yes, sweetie?" You answered, slowing turning back to the log cabin.

"I'm hungry. Can I wake Claude up now?"

You closed the door behind you as you focused on Belle.

"Sweetie, I'm right here. I can cook for you."

She fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "I know, but Dad said I should let you rest and to ask Claude for anything."

You frowned and glanced back at the door. "...Well, Claude needs his rest too. Just come to me until he wakes up, okay."

She nodded and sat down on the carpet in the living room, rummaging through her bag of wooden toys that Rook and Claude had crafted.

You took to the kitchen and searched for something to make.

"And what are you craving?" You murmured, hand rubbing your belly.

There was no response of course, but after a bit of looking and sniffing you found something the baby wanted.

It made your nose scrunch, and you recoiled from reaching out to grab it.

Had you not be pregnant, the way your mouth almost drooled at the thought of consuming the raw flesh of a lost cow freshly caught would've made you sick to your stomach.

Having Rook as your chef for so long had strange effects it seemed as steak tartare had not once appealed to you till now.

Instead, you reached for the garlic paste you normal had cravings for.

It appeased the baby. But only just.

You grabbed a few vegetables and seasonings before turning to the cutting board.

Slowly, meticulously, you began to slice perfectly round pieces of carrots and potatoes and such.

You hummed softly, eyes trained on your daughter not so far away.

She giggled as she played with her toys, arranging them in a way you couldn't yet determine what she planned to do next. She assembled a team of sorts and proudly declared for them to go this way and that, having each stand guard in various corners of the room, facing the center where a lone boar figure stood beside a smaller one.

After a while, she got quiet, simply holding onto her dolls, watching the figures in the center along with the dolls.

You watched her curiously.

Had she zoned out?

"Ah! Mother, put that down, you're going to hurt yourself."

Your son's voice, startled you. You hadn't noticed when he came downstairs.

Claude was your oldest, about to be sixteen next month. Very mature for his age, but he took on a lot of Rook's mannerisms.

Too many.

They all did.

He looked the most like you out of all his siblings, 'cept for his eyes. The piercing green seemed to be a domineering trait in this household.

It felt like you could never escape his gaze.

He held your youngest in his arms, but quickly handed him to you, taking the knife in exchange.

"Here, let me handle that."

"I can do it just fine." You argued.

"I know, I know. But I'd like to do it. Breakfast would have been done by now, but I woke up late. Don't worry mother, I'll take it from here."

The baby gurgled, tugging on your shirt.

You wiped the drool bubbling from his mouth.

"Is there anything else you'd like, mother? A tea or coffee perhaps?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure? It'd be no trouble. Oh, and I've already fed that little rascal for you. It shouldn't be long 'fore he's ready for a nap."

You shook your head and returned to looking at Belle, bouncing the baby gently.

She still hadn't moved.

"Claude? What would you like for your birthday?"

"Oh, you really don't have to get me anything, mother. I am becoming a young man, I can do without presents."

You gave him a look. "Oh, c'mon. Everyone wants presents. I just wish I could get you a real one."

"What are you talking about?"

"What sort of cake do you want?"

Claude looked at you for a moment, eyes squinting at you.

He put the vegetables on the stove then continued to make the main part of the dish.

"Any one is fine, we both know my sisters will end up eating the most."

You hummed and returned your attention to Belle, stroking your baby's hair to lull him asleep.

You frowned as you watched her stillness come to an end and she had her dolls jump in to attack the boars.

Effects of her hunting trips no doubt.

Learning by example was dangerous.

Your son cooed and the stove sizzled for a while before Claude finished cooking and began to shuffle.

"Um ... mother of mine? Can I... can I tell you something? I'd tell Father, but you know how he can be. He'd probably start asking for so many details and try to come with me and that's a bit embarrassing, y'know."

You moved to set the baby down in his crib next to the couch then sat down at the counter in front of Claude.

"What's wrong?"

His cheeks had the blooms of roses in them and he averted his gaze to the food.

"Nothing! Sorry. Nothing's wrong, it's just I ... well, you know how father tells us the story of how you met?"

You felt uneasy.

Most sayings aren't wholly true. But some are hard to refute.

Pursing your lips, you asked him to continue.

"Well, it's not just your story. It's in the story books he reads us too. About meeting someone who is perfect for you. Love at first sight."

"... what do you mean?"

Claude finally turned, looking up at you from under his lashes, eyes wide with apprehension but expression wholly serious.

"I .. I think I'm in love, mom."

Your heart sped up at his words.

Had this been a normal situation, you would have jumped with excitement, urging him to tell you all about his crush.

But this wasn't a normal situation.

"With who?"

You lived in the woods.

"Oh, this girl I met out hunting,"

Too far from any civilization.

"So, she's a hunter?"

No one went to town for anything.

"No."

There was no need to.

"... then how did you meet her?"

Not with someone as capable as Rook around.

"O-oh, well, ehe, I haven't formally met her yet."

At this point, Claude looked away again, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

"Then ... why do you say you're in love?"

He brightened up at once, taking your hands in his and looked at you with such a lovestruck expression as you had never seen on him before.

But on him? One too many times.

"I just know it! She's got these eyes that just ... ahh ... and this this hair, wow... and her smile ... ah, I can barely contain myself! Mom, I understand how you and Dad must feel everyday. Gosh, all I can think about is how much I want to know more about her and wake up by her side everyday and be the reason to make her smile! And I left her a present last time, and guess what? She took it! She doesn't know it's from me though, I thought it'd be more romantic to let her think of me as a secret admirer. That way, the time we meet in person will be so much more exciting. Oh! I keep a box of all the little trinkets she forgets about and I took so many pictures of her, just so I can see her when we're apart. I'll go get it, wait here!"

As Claude bounded up the stairs, eager to finally let out his secret of who knows how long, you began to panic.

This situation was all too familiar. Eerily so.

"Here, look! This is her. Isn't she gorgeous. This is her doing her night care routine in her bathroom. This is her clipping her toenails, she seems to have trouble with this, weird angles and all. That's why I'll do it for her when we're married. This is her reading on her porch. This is her playing with her cat, she smiles so wide when he purrs, it's adorable. I'll get her to smile that much for me one day. And this is her when ...."

Your breathing grew shakier and your face paled as you looked at his album.

The pictures were at odd angles, the girl in question not once facing the camera, seemingly oblivious of it's existence. In the box were the random trinkets discussed about: gum wrappers, post-its, chewed pencils, used band-aids, unpaired socks, ponytails of cut hair, and other long forgotten belongings

All things you remembered seeing in Rook's room long ago that belonged to various people.

Overwhelmed, you couldn't help hiding your face in your hands and sobbing softly, cursing your luck that your poor son had gotten to such a point.

The apple rarely falls far from the tree.

"Mom? Mother, are you okay?" Claude said, quickly forgetting his things and holding you cautiously.

You hiccuped and forced yourself to smile behind your tears. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm...."

In attempts to reasussure him, you lied through your teeth and gripped his hand as hard as you could.

"... I'm ... happy for you ...."

Claude beamed and wiped your tears with his sleeve.

"Aw, thanks, mother. I knew you'd understand! Don't cry, you'll be able to meet her one day. And then, when we're married I'll always be sure to visit you all, okay."

You nodded, feeling nothing but regret for the poor girl he'd unfortunately set his heart on and guilt for the fact that you had done nothing to prevent the habits he'd been forming as he grew with his father as his shining role model.

"Claude? Why's mom crying?" Belle asked, now distracted from her toys.

"Oh, it's happy tears, Belle. Here, why don't you go out and look for some good firewood out in the shed. I'll be out in a minute."

"Oh! Yay!" Belle jumped and ran out the door.

Claude kissed your head gently and rubbed your back before promising to come in soon and going after his sister.

You sat the counter for a moment, catching your breath and drying your tears.

How on earth were you to teach him that his actions were wrong when you could do nothing to explain why Rook did it?

You looked at your son in his crib with a frown.

Would he turn out like him too?

Your heart ached at the thought.

Your eyes then trailed towards the window, watching the two who had just left.

They were so happy, so ignorant to the truth between you and the man you continued to call "your love."

You wished you had told them sooner. But they were too young. You didn't want to take away from them the happy life you had once lived.

These little beings looked up to the man who trapped you with him.

And now, they always would.

It was far too late to convince them their father wasn't the saint they believed him to be.

You stood and looked around.

Photos of your growing family plastered the walls, countless crafts littered the fridge door and handmade gifts cluttered the shelves.

All around you, green eyes watched your every movement.

How could you find love or comfort in that shade green any longer?

That green that followed you inside and out ....

You looked out the window on the back door.

Green surrounded you out there too. But a different shade, a different kind altogether.

You trudged forward.

The grass so vast, stretching for miles beneath the suffocating trees which concealed both you and that lovely shade of green from everyone else.

Your hand twisted open the door.

No one was that way. Not your sons or daughters. Not Rook.

You glaned over your shoulder at the baby, sleeping blissfully unaware of everything, content to just be warm in his crib.

...

Elise. Belle. Paige. Claude.

They were already all so independent. They could survive on their own if they really needed to. In fact, you were the most helpless person in this family. Not a one of them liked to worry your pretty little head over anything.

Must be difficult for them, right?

Having to dote on a mother who is only allowed to do things that require little though and strain.

... it'd be better if you left ... right?

You took a step on the grass, such a beautiful color.

They could care for each other without needing to care for you on top of that. They already took care of their baby brother.

You closed the door behind you, then, another step.

Rook could care for them. He's raised them more than you have already. It wouldn't be much of a change.

And another.

They were all too much like him now to change. It'd get worse as they grew. If you left by their maturing age then it'd only be that much easier for them to help Rook catch you.

And another.

Sevens know that they'd do anything for their father.

Faster and faster.

Or worse. Rook would trap you with another baby for each of your children that matured and got ready to live on their own. An endless cycle of waiting.

This may be your only chance to escape.

Yes, now was the time.

Run!

And run you did.

You ran and ran, fast as your feet and aching back would let you. You held onto your belly, a smile getting wider as you got further away.

You had to hold back an excited, relieved laugh. This was it. You'd be that bird free from the cage again. And by your own hand too.

Quickly, you grew tired, the need to vomit becoming more apparent.

But you didn't care.

You kept running.

You had to.

Freedom was finally within reach!

...

Until it wasn't.

You let out a scream, falling back on the pretty grass to avoid bumping into the giant brown bear growling in front of you.

It stood on it's hind legs, towering above you. It's teeth were bared, long, black claws gleaming with a deadly threat, beady eyes shining with agitation.

It growled loudly and looked at you for a second before charging forward to rip you to shreds.

You shifted to protect your belly from being slashed first, eyes screwing shut.

If this was your form of freedom ... well ... maybe ... maybe it wasn't so bad.

Thunk!

The bear let out an agonized yowl before collapsing to the floor heavily.

You made no move, just listening to the bear's dying breath until you could hear it no more.

...

You heard nothing else.

Nothing at all.

But you knew that didn't meant anyhing. It was too late. Your window of opportunity had now been shut forever.

You were afraid to open your eyes.

...

Slowly, you did.

And found yourself staring at a pair of tan boots in front of you.

Your gaze inched upwards, heartbeat slowing from its frantic beating and the sound of static began to fill your ears.

Rook stood above you, bow in hand, green eyes looking down at you expressionless. A look you had never once expected to see on him. Not a trace of a smile crossed his face, his eyes devoid of emotion.

It was as if he already knew what you were going to do before you knew it yourself.

Oh, what you would do to see his ominous smile once more instead of this look of disappointment.

You brought yourself to your feet and trudged over to hug him with shaky arms.

He held you gently, but still his expression did not change.

You thanked him then turned to face the bear, entwining your hand with his. Soon, your expressions matched.

Oh, poor Y/N,

Rook made easy work of the bear. And then, he turned to you, that easy-going smile back on his face.

Poor, sweet Y/N,

He took your hand in his.

Don't you know?

He raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

The rook is the second best piece on the chess board.

He said something.

As long as he's in play,

"Je t'adore, ma chérie!"

Your chances of winning are lowered.

Then, lugging the bear's corpse behind, you walked hand in hand back to your house, making the most of this shared time together.

You'd long ago been put into check, now it was,

His queen was cornered.

Checkmate.

#twisted wonderland #twst #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #yandere rook #ma chérie #also on Quotev

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dark-side-blog3 · 11 months

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Oh? 👀

OH? 👀

Oh you KNOW the hold this is going to have on me

I mean Rook is quite the romantic but oh this is good, oh the obsession I am about to have.

When the character who’s openly a romantic to the point of delusion and always has something nice to say about everyone despite clearly being a scheming creep who doesn’t value others privacy and actively goes out of his way to violate it if he is particularly taken by someone’s beauty (Like Vil, Leona, Malleus especially, although he does have some unsettling fascination with all beast men and those who posses positions of power like housewardens) and THAT character says anyone who fights for love is beautiful?

Do you know what this man is going to think about himself fighting with others so long as it’s in the name of love?

Do you know what Rook might think if you fight him? So long as it is for love, does it matter what side of the battle you are on?

Even if he doesn’t think you fighting him is romantic because you’re not fighting on the side of love, he will find it alluring for other reasons. Rook gets excited baiting Malleus and Leona into fighting him; Of course he would be excited if you started fighting him.

But he would still romanticize himself for fighting with you on the side of love.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere rook #yandere rook hunt

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married-to-google-translater · 1 year

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Yandere Rook Hunt fluffy headcanon

Well, there would be a lot of romance in this relationship.

Even if it is not necessarily accepted by the other.

Rook has still Google Translate in his brain.

It turns all your objections and insults into declarations of love.

It also changes the language to French.

Because of this, Rook may sometimes forget that you may not understand French.

Rook would give you lots of sweet and lovely gifts.

Of course this could be wonderful...

But usually gifts suddenly appear in your room when you are somewhere else or when you are sleeping.

Rook also gives you love letters.

The shortest love letter you have received from him is five pages long.

Yes, Rook had used both sides of the paper.

Rook loves to kiss your hand every time you meet.

And you meet very often.

It's like Rook is always following you from the shadows, knowing where you are.

*cough cough*

Hugs are also a thing.

This happens after the abduction.

Because you probably won't willingly agree to hug Rook.

Kisses are also common.

Usually with language.

Since Rook doesn't let you get close to people, PDA isn't a thing.

Love is blind and indeed deaf.

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strawberrymilk-sunshine · 1 year

Note

Halloween ask even though Halloween ended. Imagine Vil being someone important for the vampire such as a king or something like that and he fell in love with a human! So he send Rook to capture them, buy obviously reader fight back and Rook has no other choice but to break both of their legs. While going back to Vil, Rook realize something, it's not fair that Vil will be the only one to enjoy this beautiful human so Rook decides to convince Vil to share reader ><

YES YES YES I CAN ABSOLUTELY DO THAT

(sadly, this didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it... sorry if it disappoints you)

Warning(s): kidnapping, you get both your legs broken, they're both yandere but moreso Rook

"Rook, come here... I need something." Vil was feeling very conflicted recently.

There's a town near the mansion in the forest. Vil sometimes walks through the town to scope out potential... sacrifices. With an umbrella in his hand, he'll walk through the town, searching for beautiful humans to drain the blood of once night falls. Beauty is wasted on humans, before long they'll decay... it's almost cruel to give them such beauty.

Though, one day, as he was searching for humans to drain, one bumped into him. They apologized immediately, multiple times... and Vil saw their face, it was... beautiful, almost in an ethereal way, almost as if they were a vampire, but they were clearly walking in the daylight, unharmed.

"Oui? Whatever could you need, Vil?" Rook asked, bowing before Vil.

"I met a human a while ago- (Y/N), I believe their name was. I want you to bring them to me."

"If you allow me to, may I ask why?"

"...I've fallen in love with them."

Someone knocked on your door.

You didn't want to stop reading your book, but you're a... shall we say, polite person. You reluctantly put your book down, and walked to the door.

The man standing there... he was wearing a floral pattern suit, a black hat with a black feather, and a cape... his hair was short and blonde, and his eyes were a bright green.

"Greetings, ma chéri. May I come in?" He asked.

"What? N-no! Who are you?" You asked, not wanting to let a complete stranger in your home.

"Ah, of course, my apologies for not introducing myself to you... my name is Rook Hunt, and I have some... important business to speak to you about~"

"...what kind of business...?" You cautiously asked.

"May I come inside?"

"I already said no! Just tell me what's going on here!" You demanded.

"Goodness, such defensiveness!" Rook looked surprised. "I assure you there's no reason to be frightened, chéri! As I said, I simply wish to talk with you, is that so much to ask?"

"W-we can talk like this." You told him. "You don't have to come inside."

"In that case, perhaps you would like to come outside." Rook suggested. You shook your head to tell him 'no way am I doing that'. "Ah... well, I suppose it is what it i-" Rook stopped for a moment. "Is that a ring?"

"Hm? Oh! Um, yes, it is." You said, looking at the ring on your finger.

"May I see the ring closer?"

"Oh, sure." You said, not seeing any harm in it.

Rook grabbed your hand, closely examining the blood-red ruby gemstone that adorned it.

And then he pulled you outside.

"You see, my dear, he has quite the liking to you as of late." Rook explained. "He personally asked me to bring you to him."

You immediately knew something was wrong, so you tried to get away, but Rook's grip on you was... inhuman.

"My my, what's wrong?" He asked. "You have no reason to be scared. In fact, you should be delighted! Vil Schoenheit, prince of vampires, has fallen in love with a human such as yourself! You should feel lucky..."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Vampires?! No, that can't be true! Your town has many legends of them, and people do disappear under mysterious circumstances often, but... vampires can't be real...! Right?

"Ah, poor human, dazed, confused, not understanding their situation..." Rook lamented. "You struggle, even though a being higher than yourself has fallen in love with you... I wish I could understand the mind of a human..."

Rook tried to drag you away. He tried to bring you to what is certainly your death. You fought back despite the fact that you knew he was much stronger than you, you tried to get away from him, you tried to survive.

"Quelle bêtise..." Rook sighed. "Why do you continue resisting?" He pushed you to the ground and grabbed your legs. "Believe me, I would much rather not use violence, but... I suppose it is necessary..."

The pain was almost unbearable.

Both of your legs were broken, Rook was dragging you along with him as if he didn't even care about the pain you were in.

He had a tight grip on your ankle, you were lying on the ground as he pulled you along. You felt every bump in the ground, every tiny stick, every little seed, bugs were for sure biting you, what an awful night.

Your legs smelled of blood.

Rook found it increasingly hard to ignore. No vampire could truly ignore the scent of blood, no matter how strong their willpower is... so every now and again, Rook would look back at you to remind himself that this human was for Vil and Vil alone.

But eventually... he saw something in you. He realized you were exactly as beautiful as Vil had said. You were an enigmatically beautiful human...

It's unfair that Vil gets to have you all to himself.

"Vil, I have brought you your human." Rook bowed. "They are in the guest room. Unfortunately, they resisted quite a lot, and I regrettably had to break both of their legs. I'm very sorry."

"Well... I suppose the important part is that they're here now." Vil said. "You said they're in the guest room? I'm going to go see them."

"Ah! Before you do, may I suggest something?"

"...what is it?" Vil asked, glaring at Rook.

"Perhaps we can share the human?" Rook said. "While bringing them here to you, I realized that I felt the same way about them as you described." He explained. "A feeling I can only describe as love."

"And your solution is to... share them?" Vil asked.

"Yes. It's better than the alternative of them being oh so horribly lonely all day when you have important businesses to attend to, isn't it? And wouldn't it be better to have them be watched over every day? If not, then they could attempt escape! Though, I'm not sure why they would... they should realize they're in quite the lucky position!"

"I guess I'll take you up on your offer. I know if I don't you'll just keep whining about it..."

With a pair of broken legs, you were completely at their mercy. Whatever they do to you, you'll just have to bare with it.

Whatever they choose to do to you, you can't do anything about it.

You're theirs, now and forever.

#vil schoenheit #rook hunt #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #yandere #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #yandere rook hunt #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere vil schoenheit x reader #yandere rook x reader #yandere vil x reader #yandere rook #yandere vil

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deceitful-darlings · 10 months

Note

Pardon my intrusion! I'm not certain as to whether or not this counts as a request, but I was wondering which twst yanderes would be chillest with an Aroace darling. Idk, I just see an unfortunate lack of content for that sexuality and your content tends to be particularly enjoyable. (alfhlhsd can you tell I'm new to this Anon thing? Hope this was done properly)

Yup, this is a request, and that’s totally ok!

And as for which would be chill with an aroace darling...well, it depends what you define as chill. Naturally, all could potentially be platonic yanderes, but if we’re looking at non-platonic I would say:

Professor Trein

Lilia

Trey

Kalim

And possibly Rook and Silver

These characters can easily slip in to a more caretaker role for their darlings, even without the platonic aspect. Trein and Lilia are both old enough that they aren’t going to be too fussed about the sexual or romantic aspect of the relationship. Kalim is kinda a dunce, so for him he could have to possibility to just treat the relationship as if it were a deeper friendship, Silver is just... Silver. I don’t think he’d care too much as long as you were just there. Rook and Trey are kind of the ‘they may just about be able to keep their dicks in their pants but don’t hold your breath about it’ gang.

#yandere #yandere male #anon asks #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere silver #yandere mozus trein #yandere trein #yandere trey #yandere rook #yandere lilia #yandere kalim #yandere trey clover #yandere rook hunt #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere kalim al asim

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yan-lorkai · 4 months

Text

｡⁠*ﾟ Who would poison you and why

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Jade Leech: It's not that his intention is to poison you. It's more a matter of you being too innocent and trusting him too much, eating the mushrooms directly from his hand. You don't even notice the sinister smile that adorns his face. But don't worry, this menace of a eel here will take great care of you as he rubs comforting circles on your back and watches your reactions, watching as you slowly gaps and suffocate, trembling in his arms, your shiny eyes asking for help.

"Shush, darling, this will pass soon." He murmurs quietly, as if it were something common. Drinking in your fear as if he wasn't even worried at all if you lived or died, though there's all an antidote in his pocket.

⠀⠀

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Vil Schoenheit: You misbehaved, so to speak. That's it. Vil isn't inherently controlling with you, since you're his beloved and he trust you enough to know that you wouldn't do nothing dangerous or that he would deemed as stupid. You thought though that doing parkour when you clearly don't know how to was a good idea. You don't even know how hard his poor heart was pounding when he saw your elaborated and badly executed jumps, one bad landing and you could break your legs or worse. So now you're laying in his bed, sleeping sedated with his powerful poison till he give you an antidote. For now, you're staying where he can see you. Later, when he is more calm, he's going to talk with you about what you did.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Rook Hunt: This one here actually depends. If you tried to run away he would shoot you and all his arrows are soaked in paralizing venom so his prey can't escape from him. Aside from that, he could be trying to build your immunity against poison, feeding you a little everyday, each time growing a little till you're drinking poison like it's soda.

⠀

Barbatos: He does because you're trying to do something dangerous or you're trying to leave him, either way you can't leave if you can't move, if you don't know where you are. Barbatos made a special place specially for you, a dimension only he can come and go as he please and the best part is that nobody else can enter it. Nobody hears you, nobody sees you. Maybe if you were a good human things could be different.

Satan: It was an accident. He was trying to poison Lucifer, but you just had to go and sip from Lucifer's cup! Who even does this? It's almost as if you indirectly wants to kiss Lucifer! Oh gods, he doesn't even wants to think about this. And now here you are, struggling to breath like you're a fish out of the water, quickly he cast a spell on you to make sure you're ok. But now that his prank is over you have to make it up to him somehow!

⠀

Sebastian: Everything was planned down to the smallest detail. He would poison you till you're fragile and sick, so bedridden and dependent that you couldn't even had strength to lift one finger, then he would come to you to propose that you make a pact with him. But also to blame your cooks, your maids, and all those who were supposed to take care of you, all those people are healthy while day after day you get worse.

"They're poisoning you darling", he says. And you believe him, because it is the only correct conclusion to have.

Only he can make you feel better, only at his side you're healthy and well, and he takes you with him when the pact is made, away from everything you knew. And now that he has you, he won't let you go, for you are his to have and love, you're his mate.

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 11 days

Note

Yandere Dorm leaders(plus jamil) with a fem hunter of Artemis reader, basically reader had however many years ago prior to ending up in twisted wonderland had sworn herself to Artemis and became a hunter of Artemis, Reader is good at hunting, archery, fighting etc, she's also immortal and can only die in battle and oh yeah Reader had sworn to never make romantic relations with men as Artemis is goddess of virginity and had sworn off men herself and has all her hunters do the same since 'men are just distractions'.

If you're not currently taking requests you can just ignore this

Artemis Hunter Fem Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

In Greek mythology the goddess Artemis stood for the pure maiden, the respectful hunt with archery, and childbirth. Back in your world, you are the closest thing to a child for the goddess. A nymph devotee blessed with her power and foresight. Where you are now is considered the belly of the beast surrounded by men who want nothing more than to have you. So the battle for your chastity and independence vs their determination and power begins:

Idia Shroud

“Ah!”

“This is not a time to be crying Idia, you’re the one who challenged me!”

“To a battle match IN GAME! I can’t compete with you on a physical level!”

“Too bad!”

It’s truly a match of brawns and brains according to Idia

Him with his constantly evolving technology to chase away contenders

And you with your physical aptitude to avoid and cleverness falter any obstacle he throws in your way

He falls in love through his screen

Witnessing your sweetness through Ortho

And your heroics through cameras he’s placed around

Is it so bad he wants to drag the hero to the underworld

He can’t decide if he wants to drag you to depravity or to fuel your image of a hero

So he settles to one day trap you

Maybe then he’ll decide

Jamil Viper

“I’ve been warned about snakes such as you!”

“And what was said?”

“That you’re not nearly as much fun to hunt!”

He often finds himself feeling the need to antagonize you

To engage in a ‘hunt’ with you

It’s not a physical one

More so mental

It’s an unspoken game between you two

And he’s not willing to back down

But neither are you

He absolutely adores playing basketball with you

Seeing the sweet create a shiny sheen over your body

It makes him excited

You’ll weirdly feel sympathy for him

Something about being bound against his will

Cruelly reminds of the poor animals poached

He comes to realize this

And he plans to use this to win

Rook Hunt

“You’re skill is far better than mine.”

“Don’t fret I’ve been blessed by Artemis. I may not have magic but I do have my bow.”

“That you do...”

“So…would you like a head start?”

Of course there's only two things can happen when two hunters meet

hunt the same prey

Or Hunt one another

Since Artemis prides herself on hunting within reason and not persecuting the weak

You decide to do the latter

After all from the beginning he’s decided to hunt for the one thing Artemis absolutely asks that you protect

So it’s only natural that there will be sparks whenever you to decide to release your arrows

While in archery you might outclass him

it’s easy to forget

He’s familiar with the terrain, with the presence of magic

He’s got just enough to properly consider a threat

But he’s so determined and so sneaky its a wonder if you’ll realize it in time

He hopes not

But at the same time he knows the hunt is about to conclude when the doe knows to run

So on second thought he hopes you do

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ceruleancattail · 4 months

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*climbs up from the pits of flaming torturous despair*

HELLO GOOD FELLOW, MAY I HUMBLY REQUEST SOME YANDERE ROOK HUNT PLEASE??? PERHAPS “A HUNT” PER SE, THAT COULD BE AN INTERESTING CONCEPT!!! AU REVOIR!!!

*sinks back down*

Cruel

Yandere Rook x reader

Tw: yandere, suffocation, mentions of vomit and gore

You could feel the grime right under your nails.

Little pieces of dirt and soil jutting deep into the tender skin of your fingertips, staining them a dark, deep earthy brown. They ached, a dull sensation that gnawed away at your very soul.

The pain sank its fangs into your palm, all those little fragments cutting deep as you clawed at the ground. Digging your hands deep into the earth, forcing yourself forward inch by inch. Crawling across the ground like some pitiable insect, ready to be trampled underfoot by some unaware foot.

In hindsight, you would have been better off that way. If only you were insignificant enough to be crushed, unnoticeable to the masses. Feeble enough to be ignored by him.

Unfortunately, you’ve managed to catch the eye of a rather skilled hunter. For all you run, you’ll never truly escape him. Rook’s rather proud of his eyesight, after all.

It’ll be a shame if the word got out about his prey escaping his grasp.

The rustling of foliage. The unmistakable crunch of dried leaves, crushed underfoot. Spitting out a curse, you ceased all movement. Rook was more than capable of moving silently through the woods.

Him making noise was a taunt, directed towards you. A smug, accursed way of announcing that the hunt was over.

He won.

Gulping back the nausea lapping at the back of your throat, you froze on the spot. Forcing your limbs to go limp, flopping pathetically onto the ground. Fighting the urge to shiver, steeling your veins.

Desperately wishing for your heart to slow, that deafening pounding drowning out every coherent thought in your mind. All there were was grabbled instincts howling away, demanding to be heard.

“I’m scared.” “It hurts.” “Get me out of here.”

“Oh, ma beauté! Just how wonderful you look!”

At the sound of that ever so familiar chirp, all you thought of was:

“Run.”

It took all your willpower not to scramble onto your feet in a last-ditch attempt to flee the scene. Instead, your teeth sunk deep into the flesh of your lips, letting a sickeningly sweet metallic taste drip onto your tongue.

Stay. Still.

“You gave me quite the chase for that one! I was almost afraid I lost you for good, ma cherie.”

His voice was coated with concern, every single letter dripping into your ears with a hiss. Rook’s voice was acidic, corroding every crevice of your ears. For all the wonderful pet names he comes up with for you, that’s all they are.

Empty, meaningless names for a mere pet. A creature to care for, a creature to control.

Even without looking up, you could picture Rook’s patronising smirk with crystal clarity in your mind. The way it leans onto the side, twitching with amusement… it made you sick.

You could feel the leather of his gloves on your skin, trailing upwards the length of your body. Two fingers slipped right beside your throat, pressing gingerly against its side. Measuring your pulse.

Rook taps lightly against your neck, humming to himself softly.

“You’re still breathing, mon bien-aimé. Why do you not speak?”

A weight pressed against the nape of your neck, his fingers digging a little more firmly into the flesh of your throat, pressing onto it with just a little more force. Not enough to totally cut off your breathing, but enough to make your lungs burn, collapsing into themselves. Your breaths grow so much more frantic, so much more desperate as you pant, desperate for air.

Your fingers reach for his own, clawing at them like some feral beast. Yet even with all your strength, the most you could do was to blindly bat at his hands. Your vision blurred, your surroundings swarmed by black splotchy dots, determined to mare your vision.

Something warm flowed from your lips, the putrid smell flooding your nostrils. Your own spittle, mixing with the heavy, stiffening stench of freshly upturned dirt.

In the midst of all your suffering, you could vaguely hear Rook’s chuckle. Light and airy, as if you two were having a casual chat at some cafe instead of him strangling you.

“How does that feel, chérie? It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Rook doesn’t even bother waiting for you to answer, before he continues.

“That’s how I feel, when you ignore me like that. It hurts, so very much. Like a someone has driven a stake into my heart, and left the rust to fester.

Don’t you think that’s so cruel?”

Laughing to himself, Rook finally loosens his hold. Leaving you to collapse onto the ground, chest heaving heavily. Your lungs scramble, gathering up as much air as your windpipe would allow, to replace all the oxygen squeezed out by Rook’s own two cruel hands.

“Ah, you’re lucky you’ve enchanted me, darling. I do spoil you terribly much.”

Taking a knee, Rook lowers himself to your eye level. Raising his hand towards his lips, teeth gingerly biting down on the very edge of his glove. A pause, before he pulls it off in one fluid motion.

His bare hand reaches for your chin, tilting it upwards as gently as he could.

“Now, what do we say when someone’s nice to you?”

His nails dig into your flesh. A silent warning.

Speak.

Choking back a sob, you stutter:

“T… thank you. Thank you… Rook.”

Upon hearing you speak, Rook beams.

“There we go, Ma Cherie! See, was that so hard?”

You shake your head slowly, tears brimming at the corner of your eyes. If Rook notices, he doesn’t let on. He chatters away about how hard the chase was this time, and how lucky you were to have someone like him as a boyfriend. There are hardly any noble souls left in this world that appreciate a good hunt.

He clutches at your hands, forcing his fingers to intertwine with yours. Your dirt-covered hands, throbbing a raw red. Rook speaks, muttering in a feverish, almost frantic tone.

“You and I? We were made for each other.

So by all means, mon bien-aimé. Run. Run as far as you can.

I’ll always find you.”

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writingforatwistedworld · 1 year

Text

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsession, stalking, murder, violence, threats, obsessive behavior, religion, possessive behavior

Rook Hunt/Silver-Voicelines about you, the Overseer

What is your impression of the Overseer?

“Perfection absolue! There is no being within our nor any other world capable of coming close to their everlasting beauty! There is no one that culd deny their everblooming kindness, their neverending gracefullness! I do believe though that they are despite all of that a kind and gentle soul, their gaze never clouded by pride. Comme c'est humble! If there was ever a moment anyone ever dared to question them I shall hunt them down as the Overseers relyable hunter!”

The view of your homeland, what is your opinion on that?

“Absolument horrible! How disgracefull! To only see them as a symbol for equality, something they always preach but never really inact, is an insult! The Overseer is someone who is not only absolutely perfect on the outside but also harbours knowledge of different worlds! How could they be something as simple as a symbol? A mere symbol!”

What would you do if you were ever to meet them?

“Prove my neverending loyalty and gratitude, their gaze simply gracing me for a split second is already kindness enough for me! The dear Overseer is someone whom we should all respect on the highest level so no hardships shall stand in our way as beings of this world to prove that we are most enamoured with them. Although, I probably would not be able to go hunting again. After all, someone needs to look after them. I would like to take over that part. Alone.”

What is your impression of the Overseer?

“Fa-Lilia has told me that they are a most kind individual, their grace alone allowing us to live in such a calm and beautiful world by guiding the great seven. Thus I am most thankful for them nurturing this world until now. Whenever I hear about the stories how they guided those that shaped our world into what it is today I feel blessed. What an honor to be born in the world of such an kind God. Unbelieveable that there were once people who wanted to get rid of them and claim their throne for themselves.”

The view of your homeland, what is your opinion on that?

“I am most proud with the way my home treats the Overseer. The Isle of Woes is known to also see them as a God but I am not sure how exactly. However, I would say that they are the only ones who get at least somewhat close to our standarts. Other pllaces are known for thinking that our way of thinking is too radical, too extreme. I have to digress though. The Overseer is someone who deserves the absolute most of our respect and devotion. I hope you will understand my view one day. After all, if you were to go up against them I would not hesitate to strike you down.

What would you do if you were ever to meet them?

I highly doubt that I would even be awake when we first meet. They would probably walk through a hallway whilst I fell asleep. Once I would be able to greet them however, I would ensure their absolute safety. Lilia has told me that there might be still some that bear ill will towards them. As such, I see it as my responsebility to keep them safe. Do tell me, what is your opinion on them? Huh? You want to know why I ask? My father told me to be always vigilant, even if the person in front of me seems safe. Who knows, maybe you are one of the weeds I need to get rid of.

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merakiui · 1 year

Note

Ahhh, I'm so excited when I write this… >\\\\< I would really like to get a flower bouquet for Rook from the miscellaneous menu, as well as red bean mochi and banana pudding from the midnight menu. Oh, and if possible, a female reader. Thank you very much for creating such an event! >\\\\<

yandere!rook hunt x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, kidnapping, captivity, restraints, rook being rook (keep this man away from the mirror store) note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

There were a plethora of sinister omens that foretold an inevitable danger, looming and lurking like an unshakable shadow. Sudden camera clicks and flashes in your peripheral, sweets and flower arrangements left at your doorstep or in your mailbox, an absurd amount of typed love letters pasted to your door, footsteps trailing you at night—only to vanish when you turned around in search of the one responsible. You reported each morbid affection, yet nothing could be done to help you. Though it was clearly evidence of a stalker, the police argued that this individual had not yet broken into your home or attempted to hurt you. These gifts, though insistent and a breach of your comfort, were harmless. The most the authorities could do was offer suggestions so that you could keep yourself safe: lock your doors, shut your windows, notify trusted friends or family members of your location, don’t walk alone, carry a self-defense tool like pepper spray, an alarm, or a whistle, stay within crowds, et cetera.

You had managed to convince yourself that this situation wasn’t so bad. It could be worse. But then wasn’t it already terrible enough? Weren’t you already terrified of leaving your house to run simple errands that were mere minutes from your neighborhood? And all of this because some person believed themselves entitled to your privacy.

Madness reached new heights when a pristine, leather-bound diary found itself snuggled within your mail like a maggot boring into flesh. You knew it was going to be bad the minute you opened it and leafed through its pages, but you weren’t expecting to be overwhelmed with so much rotten disgust and horror the more you read on. Every entry began with a date, the weather, and a description of what you had been wearing that day. Most entries were mild and almost innocently romantic if you could ignore the context, simply detailing how much this person adored you and how you were always out of reach. But not for long because, according to them, they would soon have you.

Other entries were not nearly as sweet. There was filth of all kinds strewn throughout—promises and vows inscribed within, each telling you of all the things your stalker wished to do to you. They wrote of the dreams they had of you—dreams in which the both of you were together forever and that there would be no need to fret over life’s daily inconveniences because your stalker would take care of everything. You weren’t sure if they truly loved you as they claimed in their flowery, poetic prose because you would turn a few pages and find depraved lust scrawled throughout.

One page had been written in blood. In fact, it was the final page in the journal. A single ominous line had been shakily streaked in crimson that had since dried: Wait for me, mon amour.

Like hell you were going to wait.

You had received the diary yesterday, and you had intended to deliver it as soon the police station opened its doors that following morning. This was a huge piece of evidence. Now you had handwriting samples that could be used for comparisons! Perhaps you’d finally be able to end this nightmare.

Your shadow caught up to you in the early hours of dawn, overtaking you completely, and you were swallowed whole.

Which now brings you to the present, where you wake clad in just your bra and panties, gagged, and bound against a metal pole—you think you’re in someone’s basement—and mirrors of all shapes and sizes surround you, showcasing your frightened expression from different angles. Beyond that, photographs are pasted to stone walls and strung up on clotheslines. You can't see most of them because of the poor lighting, but deep in your heart you know you’re the subject of each picture.

If you could vomit, you would. But you swallow the the urge to do so, not very partial to the idea of acidic bile soaking into the cloth that’s tied around your head and stuffed into your mouth. Instead, you struggle against your bindings with the hope that you might be able to break free.

A door opens from above. You halt your frantic movements and crane your neck towards the staircase, where a figure descends slowly, one careful step at a time, and your heart leaps into your throat. You can’t see them in the darkness, but you know they’re in the room with you, watching from where they stand like a predator observing prey.

Gloved fingers curl around one of the mirrors—a dated chunk of carved mahogany on wheels—and then brilliant eyes peek through the sliver of space, so vividly green you find yourself looking into a forest with no end in sight. You inhale a series of panicked breaths, pressing yourself against the metal pole as if you intend to sink into it, but it does nothing to soothe your electrified nerves.

“Aah, mon amour, there is beauty in patience, yet it is the heart-wrenching pain of separation that leaves me yearning so...” The person—you now know it’s a man from his deep intonation—steps past the circle of mirrors into the light, bathed in sickly hues of pale yellow, and he presses his hand to his forehead, emulating a dramatic pose of woe. “In the months leading up to this precious moment, I had caught myself wishing the most grotesque things! But what is true love if not the grotesque and the glorious all at once?”

He kneels down to your height and you jerk away so fast that your head knocks into the pole. The man smiles at you, perfectly white teeth aligned and set into a perfectly pale face. He’s handsome, but in this crisp light he is a portrait of the most devilish fiend. His hand cups your face, holding it so fondly, and he eyes you with nothing but the purest admiration.

“I had thought that, if I couldn’t wait just one more month, I’d find a way to crawl inside you so that I may make a home within your lungs, listen to the melodies your heart would sing for me, and breathe the very blood that rushes through your veins. I had thought, foolishly so, that that might fulfill my desire to have you. But alas! Even in death, as beautiful as you would most certainly be, I would be left without your voice, your life, your little heartbeats... And those are treasures I would never dream of forsaking just to quell impatient urges. Therefore, I waited for you, ma chérie. Waited until you were ready.”

You know you’re crying when he swipes your tears away with his thumb, cooing at you as if you’re a particularly lonesome child in need of attention. But what else can you do in this moment? You’re trapped, and he’s won.

The man rises to his feet and spreads his arms to gesture at the many mirrors that surround you in one fluid sweeping motion. “And to think you would call such perfect anatomy flawed! You are beautiful in every way, at every angle, down to the cellular level. These mirrors display the truth you cannot yet see, mon amour.”

You’ve never known insanity before, but you’re almost certain you’re staring him in the face. And he looks right back, ill with infatuation.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere rook #yandere rook x reader #lunar love hotel 2023

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