Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Gristol Malik Nick Johnsmith (Plat. Scen. - "The Last Carriage Out of Grulovia")

TW: Unresolved Trauma, Famine, Body Decomposition, Invasion of Privacy, Mobs, Drowning, Violence, Blood, Death, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. - One of my favourite stories I've ever written.

The tweets of songbirds were muffled by the thick glass of the expansive windows allowing the red light of dawn to pour into the halls of the royal palace. Many portraits of Gzar Theodore Malik and his family hung on the walls in place of other art, each one a splash of dark and gloomy colours that portrayed little happiness in their blank stares. Maids worked on their knees to scrub the floorboards and rugs before royal boots stepped on them, and butlers walked up and down the corridors with fresh trays of breakfast still steaming.

"Great Gzar, if I may be allowed to rest." Theodore turned back and gazed at you through squinted eyes, drawing his hand to his chest as if even considering the request was shameful. The crown, which sat upon his skull as if moulded to it, was a hill of red larger than he was wide that spiralled into the arms of various candles and dangling jewels. It looked like a chandelier that should have been hanging from wires on the ceiling, and the question of how his neck supported it was one you often pondered.

The creak of a door opening resounded from down the hall. The thwacks of boots on the floorboards evolved into the soft thuds of heels on the rug, and a pair of hands seized your own with an impatient tug. "I require more caviar!" A youthful and spirited voice erupted at your side, brimming with a confidence that demanded attention. Gristol Malik sported an indifferent if not slightly annoyed look as he neglected to acknowledge his father or the previous conversation.

As the Gzar hummed in amusement and started to walk away, you leaned over and bent your knees slightly to lessen the strain of resisting the boy. "There are many servants in the palace."

His father took confident strides in the opposite direction when Gristol tightened his hold on you and pulled once again. "I wish for you to retrieve it. As your prince, I command it!"

The high-pitched barks of Spotty yipped and squeaked in a distant room, and the noise grew louder with the opening of a nearby door. Gzarina Rokel Malik entered the hall in a series of controlled steps as if she planned each one before taking it, her hands clasped in front of her waist and her head angled towards the ceiling. The frill of her rose-pink dress and bejewelled crown as they shook in a smooth rhythm caught the eye of Gristol.

Taking a long moment to study the interaction between you and her son, Rokel mustered a posh smile and stood straighter with a quiet inhale. "Gristol, isn't it time for your horseback riding lessons?"

* * *

The common land of Grulovia was populated with shacks, dilapidated homes that had succumbed to the erosion of time and were barely livable, and a few too many citizens clad in rags. Their clothes had become oversized due to a lack of full stomachs most nights, and they devoted much of their remaining energy to carving and painting signs that begged for change. Gristol may as well have been in a world of his own as he trotted along a dirt road on his pony, never looking at the people his father claimed to serve until a large rock landed in his path.

It was as if a blockage in his ears had been cleared, for as the prince watched the stone tear a line in the dirt, the buzz in the back of his head swelled to thundering footsteps and howls of anger. On the horizon was a mob of fire, metal, and the silhouettes of peasants charging forward. In the hands of the mob were pitchforks and torches, the flames waving back and forth with a furious intensity and casting an uncomfortable heat upon the boy.