Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Alternate Gabriel (Platonic Scenario - "The Judgement of Satan") (Mandela Cata.)

TW: Body Horror, Reality Warping, Christianity, Heresy/False Prophet, Near-Societal Collapse, Home Invasion, Vandalism, Apocalyptic Setting, Implied Aphasia, Violence, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. - A true tragedy.

The walls of the bedroom were lined with missing person posters, most of them children. They ranged from decades ago to hours ago, and you wondered how many of them would be able to see adulthood. These already bleak images were cast in the darkness of a room with no lights, which made the faces appear faded or even monstrous.

The glare of the streetlight outside the window illuminated a paper on the desk. Previous drafts had been crumpled and dumped in the trash bin next to the desk until it overflowed, and the handwriting of the latest attempt was scarcely better than a toddler scribbling with a crayon.

Bowing your head over the desk, you rested your hands on the crown of your skull. A slow sigh blew past your lips as the ache of nights spent peeking out of shutters and checking locks rather than sleeping drilled into your brain like knives poking your temple. The tiredness poisoning you was not the kind that climbing under the sheets would solve, for it did not allow you to be calm enough for sleep.

There was always a reason to avoid the bed in the corner of the room, no matter how trivial or similar it was to another reason that you had debunked or, in your exhausted state, forgotten. The ceiling fan squeaked on its hinges as it tried and failed to spin on loose bolts and limited electricity. Empty cans and takeout boxes littered the desk and floor, and it would not have been a surprise to learn that the waste had attracted a healthy population of bugs.

The stink of going several days without showering was thick in the air, not that it registered with your nose anymore. The quick thumps of your heart produced an uncomfortable heat that contrasted with the cold sweat threatening to build on your face. Your eyes stung from not blinking within the last minute or two, but succumbing to the urge only poured another layer of fatigue onto your shoulders.

After lifting your head away from the fruitless attempt to write, you recoiled and nearly toppled over in the chair at the long face hanging upside down in front of yours. It bore a generous smile that resembled a grotesque scowl at this angle. Shaggy hair fell along the sides of its elongated head, which stretched to the length of your forearm and contained a ghostly lack of pigment.

With the teeth of a horse but the facial structure of a human, the proportions of its skull and orifices were all mismatched in a pale imitation of humanity. Looking into its black and white eyes filled your stomach with unbearable nausea, and your innards roiled as if set aflame. The dizziness threw you to the floor as the chair clattered in the opposite direction.

Your muscles seemed to turn into sludge that was too heavy to move, and an outbreak of pain erupted in your forehead like hundreds of tiny spears puncturing the skin from the inside. As darkness enveloped you and lent a brief moment of rest, the ground beneath your hands went from the tough texture of floorboards to the dampness of a shallow pool. The water was as black as ink, as calm as a windless day on the ocean, and just transparent enough to reveal an unimaginable depth.

The instinct to retreat from the danger of falling overtook you like the surge of a tall wave, but even when you jumped up, your feet continued to stand on the water. It was as if there was a floor made invisible to you, one that still rippled every time you took a step. The void had no walls or ceilings that were perceptible to your eyes.