Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

WX-78 (Platonic Scenario - "Three Gears and a Gasket") (Don't Starve)

TW: Animal Attacks, Animal Death, Disfigurement/Mauling, Loss of Contact with Reality, Violence, Blood, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. - 01000100 01101111 01101101 01101111 00100000 01000001 01110010 01101001 01100111 01100001 01110100 01101111.

The thud of a metal object hitting the dirt roused you from your nap by the campfire. The embers of the logs crackled and floated into the air, fanning you with a steady warmth. The safety of the fire counteracted the discomfort of seeing a brown automaton watching you in the dark.

They had no visible eyes, only a pair of dark sockets as empty as the hole in their chest cavity. Nothing but frayed wires of red and blue remained in the tangle of what was once an empathy module, or so the automaton claimed in a monotone voice distorted by static.

They spoke as one expected a computer to speak; all inflection was missing save for the occasional buzz of amusement. This delight was most often heard when pain befell you.

"WX-78" was their designation, and they were so deserving of the right to be called a person that they were above it. "Address me as your superior," they had commanded.

The sky was filled with pink and orange as the sun fell below the horizon. A certain stillness had collapsed onto the camp and brought with it the chirps of nighttime creatures, their music interrupted by the occasional snore.

The sounds of people shifting and getting comfortable were especially loud to you, for you had found yourself cooking in the dim hours of the evening. The many asleep in bedrolls at your feet forced you to maneuver around them in a dance of sorts to make it to and from your bed.

When you returned from scrounging a couple of Moon Moth wings out of the group pile, WX-78 was standing at the campfire and gazing into the heart of the flames. "It reminds me of something," they grumbled, with their head leaning forward to reach ever closer.

The light of the fire reflected in their hollow eyes.

You pinched the Moon Moth wings and inserted them into the top of the potato, sticking them halfway through its yellowish innards. The flames browned the potato for half a minute before you stuck it with a fire poker and lifted it from the rack.

Its faintly sweet aroma smelled of earth and butter, and its calloused texture was in stark contrast to the warm fire lapping your skin. The heat proved a welcome reprieve from the cold winds that blew into the camp at dusk.

The Butter Muffin was dropped into the clutches of WX-78, who cupped their hands to hold it.

It was a ghostly shade of white, and the wings of the Moon Moth helped it resemble the petals of a flower. The potato gave the wings a place to lay, its round shape imitating the fluffy mixture of bread and flour that made the baked good it was named after.

WX-78 observed in the Butter Muffin a certain innocence that they wished to savour. The vegetable and the insect cooked into it had been free of any violent intent in life, a fact that prompted it to be shoved through the slit in WX-78's face.

"Your tribute is acceptable, human." The remains of the Butter Muffin speckled their brown face in white dots.

The word "tribute" implied that WX-78 was some sort of higher being and you were some kind of supplicant worshipping at their shrine.

* * *

A shift in the airflow startled you awake, and your arm rocketed from your side to clutch a small object hovering near the back of your head.