Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Cersei, Jaime & Tyrion L, Joffrey B, Ramsay B (P.S. - "Fool's Mistake 2")

Warnings: Abuse of Power, Morally Ambiguous! Reader, Violence, Death, Blood, Mentions of Physical Torture, Supernatural Powers, Emotional Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. - Already plotting a threequel.

As the flurry of snowflakes wafted out of the darkened sky and melted against the surface of your mask like teardrops, it brought a cold sweetness to the wind pulling your robe. The shadows of tall conifers, their branches forever lush and the home to an occasional raven, filled the wilderness on every side of the road.

Billows of heat sailed around you while the tail of the fire rose higher towards the clouds, and the smell of burnt wood clashed with the aroma of wildflowers and spices in the caravan.

There was nowhere without snow, some drowning in blankets of it and others basking in sheets thin enough for tufts of grass to protrude like spilt paint on a white canvas. Despite the flatness of the land you stood upon, mountains and hills sloped through the countryside in the far distance.

The flames were newborn and had only just begun to surpass the top of the evergreens, yet the sky was grey as if this corner of the world was trapped in an eternal storm.

Soldiers dressed in red and faded pink marched out of the ruined wagon, their necks and arms draped in the metal and fabric they had gathered from crates after pushing the lids or breaking them with the thrust of a sword.

The bodies of merchants hung on the cracked planks and smashed wheels decorating the road. Most of them had been granted a slash across the throat or a stab at the gut, but those who sprung to their final bits of life were scarcely more than beaten by the warriors.

When a man had found you buried in the hay during a search for hidden jewels, it was the man joining him a moment later who stopped him from engaging you in combat. "Don't!" he hissed as he yanked the first man away.

The soldier looked between you and his comrade in confusion before the recognition passed over his face in a wave of slowly understood dread.

You had risen from the hay like an ancient vampire waking from a coffin, and the yellow feed slid down your head and shoulders.

* * *

The men dismounted their steeds in a mob of prideful laughter and appreciation for the loot strapped to the saddles, and the horses whinnied and hopped with excitement still fresh from the raid.

"Well, we did find a funny-looking git." As Ramsay drifted away from the conversation and peered at the spirited men discussing which loot to sell and which to keep, the arrival of a final rider from the snowy banks encircling the fortress silenced all other noise in his mind.

Instead of galloping, the horse you rode into the Dreadfort entered with calm and quiet steps. Its face held a serenity unnatural to one who had emerged from the heart of a bloody onslaught.

The air was colder around you, but no cloud of frozen breath slipped from your mouth. The shadows that fell upon your arrival stretched longer than before, casting the bleak land in a darker shade of grey.

The horse stopped near one of the walls a clear distance from the troop and expelled a burst of air in a snort.

Ramsay turned back just for a second and patted the soldier on the chest, ignoring the way the man flinched at his touch. The Bolton started with a curious saunter that progressed to a speed-walk as he drew closer.