Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Alastor (Platonic Scenario - "Yuletide Blues") (Hazbin Hotel)

The static intensified with each second the man was on-air, and when you attempted to change the station, the dial shifted but always swung back to 833.3-AM. "All this talk has certainly given a few of you the heebie-jeebies!" Retracting your arm, you observed the radio with the makings of frustration and bewilderment. "For our feature program, why don't we hear a little ragtime from Bessie Smith? What a dame!"

As the strong voice of a blues singer spun tales of hardships and despair, the static gradually abated. It lagged in the chorus, but you reserved your attention for the rapid taps of your fingers on the typewriter as words flowed from the depths of your mind onto the pages like a river.

* * *

The trek to the shoddy apartment you called home involved a series of winding streets. Balls of paper and old trash that had either escaped from a can or been pitched off one of the many balconies above littered the ground, tumbling across the grime-stricken roads and slapping the tinted windows of various shops. Foreclosure signs hung on the door of every other shop like a dreary game of tic-tac-toe, and the route was populated with homeless people, some wandering while others huddled in small groups.

A woman dressed in rags was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, her face stained with dry mud and her legs sprawling onto the street. The space on her left was occupied by a rusted barrel, and she had looped her arm around a radio lying atop it as if they were friends retiring from a night of heavy drinking together.

Recalling the radio in the café, your gaze lingered on the device. The static lulled just enough for the cheery voice of the announcer to shout, "Hello!" A crack in the concrete hooked the end of your foot as you staggered to a halt, but the woman kept her listless stare fixed on the border between the sidewalk and the road.

It was during this daily journey that the string of disappearances - which painted the headlines for years - lost all fogginess and became as clear in your mind as the sun in a cloudless sky. The entire city had swept itself into a frenzy over the question of foul play, an uproar so potent that even now, you could smell the paranoia in the air and see it on the faces of neighbours.

Shortly before the street that held your apartment, you passed an opening in the row of buildings. A swamp lined the outskirts of the city, and it sang the nightly tunes of all the crickets and frogs. If you squinted, a dilapidated lodge was visible among the thick branches and overhangs of the foliage. It was lifted above the muddy waters by short stilts and covered in dirt and vines that had grown into the foundation of the house.

Despite being home to nothing but mushrooms and insects, the faint aroma of gumbo and jambalaya wafted out of the rotten wood. A lanky shadow popped in and out of your peripheral vision for the rest of the journey, but when you whirled around to confront the owner, the nearest person was sitting with a blanket on their shoulders on the opposite side of the street. The instinct to flee to the sanctity of your bedroom only heightened the anxiety creeping up your back and arms like frigid tendrils, a sentiment that hampered your ability to shut your eyes once in bed.

As soon as your head hit the soft texture of the pillow, you were bombarded with intrusive thoughts about strangers enduring the final moments of their life. One of these visions continued for much longer than the others. It was told through the eyes of a man shambling down a poorly lit street, and he raised a bottle of bourbon to his lips with a disoriented grunt.

Another person was strolling far ahead of him, who resembled a slightly younger version of yourself. The drunk was accelerating his pace as much as his unsteady legs would tolerate and approached like a wolf stalking a lonely fawn. Before he could move within earshot of you, an ebullient voice teetering on the cusp of insanity shouted from behind him, "That's no way to treat a friend of the family!"