#l4d headcanon

[slashing-bunni-farm]

I like to imagine that most Hunters sound like Crazy Dave from PvZ and that the only ones that can fully understand and decipher what they’re saying so casually are the other infected or save for a few survivors

[theroadkillrebel]

I like the Hunter from Left 4 Dead—a lot. It's a borderline obsession. (But it doesn't really matter, right? We only live once after all...)

Warnings: Mentions of non-consensual acts, dismemberment, gore, vivisection, choking. Adults only. Step into my strange mind. If you dare.

Original drawing by Capreoline-Desolation. Edited by me.

Cujo — Male zombie; 22; likes to eat people (what zombie doesn't?); his mission is to survive; feral, paranoid, quietly intelligent; after a shotgun blast to the face (courtesy of Alek), the left side of his jaw is exposed/mangled

Alek — Human male; 28; Slavic; enjoys harming others; bored, masochistic, self-destructive; weapon of choice: fireaxe

Cujo forced to give a blowjob.

Alek and Cujo, both predator and prey in their own rights, had a long and bloody fight. Cujo managed to bite a few fingers off, even took a good chunk of Alek's arm. But Alek was well-fed, fit, and he wasn't suffering from a slow-burn, fatal infection. It was inevitable he would win. And as Cujo lay there, heaving, Alek grabbed the back of his head—tightly winding the strands around his fist—and forced Cujo to kneel between his legs. The Hunter growled, of course, because survival was all it knew. But for Alek, this had nothing to do with survival. No... he fought for pleasure. And now, it was time to reap his reward, to let off some steam. Surviving is stressful, you know.

Alek stuck a gun to Cujo's head. Immediately, Cujo went quiet with fear, his bloodshot eyes staring at the man. Hunters may be primitive, more beast than man, but even they knew guns were bad. Guns were loud, and they burned, and they stopped survival. He wanted to live, so he stopped fighting. Alek took that at his cue to continue, and with a smirk, he quickly unzipped his pants, revealing his large, throbbing cock. Cujo shuddered at the sight of it. Meat. But he could not bite, he had to be still or the gun would kiss his brain goodnight.

The hunter—this feral, dangerous, man-eating machine—is forced to suck off his prey—like a worthless prostitute. Like he's nothing, like his survival is just a game he can play with. Cujo chokes on Alek's cock. He's large and aggressive, leaving little chance for Cujo to breathe. His cock was too big—he's too big he's too big... 

The wound on Cujo's jaw tears, spilling blood and loose tissue on the floor, where his clenched, furious hands shake. He wants to bite, but he can't—he wants to pull back and breathe—but he can't. He resigns himself. Given up and given in. He whimpers, like the worthless, helpless creature he is.

Choking is underrated.

Picture it: The Smoker's tongue wrapped around Cujo's throat, using a tree branch as leverage to hang him. His claws rip at the tongue, struggling for breath, while his feet kick above the ground. 

Or Cujo choking a man, a woman—doesn't matter. Or Cujo is getting choked, maybe by the Bounty Hunter. Repeatedly. He writhes under the man's weight, desperate to break free, but everything's getting dark. Spots fill his vision as he claws at the road, then his body grows heavy, slow. With a weak whimper, he slumps like a dead weight. The man waits for a beat, then after a moment of silence, releases him. 

Air rushes into his lungs with a desperate, crying gasp. But he doesn't get to breathe for very long. The hands are on him again—choking, squeezing—darkness—breathe. Choke, release, choke, release.

"Just breathe... that's it, good boy," a voice whispers.

Soon, the man stops choking him, but Cujo's too delirious to notice. His head rolls from side to side, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. His pupils too big—too dull—like something that's already dead. The hands descend on him again, but he doesn't flinch.

My absolute favorite is vivisection.

Imagine Cujo is tightly restrained. Yellow eyes dart from side to side, trembling with quiet, animalistic fear that will soon be heard. He's overwhelmed by the bright lights, sharp chemical smells, and straps wound too tight. A head moves in front of the light, blocking it. Now all he can see is the scientist's mask and two cold, sterile eyes—already looking through him. Analyzing what's beneath. He swallows, but doesn't cry. Hunters don't cry.

First, they unravel his intestines. Then they remove his bladder, his kidneys, a liver. Everything's dragged out of him, bit by painful bit, all while he screams. He melts into the pain. His entire world consumed by it. Above him, the scientist lifts each organ to the light, tilting it this way and that. Their eyes never change expression.

All he can do is watch.

Despite himself, the scientist looks... not bad. Male or female, doesn't matter. Either way, his cock hardens. Perhaps excited at the sight of her breasts, the smell of her wet cunt. Or his cock jumps when those strong, muscular arms lean across his belly, reaching for another tool. He finds himself rutting against the straps, helpless, completely unable to move. Between his shaking legs, his cock lays ignored against his thigh. Dirty monsters like him don't get to cum. That's just making a mess of their corrupted seed.

The scientist wouldn't give him another glance, wouldn't even look at his cock. Maybe they'll saw him in half, annoyed with his animalistic display. And as he's torn in half, his cock points to the sky, leaking harder.

He never got to cum.

Not even in his final moments.

And those are some of my dirty Hunter thoughts. I have many, many more... would you like to read them? 👀

Let me know if you find a typo or weirdo sentence (I wasn't brave enough to ask a beta-reader).

My Discord/Tumblr DMs are open for kinky text roleplays. Adults only.

[theroadkillrebel]

So we've seen some of your Hunter hcs, but what about your oc in particular? :) Unless of course it's all a surprise until we see more of the fic!

What a tempting offer! 

Alas, I must keep some things secret for now. And oh yeah I don't have any real headcanons for him yet.

I don't plan out my chapters like I should. Instead, I splurge word salad onto the screen, chisel away at it, and somehow a story is born in the end. A character might earn his/her name after a fourth draft. A backstory suddenly appears in the sixth. It's a fun but wildly unpredictable process.

However, since you asked, I'll tell you what I know about him so far. :)

His name is Cujo, but it wasn't given at birth. It was a cruel nickname a boy-soldier spat at him, and since then its stuck. His real name is a mystery. Does a zombie deserve one?

He is one of the last surviving Hunters in all of Seattle. There's nothing left to eat anymore. Human prey has been dwindling for over a year now, leaving nothing but trash and the memory of better hunts. By the time Thomas arrived, Cujo hadn't eaten in six days. He was already fading.

A bounty hunter blasted him in the face with a shotgun, leaving him with a gaping crater in his jaw. Normally he'd heal, but chronic starvation has made it impossible. The constant pain makes him irritable and angry.

The shotgun injury has left him neurologically brain damaged. He acts different-–strange, even for a zombie. The other Hunters keep him at a distance.

He's tried approaching packs before, but they sense something off about him. His pounces are sloppy, his body language is unpredictable, and he breathes weird. They growl when he comes near. So he lingers at a distance, like he wants to join but doesn't remember how.

He isn't soft or cuddly, not even secretly. He is a brutal, virus-driven monster, through and through. There could be sparks of humanity beneath that rugged exterior, but if there is, he's still too damaged to be "normal" again.

I'll develop more headcanons with each chapter. Thanks for the ask.

That is all for now! ;)

[val-kyrii]

Headcanon that the witches in L4D/L4D2 cry because the human part of their mind is upset about what they've become

(I honestly don't know how much is explained about the witches and other special infected but I'm pretty sure it's not a lot...)

[draconica]

Your Nick headcanon OKAY GO

Nick was born in Boston, MA in 1974 into a lower class family. He had one older brother, James. His father was a car salesman and his mother was a part-time nurse.

But his parents weren't exactly the best role models. His father was a drunk and a cheat, his mother the same, pressured by her own mother to boot her husband and become more like her...

Nick had no idea why they stayed together... they argued like hell on earth, until one would leave for the night and not come back until days had passed. His older brother by four years, James, always watched out for him. When their parents would row, James would sneak a tub of ice cream from the fridge, take his little brother to his room and the pair would play video games or watch TV until the shouting stopped. But then they'd be caught stealing the ice cream and up after hours, and suitably punished.

One loud night when Nick was five, instead of turning on the TV and nabbing food, James grabbed his back pack and shoved a load of clothes inside, both his and Nick's. Nick asked what he was doing, and the older boy replied that they were going to run away. They were going to leave Boston, leave their parents, and go somewhere "nice". Nick remembers him saying: "Mom and Dad hate us, Nicky. They want us to go away. So we'll go away and leave them alone." ... Nick was in tears. They snuck out late that night and James took Nick across town to the train station. There was a train pulling in and he said "we'll stow away on the train, hide under the seats and go wherever it goes... like an adventure." But Nick didn't want to go. He wanted to go home and he wanted his brother to go back with him...

Then James gave him a hug, said 'I love you, Nicky'... and hopped onto the train. Nick never saw him again.

The next eleven years living alone with his parents made Nick stronger. He'd learnt quickly after that that love wasn't something that came naturally for him, so he never faced it. After his parents divorced when he was sixteen, Nick worked in a bar for four years (where, incidentally, he learnt how to count cards), saving enough money for a motorbike. He rode the bike illegally, no license or insurance, and got sent to a young offenders institute for six months.

He first moved to Vegas when he was twenty-two, gambling, sleeping around, finding that place he'd always wanted to be. He was happy, settled in a small apartment with a room-mate nicknamed 'Splinter'. Splinter was the one who taught him the tricks of the trade when it came to conning and scamming people. Not long after, did the two become best friends, partners in crime. Until one day, one of their plans backfired, causing Splinter to get sent to jail but Nick to get off scot-free. Splinter is in prison when the infection hits.

Nick eventually met his wife in Vegas, Yvonne. She was a barmaid working at her father’s casino. Her father was a wealthy man with anything he could possibly want, a romantic idea for Nick. He wed the woman in a sham-marriage, hoping only to wade himself into her father’s fortunes, scamming him out of them if need be. The plan fell apart however when, after only three months of being married, Yvonne fell pregnant.

Nick was initially weary of the idea of parenthood, not even sure in the beginning if the child in question was even his, possibly in denial that it was even happening. But that all changed the moment he laid eyes on the new born baby girl – she was named Katherine, and Nick fell in love with her that very instant.

Possibly from his own poor upbringing, Nick was determined to give his daughter the best he could, giving her a childhood he himself could never have. When Katherine was three, Nick and Yvonne divorced, and Nick moved out back into his old apartment, now smaller and emptier without Splinter.

Now alone, Nick scammed, gambled and hustled the alimony payments for his ex-wife, still seeing Katherine several times a month. This went on for three years, when Nick realised he had bigger fish to fry. Making a decision, he decided to travel to Savannah with his daughter to take a trip on the riverboat gambling cruise circuit, finding gullible suckers as well as treating six year-old Katherine to a vacation. Then came the reports of the sick…

Needless to say, the girl began to change. She frothed at the mouth and grew deathly pale, becoming more like an animal and less like a child. Nick kept the girl locked in the hotel bathroom during that time, forced to listen to her mumbling and murmuring, her tiny calls, garbled by blood an infection.

She was no doubt suffering… and Nick had to end it. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, ending her pain forever, before spending the next two days in the hotel room, divesting the mini bar on numb nights, until he heard a chopper on the roof… and there were people rushing to board. Grabbing his gun, scrubbing his face, he knew what he had to do.

“Damn, we missed it!”

“Hey, we’re still here!"

“Come back! COME BACK! … Aw, he ain’t comin’ back.”

“That chopper looks like it’s headin’ to the evac center at the mall.”

“Gotta agree. Let’s follow them to the mall.”

…