#either way I still think Vox should dump him :)

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

The fanon interpretation of Vox and Valentino's relationship really is just Satan and Saddam Hussein in South Park huh.

[nyxcharliechaos]

so me and @lemonking00 decided to make a tier list...but it's what neurodivergency/mental illness the cast of Hazbin/Helluva have

Explanations/are they medicated?/extra details or thoughts below because this will be a long post if I don't

ADHD- Millie: unmedicated, she just doesn't like it

Vox: medicated but OH BOY DOES HE FORGET, man will go 3 days without it before remembering then he's medicated for 4 days and they he's out of his ADHD medication! and it's ALWAYS when the pharmacy runs out and won't have it in for a few days

Bee: unmedicated she doesn't care she's just having fun

Clara: she's just here because LK said Odette was autistic and we wanted an ADHD/Autism sibling dynamic, I was going to skip them because we don't know much about either, she's properly medicated, Carmilla makes sure she takes her medication

Autism- Vaggie: we're all in agreement on this right?

Alastor: I know he's a sociopath but we've been joking he's autistic for a bit lol

Lucifer: his special interest is clearly ducks, yes he's canonically depressed but the autism is winnning

Sir Pentious: ok so everyone I know agrees with his so, mans got that autistic rizz

Vortex: ...ngl we just wanted him to be the ASD to Bee's ADHD being the ADHD/autism couple dynamic

Millie's dad: as stated by LK "he just seems autistic" and then explained farmers give off autistic energy, LK's the autistic redneck friend so I'll trust him on that

Lute: ...I have no explanation she just seems autistic, and like a homophobic homosexual

Zestial: so initially we put him in the group therapist tier but the autism won so we moved him

Odette: explanation for why she's here above

AuDHD (written as AUDI relating to a series of inside jokes but long story short half our friend group is AuDHD and one of said friends used to have an AUDI)- -Blitz special interest in horses, bad at emotions, he's not medicated, he should be on several medications, he's not on any of them

Charlie: ok hear me out, we all agree on the ADHD yes, but her dads got that tism ok, she would to. she is medicated, and Vaggie reminds her, but it's a gamble whether or not she'll take her medication even with a reminder

Cherri Bomb: ...bombs and just look at here that's my explanation for why she's here, no she's not medicated, there's other drugs, no it's not the same thing she doesn't care

Velvette: she's better about taking her medication than Vox is but she still forgets, always seems to run out around the same time as Vox...when they don't have the medication...being Valentino during that is great/j the two will lock the doors and make him deal with their unmedicated asses till the pharmacy has the medication again

Fizz: I don't think I need to explain why he's here, he's not medicated, he doesn't like the feeling and he likes himself better unmedicated, and Ozzie loves him either way so fuck getting his ADHD medication

Adam: simple explanation, ADHD and Autism is hereditary, so it had to come from somewhere and in the words of LK "it wasn't Eve, idk how but she's neurotypical", Adam doesn't believe people when they tell him he's AuDHD, so no he's not medicated

Emily: I'm not explaining myself, she is medicated and does take her ADHD medication on the daily, Sera will remind her and if she forgets after that Sera will just give her the medication

Depression- (depresso expresso because funny) Stolas: literally cannon, and while also Autistic unlike Lucifer the Autism is not winning

Octavia: I would be too if my family was that much of a mess

Barbie Wire: just fucking, look, no I'm not explaining this

Sera: (just makes gesture like, look at this bitch)

Twamatised- (referencing a joke in Gravity Falls) neither of these need explanations fucking look at the two that are here!

OCD- Moxxie: we actually added this catagory for him, he's just got those vibes

Niffty: I swear I remeber reading something on an old ZP era sketch dump saying she had slight OCD, I might be misremembering, probably, but got those vibes

Group Therapist- (fun fact this was initially a Husk only category but a lot more characters belonged in it then we thought) Husk: (points to episode 4) and yes depresso expresso as well but, I made this category for him so

Razzle & Dazzle, Fat Nuggets, Keekee, and the Egg Bois: all are here for similar reasons they're (basically) pets that bring joy and improve peoples mental states

Ozzie: I don't think I need to explain this one, since it's basically cannon

Rosie: ok so all the overlord are autistic (minus Vox), but they go to the category that takes priority and she's seen being a person you go to for advice so, this is just cannon

Carmilla: quote from LK "mom", that's why she's here, again all overlords are autistic (except Vox)

NDP- (narcissistic personality disorder) Verosika: we actually added this category for her so

Striker: ok this one's debatable but he definitely has a personality disorder of some sort

Valentino (KYS) was added just for Val to tell him to die

BITCH was added for reasons obvious if you look at the characters, no headcannons here we just wanted to call out these characters for being bitches

[randomly--accessed--memories]

I'm thinking about other scenes from the show and where Vox might fit into them. Specifically I'm thinking about when Cherri took the crew to the bar. Now, should Vox go to the club? Probably not, but Charlie dumped some cash on Cherri and ran. I don't remember where Al was during that episode but assuming he disappeared to do whatever before Charlie left, the hotel crew is left with a choice, bring Vox to the club or leave someone behind to babysit, and nobody wants to do that.

Angel almost chooses to, not because he wants to, but because he's trying to be a better person, but Cherri convinced him to just bring Vox along.

The rest still happens like in the show, Niffty goes running up to Valentino (side note, anybody else think it's funny Val chose to go to a club named Consent?) and Angel still has to rescue her. Val still slaps Angel around and Husk still comforts Angel, but as they're walking away, Husk pulls Vox along with them from where he was standing. Maybe puts an arm around his shoulders because it's the easiest way to steer him, and that's when Valentino sees him. Vox is here, and he either didn't see him or didn't recognize him, and now he's leaving with a washed up ex-overlord and Val so desperately wants to chase after them, see if Vox remembers him and will come back with him, but he knows it'll make a scene. Vox is anonymous with the hotel crew, the Vees have been keeping him secret and if Val goes to him it's inevitable that a photo will be all over social media in the next 10 minutes. Val can still hear Vox lecturing him, back in the day, about not making stupid decisions that ruin their brand.

So Valentino just has to stand there and watch as Vox leaves, and there nothing he can fucking do about it. And then to add insult to injury Niffty still yanks out his fluff.

Ok I gave you angst, now someone give us the silly, what does drunk Vox do in the club?

Oh jeez... Val's just like "...Is this that instant karma thing Vel told me about" internally. Also, the fucking horror at realizing he didn't even recognize Vox between the club lights, his bad eyes, and Vox's new look. I had been imagining that he switched to the retro head while he was still at the tower, but the idea that he did that after Alastor took him, probably at Alastor's direction so he'd be less recognizable and more to Al's own tastes...

Vox can't drink alcohol, but he can absorb battery acid. He's not the only screen-head in Hell, so the bartender might have to dig around for it, but would probably be able to find something for him to imbibe. He'd keep trying to go inside the club lights or the music system and the crew has to keep pulling him back. As soon as they take their eyes off him though, he's trying to do it again, partially with Cherri's prompting (she thinks it's funny and wants to see him get kicked out of the club). He's getting better at not frying things, but by the time they leave, most of the electronics in the club are on their last leg.

Also, Pentious would be trying the whole time (and mostly failing) to pretend he's not friends with Vox since Cherri hates him so much. Vox doesn't understand why he's doing that and is a bit hurt, but when Pentious pulls the whole "I'M HAVING SEX WITH EVERYBODY!" thing, he'd make sure he doesn't get dragged off by the crowd (it's my AU, I get to rewrite the poorly thought-out canon scenes!), which makes Pentious feel like the biggest asshole for having ignored him all night.

[just-horrible-things]

[Prequel to this]

“Interrogator,” the lead cultist drawls, a lopsided smile showing her blackened, broken teeth. “Darlings, we caught ourselves a big fish.” Her breath is vile as she leans in close. Ariadne jerks her head back as far as the grunt’s grip on her shoulders will allow, lips curling in disgust. “Traitor scum,” she snarls.

“You will make a pretty trophy, hmm? You will make my name for me. The dreadful Inquisition, brought low and caged.” “I will see you all burn,” Ariadne promises, but the woman laughs in her face.

Ariadne’s heart is hammering with anxiety as she’s slammed back into the floor. She has the presence of mind to turn her face so her nose and teeth don’t hit the metal. It’s not the threats that bother her. How many of her team went down in the shooting? How many dead already, how many bleeding out? And the other teams, are they caught in the same trap? Did anyone manage to get a warning out before the cryptostatic killed vox comms? Her microbead is still humming protests at the lack of signal. She just hopes it will recover on its own.

She struggles against the hands on her body, thrashing this way and that, but it’s three to one and she’s already tied wrist-to-wrist and ankle-to-broken-ankle. She’s pinned with a boot on the back of her ribcage, the thug’s weight crushing the air from her lungs, and someone yanks her hands upwards and backwards behind her head. She growls and wriggles, trying to find a way to rotate her shoulders to alleviate the strain on them, but they’re pulling too hard. She gets a casual kick in the teeth for her efforts. Then the force on her arms redoubles, and the pain with it. She cries out, voice angry at first then rising in a sharper yelp of pain as her left shoulder shifts, grinds, and snaps out of place. The tension is suddenly unbearable, then the second shoulder joins the first.

She spits out swears with the groans of agony as the boot lets up and she is dragged by her wrists across the debris-littered ground. The sheer pain keeps her from doing much to resist. She can only writhe weakly and choke out every cuss she knows. Over her own suffering she can hear others crying out in pain. Kyber, she thinks, and she’s not sure who the other is. At least one still alive... though as she’s pitched painfully into the back of a groundcar, she’s not sure whether that’s good or bad.

She gets a chance to count the other five as they’re tossed in on top of her. Ramirez at least is still cussing and squirming. The others, she’s not sure at first if they’re alive or dead. She wriggles, swearing viciously as she tries to get a better look - and get a chance to breathe. The combined weight is considerable. “Stop squirming,” someone chides her gruffly. She’s yanked up by the collar - out from under the pile at least - then her arms are wrenched upwards again. Gasping for breath, she can’t even protest as they’re secured somewhere above her head. Her ankles are still under the heap of bodies and she can’t so much as try to stand to relieve the pressure. The broken one competes with her shoulders for attention.

But she got what she wanted. By craning and straining and blinking away the tears, she can see the others. Ragwell is dead. Or if he isn’t, he should be, with a hole like that through his skull. Will be soon, and that’s for the best. The thought comes with a familiar numb horror. Ramirez is looking up at her with grim sympathy. Gearwright is pale as death, but Ariadne can’t tell if she is dead or just unconscious. Tacitus is bloodied, wide-eyed and hyperventilating, staring at nothing. And Kyber is twitching and struggling weakly, but her face is still slack and dazed. Then the vehicle door is slammed shut, and they are plunged into cramped darkness.

The journey is hell. Either the car is very poorly maintained, the route is over broken ground, or both. Every jolt is agony. “Get... get the weight off my legs,” she orders, voice tight with desperation. It takes some time. Ramirez is wounded too, and 068 needs yelling at before he comes to life and starts helping. There’s not much room to manoeuvre, and every awkward shuffle makes the pain flare, but eventually she is freed. Bracing her feet against the floor doesn’t help much, but it helps a little.

She’s sworn herself hoarse by the time the vehicle finally stops.  The journey must have taken hours. The pain is driving Ariadne mad, and the intermittent buzzing of the microbead in her skull isn’t helping. The confined space stank up rapidly from burned skin and sweat and the smell of Ragwell’s corpse. Only the presence of the others keeps her from sobbing and keening with misery.

One by one, they’re hauled out into dim light and marginally less awful air. Ariadne is last, needing unclipping from whatever hook or strut they fastened her wrists to. Her hands are numb, and everything else burns with pain. There’s little fight in her as she’s dragged out and slung over a shoulder to be carried further into the building. She lifts her head enough to see that the dead body has been left behind. Just Ragwell though, so Ariadne supposes that means Gearwright’s probably still alive...

She’s dumped on the floor again after a brief journey, and someone steps on the back of her head to grind her face against the floor. Her nose crunches, bringing fresh tears to her eyes, but she doesn’t think it breaks. When she’s hauled back up to her knees she sways, but she doesn’t quite collapse.

The woman with the dreadful teeth is there, surrounded by her cronies. The bloated mutant lurks at the back, ready to put its terrible strength to use if needed. Gearwright is floppy on the floor, and Kyber is sort of half-sitting with a firm hand on her shoulder keeping her upright. Ramirez is on his knees like Ariadne, glaring daggers at the cultists. 068 is on his knees too, shoulders hunched, shaking and cowering. Ariadne bares her teeth.

“You.” The cult woman points at Ramirez. “Do you want to live?” “I generally prefer it.” He coughs. There’s blood on his lips. “Not if it means doing favours for you scum, though.” Ariadne feels a touch of pride, though she knows she gets no credit for his strength. They’re all Progenium kids, the tempestors. The galaxy’s best. At least one dead today, and three more likely to follow... She should have done better. She should have seen this coming. She still doesn’t know how they got inside the intel network but she should know. “You won’t forswear your false Emperor then?” the woman mocks. “I’ll kill you in His name,” Ramirez grins.

Ariadne expects, hollow-hearted, that violence will follow his defiance. But there is only a ripple of derisive laughter. “You.” The claw-tipped finger picks out Tacitus next. He looks up, dark eyes locking onto the woman. He’s not moving like he’s hurt, though there is blood on his flak. Mostly he’s terrified. “Do you want to live?” “Yes sir,” he gasps, “P-p-please sir.” The laughter is louder this time, prickling Ariadne’s skin. 068 whines faintly. “Oh? And will you forswear your false Emperor?” He hesitates, she’ll give him that. He does not look at Ariadne, though she can imagine he must want to. In a tiny, fragile voice he whispers “Yes sir.” Fury rises like bile. Ariadne isn’t even angry with 068. He’ll say anything to save his skin. Her hatred is for this smiling fiend, this corrupter who spreads her poison through the worlds Ariadne is meant to protect, damning souls and trying to drag the galaxy into darkness. “You will die screaming,” she snarls. And feels a pang of guilt when it is Tacitus who flinches. “You will regret trying to take Inquisitorial agents captive, and you will re--” Her throat closes with pain as someone grips her shoulders from behind and squeezes. Her words are lost. It’s all she can do not to wail.

“I take it that you’re not interested in my offer, Interrogator?” Ariadne growls. “Shove it up your foul cunt, you--” Another squeeze produces another choked groan. She’s seeing spots, but it doesn’t make her any less furious.

“What about you, hm?” When there’s no response at first, the cult leader stalks over to Kyber and puts a hand on her face, lifting her chin in an attempt to establish eye contact. “Are you alive enough to hear me?” Don’t touch her, Ariadne wants to snarl. But showing concern for your comrades just encourages the enemy to use them against you. She holds her tongue. Kyber makes a vague sound that could be assent, or could just be noise. “Do you hear me, Imperial dog? Do you want to live?” Another weak “nnhh” but nothing more. “Mm, seems she’s not really with us.” Concussion, if Ariadne had to guess. She wonders how bad it is. Will Kyber ever recover, even if she makes it out of this alive? She was always so quick and bright, making a joke of everything. Is that spark gone forever? Fury is hot in Ariadne’s face, but dread is cold in her belly. Too many deaths. She’s responsible for too many deaths. And Throne, it hurts.

“I won’t bother asking that one,” a nod to Gearwell’s limp form. “But really, Interrogator, I don’t care about any of them. You are my prize. So what I really care about is your answer.” “I won’t--” “Don’t worry,” the heretic speaks over her, “You’ll get plenty of chances to change your tune.” She draws a pistol from a holster on the hip of one of her nearby minions. An autopistol, scarred and defiled with blasphemous symbology. She puts the barrel to Kyber’s forehead, and smiles her crooked, blackened smile at Ariadne. “Will you not submit to me, Interrogator?”

The air is oil-thick in Ariadne’s lungs. She knows this scenario. Has known it for years. If she lets the threat sway her, their lives will be used against her constantly. If she lets Kyber die, the others might live.

Kyber looks afraid. Her eyes drag sideways, looking for something, or someone. She’d never show fear like this if she were herself. But she looks afraid.

The pain of the bullet is ecstasy compared to damnation. It’s not just Ariadne’s soul on the line, it’s all of them. Kyber isn’t in a position to make that decision for herself, but she would never want to give in to the Enemy.

Ariadne knows what the right choice is, but it’s harder than it should be to make it. She tries to school her face to indifference and her voice to disdain but she can’t tell if she’s succeeding. Her pulse hammers in her chest. Her shoulders burn. “I will not,” she answers.

The retort is as loud as any gunshot has ever been.

Ariadne doesn’t look away from the mess that sprays out from the back of Kyber’s skull. The image will be burned into her mind forever. It can go with the others. The ice that grips Ariadne’s heart is familiar. If they think that watching her subordinates die will break her, they don’t understand what her job entails.

“Very cold, Interrogator,” the hateful woman mocks. Fury burns like ice. “I suppose you won’t care if I execute the others too, then?” “I won’t join you in heresy,” Ariadne corrects her, voice clipped and brittle. “Oh? What will you do for me?” Breathing is still hard. Ariadne doesn’t know. Where does she draw the line? What is she willing to do? Not sell her soul, or any of theirs. Not help the traitor or forswear Emperor and Imperium.

The cult leader walks unhurriedly to where Gearwright is sprawled on the floor, and points the autpistol down at her head. The scion hasn’t moved or made a sound, not in all the hours of the journey here. She might already be dead, or as good as. Is that enough for Ariadne to gamble on? She hates these choices at the best of times, and here in the thick of it with her mind clouded by agony is definitely not the best of times.

“What do you want?” she asks, hating the way her voice catches in her throat. “I want you to grovel before me and before the Gods. Forswear your faith and submit to me.” Maybe it’s better if Gearwright never wakes up. The Enemy do not treat their prisoners kindly. The dead may be the lucky ones in this equation. The pain of the bullet... “No?” Crap, she hesitated too long. “No!” Ariadne shouts, but the trigger is already pulled. Any uncertainty about Gearwright’s future is removed. “Aw, Interrogator, you do care.”

Tears are hot on Ariadne’s cheeks. She held them back as long as she could, but anger and humiliation and pain and guilt add up. She hates her physical reactions, she really does. She’s supposed to be stronger than this. Colder. Smarter. “Don’t,” she snaps as the cultist walks over to Tacitus. “P-please!” he squeaks, staring up at the woman who holds the gun. “Please, sir, p-please, spare me! I serve the D-Dark Powers, the G-Gods, I swear, I never w-wanted to work for them, she forced me, sir p-p-please, d-don’t shoot me, I’ll serve you I’ll d-do w-whatever you w-want p-please!” “Is that so?” the woman purrs, leaning down to examine him. “Did she give you these scars?” “Yessir.” “And that stutter? You’re a pathetic thing.” She’s practically crooning. Ariadne growls, deep in the back of her throat. “Traitor,” she spits. She knows the word will cut him, but it might help sell his story and save his life. “I know,” he sobs, “I know I’m p-pathetic, b-b-but I’m useful, I kn-now rites, I’ve p-pledged service to the G-Gods, please don’t shoot me.” The cult leader looks at Ariadne. It’s not hard to let her expression be all loathing. “I’ll consider it,” the cultist says. And she walks towards Ramirez instead.

“Don’t,” Ariadne insists again, not quite pleading. She will not betray her faith, but maybe a little submission isn’t out of the question, just for now, if it will save Ramirez’ life.... She’s doing everything wrong and she knows it, and she hates herself for buckling when she knows better. “Do you care about this one?” “Don’t bother,” Ramirez coughs. “She’s never going to give in to you.” More tears. Of course he’s stronger than she is. “Is that right, Interrogator?” “That’s right.” There’s a little more strength in her voice, bolstered by his confidence. He knows what the right choice is, even where she wavers.

Ramirez meets Ariadne’s eyes and smiles. Then the gunshot rings out, and his body crumples. Another image to add to the gallery of her failures. At least he died loyal, standing by his faith. And he died quickly. Which is likely better than Ariadne will get.

Tacitus is curled up over his knees again, sobbing his lungs out. Ariadne prays silently for his soul. She can only hope that his years of service weigh heavier than words spoken in panic at the end. May the Emperor be merciful.

Her attention is forcibly yanked back to herself by fresh pressure on her shoulders. She gasps and lets out a sound that is uncomfortably close to an undignified yelp. The cult leader steps close, forcing Ariadne to either look up or avoid her face. Ariadne chooses to lift her chin and look up. “Such a shame,” the woman drawls insincerely. “They seemed like good soldiers. And now I’ll have to find another way to change your tune... Don’t worry, though. I have plenty of ideas.”

[Continue here]