hick4hire

[hick4hire]

blood, blood, gallons of the stuff ! a collection of icky, bloody prompts for those who like to choose violence. actions are reversible. general warning for blood, violence, murder, death.

𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

" that's a lot of blood. "

" it isn't mine. "

" what did you do ? "

[ sigh ] " what did you do ? "

" come on. have a taste. "

" holy shit, are you okay ? "

" it looks worse than it feels. "

" you should see the other guy. "

" it's a good look on you. you should get covered in blood more often. "

" lean on me. "

" oh my god. oh my god, oh my god, what the fuck ? is that what i fucking think it is ? "

" . . . gross. "

[ standing over a body ] " oops. "

" is that a fucking body ? "

" look, i'm sorry, okay ? "

" what the hell happened ? "

" before you say anything, it wasn't me. "

" at least it wasn't me this time. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. "

" i'm not scared of you. "

" you don't scare me. "

" shut up and let me help you. "

" i got your shirt all bloody. "

" let's get you cleaned up. "

" that looks like it hurts. "

" i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "

" we are so fucked. "

" what the fuck is wrong with you ? "

" are you gonna help me clean it up or not ? "

" the fucker deserved it. "

" red looks good on you. "

" what the hell did you do ; tap - dance all over the body with ice - skates ? "

" what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "

" i. . . i didn't mean to. . . "

" sorry. fuck, i'm sorry. "

" this isn't what it looks like. "

" it was an accident. "

" motherfucker ran right into my knife, i swear. "

" people need to look both ways before crossing. . . bullets. "

" would you believe me if i said wrong place, wrong time ? "

" hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? "

" they deserved it, right ? please tell me they deserved it. "

" you're bleeding. "

" what the fuck happened to you ? "

" you're getting blood on the carpet. "

" sit down before you fall down. "

" that looks like a you problem. "

𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

sender spits out a mouthful of blood at receiver's feet

sender spits out a mouthful of blood on receiver

receiver finds sender covered in blood

sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding

sender helps receiver clean up after a kill

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with a washcloth

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb

sender licks receiver's blood off a knife

sender licks receiver's blood off their thumb

sender lights up a cigarette a foot away from someone they killed before offering one to receiver

receiver finds sender stood over a body

sender stitches up receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender digs their finger into receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender frantically checks receiver for injuries under all the blood

sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean

sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood

sender tilts receiver's head back to staunch a nosebleed

sender draws a smiley face out of the blood they spilled :)

receiver finds sender cleaning up a kill in a daze

sender looks receiver in the eye as they shoot / stab / kill someone

sender ruffles receiver's hair, getting blood all over their hand

sender gets some of receiver's blood on them and makes a face

sender flicks blood at receiver to annoy them

sender stomps in a pool of blood to splash it on receiver

sender slips in their victim's blood but receiver steadies them before they can fall

sender steadies receiver when they slip in the blood sender spilled

receiver comes home to sender covered in blood and waiting for them with all the lights off

sender spits out a tooth and it hits receiver

sender tries to wipe blood off receiver but the blood on their hands just makes it worse

sender takes an injury meant for receiver

sender shows up on receiver's doorstep covered in blood

sender sits down quietly next to receiver after receiver kills someone

sender punches receiver in the mouth

receiver watches sender lick the blood off their fingers like its cheeto dust

sender helps receiver bury a body

sender hugs receiver just to get their victim's blood all over them <3

sender hugs receiver just to get their blood all over them <3

sender leans on receiver for support

sender kills someone to protect receiver

receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it

sender kills someone and the blood spatters on receiver

receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself

sender kisses receiver to taste the blood on their busted lip

sender shoots / stabs receiver non - fatally as a warning

[hick4hire]

[hick4hire]

PUT ‘ FUCK YES ‘ IN MY ASK IF YOUR MUSE WANTS TO FUCK MINE

[hick4hire]

PROMPTS FOR INTIMACY UNDER THE COVERS *  assorted suggestive dialogue, adjust as necessary

please do that again.

don't make me beg for it.

we'll take this nice and slow. i promise.

let me take it off for you.

i want to remember everything.

i'm right here. i'm with you.

play with me.

take it for me. i know you can.

turn around.

touch me like that again.

lean back a little and let me watch.

you look so good like this.

it's been years since i let anyone do that to me.

i've waited all my life for a night like this.

i never want to stop touching you.

tell me when i can move.

it's like your body was built for mine.

you have no idea how much you turn me on.

have me just like this.

look at me when i do it.

i can take it.

you like that, don't you.

you don't know what that does to me.

tell me what you want from me.

it's been a while for me.

you're the best thing i've ever tasted.

you take such good care of me.

do you trust me?

give me your hand.

you have no idea what you're doing to me.

you tell me to stop and i will.

sorry... i forgot how to breathe for a second there.

you feel so warm.

don't you dare stop.

you listen so well.

let me suck on it.

come back and kiss me.

whatever you just did... do it again.

where have you been all my life?

you're so good to me.

i won't make you wait.

stay the night.

take your time with me.

say my name.

i need more of you.

i could do this forever.

i've never ached like this before.

you taste so good.

spread your legs for me.

you took that so well.

that's it... just like that.

you feel incredible.

say that again.

did you like that?

that was so hot.

we can just kiss for a while.

don't take your eyes off of me for a second.

i want you to watch me.

don't let go of me.

i'm so close.

i'll be good for you.

put your hands in my hair.

i didn't even know you could do that.

someone might hear us.

i want this night to be perfect.

you drive me so wild.

[hick4hire]

Don't mind him. The cowboy is intensely focused on the task at hand: sharpening one of his blades. It's a regular old hunting knife, the sort he'd used to slaughter hellhogs and other cattle. He tends to it with practiced ease, a gentle scraping noise soothing something deep down in him.

[hick4hire]

Hey hot stuff.

He's sharpening a knife, but pauses at the greeting. An eventual, gruff scoff. "...Uh huh. Mosey 'long, lick. I ain't buyin' whatever you're sellin'." He resumes sharpening the knife, more slowly and deliberately than before.

[hick4hire]

Intoxicated - Blitzø @ahelluvahigh

Trust him when he says it's been a long day. His morning began at 5am. Morning chores were blessfully simple, but nonetheless time consuming: water and feed the chickens, feed Bombshell, tack Bombshell up, then head on the road. He kept sticks of chicken jerky in his jacket's inner pocket, and whiskey in a flask on his hip. A bounty hunter's breakfast wasn't a luxurious one.

A bounty hunter's dinner isn't much better. Today was like every other day. To get his spirits up, he'd ordered about eight by now. Bottles, whiskey. It was something local, something that tasted vaguely of ashes, smelled like embers. Needless to say, he's absolutely smashed by the time Blitzo walks on in.

Striker affords a side eye, then a double take, spitting a cigarette out of his mouth. His pupils thin into reptilian-like, ridged slits. The rings of his sclera widen, a strange but intense look on his face. The low rattling of his tail.

"Well, well, well. What d' we got here?" His voice is slurred– so much so that even Striker looks surprised. He clears his throat. He'd been living in that nice calm before the storm— fucking figures that the one time he let off some steam and had himself a good old night to himself, the goddamned clown shows up. His head spins. He's not just drunk, he's hammered off his ass, and it shows. His gruff voice is slightly off kilter. He's sweating, his face flushed a darker shade of tan.

"Ain't you got a feathered ass to shove your head up, boss man?" He scoffs, a hand on the holster of his pistol. He tries his best to focus. His tail rattles louder and louder, a hiss building in the back of his throat.

Contrary to how it might seem, Striker isn't exactly keen on throwing the first punch. He knows he's drunk. He knows almost nothing about Blitz's situation: sober, alone, or otherwise. Striker hesitates, analyzing every little bit of body language he can bring himelf to process. Trying to anticipate if, or rather when, Blitz would try to pull something. The tension makes him swallow, has him narrow his eyes, bracing himself. His cowboyish gruff was turned to the max: a defensive display, rather than instantly aggressive. For now. What glory was there in killing a drunk man off the clock?

[hick4hire]

@peppy-jester —

💀

[ cw g/ore ; b/lood ; d/eath ; v/iolence under read more ]

The world keeps going. Despite his failures, despite his losing streak, despite being set on fucking fire— he was back on his feet and back on the job. Locate. Execute. Locate. Execute. If he didn't relish in every kill, he might have been bored by now.

But as it were, the sight of blood, even at a distance, stimulated something in his brain juuust right. The same way some people found popping bubble wrap— everything about the instant the life was choked out of their miserable, pathetic bodies was endlessly fascinating to the hybrid. Stress relieving, even. A pleasant buzz that held him tightly and soaked him to the bones in sadistic bliss. He could breathe easier. As if he'd absorbed his victim's very life force in gruesome, vampiric fashion.

Everything about this job was a routine by now. A list, a formula, a smooth clean checkmark in a box. This target had been no different. A melee kill, bring back the target's watch, and a picture of the corpse. Simple enough. Nothing remarkable whatsoever.

So, when he's sliding the knife into the target's torso, roughly twisting it as the serrated blade parts skin and pierces meat... The last demon he expects to see when he lifted his head was that damned clown that Crimson had tried to sell back to the Prince of Lust.

A few things happen at once: he freezes, a cold jolt of fear ripping down his spine like an electric shock. His gaze darts to the area behind the doorway, past Fizz, eyes wide open, observing every flicker of movement.

His biology makes this a much easier process than it might be for a regular imp or regular loan shark: a special secondary eyelid dropped, made of a membrane sensitive to heat that allowed him to see a sort of overlay for heat signatures. In short, built in infrared.

From what he understood of regular hell beast snakes, this feature was some sort of convenient adaptation of a special organ that most vipers possessed: something called the pit organ that was usually beside a hellsnake's nostril on the snout. As a child, he'd asked his parents about it, but they knew as much about his particular mutation as he did.

He doesn't see any signs of Asmodeus' presence. Fizz was alone, from what he could tell. The fear completely fades from his face, a sneer replacing his brief stunned expression. "Well, howdy. Don't mind me, clown. I'm just finishing up in here."

The imp in Striker's claws has been pinned down to the floor, Striker's knife still embedded into them. They're squirming and struggling, but Striker doesn't pay it any attention. The desperate clawing at his arms was laughable. He twists the knife further in with a satisfying crunch, staring unblinkingly at Fizz.

"Well, What're you doin' this side 'a town? Didn't think your biddy'd let ya go free range just yet." Striker's grin is wide, something crazed and gleeful entering his eyes. He pulls the knife up out of the imp's chest and with a casual, graceful motion, cleanly slits their throat. He grabs their arm, ripping the watch off them. One checkmark. Two checkmarks. Two boxes ticked. Only one left. Better not take too long with the clown.

"...You ain't gonna do nothin' stupid, are ya, Fizz? You don't got that fight in ya." Striker doesn't even say it aggressively: he says it like he's making small talk about the weather. "I saw ya back in that warehouse, yack. Y'r a performer, not a fighter. Wanna do some shadow puppets for this poor fucker?"

A cruel snicker before he backhands the target, who's miserably choking on their own blood and flopping like a fish. "Better yet, you can feature in his final photo. Bet that'd sell to your freakish fanbase, huh?"

Striker stands up as the body beneath him finally goes limp. "Tch. You seein' this shit? This fucker didn't even properly scratch me. Can you believe that? Our kind was made by Wrath. Satan, for fuck's sake. But ohhh no. Y'all grandparent's left t' the other rings n' got right cushy, didn't ya? Livin' in those big cities, slavin' away for Overlords and royals. Pathetic." He spins the knife in his hand with such force the black blood is flicked off it. "You, though, you're the worst case I've ever seen." Striker takes several slow steps forward, eyes glowing brightly.

"Run." Striker leans forward slightly. His body language shifts to show just how prepared he is to burst into a sprint. Fizz wasn't get out of this without a little game of cat and mouse.

[hick4hire]

interact for starter (multimuses specify preference <3)

18+ / canon divergent / selective / read rules before following

[hick4hire]

guy who has mistaken adrenaline for love and isn’t interested in correcting the mistake

[hick4hire]

send "🚬" to stumble across my muse having a smoke while all alone (send "smoke" if you can't see the emoji)

[hick4hire]

PEDRO PASCAL on Hot Ones.

[hick4hire]

Sunset Sarsparilla

leave a tip / shop

watch me stream / twitter / instagram

[hick4hire]

I will change back to myself

Nevada

[hick4hire]

[hick4hire]

what is your core theme?

the yearner

you long for something you have never had. it is just out of reach and your fingertips graze it constantly. you can feel its electricity buzzing through you and just the adrenaline is enough to keep you chasing it. your legs are tired and your body is disfigured but you reach out anyway, you stretch your arms forward and throw yourself at what is ahead. better days are coming. rest will find you soon, you hope, but until it does, you will keep running. the end justifies the means. the end keeps you running. you will know when to stop, you are sure of it, but it isn't yet. rest will find you. your painting is "tender grace of a day that is dead" by walter langley.

[hick4hire]

what color is your aura?

CRIMSON

rose vines, blood, apples, velvet, sharp nails, galaxies, dripping jewelry. your essence is crimson: you are the strong, defiant and avoidant. you crave some sort of deviation; to walk in another's footsteps feels mundane, a waste of your time. you are possessive and never look back at the things you've lost or forgotten. you are the rebel. you are the one who will change the world. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of red, blush, garnet, and bronze, who share your impassioned existence. you are also drawn to the confident souls royal and gold, who will help you grow and show that not everyone seeks to break you. however, you may struggle to get along with the slow-acting personalities of navy and umber who never seem assertive about anything.