A/N: so my stupid writer's block won't leave me alone. I can't write anything and when I do it's complete shit. Anyway warnings: Squinty suggestive material and one-sided N/MF if you squint. jk it's like totally out there.

Knife:

Murderface couldn't live without his knife. It was his baby, and he always kept it on him. So when he lost it, he went insane. He tore through the haus like a Tasmanian devil, ripping apart anything and everything he believed was in his way. He rubbed the series of currently-healing cuts running across his forearm. He picked Pickles up with a grunt and tossed him into the wall, much to the drummer's dismay.

"WHERE'SCH MY KNIFE?! ONE OF YOU ASSCHHOLES TOOK IT, I KNOW YOU DID!"

"Look," Nathan said, "None of us have it, so stop being a dick." With an amazing feat of strength, he pushed the hugely-built Nathan to the side and continued his search.

"M-Moidaface?" Toki, who'd been huddled on the couch the entire time, began timidly. William turned to him with a snarl and the Norwegian trembled, easily intimidated by the rough and ragged bassist.

"What?"

"Your knifes. It a-ams in yours b-boot.." Toki flinched, expecting to be punched. The bass player felt around in each of his boots until he located a 7-inch bowie knife.

"Oh." Murderface blushed sheepishly. "Well, schtill, one of you dildosch could've taken it." William promptly exited the room with a grumpy huff.

"So," Pickles started, picking himself off the floor, "How lahng d'ya think it'll take for him to notice that it's pleastic?" Nathan chuckled, pulling the real knife from his own boot.

"I dunno, man." What Nathan wouldn't tell, were his real reasons for taking William's knife. He shuddered at the mere thought of the bassist using it to harm himself. It was for the best, he assured himself, dropping the knife into a nearby trash can.