//stabbing - Tumblr Posts

happy 'newgrounds got fucking obliterated' day [just like the beta universes]

[Alt Text]

[blood / stabbing after cut]

[Alt text]

Soon™

Will Graham to Hannibal at some point, well, at this point.

TimesNow

Switzerland Stabbing: Jewish Man Stabbed In Zurich, Teen Arrested In Suspected Hate Crime

A Jewish man was stabbed in the Selnau area of Zurich, Switzerland. The incident took place shortly after Shabbat ended Saturday evening and

The teen who stabbed the 50 year old on Saturday evening, so just as Shabbat ended, shouted "death to the Jews" and "death to Israel."

Prompt #11

Post-reveal. In a ghost fight Danny is thrown into an unfinished building, getting impaled in the chest by four rebars about the thickness of a pencil. By some insane stroke of luck nothing vital was punctured, the metal surrounding his core. The Fentons find their son hanging on a building, struggling to breathe with four metal rods sticking out of his back.

The two cut through the rebars and carry him delicately back to FentonWorks, still with metal impaled through his chest.

They come to the conclusion that if the bars are removed completely he’d bleed out, either externally or internally. So they oh so carefully and slowly replace the rods with flexible metal cords, with a metal crisscross across his front and back keeping the cords from accidentally slipping out.

Of course the thing is powered by his core itself so it has glowing light blue accents to it.

Maybe one of the bars nicked his core and the machine is also acting like a brace or a crutch?

I’m not sure if I was inspired by Iron Man or not… Maybe it could also be a crossover too? Danny and Tony seeing each other and wondering why they both have similar contraptions on their chests? Idk.

“Yeah, it’s basically there so that my heart keeps working” “same”

wait because xie lian and caesar could relate with getting stabbed multiple times—

Artist Website | Instagram | Facebook | Twitter | Shop

Artist Website | Instagram | Facebook | Twitter | Shop

Bounty

A/N: Hiii im kinda alive and my random thought produced this.

Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader

Warnings: violence, drugs, blood, cursing, depictions of drug deals, mentions of death and bombs.

random thought here

-----------

Aurora. The lifeblood of the underground. Your lifeblood. It wasn’t an ideal job, hell, you wanted to be a bartender. The city went to shit before that. Your father went to shit before that. Psyke rose from the depths and took over the city. Cops scrambled for answers to who was dispensing it all, families mourned overdoses and you lost everything. It wasn’t easy, adjusting to your own dad hyped up on ridiculously strong drugs injected through his spinal cord.

Your heart ached every time you looked at him, an IV drip injected into his back to keep him on his high. Taking it out caused an indescribable rage, his eyes turning bloodshot within seconds, his hands around your neck, your breath leaving your body as he applied pressure. He had tried to kill you each time you had tried to help him. 

His addiction got worse over the years, your hope for him diminishing as you watched his body rot from the inside out. He wasn’t working anymore. He couldn’t even make it to the washroom. You had to go to work, you had to pay the bills and keep everything running. You were doing everything you shouldn’t have been doing for your father and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. To just let him suffer more than he was choosing too. In another reality, you thought things could’ve ended up differently, maybe in another reality you weren’t walking the streets at night, selling Psyke until the cops took down the whole operation with a literal bang. 

They had blown up the labs where SKZ were brewing and creating the Psyke. It all went down, and the city went with it. Unfortunately, all of SKZ was intact. And they were collecting debts. When they found your father in the state he was in, they ransacked your house, looking for any sort of money to pay off his debts. They killed him on the spot after not finding any. It was not exactly what you had wanted to come home to after a long shift at your job, but your father was better off dead. He was barely living as it was. SKZ had threatened you then, your eyes watering at losing your father until they mentioned his debts to them. You had to pay them off. Or you died as well. 

Since that moment, you were a runner for the boys. They gave you aurora, you ran it to a buyer and brought back the money. Slowly over the years, you built up a reputation amongst the underground. You were a perfect runner. One of the best. You always brought back the payment, always delivered the product safely and never let a debt stand. It grew on you slowly. It had become a normal job for you. You enjoyed it even. Maybe not the killing but the running. You got a few doses of aurora for free when you completed extremely high profile runs. Those runs didn’t count for your father's debt, any run you received normal payment for counted. With the amount of runs you did and how far your name spread, it was no wonder the police were always around every corner. They were just waiting, watching, hoping. For you to show up for a run. You knew where they were before you went to drop sites. You knew their schedules inside out and you knew where they had active CCTV cameras scanning the area for you. 

You were wanted. A bounty on your head and aurora in your hands as you roamed the streets, double checking every corner you turned to make sure no schedules had changed. Everything was clear, Chan had given you no news on schedule shifts or extra undercover vehicles, so you did a handoff in the open. The man shaking as he watched you twirl the flask of aurora in your hand, his own extended with money. You grabbed it from him quickly so he couldn’t try and pull you in. All the money accounted for, you held out the flask for the man, your eyes narrowing as he chugged it on the spot, his trembling hands suddenly stopping as his eyes dilated and his veins glowed pink for a brief moment. You nodded in satisfaction, sliding the crinkled money into the pouch in your bag. Walking away from your buyer, you heard your phone dinging nonstop. Chan, you thought. Opening your phone proved your thoughts right, his name in your notifications ten times over telling you about a new dropsite for a new buyer who was verified hours ago. You sighed, new buyers were always sketchy looking and it drew too much attention to you when you showed up and headed in his direction. Sending off an affirmative response, you turned around and made some cuts through some back alleys, the light clinking of the aurora in your bag soothing your nerves slightly. 

The handoff point for the newbie was in the open, a common club, a busy street that would be inconspicuous if two people had a conversation for a few seconds and traded items. You just hoped the newbie was going to cooperate with the rules. Money first, then the drugs. That’s how it went and those who didn’t accept it either got hurt or just didn’t get their fix. Simple as that. At least, it should’ve been simple. But as you approached the hand-off location, the newbie screamed trouble. He clearly had never bought drugs before and it made you wonder.

“So~ Why aurora?”, you asked casually, cocking your hip as the new buyer looked at you in awe and slight fear.

“Heard good things…”, the buyer mumbled as he held out the money for you to take.

You took it slowly, brushing your fingers over his just to watch him shiver nervously, his eyes following the people walking past on the sidewalk until you cleared your throat.

“All good. Have fun, newbie.”, you put the money away and handed him his vials of aurora.

The look in his eye made you laugh as you backed away slowly. The wonder in their eyes was always entertaining. You would be seeing him again, you were sure of it. They always ended up coming back for more. It’s the beauty of it all that gets you hooked. The brighter colours of the world, the enhanced pleasure. That’s what drew people in. Aurora is an aphrodisiac with a slight hallucigen that brightens colours and increases the rate at which your brain can process it all. It was a complex drug, one that was made in extremely large batches and took about two weeks to make in its entirety. Combine that with SKZ, creators of Psyke, producing it? You create a worldwide want for the substance. And with that, a demand for you. It was simple, fun and paid you and your dad’s debt. No complaints from you, even as you ran into the corner of a building as a result of taking the corner too sharply. You grunted in annoyance and continued your walk, your phone pinging a few times. 

You contemplated just letting Chan sit without a response, but you didn’t want a fingernail removed or anything so you pulled your phone from your pocket again and opened your messages. A bunch of frantic “Answer me”’s met your eyes when you stopped to read the messages properly, your fingers hitting the call button before you could fully process all his messages. 

“Y/N! You have to turn around right now and make your way back to the drop-site. There’s an undercover around that corner. They shift swapped faster than usual. When you’re back to the site, wander between the people. Wait three minutes for the patrol to start and make your way back. You’ll be safe then.”

“Got it. Thanks, Channie.”

Receiving no answer, you pulled the phone from your ear, the “call ended” screen glaring back at you. You didn’t expect anything less from him, but it still hurt you a little. The walk back to the drop-site after you pocketed your phone was tense, you felt suspicious checking over your shoulder every now and again. Your eyes scanned the crowd for faces you studied, the countless badge photos shooting through your mind as you tried to place any off duty cops in the area. Finding none, you relaxed slightly, mentally timing yourself before turning around as casually as you could and nearly sprinting back down towards the corner you were at when Chan messaged. 

Slowing your pace to catch your breath some more, you glanced around, a message from Chan pinging through your phone. You glanced at it briefly, seeing a go-ahead to have a vial of aurora for the mix up with no repercussions. An incredulous laugh left you and you reached into your bag, your casual pace slowing just a little more as you grabbed a flask. Swirling the contents and watching it shimmer green and gold under the streetlights, you uncorked it. Leaning your head over the vial, you inhaled slightly, the scents of pear and vanilla tickling your senses until you glanced around the street once more. Deciding the coast was clear, you knocked back the contents, your senses coming alive as you basked in the euphoria. You sighed happily, pocketing the empty vial and strolling along, your eyes wandering aimlessly and worry free about the streets. 

A loud “woop” filled your head, sudden red and blue lights flashing right beside you as you stumbled. Glancing over, your eyes widened at the man stepping out of the car. Your fight or flight response kicked in before you could properly register the detective badge in his large hands. 

“Fuck.”, you whimpered as you stumbled away from the car, turning on your heel to book it in the direction you were going.

You took a highly illegal drug in front of a cop. A detective. As a wanted person. With a bounty on her head. You cursed your luck, your feet aching already as you ran through the streets, heavy footfalls behind you as he shouted at you to stop where you were. There was no doubt he didn’t recognize or know you from wanted posters and alerts that went through the stations across the country. He knew who you were, and now he was after you. 

Your heart beat fast in your chest, your breaths frantic as you took sharp turns into alleyways, the vials in your bag clinking harshly and sending fresh jolts of panic through your system. If you broke the product, you would never hear the end of it and you would have to pay for the damaged goods from your own pocket. As you ran faster, you noticed a lock box for super discreet drop-offs. They were locked after each insert. If you could get the aurora to the box and lock it, the cop on your tail wouldn’t be able to break the lock. Bulletproof locks were a wonderful invention. Glancing over your shoulder to gauge his speed, you gasped as you realized he was less than two meters from you at all times. He was fast. Almost faster than you. Leaving the aurora in the box would take too much time, he would have you and the drugs in no time. You sighed roughly and took your bag from your back, your legs aching and hips cramping slightly as you ran. You had to drop the bag off to the side of the drop box and tell Chan as soon as you could where it was. 

Taking a sharp turn and then another in the opposite direction, you left the bag as gently as you could beside the lock box. Hearing his footsteps slow, you turned to look, slowly coming to a stop yourself as you panted harshly, the cold night air burning your now dry throat as you tried to anticipate his next move. He glanced between you and the box a few times, a smirk growing on his face as he cracked his knuckles. He knew what you had tried to do, the ultimatum before him almost stalling him in wonder at your quick thinking before he was sprinting at you. His large frame barrelling towards you startled you into action, a sharp gasp leaving you as you tripped over your own feet momentarily before you caught yourself, sending your body flying in the opposite way once more. His footsteps felt closer than before, your heart racing in your ears and pounding against your chest as you struggled to keep your fast pace. His breaths felt like your own, the loud beating of your heart doing nothing to hide his angry grunts as he grazed the back of your jacket with his fingers. 

Your breathing stuttered, hands growing sweaty as you pushed yourself to move faster. You had to go faster. There was no other option for you. Being caught certainly meant death or worse, so you had to run. Only run. Your hands gently brushed the rough cement walls as you passed, your turns getting shakier as the noises of the busy street got quieter, your breaths bouncing around the alleys in time with your footsteps. One turn too sharp and you slammed into a wall, your cheek stinging as you pushed yourself from it, hands trembling against it until they met air once more. Your hair was a mess, lips dry and body aching. But you couldn’t let yourself stop. Glancing over your shoulder to check the detective's progress granted you a clear look at his angry expression. His jaw set and eyebrows furrowed as he sprinted after you, one pretty hand extending for your jacket hood as your peek slowed your steps. The realization had you whimpering, body moving faster as you turned away from your pursuer. The noises of the street completely vanished now, you took a proper look at your surroundings and cursed loudly, the detective laughing loudly as you examined the dead end you had backed yourself into with your lost focus. The brick walls surrounding you left no exit, the one straight ahead of you approaching faster as you sprinted towards it. Cursing the man behind you, you stopped running. 

Your momentum carried you further, shoes skidding and sending you to the ground as you slid into the wall. Your left side collided with the cold surface roughly, arm and hips no doubt bruising at the collision as you cried out in pain, the slow methodical footsteps of the detective reaching your ears as you struggled to your feet. A hand wrapping itself in the collar of your jacket halted your motions, the detective yanking you to your feet with a small breath of effort. Your back met the wall, head slamming against it as you groaned and avoided eye contact for a few moments. Taking the time to observe your captor further, you noticed his badge. He wasn’t any detective, he was Choi Jongho and he was the best of the best. The detective no criminal wanted on their tail for any reason. And he had been on yours. Chan had warned you about him, his feats and his role in the Psyke takedown. It was all him. You had foolishly thought you were safe, your successful runs and lack of encounters with the cops lulling you into a false sense of security. He broke you from your musings, his hand now holding the badge in front of your face, a slight smirk on his stupidly handsome face as he jerked you towards him. 

“Detective Choi Jongho. Pleasure to finally meet you, Y/n.”

You huffed at him, struggling in his hold while he watched you with barely a hint of emotion on his face. His eyes traced your form as you struggled, your dirtied clothes clearly bringing him no interest as he shifted his attention to your face once more. Badge dropped back to his sturdy frame, his hand lifted to brush against your cheek lightly, a shiver running down your spine at his touch. Pulling his hand from your person told you he was rightfully curious in the area, the blood coating his finger raising your own hand to the area. You winced lightly at the force behind your touch, eyebrows furrowing at the barely concealed eagerness in Jongho’s eyes. His eyes held yours as you pulled away from the wound, his warm hand circling your wrist to tug it to his plush lips. Watching him in confusion, your eyes left his and focused on his lips, his tongue peaking out to drag a slick line up the pad of your finger, the skin tingling at the sensation as he groaned lightly at the taste of your blood. 

“You taste as delicious as you look, Y/N.”

You shivered against the wall, your injuries suddenly feeling much worse than they had. The ache became unbearable, centering in your torso. It confused you as you watched him lick his lips, your hand dropping to your side, your eyes following soon after as the aurora you took kicked in fully. Your hands trembled as you raised them to your stomach, a bright red filling your sight with Jongho’s hand. It slipped your mind that you should be concerned about the red neither you or Jongho was wearing, but the sudden drop of the effects of the drug hit you harder than you ever thought. The pain increased ten fold, a cry leaving you as you felt all of your pain at once. Jongho laughed at the pitiful noise you made, his eyes trailing your trembling body again as you fell forward into his chest. His hand wrapped around your shoulder, pushing you back against the wall as you grunted at the impact, another sharp pain in your torso bringing your eyes back down. The knife held in Jongho’s hand, dripping in your blood, your shirt soaking through. You watched his pretty hand lift the knife, the taunting twist in your shared eyeline making you whimper before his tongue dragged across the blunt edge of his blade. 

“The bounty on your head won’t be as sweet as the taste of your blood… but fuck if it isn’t a close second.”, his voice was rough in your ears, pain shooting through your head as he spun you around.

Facing the wall, body aching, Jongho tugs your arms behind your back roughly. Your whimpers and whines of pain fell deaf on his ears, his smug grin frozen in your mind as you felt the cold metal latch around your wrists. As you slowly lost consciousness, you could only hope that the bounty punishment was much better than Jongho’s company.

=======

im not very happy with this ending but this is my first work after like... 4 months now so i can forgive it. i hope you enjoyed! (also didn’t turn into smut but it’s not my strong suit!)

@sugarnspice630 here is your tag!

Like to STAB

Reblog to STAB AGAIN

Μe, I am the idiot aesthetic 

Thor: So let's start by talking about the emotions you are feeling right now.

Loki: Stabbing, with knifes.

Bruce: Stabbing isn't really an emotion. It's more of an activity, which I hope you don't do right now. See, an emotion is more of a feeling.

Loki: Well, maybe I feel stabby.

Tumblr users on the 15th of March:

“I got on him, sat on his chest and I started jabbing at his face, cutting, the blade bouncing off bone in his forehead and blood and…So, I wound up—cutting out his eyes—hurting him pretty badly”

Jason Pargin, John Dies At The End

⚠️ ILLUSTRATED BLOOD/VIOLENCE ⚠️

All That You Can Drawgust

Day 3: Tattoo

(Click for best quality! Please Reblog, Don't Repost. Use cold water to get blood out of clothes)

Got a little messy with my day 3 of #AllThatYouCanDrawgust2021 !

I'm really happy with this one! I essentially had to relearn drawing dress clothes like this and I usually only draw one character at a time. Also I like the pose :)

More thoughts beneath the cut!

So how did I get a stabbing scene from Tattoo? Well...

The form of tattooing I'm most familiar with is done by repeatedly stabbing ink beneath the skin to create an image (though there are other forms. I read the whole Wikipedia article on tattoos. Interesting stuff!)

So I really got stuck with the concepts stabbing and ink so I drew a man being stabbed and ink bleeding out :) a little dark :)

The grey scale and outfits are super inspired by princecanary/rhettaro/star_bite (idk which usernames go where but they're on Tumblr, twitter, and insta). I fell down a hole of looking at their art. I love it so much :') Definitely Art Goals

Also the posing/concept was partially inspired by Karina/Dilfosaur's art (on Tumblr and twitter for sure. Idk about insta. Also Drawfee on twitch and YouTube), especially her neopets art and hot guy PI. Is this the knife fight Schmitt saw?????? O_0

Also if you're getting Hannibal vibes, that's partially intentional but I drew this before I saw the episode that someone got stabbed like this

Who doesn't love a stabbing with a little homoerotic subtext

⚠️ ILLUSTRATED BLOOD/VIOLENCE ⚠️

All That You Can Drawgust

Day 3: Tattoo

(Click for best quality! Please Reblog, Don't Repost. Use cold water to get blood out of clothes)

Got a little messy with my day 3 of #AllThatYouCanDrawgust2021 !

I'm really happy with this one! I essentially had to relearn drawing dress clothes like this and I usually only draw one character at a time. Also I like the pose :)

More thoughts beneath the cut!

So how did I get a stabbing scene from Tattoo? Well...

The form of tattooing I'm most familiar with is done by repeatedly stabbing ink beneath the skin to create an image (though there are other forms. I read the whole Wikipedia article on tattoos. Interesting stuff!)

So I really got stuck with the concepts stabbing and ink so I drew a man being stabbed and ink bleeding out :) a little dark :)

The grey scale and outfits are super inspired by princecanary/rhettaro/star_bite (idk which usernames go where but they're on Tumblr, twitter, and insta). I fell down a hole of looking at their art. I love it so much :') Definitely Art Goals

Also the posing/concept was partially inspired by Karina/Dilfosaur's art (on Tumblr and twitter for sure. Idk about insta. Also Drawfee on twitch and YouTube), especially her neopets art and hot guy PI. Is this the knife fight Schmitt saw?????? O_0

Also if you're getting Hannibal vibes, that's partially intentional but I drew this before I saw the episode that someone got stabbed like this

Who doesn't love a stabbing with a little homoerotic subtext

Happy Ides of March everyone! We don't really have dictators where I live, but we do have really shitty senators and politicians, so I know what I'm doing today!

tw: canon-typical homophobia, medical gore (near the end). pre-dethklok magnus and murderface, just dudes bein roommates

They pay the security deposit with the last of Magnus' college fund and put Murderface's grandfather's name on the lease instead of their own. It's garbage day, so they spend their morning cruising around a neighborhood on the nice end of town, occasionally stopping to throw furniture into the back of Magnus' truck. They bribe Nathan with a case of beer to help them 'move in', and by the afternoon, it almost looks like a real home: tatty sofa, cracked TV screen, stack of amps along the wall, their own mattresses on the floors of their rooms. It's a two-bedroom, but they deserve a two-bedroom, because they're going to make it big, after all. Nathan almost has a drummer lined up, a big name supposedly, and the gigs are already being penciled in, and they know by instinct that Dethklok is going to be big. Really big. They should be living like kings.

So, on their first day in their new apartment, Murderface and Magnus sit on opposite sides of their freshly-scavenged couch and watch their cracked TV. Magnus has done some 'creative' wiring so that they can 'borrow' cable from the neighbouring apartment, but right now they're only getting one channel and it's the one where people try to sell you things. Deluxe vacuums, currently. Nathan's gone off to have some meeting with their potential new drummer, so it's just the two of them, in their new apartment, that they're now renting together, on their own personal couch. Just the two of them. Roommates. Sitting on a couch…

"Is thisch gay?" Murderface asks aloud.

Magnus glances over a him. "Excuse me?"

"Thisch is kinda gay, right? Two guys living together?"

Magnus blinks at him. "Oh, yeah, totally, man," he replies apathetically, directing his attention back to the television.

"Wait, fuck, scheriously?"

"Seriously. Says on the lease we have to suck each other off every night."

"Fuck. Thatsch not good."

"Trust me, you get used to it."

"Aw, man, this schucks! I don't wanna suck a dude off! Can't I jusch jerk you off or somethin'?"

"If you jerk me off, we don't get the security deposit back."

"Fuck the shecurity deposit. That's your money anyway."

Magnus gives Murderface one of his famous cutting glances from the corner of his eyes. Then he settles back into the couch, propping an ankle over his knee, jiggling his foot a little.

Murderface tries to mimic him, likewise sinking into the sofa, likewise crossing his legs. Super relaxed, super cool.

"I'm not suckin' nobody's pee-pee," Murderface grumbles. "My name's not even on the schtupid lease."

Magnus has already lost interest in the joke. "Oh. Sure. I guess legally, your grand-dad has to suck it."

"Dude, grossch--"

"Shut up," Magnus sits up, gestures to the TV. "Look at that."

The vacuum infomercial has ended. A man dressed as a cowboy now stands before a fake desert backdrop, delivering an inaudible monologue (the speakers on their TV are broken).

"Aw schit," says Murderface, "Now that jusch makes me homeschick."

"Keep watching, idiot," says Magnus.

Murderface keeps watching. He watches as the cowboy reaches into his hip-holster and draws a long, shiny samurai sword.

"Schit!" Murderface sits up. "That's fuckin' aweschome!"

"Right?"

"I want a fuckin' sword-holster! You know what? I'll suck you off if it means we get your money back and use it to buy a fuckin' cowboy ninja sword!"

Magnus looks thoughtful. "You know," he begins slowly, "I have some money left in my college fund."

They lock eyes. No further words need pass between them. They stand and go for the door.

~

Magnus and Murderface are standing before a kiosk in a shopping mall, admiring a dazzling array of knives.

They have big knives; knives with bad-ass triangular holes in them (aerodynamic!); knives with iridescent blades; knives with that fancy stripy folded-steel blades; They have hunting knives with camo-print handles, little pocket knives, Swiss army knives, pocket knives with bullets for handles, pocket knives with lighters for handles, pocket knives hidden in lipstick (for the ladies). They have knives with spikes on them and knives shaped like axes and knives with jagged serrated edges that look like shark's teeth. And, of course, they have swords.

"Schit," Murderface says, pointing, "I want that one."

"Bad quality steel," Magnus says, without looking.

"Fuck that schit, the blade is black. That means high carbon. Extra scharp."

"This is what you want," says Magnus, pointing to a plain steel hunting knife. "Utilitarian. Functional."

"Boooo-ring."

"Classy. That's a knife you can bring to a fancy dinner."

"Check out that knife," Murderface interrupts him. The knife he points to has a blade the length of his forearm, with spikes all around the base near where it connects to the handle, and several triangular holes in the centre.

"Shit," Magnus breathes. "That's a cool knife."

"So fucking cool."

"You want that one?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But?"

"I've been thinking, we schould get a lot of knives. An aschortment of knives."

"Oh, yeah, absolutely."

"We need the right knives for the right occasions. Every knife scherves its own purposch."

"And a sword, of course."

"Two schwords! One for you, one for me."

"Three swords. We'll have to keep one by the door, in case of intruders."

"Yeah! It's a bad neighborhood, who knows what could happen."

They lock eyes. They nod. Magnus signals for the clerk.

~

They've just pulled onto the highway and an awful staticky death metal band is blasting over the radio when Magnus turns the volume down and says, "We should have a special dinner. To celebrate the move."

"Dude, grosch," Murderface, whose lap is currently full of knives, replies. "That's gay."

"I'm gay? You're holding a rainbow knife."

"Uh, it'sch called an oil-spill butterfly knife? It'sch limited edition?"

"Whatever, man. It doesn't have to be anything fancy. We can get steak or something. Champagne."

"Gaaaay."

"The champagne makes the lease-required dick-sucking easier, William. You'll thank me later."

Viscerally disgusted, Murderface stabs Magnus' dashboard with his newly-acquired limited-edition oil-spill butterfly knife. "Eugh, just don't call me that while you're talking about dick-sucking! You're really grosching me out."

"Whatever you say, honey."

"Hammersmith--"

Magnus turns up the radio, rolls down the window to let the wind blow in. Murderface watches him tuck his long hair behind his ear, then stabs his dashboard once more, for good measure.

~

They are standing in a grocery store looking at the meat cabinet. It's all very red, and fleshy, and if you think about it, it should be brutal-- a cabinet of dismembered body parts, ruthlessly torn apart, laid out like inanimate objects to be purchased for money and consumed by strangers. Brutal. And yet…

"I don't like it," Murderface declares.

Magnus is frowning at an array of whole fish. "Hm."

"It's jusch lame or something." Murderface rams his fist against the glass. "Whatsch the point of eating meat if you don't even get to kill the animal first? It's fucking bullschit!"

"Hm," Magnus repeats himself. "What about that?"

He points towards a door leading to the back room. Through it they can see a large, steel table, and on top of it is a full half of a pig, skinned and ready for butchering.

"Yeah…" Murderface says slowly, "That's pretty schick."

"You," Magnus snaps at the clerk behind the counter, "We'll take that one. Yes, that one, in the room back there…"

… Ten minutes and a great deal of haggling later, they're pushing half a pig in a cart down the cheese aisle.

"My roommate in college was a law guy," Magnus is explaining. "He went to a lot of fancy events. Showed me the ropes."

"Did you suck his hog?"

"The secret is in the cheese. You have to get the right cheese, and… olives."

Murderface leers at the cheeses before them. "This one looksch fancy," he says, grabbing a package at random.

"Good, get a hard one as well."

"We're in a groschery store, Hammerschmith, that's not appropriate."

"You know," Magnus says quite calmly, "One of these days, I am going to stab you."

Murderface grabs another package at random and throws it on top of the pig carcass. "Oh I bet you'd like that. Schtickin' things in guys."

"William," Magnus lays a hand on Murderface's shoulder. "You're fixated on my sexuality because you're insecure about yours. I get that, and I just want you to know, as a friend, that I don't mind if you're gay."

Murderface smacks his hand away. "Ughh! Don't try your shrink-school bullschit on me!"

"I fully support you and your rainbow knives."

"Shut up! What elsch do we need, olives?"

~

They're stopped at a gas station while Magnus fills up his truck. Murderface is standing in the wine section selecting only the finest gas station champagnes for their housewarming dinner. Which is some bullshit, now that he thinks about it. What the fuck even is champagne? Bubbly wine, right? Maybe they can just drop an alka-seltzer into a carton of Franzia. That's probably easier than trying to read the French gibberish on the labels of all these bottles.

Murderface has a carton of Franzia on his shoulder and is heading for the medicinals section when he catches sight of something truly marvelous.

There, by the door, stands a glass display cabinet. And contained within that cabinet…

"What is that?" Magnus asks, when Murderface returns to the truck.

"Behold," says Murderface, with eminent pride, "A gnife!"

Like a modern bayonet, the 'knife' is, in fact, a very small pistol, with a knife's blade inexpertly welded to the barrel. He waves it in the air so that Magnus can get a proper look.

"Damn," Magnus breathes. "That's pretty cool."

"Right?"

"I don't care for guns myself, but even I can admit-- cool."

"It's scho fucking cool."

"Where's the champagne?"

"I figured we'll just throw a little alka-seltzer in thisch boxed wine. Trailer park champagne."

"Fine, fine. Get in, let's go."

"Hold on. I didn't pay for your gasch--"

"Get in the fucking truck, William!" Magnus yells.

William hurls himself into the passenger seat, landing uncomfortably atop their pile of newly-acquired knives, and Magnus peels out of the parking lot before the cops can show.

~

They're back in their apartment. They've laid the pig carcass out on the card table Nathan's parents have loaned them, and Magnus is holding a samurai sword.

"Come on!" Murderface urges, hitting his fists on the edge of the table. "Cut it already!"

"Give me time," Magnus growls. He's fixated on the carcass, his eyes are wide, pupils blown with excitement. "An artist's cuts must be… precise."

"Well, be preciser faster!" Murderface complains. "I wanna see a pig get fucked up!"

"Silence, grasshopper. Watch and learn… the way of the warrior!"

With one rapid stroke, Magnus brings the sword down, fast and hard, across the pig's torso. There's a loud meaty thwack. The sword is embedded a couple of inches into jiggly pig flesh.

"Shit!" Magnus yells. "The fucking sword isn't sharp!"

"Magnus, Magnus," Murderface says soothingly, sidling over to Magnus, gently nudging him aside. "Go get yourself some wine, let the blade-maschter handle this one." He eases Magnus' hands off of the sword's handle, takes it in his own firm grasp.

Grumbling, Magnus lets himself be pushed aside. "It's a problem with the blade," he complains. "My technique was perfect. Perfect!"

"It's not a problem with your technique, it's brute schtrength that matters the most." Murderface wrenches the sword out of the pig and raises it high above his head. "Watch and learn, Hammersmith!"

He rams the sword as hard as he possibly can into the pig carcass' neck.

The entire card table buckles and collapses.

"Brute strength," Magnus echoes, observing the pile of plastic and pig meat before them. He's already poured himself another solo-cup of shitty white wine.

Murderface stares at the wreckage for a few seconds. "Schwords not sharp!" he yells. "The fucking schword's not sharp!"

"Want some cheese?"

"Fuck yes, fuck this schtupid pig! Where's my butterfly knife? I'm cuttin' some bacon…"

~

Magnus and Murderface sit on opposite sides of their freshly-scavenged sofa in their brand new apartment and watch infomercials on their cracked TV. There is a pile of knives and swords in-between them.

"Pasch me some cheese," Murderface says.

Magnus drives the point of the knife in his hand through a block of cheese and holds it out to Murderface. Murderface skewers it on his own knife.

A man on the TV is talking about the virtues of humidifiers. Magnus has used his technical wizardry to plug one of their amps into the TV, so they have sound now.

"This guysch a fuckin' idiot," Murderface announces through a mouthful of cheese. "Who needs a humidifier in fuckin' Florida?"

"As if my hair isn't ruined enough," Magnus agrees, idly stabbing the arm of the sofa.

"I thought gay guys liked big hair."

"You're thinking of glam rockers. Also, William, I'm getting pretty tired of the gay jokes."

"Hittin' a nerve, am I?"

"If you have feelings for me, sort that shit out yourself. Or at least get a new joke. You're boring the hell out of me."

Murderface bites the tip of his cheese-knife and watches Magnus through narrowed eyes.

Magnus is staring boredly at the infomercial, ramming his knife into the sofa's arm with precise rhythm. When he's not having his notorious violent outbursts, he's actually quite cool and aloof, taking every affront with casual nonchalance. It's only those who have known him for a long time, such as Murderface, who know that below the artificial calmness lies a simmering rage liable to explode at any moment. Murderface has depended on Magnus since he left his grandparents' home; Murderface has seen Magnus flip out at waitresses without warning and throw chairs through diner windows. He is Murderface's idol. He's a ticking time-bomb.

And now they've moved to Florida together, and they're renting an apartment together, and no matter what Magnus says, it really does feel kind of gay.

Murderface picks up a random knife from their pile and starts ramming it into the sofa's arm, matching the timing of it with Magnus' stabbing.

They sit there for a while, each stabbing their respective sofa arms in peaceful synchronicity.

Murderface feels Magnus glance over at him. He stabs the sofa with a little more force.

"Hey," Magnus says in a low voice. Suddenly a piece of paper lands on his lap, with 'LEASE' written at the top. No instruction needed, Murderface stabs it.

A few minutes later, Murderface pulls off his vest and throws it to Magnus' side of the couch. Magnus balls it up and stabs it.

On Magnus' turn, he throws a whole block of cheese onto Murderface's lap. Murderface puts it on the sofa's arm and proceeds to stab the absolute shit out of it. By the time he's done he's practically reduced it to paste.

Magnus has been watching him all the while, ramming his hunting knife idly again and again into the sofa cushion beside his leg. Murderface can't think of anything else to throw at him, so--

"Schtab me," Murderface says.

Magnus looks mildly surprised. And he waits only a moment before leaning over and stabbing Murderface firmly in the top of the thigh.

"Holy schit!" Murderface shouts. "Fuck! Shit! Goddammit!" He clamps his hands over the wound-- blood wells out from them immediately-- he presses down hard, hissing with pain. "Fuckin' schit, Magnus!"

"Oh, grow up," says Magnus dismissively.

"You fuckin' schtabbed me!"

"There's a first aid kit in the truck. Here are my keys."

"Fuck. You aschole."

~

The sofa is covered in knives and blood. Murderface is drunk off of his ass on cheap wine and alka-seltzer, pantsless, sitting on a camp chair in the kitchen of his brand new apartment. Magnus is on the ground between Murderface's knees, holding a lighter in one hand and a sewing needle in the other.

"You schure you know how to do this?" Murderface slurs.

"Of course I do," Magnus says. His elbow is resting on Murderface's un-stabbed thigh, his gaze is focused on the needle he's currently heating with the lighter.

"Yeah? Schince when?"

"I dated an EMT for three months."

"What was his name?"

Magnus puts down the lighter and picks up a packet of dental floss from the floor. Brow wrinkled with concentration, he bites off a long length of it, then threads it through the eye of the needle. Then he drops the dental floss and picks up a handle of vodka. "William?"

"What."

"Don't be a little bitch."

The pain is excruciating. It's like his entire thigh has been set on fire and is being ripped apart from the inside by a thousand hell rats from hell (fuck, good song idea.) Murderface bites down on one of his own wrists, and then buries his other hand in Magnus' hair, clutching a handful of thick curly locks. His eyes water and the tears shatter the world into kaleidoscope-colours until he squeezes them shut; when he opens them again he sees the top of Magnus' head between his own bare and bloody thighs and he's wracked with pain and the sight is delusionally sublime.

Fuck.

Maybe there is something to that shrink-school bullcrap. Murderface just let a man stab him. Is that gay? Is he gay for letting his roommate stab him and then stitch him back up? When this is done he's going to have to do some real self-inspection, or whatever it's called.

Whatever, he's getting stitched back together in his own brand new apartment. Way more metal than having some doctor do it, and Murderface is no stranger to stabbings or their aftermath. He lets himself moan in pain, leaning back in the chair. He tilts his head back, whimpers, readjusts his grip on Magnus' hair. Fucking brutal. It's like a war movie. Like one of those civil war soldiers before they invented medicine. Every stroke of the needle vibrates through his core like heavy bass.

And suddenly-- it's over, too soon it's over. Did he black out? Magnus is standing in front of him, his bare chest covered in blood, wiping his hands on his trousers. Murderface glances down and sees his bare, pudgy thigh, likewise blood-stained, with a small stab-wound in one criss-crossed by uneven stitches.

"You're alright," Magnus says reassuringly.

Murderface struggles to sit upright. "Yeah…" he chokes out. "… Schit, that's a good knife. That's fucking scharp."

"I told you. Classic hunting knife. Can't go wrong." Magnus takes a swig of the vodka, then thoughtlessly wipes his mouth. A diluted streak of pinkish blood is left across his cheek. "Can you stand?"

"Uh, give me a schecond." Murderface feels woozy. He feels very warm. He wants Magnus to stab him again. He needs another cup of wine.

"Just hurry up," says Magnus, turning away. "That samurai cowboy guy is on and I need to write down the number."

"Yeah…" Murderface sighs, slumping back in his chair. "Yeah, sure, write it down for me, too…"

It is their first night in their new apartment. Everything is covered and blood, there is a pig carcass in the centre of their kitchen, and they just know they're going to make it big.

The Ultimate Filth

May I add on here? (Try my best at my first DC x DP) (Please bare with)

Did you know that there are several main arteries in the left arm and shoulder? Danny didn't. He had fallen asleep during that particular lesson because of a ghost attack the night before. Why do ghosts like to come out during the Witching Hour?

Nevermind. That question answers itself.

He was bleeding a lot, but it wasn't a deadly amount yet. Not for him, at least. The knife hadn't hit anything too important, and his left arm was already pretty damaged from the accident. Regardless, it still hurt like all hell. Stab wounds do that.

What didn't help was jumping out of the window. His fight or flight response, already having forced him into fleeing only minutes beforehand, had pushed him into going to the nearest exit the second the door started to rattle.

It wasn't locked. It just liked to stick.

Regardless, he'd gone invisible before running for the window, and opening it. With his go-bag in hand and the bloody knife left on the floor with the medical things he'd yet to put away, he tossed himself out of the window and down two stories. He only remembered his flight after he'd landed.

With a quick flash of light, Phantom flew from the flower bushes (the ones he'd convinced Alfred to let him help with during his first week in the manor) and off the property.

It wasn't safe in Amity Park. It wasn't safe in Wayne Manor. Where could he go?

Dick's place was a no-go. He'd probably tell Bruce where he was. He'd also ask way too many questions that Danny wouldn't have answers for. Wandering Gotham was also a bad idea, especially at night.

"First thing's first," he told himself, a whisper barely picked up over the stale breeze, "Take stock of what you have." He'd seen enough movies to know what to have in a go-bag for any scenario, but he hadn't actually updated his go-bag in a few months. He didn't think he'd need it.

He was never going to make that mistake again.

Being around the living was not safe, so being around the dead was the next best thing. With his, admittedly shoddy, plan in mind, Danny scouted Gotham for a graveyard.

Graveyards were places of mourning. Places where the dead are laid to rest and where the loving can mourn. It is a safe place for those who ask. A safe place for those who need it.

Landing silently before the iron gates he asked, "May I come in?" The wind pushing the unlocked gate open was answer enough for Danny.

***

Now was a good time to panic, right? Tim thought so. Even if it wasn't a good time, he was going to panic anyway.

"What the hell!" he demanded.

Damian didn't look the slightest bit put off, meeting Tim's glare head on. "I am the blood son. He needed to know his place." Brandishing another knife, he continued, "So do you."

Tim was ready to fight the child to the death. Tim was an older brother now and had been when Danny had entered the house. Damian had no right to come into his home and threaten his little brother!

Before the two could fight, Bruce managed to pull them apart and confiscate their [visible] weapons. "Enough!" A beat, "Damian, go to your room."

The boy wanted to argue, but a quick look from Bruce shut him down before he could say a word.

"Tim, Alfred," The order was quiet, but they both knew what to do.

Searching the manor was both agonizingly slow and going way too fast. What if they skipped over him? What if they snuck past him? What if-! No! No time for thoughts like that.

The final room on the floor, the one on the far end of the wing, liked to stick closed. It wouldn't be soundless to get open, nor would it be easy. It was a long shot that Danny was in there, but they were going to leave no crevice unchecked until he was found.

"Danny?" Tim called through the door, jiggling the doorknob, "Danny? It's Tim! Can I come in?"

There was no verbal response, but the sound of a window slamming open was all the answer he, Bruce and Alfred needed. They needed to get in there now.

DPxDC Prompt

Danny doesn't have the best spatial awareness, you'd think he would given his bout as a vigilante, but his rogues all had the convenient ability of setting off his ghost sense and letting him know when to turn on his awareness.

So when he was taken in by Bruce Wayne in Gotham, far away from any ghosts or portals, he just didn't have any reason to be on guard. It worked well for him since his vigilante days were over and he could put all his focus on school again.

But you see, when he was first taken in, it was just him and his foster brother Tim staying at the manor.

Fast forward to now, Danny gets home from school to find not only Bruce waiting at the table for dinner, but a kid who looks surprisingly like Bruce??? The kid is small, rude and trying to be threatening in a way Danny doesn't really see as such, like the kid is like 8 how much could they really do???

Turns out a lot.

After Danny and Tim sat down and the introductions were made, Bruce filled them in on the situation that was Damian. Tim seemed to take it as a new puzzle, looking to Damian and Bruce periodically as if he could get answers simply by staring. Danny took it in stride, it isn't that unusually for a rich guy to have secret flings that result in children down the line.

Dinner was in full swing when it happened, there had been some bantering the entire time and many threats of bodily harm coming from Damian which weren't met with as many reprimands as Danny assumed it should. A distinct thunk sound was heard after a particularly harsh threat and Danny looked over to see a knife now embedded in Tim's chair where his head once was.

Before he could react, Bruce was standing with a sharp reprimand and Danny collided harshly with his chair as a new knife embedded itself in his shoulder. He cried out in shock, it has been over a year since his last ghost fight and honestly he forgot how much that hurts!

Aka, Bruce and Dick are forced to take Damian's threats more seriously when the civilian Danny is in the crossfire instead of just the trained vigilante Tim.