#ghastly horrendous and absurd

[alporquia]

it never ceases to amaze me how homosexuals from the us have developed such horrible taste in underwear

[somanywhatifsold]

It’s been a while since he’s gone out To the small town, a little south From where he settled down alone Self-sufficient, his food home-grown

So when it seems a little different He, not wanting to seem ignorant Ignores all the early warning signs Assumes they’re figments of his mind

He nods his head by way of greeting But all the smiles that used to meet him Seem to have disappeared, been traded For cold, dead stares, all kindness faded

He has to wonder, as folks pass by And another limp catches his eye What could have caused the injuries Plaguing damn near everyone he sees

He passes the baker, and the little café But no sweet aromas come drifting his way They’re open, but empty; no people, no food The unsettling vibe is affecting his mood

Then there’s his target, the hardware store Where the owner, Carl, is blocking the door Joe greets him politely, but Carl glares in silence Exuding an air of barely repressed violence

Joe tries to ignore that growing feeling of dread Keeps telling himself that it’s all in his head Yet from Carl’s pallid face he just can’t look away His eyes drawn to what seem to be signs of decay

He starts to ask Carl if he’s feeling alright But falters and chokes when Carl’s mouth opens wide The stench is horrendous, the view cavernous, black Instinctively, Joe finds himself stepping back

He aims his gaze at some point down the road Trying to keep down the bile in his throat “See you, Carl”, he mutters, though that might not be true As he thinks of how the man’s skin’s turning blue

Attempting to avoid seeing more ghastly faces Joe picks up his pace as he rushes past places That have seen better days, like the old town square Looking dilapidated and in need of repair

The town’s eerie quiet, which he’d been ignoring Now seems overwhelming, deafening, roaring The silence at home so much a part of his soul It took time for the lack of sound to start taking its toll

The town’s renowned busker just stands there, not playing Her guitar hanging limply, strings seemingly fraying There’re no cyclists, no cars, no planes in the sky Joe’s starting to panic, though he couldn’t say why

He stops at the corner near the grocery store And mostly out of habit, his hand reaches for The treats in his pocket, for the sweet orange stray Who doesn’t appear to be around today

He whistles, clicks his tongue, but the cat doesn’t show Its absence leaving room for his fears to grow No cats, dogs, or insects, not a bird to be heard The whole situation seems frankly absurd

He finds himself shivering from a chill up his spine And seriously doubts that all is just fine The uneaten treats he leaves on the ground Holding out hope his little stray’ll come ‘round

While he rushes along past darkened houses He knows whatever’s touched this town has Drained its light, its life, its power Left gardens filled with wilted flowers

It takes getting out and away from the town For his heartbeat to finally start slowing down The oppressive gloom all around him is lifted And it feels as if his reality has shifted

Someone else had to have noticed, right? Or had whatever this was occurred overnight? He guessed it could still be all in his head And yet it’d felt real, this town filled with the dead

He should check the local paper, or maybe online He’s aware that he’s fallen behind the times Virtually and literally, he’s been off the grid He’d considered disconnecting the best thing he did

But now regret’s seeping in, at being so unaware That he has no idea what he’s witnessed out there Could it be drugs, a pandemic, or worse? Could this be how the apocalypse occurs?

He has a phone somewhere, but he knows it’s outdated His computer died long ago, its scrap parts now crated Sometimes his old neighbour had passed him her paper But it’d been many years since the last visit he’d paid her

It takes him a while to find his phone and turn it on Time he spends debating if he should call his brother John Two rings, then to voicemail, the call’s been rejected Sad, but not surprised, he puts the phone down, dejected

He sits and stares at the wall, until his thoughts realign Realising the lack of light means he’s lost track of time At least he’s made up his mind, regrettably so He needs to help get things back to the old status quo

For the first time ever, he kind of wishes He’d been into that doomsday prepping business As he scrambles to assemble weapons, armour Things he assumed he’d never have use for

Suppressing every thought that centres On dissuading himself from this adventure Unsure of what precautions he should be taking He can’t seem to stop his hands from shaking

He tries going to sleep, but keeps jolting awake Plagued by the thought he must’ve had a mental break So as soon as the day breaks, he’s up to finish preparing Shaking his head at the makeshift getup he’s wearing

On his way to the town, he feels his confidence waver He takes a deep breath, and wishes he could be braver He halts for a moment, tries to swallow his fears When the sounds of the bustling town reach his ears

Certain now, that his wits must have left him He still carries on, although confusion sets in Once near the first houses, the difference is stark Unlike before, they don’t seem gloomy or dark

There’s laughter and shouting, a car buzzes past As Joe waits for his thoughts to catch up at last Aghast that it must’ve been all in his mind He’s numbly stumbling on, brain lagging behind

He wants to go home, but his feet keep him moving Every step that he takes seems intent on disproving All that he expected to find here today For there’s nothing unholy, not a sign of dismay

It takes quite a while for him to connect The looks that he gets to the gear that he’s packed It makes him self-conscious; he dislikes attention He packs everything up, hopes it’ll never get mentioned

Still expecting the noise to be fading away He fears the air will turn cold, that the smiles will make way For the sneers and the glares that he’s encountered before So it’s with caution he opens the hardware store’s door

“It’s been a while Joe, how ya been?” Carl greets him with a wave and a grin “I’ve been…” He falters. Maybe losing my mind? “… Kinda busy.” He answers. “You? Shop’s doing fine?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain. You need some supplies?” Joe nods out of habit, but hard as he tries He can’t seem to remember what he’d intended to get here Resorts to glancing at shelves, choosing items he’s near

With a bag full of stuff he’s quite sure he doesn’t need He says goodbye to Carl, and steps out onto the street He’s got so many questions, but no one he can ask And finding answers on his own won’t be an easy task

Thoughts twisting and turning, he wanders through town Despite the friendly faces, he can’t feel anything but down Until, there, at the corner, right where he hadn’t left him He spots his four-legged friend, and breaks out into a grin

He sighs, relieved, though the cat just looks wary Completely ignoring the area where he Puts down some treats, hand outstretched for petting But the cat’s wide-eyed stare is a little upsetting

It’s just a cat being weird, he rationalises They’re fickle and funny, and full of surprises Yet this feline had, until now, never failed To appear friendly, and cuddly, and happy-tailed

Joe looks up when a dog trots heavily past them Dragging its paws, keeping its eyes downcast when A ball bounces past, and a child follows, shouting Inside, Joe can feel a new seed of doubt sprouting

He watches the dog leave, its golden fur faded And desperately wishes he could still be persuaded To believe all was fine, that it was all in his mind, That this town wasn’t caught in some terrible bind

He notices then, the birds aren’t singing, just screeching He looks down at the cat staring up at him, beseeching Its eyes remain trained on him, ignoring the treats And Joe knows he can’t bear to leave it here on these streets

He scoops it up gently, feels its small body tensing But then it curls up, almost as if it’s sensing Joe will get them to safety, away from this mess And it starts to purr quietly, lessening Joe’s stress

Breathing deeply, slowly, while his thoughts and heartbeat race Joe thinks about his options, subtly picking up his pace Doesn’t want to look suspicious, the cat held closely to his chest But drawing stares regardless, looking obviously stressed

They pass the last few houses, and with a sudden sense of yearning He looks back one last time, to where he’ll never be returning He has to come to terms with this abrupt realisation But with it comes a wave of devastating isolation

Gaze on the horizon, he marches on, still rushing Uncertainty clinging on to him so tightly that it’s crushing The incessant meowing in his arms sounds distant, dull, and dim Until soft paws use tiny claws to try to get through to him

He stops and stares down at the cat, who’s pawing at his skin Slows his breathing, looks around, his surroundings sinking in His house is right in front of them, the place that he called home A quiet haven just last week, but now a lonely dome

He sighs and pets his furry friend, calming himself down “It’s time for change”, he whispers. “Time for another town.” He sets the kitty on the ground and walks up to his door Loyally, it follows him, as if it wonders what’s in store

Inside he looks at all his things, collected through the years He wonders who will take them, if he’d just disappear He packs the bare necessities, can’t bear to stay much longer That urge to flee immediately continues to grow stronger

Completely starting over, he’s done it once before He’s older now, and tired, but he feels down to his core That staying here would kill him, a slow and lonely end He needs another shot at life, as does his furry friend

He leaves a letter on the desk, “To whom it may concern” A farewell and a warning, regarding things he’s learned “Here, kitty”, he whistles, and soon his friend appears “You need a name”, he muses, scratching behind its ears

The cat purrs in response, eyes closed, looking content And Joe thinks of the chances leaving could present He smiles to himself, grabbing the remaining bags Followed closely by his cat, whose scruffy tail now wags

The door closes behind them, his car’s good to go “C’mon bud, get in. Let’s get this show on the road.” Relieved to be moving, he spares no backwards glance Just smiles, pets his buddy, and says “I’m naming you ‘Chance’.”

Living a secluded life off the grid was also something you wanted to do and have been doing for the past 20 years, only heading to the nearest town 20miles away to get some odd supplies every 6 months. On your latest visit, you are greeted by the dead roaming the streets.

[hysterialevi]

Shards of Sanity - pt. 2

Fanfic Summary: After waking up from a drunken brawl, Joe Roberts finds himself trapped on a ship full of people gone mad, and is forced to survive in a living hell built around his deepest fears. He becomes isolated from the rest of his fallen comrades and ends up being stuck in a nightmare where the biggest threats are the ones he can’t see, and even reality doesn’t trust itself.

Fandom: Man of Medan

Point of View: third-person

Warning(s): Strong language, graphic violence

Author’s note: Thank you guys for all the support you gave me on the first part (both here and on AO3). It really means a lot to me, and it’s so cool to see that you’re enjoying this fic so far. I hope you’ll stick around to see more of it. Stay awesome!

1:47 A.M.

Tightness.

That was all he could feel.

It was in his chest, his throat, his breath... even his mind.

As Joe carefully treaded through the ship’s insanely narrow hallways, he took every step with an absurd amount of consideration, admittedly terrified of what could be up ahead.

There were beads of cold sweat lightly trickling down his furrowed brow, and despite it only having been a few minutes, the blood gushing from his ear had already hardened into a sticky texture, causing it to cling uncomfortably to his neck.

It didn’t look like there was anyone else in the immediate vicinity at the moment, but every once in a while, Joe would hear the distant screams of panicked soldiers and erratic gunfire, their cries traveling throughout the ship as if they were trapped within the walls.

It sounded like hell was breaking loose in the other areas of the ship, but so far, Joe had yet to see any movement in this particular corridor.

One wrong move however, and he would probably end up like his comrades soon enough.

He had to be extra careful.

Steadily inching his feet down the flickering hallway, Joe reached a corner at end and placed his hand on the wall, hoping to take a peek of the other side before moving on.

He should’ve been okay for the moment, but after everything that happened in the sick bay, Joe would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t still a little shaky.

It was the first time he killed someone like that, after all.

He could shoot at the enemy well enough, but murdering someone who was on his side -- especially when it was just because of a misunderstanding -- tore Joe apart with guilt.

What if he had explained things better? He wondered.

What if he approached the doctor differently?

Would that man still have attacked him?

Would he still be here?

Joe had no idea.

Shaking these useless thoughts out of his mind, Joe slowly leaned his body into the hallway and took a glimpse of what was around the corner, only to immediately spring back in horror when he spotted a pair of legs being dragged away in the distance.

He couldn’t see what was pulling the corpse or whose body it was, but he overheard a disturbingly meaty squelch that sounded like something was tearing into its innards, nearly making him vomit on the spot.

Jesus fucking Christ...

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

This wasn’t the first time the soldier had witnessed death, but even then, this chaos was something entirely new on its own.

...Wait a minute.

Joe recalled the doctor mentioning some sort of... “creature.” A monster that was following all of them.

Could that have been what he was referring to? Could that have been the monster dragging those legs away?

Was that the same thing that killed Miller?

No, Joe convinced himself. Surely not.

Surely, he was mistaken.

Monsters like that didn’t exist.

The doctor had to have been seeing things.

Still though... it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

Even if Joe didn’t fully believe the doctor just yet, the fact was: people were dead.

And something on this ship was killing them.

Bringing his gun closer to his chest, Joe held the pistol with an iron grip and slowly inched his way around the corner, his hands trembling with an uncontrollable fear.

The squelching noise had stopped for the moment, but now all Joe could hear was something thumping against the floor in an almost rhythmic pattern, sort of like they were footsteps.

Oh, Jesus... what in God’s name was he hearing?

Was the monster walking away from the scene? Was it safe to proceed?

How would Joe even deal with something like that if it detected him?

Were bullets enough to kill it?

There were a million thoughts running through Joe’s head right now, and every single one of them told him to just hide somewhere... but he knew he couldn’t do that.

After all, there was no guarantee that anyone else on this boat was even still alive. Just based on what he had seen already, Joe had no other choice but to assume that everyone else was either dead, or waiting to be killed.

If Joe wanted to get off this ship, he was going to have to contact someone.

He was going to have to reach the radio.

The only problem now... was actually getting there.

Nearly crushing the pistol in his hardened grip, Joe clenched his jaw out of anxiety and practically forced himself to walk around the corner, his heart pounding heavily in his ears as he wandered into a larger room.

It looked like whatever that thing was had run off for now, but in its wake, it left behind a morbid display of blood and gore, including the mauled body of a fallen soldier.

There were bloodstained shreds of clothing scattered all over the floor, a trail of some strange greenish slime, and -- most intriguingly -- a series of numbers written on the wall in what looked like someone’s blood.

Joe instantly flinched at the ghastly sight, almost having to stop himself from immediately turning around.

“Oh... fucking hell...!” The solider whispered with a gag, his gaze nailing itself onto the corpse.

The poor man’s stomach had been ripped open by something horrendously sharp, revealing a repulsive pile of exposed organs. And for some odd reason, it looked like the person’s eyes were completely white, as if they had just been... blanked out by something.

Their face was also stuck in a terrified expression, leading Joe to believe that they had been frightened to death.

...What the hell was going on in this ship?

Tempted to investigate the body, Joe glanced around for a moment before eyeing the corridor in front of him, looking for a way to barricade it.

He was pretty sure that that was where the creature went earlier, and despite it not being around right now, Joe certainly didn’t want it creeping up on him while he was distracted by something.

Rushing over to one of the doors, Joe pushed it open until it was completely blocking the path and held it in place, leaving nothing more than a little slit of space to squeeze through.

Afterwards, he picked out a random crate sitting nearby and used it as a giant doorstop, ensuring that if anyone decided to pursue him, they couldn’t just simply close the barricade shut.

That should’ve been enough to hold back the beast -- he hoped -- but then again... Joe did just witness it drag a full-grown man as if he weighed nothing.

He didn’t know what the limits of this creature’s strength was, but if he was lucky, he’d never have to find out.

Jogging back to the corpse, Joe crouched down and took a closer look at the dog tags hanging around their neck, hoping to figure out who the poor bastard was.

“Oh, shit...” Joe cursed under his breath, suddenly recognizing their face. “B-Buckley? Jesus Christ... what the fuck happened to you, man?”

Examining Buckley’s injuries, Joe stared at the deep lacerations with a revolted expression, trying to understand exactly what on earth killed him.

No human could’ve caused this type of damage. Not with their bare hands, anyway.

It looked like something had been trying to rip him in half by clawing at his abdomen -- but why?

For food, maybe?

The doctor did say this creature -- whatever it was -- had chased after other soldiers before. Maybe it was searching for a meal.

But, no. That wouldn’t make sense. There were no bite marks. Other than Buckley’s stomach, the man appeared to be perfectly intact.

So, what other reason would it have to kill these people in such an awful manner? What was the point in hunting down all these victims?

What the hell was Joe really looking at?

Overwhelmed by confusion and stress, the soldier decided to leave the corpse alone for now and simply rose to his feet, bringing his attention to the writing on the wall instead.

As disturbing as it was to leave a message in blood, Joe had hoped it would’ve been some sort of explanation as to what exactly was going on around here, only to end up with more questions.

He read the smeared text to himself, his eyes narrowing in both fear and skepticism:

“731. LET THE WORLD KNOW.”

Seven, three, one? What did that mean?

Was that some sort of combination? Or maybe a date?

Those numbers carried no significance for Joe.

He had never seen anything of importance involving those numbers, and he didn’t recall the doctor saying anything about them either.

Joe let out an exhausted sigh and dragged a hand down his face, already regretting ever setting foot out of the medical ward.

None of this made any sense.

Something was going around slaughtering people and making them lose their minds. The doctor mentioned that he couldn’t trust anything he saw, and a part of him didn’t even seem to believe that Joe was entirely real.

How could so much have happened within the span of a couple hours? Was anyone even left?

Was Charlie, or the sergeant, or Patterson, or anyone still alive?

Joe quickly shook his head at the thought, afraid to accept he was the only survivor.

“N-No...” he muttered aloud, his breath shivering with worry. “No, there’s no way. This ship’s full of people who are trained to kill. I... I can’t be the only one left. That’s impossible. There has to be someone else. There has to. I just gotta find them.”

A second voice interrupted his thoughts.

“...Joseph...”

Nearly leaping out of his skin at the sudden voice, Joe instantly let out a startled shout and whirled around in terror, only to find the most horrific, distorted creature standing directly behind him.

Its skin was gray and mottled with rot, its head dangled freakishly to the side from a broken neck, its nose had fallen off due to decay, its lips were stretched tautly around a row of sharp teeth, and -- hiding underneath its tangled vines of black hair -- Joe saw a pair of blank eyes sitting lifelessly inside two sunken sockets.

What was most disturbing about this creature though, was how much it resembled a human being. Despite its skeletal physique and hunched-over posture, Joe couldn’t help but notice that it looked somewhat like a woman.

He stumbled to the floor at the terrible sight and helplessly backed towards a wall, aiming his gun at the monster.

“W-What...” Joe stuttered, unable to speak coherently at the moment. “What... what the hell? Who are you?!”

The creature ignored his question and simply repeated his name in a wispy voice, offering no response.

“...Joseph...”

The soldier unloaded a few, thunderous shots straight into its body, only to freeze in shock when the bullets ended up flying right through them.

He glared at his pistol in bewilderment, unable to believe what he was seeing.

“What the fuck?!”

The monster continued with its approach and limped towards the petrified soldier, its emaciated feet sluggishly dragging across the floor as an unholy shriek escaped its mouth.

Oh God, why wasn’t Joe’s gun working?

How was this creature still moving?

Not only did the bullet not harm it, it also seemed to have completely missed its body.

How the hell was Joe going to kill this thing now?

If guns weren’t enough to hurt it... then... what was?

Putting his weapon down, Joe completely plastered himself against the wall out of distress and held up a protective arm, almost hyperventilating as the creature got closer to him.

“N-No...!” He exclaimed desperately, shutting his eyes tight. “Stay back! Get away from me!”

But the beast was relentless.

With every torturous step that it took, Joe could feel its lanky shadow steadily towering over him, gradually blocking out more and more of the light in this area.

There was, realistically speaking, nothing Joe could do to defend himself in this situation.

The creature was supposedly immune to his attacks, and the longer it pursued him, the more Joe prepared for its deadly claws to tear right through him.

Oh, Christ... he was going to end up just like Buckley.

He was going to die right next to him, and become nothing more than another forgotten corpse to add to the pile.

He was going to be ripped to shreds by this inhuman beast, and he was powerless to stop it.

To Joe’s surprise, however... it never happened.

Instead of the excruciating death he had been anticipating, the only thing Joe experienced now was an unexpected silence.

It didn’t sound like the creature was there anymore, and all the light had returned to his vision as if the thing just suddenly disappeared.

There was no more movement. No more growling.

No more danger.

Where... where did it go?

Still sitting on the floor, Joe hesitantly opened his eyes to a slit and lowered his arm, absolutely perplexed about what was happening.

The beast was nowhere to be found.

Did it walk away?

Did it decide to leave him alone?

What... what just happened?

Carefully rising from the floor, Joe brought himself to stand up and used the wall for support, undeniably still trembling from the mysterious encounter.

Unlike a few moments ago, there was no longer any sort of creature threatening to kill him -- and in its place, Joe saw nothing but an inexplicable absence standing in front of him.

What the hell was going on?

Was Joe starting to see things now, too?

Was this what the doctor was talking about?

That would’ve explained why he attacked Joe. Perhaps he saw him as some sort of monster. Or maybe, he thought one of those creatures was disguising themselves as the soldier.

Whatever it was, Joe couldn’t deny that the doctor’s insanity didn’t seem so insane anymore.

At first, Joe simply thought the man had lost his mind due to the war. But now that he had experienced one of these hallucinations for himself, he really couldn’t blame the doctor.

It was starting to affect his own mind just like it affected his, and Joe didn’t even want to think about what other horrors awaited him.

Before he could think about the subject anymore however, the questions racing in Joe’s head instantly came to a halt when he suddenly noticed a new addition to the grotesque scene, sending his mind into a frenzy.

Accompanying Buckley’s mangled corpse, Joe spotted a new body lying motionlessly in one of the corners of the room, its eyes wide open in horror as a puddle of blood began spreading underneath it.

Wait, what the hell?

When did that get there?

Joe didn’t recall finding anyone else’s body when he arrived, but judging by the freshness of the blood, they didn’t die that long ago.

When did this happen?

Cautiously approaching the random corpse, the soldier gazed downwards and took a look at their face, his heart immediately sinking with grief once he recognized them.

“Oh, my God...” Joe breathed out in disbelief. “Charlie? You were here all along? Oh, no.”

But it got worse.

Bringing his gaze to Charlie’s torso, Joe pointed out quite a few bullet wounds sitting in his chest, leading him to a horrifying conclusion as he recalled his recent actions.

Wait a second...

Didn’t he... didn’t he try to shoot that beast earlier?

And didn’t the ammo just phase right through it?

Why didn’t it affect the creature?

Why... why did Charlie have the same amount of bullets in his body as the number of times Joe pulled the trigger...?

...Why... oh no...

Oh, GOD no. Oh, fuck.

Dropping his pistol to the floor, Joe’s mind instantly went into a state of paralysis as he collapsed to his knees, helplessly trying to wake Charlie up once the realization hit him.

Joe killed him.

He killed his only friend on this entire goddamned ship.

This was his fault.

This was all his fault.

“Charlie!” Joe called out, aggressively shaking his body. “Charlie, can you hear me? Oh, fuck... I’m so sorry, Charlie. I didn’t... I didn’t know it was you! I swear I would’ve never shot if I... if I -- oh, Jesus Christ...”

Drained of all energy, Joe gave up on his pointless confessions and simply lay his hands on Charlie’s bloodied chest, not even bothering to hold back the tears spilling from his eyes.

What the fuck was happening on this ship?

Why was everyone dead?

What was the source of these hallucinations?

There was just so much going on all at once, and Joe didn’t even know how to begin unravelling it.

But regardless of how long it would take, or how hard he’d have to fight, Joe was hellbent on learning the truth now.

Something was happening here that the government didn’t want people to know about.

Something was causing his comrades to see their biggest fears, and turn on their fellow soldiers.

Something brought this ship to Manchuria.

And the answer was in the cargo hold.

Joe remembered many of the guards expressing some sort of fear when it came to going down there. Many people, especially Patterson, always tried to find a way out of their shift because they were spooked by something.

But even then, the superiors insisted on surrounding that area with a heavy amount of security.

It was obvious that they didn’t want to leave any chance of their secret being exposed, but after everything Joe had seen tonight, he was going to find out why.

He didn’t care who would try to stop him either.

Whatever they were hiding down there just cost him his best friend, and he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to blow the whistle on their whole operation.

It was his job, after all, to protect his country.

...Even when it meant protecting it from itself.

[xbratprincex]

WHYBORNE AND GRIFFIN re: the ship meme you knew I would

I’m so glad you did though! Let’s see...

Who cries when someone dies in a movie?:

I don’t feel like either of them would really cry at movies. I think Whyborne would think it a bit absurd while Griffin just doesn’t seem the type at all. I think it would have to be really engrossing for either one to cry.

Who wears the ugly holiday garb?:

Griffin. Without shame. Shamelessly trying to enforce the horrendous holiday dress code on his beloved.

Who pays for the meals?

I think Griffin would probably like to pay for the meals and treat Whyborne to the lifestyle he’s been accustomed to. Then again, Whyborne would more than likely put up enough of a fuss that it would result in them taking turns.

Who slams the oven door and who plays the trombone?

I can only imagine Whyborne being made to play some ghastly instrument as a child so i’m afraid he’s on trombone duty. Griffin is fine with that.

Who brings home stray animals?

Griffin. Not that I think Whyborne would complain, but I can’t imagine him being too happy if Griffin brought a dog home. It would only upset Saul.

Who leaves the bathroom door open?

Griffin. I can’t imagine him caring for modesty seeing as the two of them are basically married.

Who tells the 'dad jokes'?

Griffin would be a horrendous dad joker. Whyborne doesn’t know how he puts up with it.

Who wants kids more?

I don’t think Whyborne would even consider children but I think Griffin might give it some thought. I don’t think he’d have a huge desire to have any, but I think he’d get along well with children.

Who travels more?

Griffin, only because his job demands it. Although I think he’d try takes jobs as close to home as he could possibly get.

Who spends more cash?

Whyborne. Most likely purchasing books and other research related things.

Who buys the things in infomercials?

I think Griffin, but then Whyborne gets hooked and starts ordering all kinds of crap he thinks is ‘revolutionary’.

Who draws in the dust on their cars?

Griffin. Usually stick figures engaged in compromising positions.

Who starts the snowball fights?

Griffin, but then Whyborne gets far too in to it in the end.

Who throws away the directions to things?

Griffin, which infuriates Whyborne because he insists on studying the manual first.

Who puts up holiday decor?

I think they both would, simply because they never had much in the way of happy family holidays in the past and are eager to create new memories with each other.

Who is more likely to forget to bathe?

Both, probably. Whyborne, if he’s been too engrossed in his studies and Griffin if he’s really fixated on a case.

Who gets more obsessed about things?

Whyborne, I think. If there’s a puzzle or problem that’s eluding him, he’ll fixate on it until he can crack it. Purely as a point of pride.

Who sings in the shower more often?

Griffin. Loudly. At all hours of the day, regardless of who may be listening.

[versatilepoetry]

Unemployment

Unemployment is a ghastly seed; which flowers into a graveyard of sullen nothingness; for centuries immemorial, Unemployment is an abhorrently fetid wind; which pulverizes every element of your sacred countenance; to blend with insipidly threadbare ands sleazy charcoal, Unemployment is a pathetic maelstrom of obnoxious malice; which cripples every trace of vibrant existence; till realms beyond absurd recognition, Unemployment is the most agonizing of trauma in an organism's visage; a perfidious quarantine that remains with your silhouette once it takes even the most infidel of roots, Unemployment is the onset of disdainful morbidity; with even the most euphorically gyrating nerves of your body; now ignominiously vomiting the last ingredient of your sagacious blood, Unemployment is a malicious stamp of the horrendously penalizing devil; insanely annihilating all melodiously bountiful desire from its very poignant roots, Unemployment is a treacherously abominable parasite; malevolently extricating even the last iota of celestially fructifying nutrition; from your wonderfully robust body, Unemployment is the ultimate curse on all fraternity of living kind; insidiously asphyxiating the fangs of your existence; even before you could wink your eyes, Unemployment is an avalanche of decaying neglect which unceremoniously augments with each instant of unveiling time; rendering even the most gloriously synergistic of your rudiments to baseless shit, Unemployment is the most acrimoniously devastating nail in your coffin; unsparingly lambasting you with swords of horrific disdain; even after your veritable death, Unemployment is an indescribable holocaust for the boundless planet; lecherously snaring its satanically ostracizing shadows towards nothing else; but a solitary dungeon of gory bloodshed and doom, Unemployment is the most perniciously sinister abuse that you could have ever conceived; mercilessly excoriating an entity's integrity into a million infinitesimal pieces of meaninglessness, Unemployment is an intransigently emotionless night that never ends; a gruesomely pulverizing blackness that has not even the tiniest insinuation of an optimistic tomorrow, Unemployment is a diabolical wave of perilous remorsefulness; metamorphosing even the most capricious iota of ebullience enshrouding your soul into a corpse of overwhelming dilapidation and ominous decay, Unemployment is an unsurpassably satanic entrenchment of preposterously sinking boredom; endlessly scarring your sacrosanct visage with the signature of utterly devastating hopelessness, Unemployment is the most torturously inexplicable disease; a severely pugnacious ailment which leads to nothing else but a tunnel of dismally dolorous Blackness, Unemployment is a wasteland of acridly thwarting debilitation; propelling you to vindictively stumble into a battlefield of gory blood and bone; on every step that you transgressed, Unemployment is a revengeful gutter of squelching stench; barbarically assassinating even the most evanescent trace of optimism encapsulating your spell binding countenance, Unemployment is a venomously belligerent thorn that incessantly pierces the crux of your exuberant existence; triggering every element of your persona to unstoppably bleed till times beyond infinite infinity, Unemployment is a cold-bloodedly shattered glass; which transformed even the most majestically resplendent of your contours; into the corpses of ghastily penalizing hell, Unemployment is the most tyrannically truculent form of sparkling life; ruthlessly sapping even the most fleeting iota of enthusiasm from your unassailable body, Unemployment is an endless tornado of ferociously repelling bullets; ghastily infiltrating every pore of your conscience with a blanket of derogatorily corrupt lies, Unemployment is an unrelenting swirl of self inflicted destruction; transiting every speck of your inherently benign goodness; into a insanely uncouth murderer, Unemployment is a desert of savagely threadbare hostility; leaving a trail of blood stained avarice and discriminating prejudice on every quarter of this fathomless earth, Unemployment is the greatest sin that you could ever be born for; a web of nonchalant drudgery that miserably crucified everything that you ardently desired, Unemployment is the most quintessential spark that evokes indiscriminate violence; agonizingly transforming God's unconquerable fabric of humanity; into an irascible marketplace of trading death, Unemployment is the despicably lugubrious ceasing of your heart; the dastardly dying of every harmoniously enchanting rhyme in the blissfully enthralling atmosphere, Unemployment is the most criminally castigating snapping of your beautifully endowing breath; rendering you with nothing but an appalling expletive for this miraculously mesmerizing planet, Therefore it is my humble plea to all those uselessly Unemployed; to passionately race forward in the full fervor of Omnipotently charismatic life; transcend past the pinnacles of bountiful prosperity to symbiotically blend with the religion of mankind, And believe me that you would find yourself irrefutably successful once you take the initiative; for it is not I who is doing anything for you; but it will all manifest into a perpetually invincible reality by the grace of the Omnipresently Almighty Lord