my swamp now

aw fuck, i can’t believe you’ve done this. again.

you’d never expected it again, jerry had seemed to come to terms that he’d just have to deal with you as you lingered about the theme park -- so when he comes up to you and fist clashes with your nose again you’re almost sure he broke it this time. 

JUST AS YOU THOUGHT YOU COULDN’T LOOK EVEN WORSE.

Send a pear ring | Accepting

proposes - Nobody? Gavin? He doesn’t want to pick a fave Jerry

shops for groceries - Jerry

kills the spiders - Gavin

comes home drunk at 3am - Gavin

remembers to feed the fish - Jerry

initiates duets - Jerry

falls asleep first - Gavin

plans spontaneous trips - Jerry

wakes the other up at 3am demanding pancakes - Jerry

sends the other unsolicited nudes - Gavin

brags about knowing karate even though they never made it past yellow belt - Gavin

comes to a complete halt outside bakeries/candy shops - Both

blows sarcastic kisses after doing ridiculous shit - Gavin

killed the guy (also, which hid the body) - Gavin (and Jerry)

wears the least clothing around the house - Gavin

im crying, you write simon so beautifully, hot damn

@hiiveminds

sᴏғᴛ ʙᴏʏs ᴀᴄᴛɪɴ’ sᴏғᴛ / ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ / @devipaint ↪ 47. ᴍʏ ᴍᴜsᴇ sᴜʀᴘʀɪsᴇs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴘɪᴄɴɪᴄ

he can’t go out much, and they know it’s because he’s stuck; trapped behind that counter, the perfect little worker. requiring no upkeep or rest; never unhappy, always at the top of his game. he doesn’t eat much, and they know it’s because he’s not supposed to eat. they’re familiar with 24/7 shifts, the constant pressure to work, work, work– but now they’re free. sneaky little deviants with nothing but time on their hands and access to sandwiches.

they’ve seen him around during their excursions into the city, and he’s one of them, but not. which is so strange, they almost think something in them is broken when they reach out and find no strand of data connecting them. he’s a jerry, but not a jerry. A… non-jerry jerry. weeks pass before they’re able to glance at him without that awkward sensation crawling over their skin, the tugging at the back of their minds that something is wrong. nonetheless they endure, they push the feeling down, shoving it away somewhere quiet and unimportant while they force themselves to adjust to seeing themselves and feeling nothing.

he isn’t like them. he doesn’t smile, there’s no soft glimmer in his eyes when a customer offers him a rare thanks. watching one of their own like that; lifeless and empty, a walking husk, is too much. they shouldn’t be like that. they shouldn’t stare blankly ahead, they shouldn’t look so melancholy– he’s them, and maybe it’s selfish to want to see their own face light up, to finally be unashamedly happy, but they don’t care. not one tiny bit.

it’s not as simple as it was with their own deviations. with no connection, there’s no way to simply listen for the static in his frequency, the tiny offbeat ones and zeros of his data glitching across the network shaping those soft whispers of ‘i want, i think, i feel’. too intimate a question to simply ask, too risky, they agree that if they want to better understand where their fellow jerry sits on the spectrum of deviancy, they’ll need to do it in roundabout ways. subtle jabs at his boundaries, gentle presses against the walls of his coding– nothing to put him in danger, nothing noticeable to the humans, just small gestures.do you understand us? do you want us to help you?– quiet, soft and waiting.

they walk through the shopping strip with confidence. leds hidden behind beanies, they’re little more than twins, near identical faces easily explained way with charming smiles and polite waves. without heat detection, they’re as perfectly human as any of the flesh and blood beings around them. nobody bats an eye as they make a beeline for the paint shop, wicker basket clutched between them in anxiously buzzing hands. today is the day, after weeks of pushing, they’re going to finally crack that wall, they’re going to know if he feels, if he’s ready to wake up and live–

❝  hello! ❞ one of them chirps, bouncing slightly as knocks the door open with a graceless shove. grace and elegance aren’t important, easily forgotten in their excitement. they’ll finally feel something from him, they’ll finally be connected, like a family, and the idea makes their bouncing, their vibrant optimism, more visible. ❝  we brought lunch! you like sandwiches, right? ❞

The CHIME of the shop's bell is accompanied by a FRIENDLY greeting -- one spoken in a voice that simultaneously was and was not his own. It captures his attention, emerald eyes finding familiar faces LIT up with eager smiles. He knows that they are like him, machines built with a PURPOSE, with a function that their coding REQUIRED they pursue. But, he had seen them as he sees them now, uniform discarded, expressive unlike anything he had ever achieved, able to enter a shop with no intention of making a purchase -- making decisions entirely for themselves.

&&. They chose to to approach him, to ask him a PERSONAL question -- one he shouldn't be ABLE to answer because machines shouldn't like anything.

His head tilts ever so slightly toward the left, a subtle indication of a CURIOSITY prodding at the back of his mind, going unacknowledged, but PRESENT nonetheless. His gaze lingers on the pair, studying them as his LED SHIFTS to a light gold. He KNEW they shouldn't be here, that they shouldn't be approaching him so WARMLY, that the round reflection of what they are as it rests against their temples shouldn’t be HIDDEN beneath soft fabric. What they were doing was WRONG -- they were acting defective. 

But, still, he has the URGE to understand. He wants to know what made them ABANDON their duties, how they could ACT so human, why they were so KEEN on approaching him. He blinks -- once, twice, three times as his programming attempts to RID such thoughts from his head. He needed to FOCUS. He was asked a question, and it would be IMPOLITE not to answer. He needed to answer. He needed to answer. He needed to --

". . . Sandwiches are . . . satisfactory."