#also this was started before the hot ones video aka Corey And The Grand Hiccupping Fiasco. love being psychic what can i say

[pulsedmaggot]

happy lesbian day heres 2 pieces of a girl!jim/girl!corey wip x

five years in a band. nine people. seven guys. two chicks. and only now does it seem that the world is louder than they are. what used to be a united front of sound and shockwaves is now muddled by someone changing a tire. a car honking in the distance. cicadas crooning and the sliding of a restless singer’s shoes over concrete. before this, they'd all be trudging along to this gas station together, gathering unfavorable stares and shouts alike. today- tonight- it's just the two of them. the rest of the band are probably shuffling around their own sidewalks and bus stops, with the ones truly loyal to the making of their third album holed up in that same mansion corey didn't “feel right” in. and jamie is here with her, wondering how someone claiming to quit smoking could ask to borrow a lighter so much.

the impromptu shopping trip wasn't too bad. jamie didn't get a beer because she knew she couldn't share it with corey, and decided to take her journey to stop drinking seriously for once. a bottle of pre-brewed vanilla ice coffee is starting to grow room temperature in the fold of her elbow because of this. corey’d topped off a bottle of cold brew before jamie got to pay for their drinks, having huffed and puffed that this humble 7-eleven didn't already have a hot pot on when they walked in. if jamie knew she needed a caffeine fix, she would've started a pot for her back at the mansion, knowing that corey only sucked down the truest and deepest of self-ground black sand these days. the very premise of them being out of their comfortable beds at shit o’fuck at night could've had to do with corey’s supply depleting. wouldn't be the first time she's thrown a fit over running out of coffee.

“y’know, i could-” before jamie’s about to offer to pick up a six pack of refrigerated starbucks, a belch resounds from corey’s chest.

corey slaps her diaphragm, her moody facade having crumbled the moment a hiccup followed soon after. jamie laughs at corey’s swearing fit, wondering if she regretted putting back that bottle a minute ago.

“i was gonna go back and get you, like, one of those packs, or the big jugs of stuff, but-” corey calls jamie a ‘fucking prick’ before she can finish her sentiment, the corners of her mouth turning up a little.

“all you have to do is ask! it's hop skip and a jump for me, y’know.” jamie mimes stomping back over to the gas station in very long steps, knowing it'd get a reaction out of her.

“yeah? lumberwoman?” corey rolls her eyes, still pretending to not be in the mood for jamie’s antics. after all, she’s supposed to be angry at some vaguely unsettling aura of their fanciful magician house/recording studio.

“it's no problem to me, ms. tree stump.” jamie taunts, “i know you had a thing for that cashier, so i’ll just tell him you said hey while i’m in there.”

“fuck off, i did not-” corey’s entire face goes red, the hair framing her face looking lightning-white in comparison. “that dick-for-brains unplugged the coffee maker!”

“right, yeah, that's what ruins a man for you.” jaime snorts.

“exactly.” corey flips her hair over her shoulder. “i only fuck gas stationers who do their job right.”

[...]

corey gets that air about her, where she stands too still for what feels like too long, but is probably no more than about 20 seconds. it's pure uncanny valley whenever she stays still; all those thoughts and actions hidden by a blank stare and the occasional curl of her hair over her finger, too much humanity blanketed over a pothole of pennies and thumbtacks. jamie tries not to stare, but there's no way to get around how unfocused corey looks- how captivating she is when she could do anything, say anything, yet chooses to stay still. she could gather every bit of caffeine lying dormant inside of her and run across the street, zigzagging through bikes and taxis and find herself in another part of town. jamie also tries not to think about how easy it would be for her to follow mindlessly behind her. obediently.

corey opens her mouth to say something, presumably to ask whether or not jamie can run faster than she can say ‘vanilla’, but before jamie’s ankles have a street corner to twist on their bus is showing up. bright lights in the night’s haze squeaking to a halt, the bus driver throwing an overly polite hat-tip their way. jamie can feel corey rolling her eyes in her periphery. as much as she would love to entertain a round of quipping over the driver, jamie gives corey’s shirt sleeve a pinch.

“i’ll race ya.”