#;as they fall

[thecreaminhiscoffee]

@humansveiled​

     She is away and time passes and she doesn’t forget.

     ( She tries, but there are flickers.  Where once she ignored the scratching of         rabbit feet on the floor of their cage, now she ignores what tries to surface.         She is not successful. )      Six months feels like two years.      When Roger dies, she doesn’t think.      She goes.

     This time, she leaves the companion bunny in the front passenger seat, trapped in a cage with the windows down, rubs wrinkles out of her chocolate skirt, and crosses her arms, fingers tapping along her arm where once gloves might have ended.  It is easier to look at the bunny he left behind and want to commiserate, to excuse her actions, but what would she say?  And, honestly, what would the bunny understand, anyhow?

     Her heels click-clack up the stairs                 ( it surprises her that she was able to put together an outfit;                  it does not surprise her at all )                                                      and she pauses in front of the agent Dana’s door.      The problem with being in a fragile state of mind is that everything becomes harder.      The problem with not being successful in losing track is that she begins to overthink.      The problem with forgetting how to breathe is that remembering is painful.                But, sometimes, it can save you.                                                                      That isn’t why she is here.                                                                      She’s here because, finally, she’s free.      When she knocks, it’s with something like feigned confidence, once or twice timidly, but the third time a little louder, the fourth in something like desperation.  She makes herself stop after that, can feel the panic of her loss sinking deep, is trying not to think of the single bunny in the cage in the car.

                                                                       She’s here because he’s dead.                                                                        All freedom comes at a cost.                                                                        Maybe she’s working on the freedom thing.

[thecreaminhiscoffee]

@licensedpermafrost liked for a starter!

Jessica Rabbit is no longer dangerous.  She does not have the strength or the desire for it; dangerous is only a term applicable to those willing to resort to violence for their own purposes, and Jessica was only ever such in the pursuit of protecting her husband.  With his death, her only danger was to herself. And so it is without the ring that once felt like a tombstone, without any passion or desires to truly call her own, without any specific inkling for why she is there, that Jessica awakens herself in a party - a higher social class than she has ever remembered being in before, but there are explanations for that, she is sure.  Her eyes flick to what should be a bar, only to find nothing there but champagne.  Instead, she steals away through an open door, disappearing into the rest of the building.

                                        ...a museum, then.

She pauses in front of one of the paintings, far enough away that she can barely hear the chatter of those at the party, and takes a deep breath.  If she feels another presence and speaks, then this is a comfort; it is better than being alone.

                                                                   “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

[thecreaminhiscoffee]

@starliingisms liked for a starter!

               “Sometimes I think it would be easier - sharp scar across one eye, like a villain.”  Jessica raises her glass of iced coffee (no, this one is safe, she doesn’t carry little vials with her) and takes a sip.  Her eyes close, and she shakes her head once - even without bleach, this needs a shot of something.  Bailey’s, perhaps.  Maybe something stronger.  “Then when they stare, you would have a safer guess to fall back on, instead of wondering.”  She knows why they look.  She hates it.

[thecreaminhiscoffee]

@womenwritten

She thought she’d been nervous the last time she’d brought a gift, but Jessica felt more so now, not just as a result of the time away but of her own inward acknowledgment that there wasn’t anything that could be given that would match the previous one’s extravagance.  That, and to do anything similar at this point would feel...manipulative, as though she were trying to buy forgiveness.  She isn’t. So - instead of spending an untold amount of money on what she expected would not be well-received - she’d spent time in the kitchen instead.  Although she and the stove had grown quite companionable (for the most part) since she’d become human, the oven - and baking - was her real expertise. When she shows up this time, it is with a plate of crafted cupcakes - four, to be precise - of a cinnamon streusel mix with a light, cream cheese based topping flecked with cocoa and a spattering of honey.  Each holds a thin candle of a different shade, unlit, but there all the same.           “I was not sure if I was allowed.” She looks down, eyes focused on the plate, one curl pulled out of her hasty ponytail.           “...but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”

[thecreaminhiscoffee]

Let’s talk about Jessica’s apartment(s) in At The Seams vs. her apartment(s) in As They Fall because this is actually super indicative of her different frames of mind, etc. (and I don’t think I’ve dealt with this in headcanon yet so.  There). In her At The Seams verse, any apartment Jessica has will be two bedroom, one bath.  One bedroom will be hers, and the other will be to maintain...a lot of junk that she keeps for sentimental reasons.  The second bedroom is also where she keeps Roger and Companion Bunny’s cage - this is indicative of everything in that room being a carryover from her way of life with Roger. That said, I’ve mentioned in previous headcanon that she lets Roger and Companion Bunny roam freely about the apartment; more often than not, the only time they are locked up in the cage is 1) when they are sleeping, or 2) when Jessica has someone else over with her.  She is deeply afraid that another person won’t be as conscious of where Roger is when he is roaming about the apartment and will accidentally step on him, so for his protection, she locks them both up together. On another note, the apartment(s) Jessica has in her At The Seams verse will be mostly threadbare.  She has a tendency to move around fairly frequently at this period in time, so she doesn’t want to have a lot to carry with her.  Most of the time, she prefers to rent out apartments that are already furnished - one bed (in her room), a couch, and bookshelves.  She fills the shelves with her own books for research purposes (primarily mythology - legends, etc.) and sets scrapbooks (ones Roger created) and pictures on top of them, along with hanging framed pictures (primarily of her and Roger, as well as one with Roger and Charlotte his owner).  Outside of that - and, of course, pots, pans, and the like in the kitchen - her apartment is empty.  She has no television, no computer, nothing that requires electrical cords that could be potentially exposed because, with Roger and Companion Bunny freely roaming about the apartment, they could easily start chewing on the wires and get themselves electrocuted.  She may not care if Companion Bunny befalls this fate, but it is extremely important that it doesn’t happen to Roger. As far as the apartment itself, it’s not of any specific sort or kind - she looks for cheap and close to a bar and that’s about it.  Sometimes (a lot of the time) it has wood paneling.  It’ll be an apartment that no one else really wants (for one reason or another) despite the size. In her As They Fall verse, however, there are some changes - although this is highly dependent on her frame of mind. One thing stays the same: her apartments are still two bedroom, one bath.  In most cases, the second bedroom is still a junk room - it’s where she keeps all of her memories from anything earlier in her life: everything connected to Roger, up to and including the cage he and Companion Bunny once shared.  On the odd occasion (specifically on a Good End Jess route or the potential for one - specifically a route where Jess cares enough to actually work at herself instead of succumbing entirely to her depression), the second bedroom will be cleared out and have a second bed - she will have cut down on the things she keeps, such that the scrapbooks and miscellaneous other mementos will be kept in a locked drawer in her room (as opposed to having an entire locked room for everything). Her apartment tends to be much more modern and high scale.  I have previously assumed that she lives in a high rise, where the entire outer wall of the living room is nothing but windows through which she can see the rest of the city.  Her bedroom (both of them, really) are on a second floor, which is separate from the bottom floor by a hovering staircase (and probably a glass banister system - kind of like so but not necessarily connected to a wall...I don’t think).  Assume a lot of glass.  Lots of glass features.  Such modern.  Very wow. These apartments typically have a lot more in them in the form of decoration, but there’s little personal value to it (especially at the beginning of the verse).  It’s there because it looks nice from a purely aesthetic perspective - it fits with the idea of the apartment but not necessarily with Jessica herself.  Everything is neat and orderly and looks like it should be in a magazine somewhere.  It does not feel lived in...primarily because, really, it isn’t.  It’s simply a place for her to exist.  She has a tv, but she doesn’t watch it, and she has a computer (or a laptop), but she doesn’t use that either.

[thecreaminhiscoffee]

@nigellecter​ - cont. from [x]

He still recalls the night when he had succumbed to cement knuckles, as tears that don’t absorb all that well into cement as he vehemently held onto the staining poignancy; there had been no spilling, but seeping. No weeping, yet enough wallowing to bring such proclamation of his love. I love you, I love you still. How those words become leaden on his tongue, stains his teeth submissive as they tumbled past his motionless lips. There was nothing wildly beautiful about deafening quietness, yet there had been so much beauty in the widening and effervescing puddle beneath him. His deep-rooted and perpetual budding addiction had blossomed his entirety with destruction as he became ritualistic sacrifice, alone in the altar as the mantras of celestial sky continued to pass down in dramatic arcs.

Just as he had been subdued beneath the stabbing point as the same fisted cement knuckles had shrieked against the tumultuous writhing of every inch of his muscle and marrow. The same unfurling occurring as the glimpse of sunlight leaked down his prominent cheeks. While he still retains rose cheeks, iris veins, more blooming liveliness than months prior, he feels yet again, alive with stains and scarrings and all. He might not be the same bronze god that radiates light like a beacon in the night when the same repeated darkness would creep up on him. As time seems to linger by, all thoughts of ‘forever’ becomes such a nuisance. Yes, while the biggest mistake had been letting his darling Gabriella go; even then he knew there was no one else after HER - for through ruination and damnation, he had sought his finality.

“I concur,” the words are ready to roll off his tongue, yet such testament AGAINST his long-time belief becomes a choking agent. His words had been full of adventure and hope and life; they don’t particularly create a mystery that should remain an unknown nor inspire such deep pondering that he had a penchant for strong gravitation and inclination. “It’s fucking sweetest misery humankind has instilled upon itself. We embody finite, momentary existence upon the earth, why should it be such unrealized beacon of light when all I could fucking perceive is perpetuity of darkness and nothingness?” He still feels lightning in every touch, with thunder in his veins, yet the hurricane continues to rage through his ribcage, even in the midst of fleeting thought of HER.

Jessica Rabbit was not promised forever, but for popular Toons such as she and Roger once were, it was almost guaranteed.  Few of their kind needed to fear Dip anymore, not since the Judge fell to its molten embrace and a new, much more sympathetic judge took his place.  Yes, the fear still ate at her throughout the years, but that was more a mix of her own experiences, scars etched beneath her purple gloves, hidden under Toon hosiery, a paint touch up along her back that all but hid the differences in texture, color, shading.  If the whole were remade, then who could tell a difference? The taste of it even now lingered within her lips, despite the fact that, trapped in a human form as she now was, those scars were long since gone.  No more rot, no more decay, and yet fifty years or longer of a constant burden cannot be so easily washed away in mere moments, days, weeks.                          A decade.                                                       Longer. Humans were gifted no such ideals - they live, they eat, they breathe, they die; mere mortals in comparison with their creations, which need only their attention to survive - and Jessica had never wanted them, never given them a second thought until forever was ripped from her grasp, until she held nothing but rabbit fur slowly growing colder and colder, until she lost-- Her fingers tapped along her arm where once her gloves would have ended - a Toon cover for scars that now ache exchanged for long sleeves, golden sweaters, flowery shirts with patterns that distract from what lay beneath - and she crosses one long leg over another.  The seat is cold beneath her, flame from the lighter in her other hand not enough to bring any sense of warmth, smoke from her cigarette nothing but a constant haze. She remembers the days when she couldn’t remember, and she misses them.

          “Humans like to think that their momentary passions will last.              They don’t.  Not equally, in any case.” Jessica takes a deep breath of her cigarette, lets the smoke puff in the air crosses her arm again.  It’s a constant musing - the differences between humans and Toons and where she lies now that she has crossed sides.           “And even when they do, someone dies.              Death is inevitable, after all.” Forever felt like a lie.

[thecreaminhiscoffee]

Blows the pretty lady a kiss.

Send Jess kisses for International Kissing Day....and forgive Bandit for not finishing them for two weeks.  >.>;;

This is her trademark.It is different when a human follows through on the action: perhaps it’s the lack of Toon lipstick that does it, or maybe it’s just the absence of Toon physics acting on their desires - there is no red lipstick stain shaped bit of paint flying through the air, but she imagines it anyway, catches the kiss in the palm of her hand, stares at the emptiness there before responding in kind.Eleanor might have forbidden her Toon things after she was transformed, but she still keeps a few handy items.  Just in case.Besides, the stain is the best part.