when i was post op after top surgery i had a good friend there with me to help recover. but the nurse didnt get the memo and when i woke up she was like “ok i’m gonna go get your girlfriend and bring her in to see you!” and i remember being so zonked on anesthesia and so disoriented i just laid there thinking wow…… all that an they’re bringing me a girlfriend too this place is amazing
cliché but classic trope: when the person who almost died wakes up in a hospital bed, looks around and sees the object of their affection sleeping uncomfortably in the chair next to them because they haven’t moved in days.
You can pry that trope from my cold dead hands.
cliché but classic sub trope of this: the person who almost died tells the object of their affection “you look like shit” despite the fact that they are the one in the hospital bed and almost died.
I feel like there are probably too many people just scrolling past this so let’s go through everything that’s going on here.
1. With Roger's voice actor standing off camera, Bob Hoskins acts into empty air and frantically sawing at his handcuff, continually looking up and down at different visual marks of various depths. Look at the slow pan up of his eyes in gif 4, and then the quick shift to his side. Think about how, on set, he was looking at nothing.
2. Starting in gif 2, The box must be made to stop shaking, either by concealed crew member, mechanism, or Hoskins own dextrousness, as he is doing all of the things mentioned in point 1.
3. In all gifs, Roger’s handcuff has to be made to move appropriately through a hidden mechanism. (If you watch the 4th gif closely you can see the split second where it is replaced by an animated facsimile of the actual handcuff, but just for barely a second.)
4. The crew voluntarily (we know this because it is now a common internal phrase at Disney for putting in extra work for small but significant reward) decided to make Roger bump the lamp and give the entire scene a constantly moving light source that had to be matched between the on set footage and Roger. This was for two reasons, A) Robert Zemeckis thought it would be funnier, and B) one of the key techniques the crew employed to make the audience instinctually accept that Toons coexisted with the live action environment was constant interaction with it. This is why, other than comedy, Roger is so dang clumsy. Instead of isolating Toons from real objects to make it easier for themselves, the production went out of its way to make Toons interact more with the live action set than even real actors necessarily would, in order to subtly, constantly remind the audience that they have real palpable presence. You can watch the whole scene here, just to see how few shots there are of Roger where he doesn’t interact with a real object.
The crew and animators did all of this with hand drawn cell animation without computerized special effects. 1988, we were still five years out from Jurassic Park, the first movie to make the leap from fully physical creature effects to seamlessly integrating realistic computer generated images with live action footage. Roger’s shadows weren’t done with CGI. Hoskin’s sightlines were not digitally altered. Wires controlling the handcuff were not removed in post.
Who fucking Framed Roger fucking Rabbit, folks. The greatest trick is when people don’t realize you’re tricking them at all.
Roommate went out of town once, asked me to look after her cat.
Night one she comes down meowing at me. I go check her food/water, they’re full. Litter box empty. Make sure my roommate’s door is still open and she’s not locked out of her room or something. I try to pet her and she dodges me, offer her treats and she won’t have it, try playing with her but she won’t play, try just ignoring her and she won’t stop following me around meowing at me.
So I call my roommate, concerned maybe she was sick or in pain and that’s why she was being so insistent despite having all her needs met.
Roommate goes: “OH! She wants you to go to bed. Go upstairs to my room and just sit in my bed with her for a few minutes. She should curl up and get comfortable. Once shes laid down she usually lets me go back to what I’m doing she just can’t seem to go to bed on her own”
Sure enough, I go sit on roommates bed and she just happily jumps up, curls up on the blanket, and purrs herself to sleep.
I like when cats try to give their humans healthy habits.
Don Pierrot of Navarre always sat up at night until I came home, waiting for me on the inside of the door, and as soon as I stepped into the antechamber he would come rubbing himself against my legs, arching his back and purring in gladsome, friendly fashion. Then he would start to walk in front of me, preceding me like a page, and I am sure that if I had asked him to do so, he would have carried my candle. In this way he would escort me to my bedroom, wait until I had undressed, jump up on the bed, put his paws round my neck, rub his nose against mine, lick me with his tiny red tongue, rough as a file, and utter little inarticulate cries by way of expressing unmistakably the pleasure he felt at seeing me again. When he had sufficiently caressed me and it was time to sleep he used to perch upon the backboard of his bed and slept there like a bird roosting on a branch. As soon as I woke in the morning, he would come and stretch out beside me until I rose. Midnight was the latest time allowed for my return home. On this point Pierrot was as inflexible as a janitor… Twice or thrice Pierrot sat up for me until two o’clock in the morning, but presently he took offence at my conduct and went to bed without waiting for me. I was touched by this mute protest against my innocently disorderly way of life, and thereafter I regularly returned home at midnight. Pierrot, however, proved hard to win back; he wanted to make sure that my repentance was no mere passing matter, but once he was convinced that I had really reformed, he deigned to restore me to his good graces and again took up his nightly post in the antechamber.
Cats : trying to make us go to bed at a Reasonable Time since forever (so they can wake us up at 3 am for treats)
idk what traumatized or mentally ill person needs to hear this but dreams (especially the really disturbing ones you dont want to talk about to anybody) arent some deep peek into your psyche or a sign of your True Desires or whatever theyre quite literally your brain making fruit salad with whatever it can find on the shelf. just putting all that shit in a blender and hitting obliterate. its fine, youre fine, youre not a weirdo for it
Also while we’re here I want everyone to appreciate that This
This wild, wonderful, beautifully animated and heartfelt queer story started here
Here, on tumblr, by an art student who was wrestling with his identity, mental health, and religious trauma
Tell your stories, kids, you never know how many people will thank you for it
🥲
hi it’s me again. 7. handwritten / promised! (one or both, do whatever you want to!) <3
Bucky’s a little stressed.
Writing their own vows had seemed like a good idea when they’d agreed to it, swept up in wedding planning and the romance of it all, but now that he’s sitting down to write them, he can’t seem to find the words.
My dear Sam, he starts, and then deletes it because he’s never said that in his entire life. Sammy, he tries next, but it sounds weirdly playful and informal for the whole romantic vibe they were going for in the first place.
He’s not really sure how he’s going to manage writing a whole ass speech when he can’t even figure out how to address Sam at the beginning, but he places his hands lightly on his keyboard and wills himself to write something, anything, down that doesn’t sound awkward, stilted, and entirely wrong for them both.
He sits for half an hour, staring at a blank document.
He has all kinds of things he wants to say to Sam: love and affection for everything that Sam is, fondness for all of his habits, wonder at getting to wake up next to him every day–even if Sam always wakes up entirely too early–gratefulness that, despite everything, he was lucky enough to meet Sam after it all, to get to love Sam and be loved by him in return.
He wants to promise him a life of love and care, a person to lean on for the rest of their days together, a partner in every sense of the word, to have and to hold.
His cursor continues to blink back at him.
He sighs and leans away from his laptop, rubbing at his eyes before dragging his hand through his hair. He gets up to reset his thoughts, making himself a cup of a coffee. On top of the fridge, he spots the fancy stationery he’d bought on whim, the design on heavy cardstock reminiscent of the kind his Ma would often stare wistfully at during the Depression before she’d count out her coins for groceries.
He pulls it down and sets it on the kitchen table, sitting down with a pen in hand, freshly brewed coffee forgotten.
Angel, he starts, the ink blotting the letters together despite his careful cursive, and it feels right.
Maybe writing their own vows was a good idea after all.
