so The Book of Life has a Mexican mariachi version of “I Will Wait” by fucking Mumford and Sons
this movie is a cinematic masterpiece
[ check out this science lesson *guitar rift* ]
What is going on right now
I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD
Pearlcest fuck yeh
[ my otps ]
I fucking can’t believe
[ kickflips into space ]
the only ship anyone really needs
cool thing: headcanoning pearl with ocd/anxiety
uncool thing: saying that pearl “is so ocd” as a joke
And above we see one of the few non-slut-shaming bisexual jokes ever made in television history.
we have to put our trust in to bob’s burgers, people
The processing felt like it took a year to do. The stack of paperwork to fill out made it feel as though she were purchasing something. The doctors with the same aging faces and condescending tones. She couldn’t stand the barren walls. She couldn’t stand the cleaning agent smell that coated everything in the hospital, and how everyone inside were treated like ticking bombs and not human beings.
But they were home now. It was late and her stomach was clenching in protest but food was the last thing on her mind. She was home now. And there was nothing that was going to take her away again. She would make sure of it.
"I tried to keep it as it was when you…—I, uh. I did have an accident. But it was a good excuse to get a new rug! I think it matches the rest of the place well," she babbled in an effort to reduce the tense silence between them. She held her lovers hand as tight as she could without hurting her, unable to peel away from the comforting touch. No matter how changed it was.
The apartment itself was very clean, perhaps cleaner than it had been before the beginning. Coats hung neatly in a row on the wall, and the shoes were tucked away into precise cubbies. She flicked the lights on immediately, then began removing her jacket.
"Are you hungry? I can make you something," she asked.
It felt like decades since she had been taken into the mental hospital. It had only really been a few years, but each day that passed was agonizing. They had treated her like she deserved to be in a prison, instead of a hospital. Like a criminal instead of a patient.
It wasn’t her fault that she did those things. It was her hands that had been caught stained with blood, but her captors never saw who was controlling those shaky hands.
Each visit went by far too quick. In a second, the one person who brought her happiness was gone. She was alone again. Her frequent hallucinations provided the only form of company.
But now she was home. She was finally home. They had managed to “cure” her.
She acknowledged the rug with a small nod. In response to the question, she shook her head.