#an andalusian dog

[weirdlookindog]

Pierre Batcheff and Simone Mareuil in Un chien andalou | 1929 | dir. Luis Buñuel

[bwallure]

AN ANDALUSIAN DOG | UN CHIEN ANDALOU (1929) dir. Luis Buñuel

[addicted2coke-theothercoke]

The shit was that Luis Bunuel??

[classicfilmpunk]

Un Chien Andalou (1929) dir. Luis Buñuel

[qeleresh]

[luvinaeverdene]

Un Chien Andalou (1929) Directed by Luis Buñuel

[mediaomnivore]

Last night I watched An Andalusian Dog (Un Chie Andalou) because I’ve been on a Salvador Dalí kick.

Even though there are more famous disturbing images from it, the ants coming out of the stigmata was the one that stuck with me the most.

[12-cluh]

SCP/MTF Collection #7

Alpha-1 (“Red Right Hand”)

Epsilon-9 (“Fire Eaters”)

Zeta-9 (“Mole Rats”)

Tau-5 (“Samsara”)

Iota-10 (“Damn Feds”)

Upsilon-90 ("Andalusian Dogs")

[majuuorthrus]

You can tell Bodegueros have sighthound in them because of the stupid poses they sleep in

[weirdlookindog]

Un Chien Andalou (1929)

[seulgisqt]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄 — aitana bonmatí

aitana bonmatí x fem!espwnt!lyon!reader

a/n: accidentally deleted this when I wanted to edit it ಠ_ಠ (I hate tumblr), so if you feel like you’ve seen this before, you have, just leave a like and keep stepping

word count: 1245

genre: fluff

summary: an adorable aitana meet cute

On a breezy spring afternoon in Barcelona, the cosy bookshop cafe Letras Vivas buzzed with its usual charm. Tucked away on a quiet side street, a haven for readers and coffee lovers alike. The warm aroma of roasted beans mingled with the soft rustle of pages being turned and the occasional tinkling of laughter from patrons. The cafe was the kind of place where time seemed to slow, where strangers might strike up conversations over dog-eared novels or debate the best way to make a cortado.

You step inside, grateful for the reprieve from the city’s lively streets. The team had arrived in Barcelona a few days early to acclimate before the upcoming Champions League final. The pressure was immense – two giants of women’s football going head-to-head – but you had sought this little sanctuary for some peace. As much as you thrive on competition, moments like these were a way to offer clarity amidst the chaos.

Clad in a casual, well-worn shirt and a pair of faded jeans, you seemed a world away from the electrifying football star celebrated in the vibrant match posters that adorned the streets of Lyon. As you moved through the dimly lit bookstore, your fingers delicately glided over the spines of countless books lining the shelves near the entrance, occasionally pausing to absorb the titles that beckoned softly. Your gaze eventually landed on a novel, its cover a breathtaking watercolour that captured the charm of a seaside town, an irresistible pull urging you to pull it from the shelf and delve into its world.

At the counter, Aitana Bonmatí, FC Barcelona’s fiery midfielder, was already ordering her cappuccino. The barista seemed charmed by Aitana’s easy banter, her quick wit and warm laugh lighting up the space. She exuded the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were exactly where you belonged. The distinctive red-and-blue hoodie with Barça’s crest proudly displayed was casually slung over her shoulders, and drew occasional glances, but most were too polite to approach her.

As you approached the counter, Aitana turned, her grin wide and inviting, her hazel eyes bright with recognition. It took you a heartbeat to place her–you had seen that grin a hundred times before, from game footage to interviews to across the pitch. The face of Barcelona’s squad and one the most formidable centres in the game. And in just three days, your opponent. Once again.

Aitana didn’t miss the split second of hesitation that flickered across your face, and she seized the opportunity to break the ice with a playful energy. “Hey,” she said, her voice warm and laced with just a hint of mischief. “Nice to see you off the pitch.”

You blinked, caught slightly off guard but managing a smile. “Oh, uh, hi. Didn’t expect to run into you here.” Your Andalusian accent was unmistakable, and Aitana’s grin grew wider.

“You Lyon players just can’t resist the good spots, huh?” Aitana quipped, leaning casually against the counter. Her eyes flicked to the book in your hand. “Good choice. That’s one of my favourites.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding up the book. “Really? You’ve read it?”

Aitana’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she nodded, her ponytail swaying rhythmically with her head. “You won’t believe how captivating it is! It unfolds in this charming little fishing village—teeming with intense drama, sweeping love stories, and heart-wrenching heartbreak… it’s absolutely everything you could want! Imagine it like football, but infused with much more romance and way fewer tackles!”

A smile crept across your face as you placed the book on the counter, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. “I’ll take your word for it, but relying on my opponent’s taste in literature? That feels like a risky move!”

“Oh, come on! Today, we’re not opponents at all!” The mischievous glint in Aitana’s eyes mirrored her playful smirk. “We’re just two enthusiasts who appreciate fine coffee and extraordinary tales.”

The barista expertly crafted Aitana’s cappuccino, the velvety foam adorned with an artful heart-shaped swirl that seemed to float above the cup. Instead of making a beeline for the door, Aitana lingered, her presence radiating warmth and curiosity as she patiently waited for you to finish your order, the air around you charged with an electric sense of connection. When you joined her at a nearby table, your conversation flowed with surprising ease.

Listening intently, as Aitana, ever the local, effortlessly wove stories about her childhood in Vilanova. Her voice softened as she talked about watching games at Camp Nou as a kid, her dreams of one day playing on the same pitch now a reality. She pointed out a few must-visit spots within Barcelona, her favourite tapas bar tucked away in El Born and a rooftop terrace with breathtaking views of the city at sunset.

It was your turn to share, Aitana leaned in, intrigued as you painted a picture of life in France. Your voice gained a quiet pride as you described Lyon’s relentless training culture—the way it pushed everyone to their limits and brought out the best in them. The early morning drills in the pouring rain, late-night strategy sessions, and the camaraderie that came from working with some of the best players in the game.

“So you’re telling me you actually enjoy those gruelling training sessions? Compared to the easiness of Madrid?” The brunette questioned.

“It’s not about enjoying them, exactly.” You shrugged, your smile softening. “It’s about knowing they make me better. And there’s something fun about the discipline, the way it transforms you. Being at Real Madrid, I never had that.” You finished.

Aitana nodded thoughtfully, her playful demeanour giving way to a moment of genuine admiration. “I get that,” she said. “I think that’s why I love playing here—Barcelona’s always pushed me to be more, too.”

Her words hung between the two of you, a shared understanding unspoken but felt. Despite the teams you represented and the rivalry that defined you two season after season. You were both, at your cores, not so different. For a moment, the looming match disappeared, replaced by the quiet connection of two people who understood what it meant to give everything to the sport they loved.

“So,” Aitana began, cradling her cup, her tone suddenly teasing, “how’s Lyon feeling about Saturday? Ready to lose?”

You leaned forward, a playful spark in your eyes. “Confident enough to say you’ll be the one losing.” you shot back. Your laughter mingled, drawing a few curious glances from other patrons, but neither of you seemed to care, bantering for what felt like hours.

As the sun began to dip, casting the cafe in a warm golden glow, you both reluctantly stood to leave. Outside, the streets buzzed with life, the distant hum of a guitar echoing from a nearby plaza.

At the door, Aitana paused, turning to you with a smile softer than her usual confident smirk. “You know,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “maybe after the match, we should grab a coffee again. No rivalries—just books and good company.”

You tilted your head, cheeks dimpling into a grin. “Deal. But only if Lyon wins.”

Aitana laughed, backing away towards the bustling street, her voice carrying over the noise. “We’ll see about that!”

As you walked in opposite directions, you felt a strange lightness—a fleeting connection sparked by chance, lingering even as you prepared to face her on one of the biggest stages in football.

[horse-breed-a-day]

Hello, I'm a writer and I've ended up putting myself in an interesting spot involving horses.

You see, I have this fantasy world and there are definitely horses. Except these horses are carnivorous pack-hunters. Which is awesome to think about. And I totally want to make a handful of species/variations so I can give them to different characters as ~characterization~.

My problem is that every time I try to research horse breed types, it's so complicated? Like, with dogs, you've got your toy group, hound group, herding group, etc. But horses????

Could you offer any insights or a general overview of horse types? Or even just a link to a place about horses for dummies?

hello there and absolutely! that concept sounds very cool! (i bet you'll find it interesting that horses -very rarely- are opportunistic carnivores) but yes anything horse related tends to be very complicated :P so here's how i tend to break it down!

ponies, miniature horses, cobs, light horses, light drafts, and drafts

ponies are any horse under 14hh in height they tend to be stocky and stubby

miniature horses are horses that tend to range around 34in in height while still retaining the same proportions as a regular horse (this might help explain further)

cobs are pony-like drafts... or draft-like ponies! theyre often short in stature and have feathered legs (that poofy hair around the hooves you see on big horses like clydesdales)

light horses are the ones you see the most, think thoroughbreds, andalusians, quarter horses, warmbloods etc

light drafts are sort of an in-between of light horses and drafts! they tend to be draft-height while retaining the proportions of a light horse

drafts are the ones that most people on tumblr like and you'll see posts of, think of bretons, ardennes, percherons etc! they often range from 17-21hh in height and are all muscle! they often have crested necks and square snouts making them look very Solid

i hope that helps narrow it down in a more structured way and best of luck on ur writing!

[cultpastorkevin]

what if they were dogs this or what if they were cats that

my inner horsegirl demands respect so without further ado here is the AFTG cast as horses

Andrew and Aaron: Fjord

Nicky: American Saddlebred (homozygous pinto)

Neil: Kiger Mustang (buckskin)

Kevin: Thoroughbred (chestnut)

Dan: Marwari (bay)

Matt: Friesian (black)

Allison: Akhal-Teke (perlino)

Seth: Tennessee Walker (blue roan)

Renee: Morgan (palomino dapple)

Riko: Thoroughbred (black)

Thea: Mangalarga Marchador (grey)

Jean: Andalusian (black)

Jeremy: Appaloosa (palomino blanket)

Wymack: Rhenish German Coldblood (chestnut)

Abby: American Quarter Horse (tobiano)

Bee: Silesian (grey)

Kayleigh: Arabian (dapple grey)

Ichirou: Holsteiner (grey)

Tetsuji: Trakehner (grey)

[octuscle]

I went through art school for 6 years and didn't try weed once! Can I get a college stoner preset please to make up for that lost experience.

Art academy? Six years? Without smoking pot? Man, that's more than impressive! I mean, I studied economics… It was difficult to get by without weed…

In art history you discuss Bunuel's Andalusian Dog. Pretty heavy fare. Shit, Dali and Bunuel must have been smoking a lot when they made it. And a fellow student says that you can only endure the movie if you're totally stoned. He asks you if you have anything there. Without giving it much thought, you reach into the inside pocket of your jacket and hand him a small packet of Black Afghan. He discreetly hands you a few bills. And then you turn back to the cinematic realization of the collage principle. Only after a few minutes do you realize what you've just done.

You know in which corner of the campus the stoners meet. Everyone knows. Everyone tolerates it. You've never been there before. But somehow you're drawn there now. And while there are supplies for your customers in your inside pocket, you have a few finished joints in the battered tin in the outside pocket of your old army parker. Shit, weren't you wearing a plain black short coat? Where did that fucked up old olive green thing come from?

You light a joint. You don't care where the parker comes from. You don't give a shit. You couldn't care less with the best will in the world. That feels good. And above all, it gave you a whole range of really good ideas. You are damn creative in the studio today. You are developing a somewhat strange style that is rather unusual for you. But your professor praises you for freeing yourself from your usual technocratic uptightness. A good description of how you feel now.

At some point, when you can take no more and look at the result of today's creative process with satisfaction, you run your fingers through your hair, smeared with paint. Long hair… And you have a beard! Well, you've grown it over the last few years. How many years have you been studying? For ages! You're a fixture on campus… You're here for artistic self-improvement. You're here to provide students and faculty with all kinds of mind-expanding substances. And as long as your parents' money lasts, you'll stay here.

Yes, your flat share is a bit filthy. But you're like the creative center of the art school campus. A bit like the salons of the bohemians in 19th century Paris. Combined with a coffee shop in contemporary Amsterdam. You think that's a cool combination. Enjoy it!

[graveltrapping]

F1 Grid as Animals

Was drawing my leonin dnd character and he somehow ended up looking like Max, which obviously had me thinking about the whole Dutch Lion stuff, and then what animal I would associate with the other drivers based on looks, region, and personalities.

Max Vertsappen - Transvaal Lion (obvious reasons and Transvaal sometimes have a naturally have a lighter coat.)

Checo Perez - Chocolate Labrador (look friendly but are still considered a gun dog)

Daniel Ricciardo - Honey Badger (for obvious reasons but also they are know to take on and defend against lions in the wild)/Doberman or Beauceron with floppy ears (ears get snipped at Mclaren)

Yuki Tsunoda - Japanese Sparrowhawk (can be aggressive despite their smaller size. Great agility)

Liam Lawson - Bull Terrier (The look really similar, idk how to explain it)

Isack Hadjar - Striped Hyena

Carlos Sainz - Spanish Fighting Bull/Black Andalusian Horse

Charles Leclerc - Thoroughbred Horse/ European Hare

Lando Noriss - Irish Red Setter (again, a family friendly gun dog. Has the curls)

Oscar Piastri - Whistling Kite (not as aggressive as other birds of prey but still a very agile hunter)

Lewis Hamilton - Black Leopard

George Russel- Sika Deer (very gorgeous but has an aggressive streak)

Kimi Antonelli - Roe Deer

Fernando Alonso - Iberian Red Fox (opportunistic and adaptable, epitome of cunning)

Lance Stroll - Moose

Alex Albon - Clouded Leopard (incredibly elusive and are great ambush predators)/Greater Racket Tailed Drongo (will be aggressive and take on larger predators if threatened. Also flashy courting rituals lol)

Franco Colapinto - Pampas Fox

Logan Sergeant - American Golden Retriever

Nico Hulkenberg - Long Haired German Shepherd

Kevin Magnussen - Eurasian Eagle Owl/Eurasian Brown Bear

Ollie Bearman - Black Bear

Esteban Ocon - Picardy Spaniel (French working breed)

Pierre Gasly - Alpine Chamois

Jack Doohan - Kangaroo/ Carpet Python (big and strong Australian and just pure vibes)

Valteire Bottas - Finish Forrest Reindeer

Zhou Guanyu - Leopard Cat

Gabriel Bortoleto - Maned Wolf

Drawings done while I was high and a bit tipsy lol

[talonabraxas]

Cinema Poster Art for The Andalusian Dog (1928) Film by Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dali. Art by Wieslaw Walkuski