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abirdie · 29 minutes
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Gael García Bernal in Old (2021, dir. M. Night Shyamalan)
(These gifs also feature Alexa Swinton, Vicky Krieps, Nikki Amuka-Bird, Ken Leung, Rufus Sewell, Thomasin McKenzie, Aaron Pierre and Abbey Lee)
[other gael filmography gifsets]
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abirdie · 1 hour
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New poster art from the Topps Card Trader app
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abirdie · 1 hour
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tv shows with time travel organizations/bureaus/police/agencies/whatever should have a department with instead of a tech genius eating candy, it’s a harried seamstress or fashion designer who is like
“1450 italy? does it look like I have the time to dye you wool? nO. YOU’RE GOING TO THE 1980s”
and throws shoulder pads at the hapless time agent
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abirdie · 12 hours
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Marvel’s Werewolf by night (2022)
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abirdie · 18 hours
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Hat tip to @ipsl0re for the "girls maul" text posts
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abirdie · 18 hours
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OSCAR ISAAC FEATURE-LENGTH LIVE-ACTION FILMOGRAPHY (2002- )
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abirdie · 19 hours
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The way Marc backs away from her although she’s just a memory but Steven doesn’t is breaking my fucking heart 
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abirdie · 19 hours
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Digital drawing of Oscar Isaac in Moon Knight 🌙
Instagram | Redbubble
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abirdie · 20 hours
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"Capitalism breeds innovation" girl there are only five websites left and they all look the same
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abirdie · 22 hours
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genuinely so tired of the male love interest in every m/f romance being the most hugelarge tallman to ever growth spurt. I need to see some women swooning over little five foot five rat dudes who need to be tucked in their gf's pocket lest they blow away like a napkin in the wind.
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abirdie · 23 hours
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abirdie · 1 day
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Okay, buckle up buckaroos, because today I met an honest-to-goodness cryptid.
I was out running errands and I made a stop at Intimate Books (…for a friend), and on my way out I realized that the bookshop next door was open.
This bookshop has existed for more than a hundred years, and in all my life it has NEVER BEEN OPEN. I mean, I assume it has to be open sometimes, but never at any normal, reasonable hour. Everyone says it’s a front for the mob or something.
So what do you do when the weird mafia bookshop is open? You go the fuck inside.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. You know that smell when you accidentally leave your towel on the bathroom floor all day and you come back to that mildew funk? The shop smelled like that times a thousand. I expected to see stuff growing on the walls, but the books were pristine. We’re talking first editions, rare editions, weird Bibles and books inscribed to really famous dead people. Librarians would weep for the chance to accession this place. In the first two minutes I found a signed copy of The Crucible and what I think was a first edition of Blake’s Book of Thel.
Then a clerk showed up out of nowhere—honestly nowhere. He looked EXACTLY like a bookseller should look, kind of fluffy and bewildered and really, really gay.
“Are you lost?” was the first thing he said to me.
“Nope. Just browsing, thanks.”
“Browsing, I see. Erm. How do you feel about snakes?” he asked. And without waiting for me to answer, he just walked away and vanished around a shelf.
I figured it was a metaphor, or a code phrase for the mafia. Until I turned a corner like ten minutes later and found a little reading nook. It was really pretty, although I feel like that particular window should have been on an interior wall? Anyway, curled up in an armchair in a patch of sunlight was the biggest fuck-off black snake I have ever seen.
Like, I don’t mind snakes in general. But in their normal context, right? Outside. On the ground. Not six feet long and sitting on a threadbare velvet armchair like it owns the place.
I was about to turn around and leave, but I saw a gorgeous first-edition copy of Leaves of Grass on a shelf, a little too close to the snake for comfort. But I had never needed anything so badly in my life.
So I went back to the counter to buy it, but the clerk was nowhere to be found.
While I was waiting, I noticed a collection of pictures hanging on the wall behind the counter, dating back to the very dawn of photography. A couple were of this rock-star looking guy from the 70s that I should probably have recognized, but there were authors and landscapes and stuff, too. There was even an old tintype portrait of Oscar freaking Wilde, sitting in this very shop with a guy that I would ACTUALLY SWEAR was the clerk from before. Like, I know my family all has the same nose, but this guy had the same everything.
After approximately one year of waiting, the clerk came back out to the desk. By now I’ve realized that he’s too bad at his job to be anything but the owner of the shop.
“I saw your snake,” I told him.
“Did you? Was he behaving himself?”
“He was sleeping.”
“Yes, he enjoys that.”
“Does he just stay out in the open like that? What if he gets out?”
He shrugged and smiled. “He always comes home again, the dear boy.”
Right, a homing snake. That’s totally normal.
Then he cleared his throat and asked, in a weirdly reluctant voice, if I was going to buy the Whitman.
“Yes, please,” I told him. “I saw it on a shelf by the snake, and it was just too tempting.”
He sighed. “Oh, yes, I expect it was.”
When I started to hand him my card, he went all fluttery and said that they didn’t take cards.
All right, fine. I had some cash on me, but I told him that he’d sell a lot more books if he got a Square or something.
He got this scandalized look on his face and went, “Why would I want to do that?”
Oookay. I handed over the cash and he popped open the ancient till and started making change.
In shillings. Shillings! I swear to god I saw Queen Anne’s face on one of them. The silver value of the coins was probably as much as I paid for the book.
But I had to have proof that this happened—at that point, all I had was a book in a plain brown wrapper, not appreciably different from what I bought next door. So I asked him for a receipt.
He looked delighted and wrote one up for me.
By hand.
With a fountain pen.
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And that’s the story of how I met a bookseller cryptid and his pet snake.
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abirdie · 1 day
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(via paceysjcrewsweater, fuckyeahgaelydiego)
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abirdie · 2 days
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Elsa Bloodstone & Jack Russell Werewolf By Night | 2022 dir. Michael Giacchino
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abirdie · 2 days
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The trouble is that I now have the hypothetical AO3 tag 'there was only one Ted' stuck in my head and my brain is trying to twist the plot of a future fic PURELY in order to let me use it.
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abirdie · 2 days
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Date Night
Not me, leaning into the grumpy/sunshine trope at a 45 degree angle.
Date Night
“This is fun,“ Jack said. “Don’t you think this is fun?”
Elsa shot him a look. “Seriously?“
“We’re taking a lovely stroll in the woods, enjoying the sunset …”
“We’re trying to hide a body.”
He shrugged. "We are who we are, you know?”
She tossed the shovel at him, and he caught it one-handed. “You’re digging first.”
It went fast, and then they rolled the body into the hole and covered it back up again.
He dusted his hands off. “Back to town, then?”
“Hold up,” she said, unslinging the bag at her back and pulling out a brown paper sack. “I need to eat.”
He looked delighted. “A picnic!”
“It’s a snack,” she grumbled. “I knew it would be a long hike, and then the digging, and I get hangry.”
“Yes, you do.” He kissed her, then laid the various packages out on a handy flat rock like he was laying a banquet.
They ate in the dusk light with the stars peeking out one by one. Even she had to admit it was sort of romantic, if you didn’t count the blood spatter stiffening her jeans. But she was used to that.
Keep reading
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abirdie · 2 days
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