MORE 👏 PERIODS 👏 IN 👏 FANTASY 👏
Peter Solarz
art blog(derogatory)
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

tannertan36
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

izzy's playlists!

Love Begins
Show & Tell
almost home
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Product Placement
sheepfilms

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

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Cosimo Galluzzi
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titsay
todays bird

oozey mess
Not today Justin
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@vampire-skunk
MORE 👏 PERIODS 👏 IN 👏 FANTASY 👏
Heaven's Graveyard by Grace Curtis
Release date: 18 June 2026
Genre: adult sci-fi fantasy standalone sequel
Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
If you like:
Murder mysteries
Searching for lost empires and forgotten magic
Socially-awkward, autistic-coded protagonists
Cod became an archaeologist to chase the ghost of her hero, Aleya Ana-Ulai. History may have written Aleya off as a myth, but Cod is determined to prove she existed, even if it means sifting through relics for the rest of her life.
Then a message arrives summoning her home. Cod's former teacher has found something monumental: the ruins of an enchanted city, slumbering beneath the soil.
This could be the breakthrough they've always dreamed of. But with war brewing, rival powers circling, and ancient magics stirring underfoot, their discovery soon becomes far more trouble than it's worth. Even Cod starts to wonder if some things are better left buried . . .
"You have improved," the swordmaster said.
"Thanks to my new sword," said the student.
The swordmaster studied the blade and frowned. "This is enchanted?"
"You know about cursed swords that whisper that you should kill?"
"Yes?"
"This tells me I'm loved and valid."
"Ah. Well. It's not wrong."
does your pet give a fuck when you get home
my pet gives too much of a fuck, we have to manage it
my pet *really* gives a fuck, but it's not really a problem
my pet is chill about it, my pet says sup like a roommate
my pet does not give a care!
nuance button
no pets
u simply must pick one pet to answer for and elaborate in reblogs if u wish. my cats both care way more than audrey when im back lol she wags her tail and might want to get kinda silly but sometimes doesn't even bother leaving her (open) crate to say hey
So like. I have reptiles (two geckos and a python). They dont really have a concept of companionship or giving a fuck about other creatures to the extent of missing their presence as a source of comfort.
But they know I exist, they perceive me moving around the apartment outside of their enclosures and talking to them, and that my voice often precedes the appearance of delicious food, or rain (misting with a spray bottle) or a new interesting thing in their habitat to explore.
So on rare occasions I leave my apartment for more than a few hours, when I come back I often find them all coming out to the front glass of their terrariums to stare at me. They dont need to see me to know im there, so why would they come out of their hides and in the open, making themselves visible and vulnerable? What am I in their little brains that are made to perceive Food, Threat or Mate and not much else? I will never know. But it's nice to think that they accepted this gigantic, incomprehensible being as a part of their little world, and after its gone for a while they come out to confirm that Yes, Everything Is Again As It Should Be, Safe And Good.
This Dutch advert from Jumbo trolling the really high costs of the World Cup just cracks me up.
At the end something like:
"the tickets cost 1000 dollars!"
"that's pretty expensive"
"then let's watch it in the garden?"
From chapter 20, Network Effect.
And I think now we can say you were right about it, Murderbot.
Murderbot, shouting over its shoulder as it runs off:
…and find some different clothes!
literally wrote this and then checked my copy and…MB, why are you like this?
"Here's our description of ourselves. Er. You said we could leave out shameful things?"
"Thank you," the alien envoy said. "We have asked many groups of humans, so…. Huh."
"What?"
"Other groups of humans hid atrocities they've committed. You included yours. But you've left out reproduction?"
'Selene' Necklace by Moss Pixie
The chieftain turned to one of his warriors. "Say, what is the best pronoun?"
"She, powerful like the sea."
"That is good." The chieftain turned to another warrior. "What say you?"
"He, soft like a breath."
"That is good. Conan! What is the best pronoun?"
Conan thought. "Whichever I choose."
Every day I wake up and pray that someone will discover that Diana Wynne Jones, author the original Howl's Moving Castle book that inspired the beloved Ghibli movie, also wrote another universe that is in desperate need of an animated film adaptation:
Have you ever asked yourself what it would look like of a magic system was overseen by one dimension-hopping, wildly flamboyant, British man with nine lives?
What if this incredibly powerful magic user and his incredibly ordinary wife decided to adopt two children who's parents died in a steamboat accident (who immediately start arguing with his other two children and nearly destroying the magical world)?
What if this man's defining trait was his affinity for luxuriously embroidered silk bathrobes?
What if there was a fiddle that was turned into a cat?
That's the plot of the first book of the Chrestomanci series, one of my all-time favorites that is horrifically underappreciated. It has all of the charm of Diana Wynne Jones' other work, and is just fabulously absurd. I'd suggest giving the Wikipedia article a read (or just read the book!)
Book 35 of 2026: Witch Week by Diana Wynne Jones
This book is such a romp! I mean, it does take place in a horrifying dystopia where witches are a) extremely common and b) burned at the stake, and there are inquisitors, and even children can be arrested and possibly burned for witchcraft...but it's so funny! Everyone gets into such ridiculous trouble; thousands of shoes are magicked into an auditorium; two boys in short gym shorts ride a semi-effectively flying mop and a broom; it's just very silly. And Chrestomanci shows up looking fabulous and has a fantastic time putting everything right. That's one of the many things Diana Wynne Jones is great at--writing adults who have a sense of humor and a sense of play, and who have a great time being as ridiculous as possible. What a treasure.
What to read next: Midsummer's Mayhem, by Rajani LaRocca, for another delightful, magical, middle-grade romp.
movie howl reacting to sophie's changed hair color: wow your gray hair is so pretty, it literally shines like starlight 🥺
book howl reacting to sophie's changed hair color: oh your hair turned back normal? yeah thank goodness, gray didn't really suit you anyway lol
Who are you having dinner with? (Tortall)
Alanna of Trebond and Olau
Geroge Cooper
Kel
Daine
Aly
Numair Salmalin
Rebekah
Myles Olau
Onua Chamtong
Tkaa
Rosto the Piper
I haven't read the Tortall books but can't keep from hitting a button
out of context spoilers for Platform Decay
She played bass on 10,000 songs, including the most-played track of the twentieth century. She was paid $55 per session. Her name never appeared on the albums.
Gold Star Studios, Los Angeles, 1964. A woman in a cardigan walks past the receptionist, a Fender Precision bass in her hand like a briefcase. She doesn’t sign autographs. She signs a timesheet.
Her name is Carol Kaye. In three hours, she will record what will become the most-played track of the twentieth century. She’ll pocket fifty-five dollars and head to another studio, on the other side of town, for the next session.
The record label will never put her name on the album.
Between 1957 and 1973, Carol Kaye took part in roughly 10,000 recording sessions. Not as the featured artist, not as a guest, but as a hired hand. She was part of an anonymous collective nicknamed The Wrecking Crew—elite studio musicians who actually played the instruments on your favorite records while the famous bands posed for promotional photos.
The work was relentless. Three albums before the day was over. Stale coffee in paper cups. No rehearsal. The charts arrived minutes before the tape rolled. If you couldn’t read a chart and nail the take in two tries, you didn’t get called for the next session.
Carol could do it on the first try.
She started playing guitar in grimy bars at fourteen because her family couldn’t pay the electric bill. Music wasn’t a romantic dream for her. It was survival. It was a job—factory work with better acoustics and lower pay.
But she was faster and sharper than almost everyone else. She corrected charts in pencil while the producer was still explaining what he wanted. In one session in 1968, she told a famous producer his arrangement sounded like a dying dog. She chose her own line. They kept her version.
That descending bass line that drives the Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”? Carol Kaye. The propulsive groove of “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’”? Carol Kaye. The acoustic-guitar intro to “La Bamba”? Carol Kaye. The iconic theme from Mission: Impossible? Carol Kaye.
She invented techniques on the spot, out of sheer necessity. When the bass sound was too muddy for AM radio, she stuck felt under the strings and used a hard pick instead of her fingers. The tone cut through the static like a blade. It became the sonic signature that defined 1960s pop.
Bassists spent years—decades—trying to crack the secret of the Beach Boys’ gear to get that sound. They were studying the wrong people. They should have been studying Carol.
She received no royalties. No residuals. No gold-record ceremony. No credit on the album sleeves. When “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’” hit number one, Carol was already back in a studio cutting a soap jingle.
The biggest bands mimed her bass lines on TV variety shows. New York marketing departments decided a mom in classic clothes didn’t fit the rebellious-youth image they were selling. So they simply left her name off the album credits.
For thirty years, almost no one cared. The truth only began to surface in the late 1990s, when music researchers found the same union contract numbers on thousands of hit records. The very documents meant to preserve studio musicians’ anonymity betrayed them.
Think about it. Every time you heard “Good Vibrations,” “River Deep – Mountain High,” the Righteous Brothers, Nancy Sinatra, or Sonny and Cher, you were hearing Carol Kaye. She composed the soundtrack of an entire generation’s youth.
And yet the records still say nothing. She’s now over eighty. She wrote instructional books. She trained countless bassists. She is finally starting to be recognized by music historians who uncovered the truth about The Wrecking Crew.
But she never got what she deserved: her name on those albums. Credit for the music that defined an era. Recognition that those bass lines everyone associates with the “Beach Boys” were, in fact, Carol Kaye’s.
Fifty-five dollars a session. Ten thousand sessions. The most-played track of the twentieth century.
And the world didn’t know her name.
She was admitted to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2025 but refused, fuck yeah, Carol. Her official website is incredible.
@demilypyro