while i can mainly only speak for sapphic playlists, ive noticed in general that the lgbt playlists were making are really white, cover heavy and… straight?
so heres a (very unabridged) list of lgbt musicians that deserve to be on your playlists way more than that cover of lego house. in alphabetical order:
Against Me! if youre trans & alternative and dont know abt against me – lead by trans frontwoman and punk rock mum laura jane grace – then idk what youre doing. ik theyre p well known, but i still never see them in playlists.
Angel Haze / Raen Roes black & native american two-spirit rapper with the brilliant freestyle rewrite of ‘same love’
Bloc Party indie rock band from east london led by kele okereke, coolest man on earth, ended oasis w his snark (seriously)
Chris Garneau french-american indie singer reminiscent of spektor’s anti folk, often discusses trauma with very sad, floaty music. very androgynous voice
Coeur de Pirate french-canadian singer with a more folky vibe reminiscent of of monsters and men. oh, and shes dating laura jane grace. put them both in the same playlist. please.
Daskinsey4(warning for nsfw imagery in the link) fuzzpedal britpop from bristol with a fun, bouncy tone
Doria Roberts 90s american folk singer/songwriter. political and confident. put ‘honey jar’ in your playlist please just do it.
Ezra Furman gay american alternative rock singer similar to neutral milk hotel
Ferras indie pop singer with a strong bowie influence vocally
Frank Ocean yes, you know who he is. have you listened to him? have you? i dont care if you only listen to harsh noise folk backwards – listen to frank ocean.
Gerard Way we all know gerard fuzzpedal emo king friends with ljg way and still i see more artic monkeys in these gaylists (gay playlists)
Grace Petrie folk singer from the midlands, england whose bbfsies w billy brag. has two modes: angry gay, sad gay. what more do you need?
Hayley Kiyoko ok ok ik we all know her shes the token woc in your playlist im putting her on the list anyway because im in love with her
Honeywater has a dubious place on the list due to the other fella but.. this is amandla stenbergs band. amandla. they make music. remember that.
the Hoosiers the british indie band behind ‘goodbye mister a’
Indigo Girls this is fucking lesbian heritage right here. Old Skool lesbian country singers right here.
the Internet classique gay triphop led by my dream girlfriend, syd the kyd
Jasmine Kennedy soft sad indie folk from the north of england. her sweet, quiet music ranges from melancholic to happy ending bliss. shes stage buddies w grace petrie too. put ‘cardigan sweater’ in your playlist. do it.
JD Samson & MEN nonbinary dance music officianado JD Samson and her new band after le tigre. loud and fun and gay
Jussie Smollet he plays jamal in empire. admittedly, he hasnt brought out his own stuff yet, but his music for empire is beautiful soulful R&B
Kaytranada a gay music producer whose worked with all the big names, including collaborating with the internet. gay squared.
Neon Hitch bisexual rroma indie pop singer from the uk
Rachael Yamagata melancholic, blues inspired folk-pop with a smooth, deep voice
Shamir nonbinary synthpop singer known for his androgynous voice and catchy, light hearted tunes such as ‘on the regular’ and ‘make a scene’
Sia bisexual pop-ballad queen who sings often abt trauma, mental illness, and abuse
Soko kristen stewarts girlfriend. indie singer with a high, airy voice whose music ranges in topic from trauma to homophobia to the surreal. put ‘who wears the pants’ on your playlist.
Spoonboy genderqueer punk singer from washington dc. try ‘sexy dreams’
Tegan & Sara look, ok, i know everyone knows abt tegan and sara. the lesbian band. so why are they never on sapphic/lesbian playlists? why?
Thao & Mirah folk/country lesbian mirah teams up w thao, who afaik is also sga, for an album of soft, sweet folk music
Tracy Chapman seriously ok this is History. this is the woman behind ‘fast car.’ very political american folk singer from the 90s. i love her. shes amazing.
Tunde Olaniran R&B / hiphop singer from michigan with a loud, take-no-shit style
Willow Smith yes, the willow smith. she wrote two love songs dedicated to marceline from adventure time. thats all you need to know. shes perfect.
also, yknow what, spoken word poetrys getting quite popular now. heres a few lgbt spoken word poets to put in the start or end of your playlist to shake it up:
A black butch wlw and an amazing poet fro. I had the enormous honor and privilege of opening for her at a house show last October. I suggest everything she has up on button poetry.
Ok so I never post. But I’ve reached the full point of fed up with several things regarding faith. I honestly don’t care about who I lose but I implore you to at least listen.
First some sad background. I am Mexican American. My father is Mexican my mother is a whole lots white ( Germans who lost their name, Irish who starved under the British, Scottish, French and Dutch). My mother was a missionary and I was a bastard born out of an even further bastardizeation of Christianity (look up The Family or The Children of God). Once my mother moved back from Mexico with me her conditioning from being raised in the deep south kicked in. She hated what I was. I wasn’t allowed out in the sun because I could tan, I wasn’t allowed to roll my Rs or learn Spanish to the point where I was beaten if I even babbled. It’s taken so many years of my life to recover from that trauma and find who I am. I will never not be proud of my haritage or how far I’ve come in learning about ALL the cultures that brought me here today.
Now, coming from that I’m going to say that I am sick of the policing that has come to be a weird staple in the veneration of my Mother, Santa Muerte. When I was a drug addict in my twenties I found her and she guided me through. When I lost my adoptive father and then MANY friends to drugs she helped me bare it when I had no one. She has called to me through my three suicide attempts and ODs. She called to me just as Loki has called to me since I was a child.
I mention Loki because They and She represent two side of my family. My Latino and European family and tradition. I will be damn before I let anyone tell me who or what I can pray to, or let anyone else be told for that matter BECAUSE IT’S NOT YOUR CALL. You all have become so caught up in some fight for justice that you don’t stop to appraise your own actions. If my white friends come to me and ask to learn about Her I WILL teach them, just I would ANYONE ELSE. Because at the end of the day people… we’re all just humans trying to get by praying and honoring invisible sky people we can’t prove exist other than our own personal experience. If it offers peace to another damn right I’ll teach you and you can pray to whatever you want.
Point is: STOP POLICING. IT MAKES YOU NO BETTER THAN THE BIGGOTS WHO DICTATED WHO AND HOW TO WORSHIP FOR DECADES.
Not to mention it only leads to further loss of tradition and knowledge. Most was assimilated, or lost because you couldn’t write it down.
You think what you practice is “real” polytheism to begin with? My peeps… there’s a whole lot less human sacrifice nowadays. Not to mention a whole lot more science. We don’t sacrifice babies to fix the weather.
Lastly fuck outta here before you dictate to anyone who comes to honestly learn what they can and can’t do. This is how sooo many Faith’s become bastardized I’m the first place guys. Think about it. Read some history books. And mind your own practice. Fight me bitches. I’m over it.
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from
exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more
exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time
it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed
in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed,
creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with
all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are
tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the
utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled
walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever
known has lived in such an, ah, dated,
home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if
they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all.
Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen,
going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge
cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip
beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys
and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash
of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top,
as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger.
It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into
this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of
the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish
towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her
neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess
being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and
a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but
there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets
her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless)
grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year!
You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear!
Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a
heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite
figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem
to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I
don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t
mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or
maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a
few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a
bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear,
because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded
in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only
because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and
shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear
and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record
books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues,
while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or
how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have
gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic
that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans
would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into
the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why
it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully,
so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine
with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman
returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you
since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love
wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the
corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have
had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some
cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a
generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It
smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated
with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t
seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that
smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two
small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the
rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some
difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank
you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners
regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so
deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity
for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright,
dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood
without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s
ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love
that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You
never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I
just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime.
I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her
rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t
believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind
that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as
well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only
finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning
circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the
library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the
winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket
over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders
and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s
clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.
Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.
Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that.
With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.
Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.
Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.”
The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground.
He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case.
Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson.
The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗
that addition is a+ 🙂
THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS
Every time this post shows up on my dash, it gets better (and more heart wrenching. Y’all! Stop cutting the onions okay?!).
If ever don’t reblogging this, I’m either dead, dying, or buried under cat.
This is why I love Tumblr so much! Thank you all for collaborating on this prompt and turning it into something beautiful ❤
There are a lot of times I feel like just…flipping the vegan script.
It’s not ‘polyester’ it’s plastic
It’s not ‘vegan leather’ it’s plastic
Its not ‘faux fur’ it’s plastic
Plastic is a pollutant and causes far more damage to the environment both now and in the future than leather or wool.
Please stop telling me that the Plastic Lyfe is the only life, it is not. My leather shoes will last a decade where pleather is lucky to last 12 months. Leather (and wool) decompose and are renewable. Plastic is neither of those.
THANK YOUUUUUUU~
A single wash cycle of plastic-based fiber (polyester, poly fleece, faux fur) may release 700,000 pieces of microplastic into our waters. Nasty stuff.
aw dangit
Wool is the most environmentally friendly fabric despite being an animal product.
Using wool isnt even harming sheep
Wool in different weights is also one of the best fabrics for different climates and if woven tightly water resistant. Which in turn means no harmful waterproofers needed on the cloth. Unless it’s something like bees wax. But felted is basically one of the best fabrics for cold weather. It self regulates temperature. Plastic? You bake in plastic. Even the lightweight stuff. I’ve worn full Elizabethan clothing in Florida and the worst bit was the poly brocade doublet. The wool dress and linen shift kept me cool.
A good farmer and this is most farmers do NOT harm their sheep shearing them and it benefits the sheep. So what would you have? An irreparably damaged planet full of plastic? Or happy sheep and decent cloth that won’t pollute once finished with?
Welcome to Chaos 