#and if a single one of you say 'but its 10 days till pride' bitch. i am anticipating how long itll take to wait. film. then edit.

[simplydnp]

cannot wait for the most clickbait title ever from phil 4 days before pride month

[tomthesoftie]

laundry day

a/n: this took me like 2-3 hours to write - oops - i came up with this idea when i was drawing in my sketchbook, hopefully it’s good because it’s already 4 am lol

pairing: college!flirt!tom holland x nerdy!reader

warnings: foul language, kind of sexual not really, tom being a dick and a flirt, y/n has a shitty day, rip harry is such good friend

masterlist

pt.1 | pt.2

After a long day, you headed back to your dorm, taking a bath a soon as you got back. You had planned on going to the library to do some late night studying, or just reading, after your bath. Unfortunately, it was laundry day and you only had a white, cropped camisole and a short skirt, that was too short to be worn anywhere, left in your closet. You groaned having no other choice than to take those. 

The day had been terrible for you. You had been assigned stacks on stacks of papers that were either due by the end of the week or 3 weeks, maximum. Then, when you were rushing to get your lunch, some ass cut in front of you and took at least 30 minutes to order, resulting in you not having any lunch and rushing to your class. After that class, you had 15 minutes to get to your next lecture, so you decided to get yourself a coffee. Thankfully, you were able to order this time with no interruption, but when you were walking to the lecture hall, a curly brunette “accidentally,” and harshly, bumped your shoulder, making you drop the coffee in your hand. You cried out, feeling your anger succumb your every emotion.

“Dude,” you exclaimed.

You were never the kind to fight back, but today had already been so shitty for you that you’d snapped.

The brunette grinned, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“My ass,” you rolled your eyes, clenching your fists at your side, “look, buddy, today has already been a very shitty day for me, so if you wouldn’t mind, at least sound sincere when you apologize for fucking spilling my only source of energy.”

“Sheesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” he laughed, not taking a single word you had said seriously.

“You know what? Just fuck off,” you stomped away, remembering that you still had to get to your next lecture.

He snickered behind you as you walked away, clearly finding amusement in your indignation. 

That brings you to where you are now: heading to library in a skimpy outfit with a strap of your book bag clinging onto your right shoulder. By now it was 8 P.M. and you still hadn’t gotten any food to eat. Although your stomach was growling louder than a predatory animal sensing danger, you were determined to get to the only place you could seek peace: the library. 

As you walked in, Harry, one of your close friends was eyeing you weirdly. He had volunteered to work at the library, seeing he could do his homework and study there, as well as get in a few aesthetic pictures.

“What are you wearing?” His eyebrows furrowed, scanning your outfit.

“Don’t judge, it’s laundry day and today fucking sucked,” you groaned loudly, knowing that no one would be at the library at such a late time of day.

Your stomach growled, “You got a lion in your shirt, or shall I say piece of fabric?” 

“I haven’t eaten lunch or dinner at all today,” you slouched, dropping your bag to the floor, “got anything I could eat?”

“Of course, I got to have a snack or twenty if I’m going to be working till 10 P.M,” he handed you two large energy bars, “you’re gonna need it.”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” you pulled a chair over to the circulation desk, where Harry was seated.

“I know,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes before grabbing you book bag, pulling out Pride and Prejudice, one of your favorites. You opened the book to the page you left off on and began reading. Harry had gone back to studying and taking pictures, mostly of you.

“Harry,” a voice boomed as it entered. 

You had only gotten 45 minutes to read in peace. You mentally and probably physically banged your head with the book.

“Are you ready to go?” The voice continued. 

As you listened closely, you realized you’d heard to voice before. You just couldn’t put your finger on who it was. 

“I still have 1 hour left, Tom,” Harry stated.

You lifted your head in the direction of the familiar stranger. It was curly brunette, the one who had knocked your coffee out of your hand and given zero fucks about it.

“Who’s there, Harry?” you asked, staying hidden in your seat. 

“Just my older brother, Tom. I don’t talk about him much ‘cause he’s a dick,” he said, raising his voice at the end, making sure Tom could hear him.

“Right, I’m the dick,” Tom mumbled to himself before snapping back, “call me another name and I won’t be giving you a ride home tonight. Also, who’s the girl?”

“Y/N, she’s my friend,” he replied, paying no mind to his brother.

Tom brought it upon himself to scope you out. He wandered through the isles of books and looked at all the seats in the library, finally finding you to be sitting with his brother. His eyes scanned your body, admiring the suddenly too tight tank top and short skirt on you.

“Hey, coffee girl,” he winked.

“You know Tom?” Harry glanced at you, confused.

“No, I don’t. I just know that he’s a douche who can suck and choke on his own dick,” you had tensed and your anger from the afternoon had started rising again. 

“I’m sure you’d like to,” his stance not faltering.

“Son of a bitch,” you simply flipped him off, not wanting to put anymore effort into him than necessary. 

He chuckled and brought a chair over to sit himself next to you. The warmth of his body was radiating off of him. 

“Pride and Prejudice, a classic. I’ve never read it, though. Would you say the 2005 film was worthy of its positive reviews?” Tom tried to start a conversation, but you ignored him, scooting your chair away from his.

“C’mon, darling, if you’re still mad about the coffee, I can make it up to you,” this peeked your interest.

“How so?” You asked, placing your chin in the palm of your hand.

“You and me, tomorrow at 12 P.M, that french café near the garden. See you then?” He offered, arching his brow.

You sat silently, thinking about it, “Fine, but don’t think that this is a date.”

He grabbed a pen and post it, writing his contact information on it, “Whatever you want, princess.” 

You snatched the paper out of his hand and began packing your bags. Forgetting that you were wearing practically a strip of fabric around your waist, you bent over and grabbed your bag, giving Tom a great view of your ass and the black, lace panties you wore.

Harry cleared his throat, “Y/N, your skirt.”

Your eyes widened in realization, “Oh shit, sorry.”

You stood up straight, pulling the skirt down as far as possible and started to head out before a voice stopped you.

“Also, feel free to wear that tomorrow,” Tom winked one last time before letting you walk away.

Your face was burning red and you couldn’t help but let your giggle slip through your lips. You were sure gonna wear this tomorrow.

[3centsofbutter]

Memoirs of a Medic - BNHA

Chisaki Kai / Eri

Part 1/2

“Chisaki, I’ve brought you tea”

The hallway was silent. You stood outside the metal door, tea tray in hand, patiently staring at the blank concrete wall. You were notified by Irinaka this morning that Kai was dealing with some bottom tier members, something about an incident at Minami ward under the Hassaikai name. His exact words were “Stay out of it till noon if you know what’s good for you.” You looked down at your watch.

‘10:25’

It was tea time. Regardless of what anyone said, 10:30 is when Kai liked to drink tea and no menial task such as dealing with lowlife scum was going to interrupt his daily scheduling. Everything had to be orderly, just how he liked it.

The door opened and you were faced by Hari’s apathetic expression. He greeted you with a curt nod and pointed towards Kai’s desk.

Six bodies mangled beyond recognition were slumped against the left wall. Their hands and feet were bound by thick ropes and their blood was splattered over the white walls. You sidestepped around them and placed the tray onto his desk. “Would you like me to arrange for Botan to deal with the bodies this afternoon?”

He unbuckled his mask and placed it to the side. “Yes, at four.”

He shrugged off his bloodied jacket onto his chair and peeled off what used to be white gloves, now stained red. He walked to the sink and began to wash his hands.

“Kato sit, Kuruno come here, everyone else out of the office”

You were Yasuko Kato, a childhood friend of Kai Chisaki, the infamous young Yakuza head of the Shie Hassaikai. You were the sole medic of the organisation thanks to your quirk ‘regeneration’ allowing you to transform and transfer your energy by the needle-like ends of your hair into the pressure points of your patient’s body, magnifying the healing process tenfold. You were taken in by the Previous boss at a young age and grew up under the wing of the Hassaikai, being considered main family children alongside Kai and Hari Kuruno growing up.

Irinaka threw you a side-eyed glare before bowing and leaving the office with everyone else. Hari pulled out the seat and motioned for you to sit before taking the seat next to you. It wasn’t often that Kai ever requested a meeting with you, it wasn’t necessary as you weren’t directly involved in the big operations the Hassaikai pulled, you only dealt with the aftermath.

Once the door clicked shut. Kai placed a small red box on the table. “Hari, Iku, we’ve reached the end goal.”

He opened the case and pushed it towards you. You stared at the 5 red cylindrical bullets and your eyes widened, it couldn’t be. You looked back at Kai.

“You finished it.”

Kai nodded, “I finished the formula during last Thursday’s extraction. I tested it myself on some of the goons and since then, they haven’t regained any of their quirk abilities.” He leaned back in his chair. “I think this is it.”

Hari picked up one of the bullets and held it in the light. “Does this mean we will go into mass production soon?”

“Yes, it would seem so.”

Your stomach dropped.

Kai turned to face you. “Yasuko, you know this means we will be needing your services more frequently now.”

He noticed your unnerved expression and sighed. “Yasuko you have become too attached. It is a small sacrifice that will bring back the Hassaikai name as the ruler of the underground. This is what dad would have wanted. This is what you wanted, is it not?”

You scrunched your face in disgust, “Don’t you dare bring dad into this!” You sneered, his face remained unchanged. “Please Kai, aren’t the quirk boosting drugs enough to sustain the Hassaikai name? She’s only just a child.”

“No, we-”

“We were like her once, do you have no heart?”

Kai sighed and stood up. “Stop being foolish, Yasuko. You are lucky to be who you are but this is crossing the line.” He grabbed your face and pulled it close towards his, You could feel his quirk on his fingertips, causing your skin bubble under the surface. You could smell the oolong tea in his breath. His piss-yellow eyes bore into yours.

“Nothing will stop me, not even you, so know your place and stay in it.”

You slapped away his hand and glared at him. You were powerless against him and he knew it. Kai, satisfied with your reaction, closed the box and slipped it into his pocket.  

“Hari I will see you about the Minami incident later, Yasuko take my jacket and have it washed, A six you are required at Eri’s room, understand?”

There was nothing more to say.

“Hai.”

~

It was six o’clock and you were outside Eri’s room. You could see Hari approaching with Eri slung over his shoulder. As usual, she was fast asleep, knocked out from exhaustion after Kai’s extraction sessions. You were never told what went on during those sessions but the scars that lined Eri’s body were more than enough to paint a clear picture.

“I’ll be handing her onto you now,” Hari said, passing the small child into your arms. He stared into your eyes and hesitated for a second, carefully considering his words.

“On what Kai said earlier, You shouldn’t allow yourself to get attached, It’s going to hurt you later on.”

You used your fingers to comb through a matted knot in Eri’s hair. He was right, you chose the life of a yakuza and accepted Kai as your leader. It was your duty to devote yourself entirely for your family and follow orders blindly without hesitation. But somehow this little girl wormed her way into your heart and you became attached. She reminded you too much of yourself when you were younger to let go, you couldn’t bear to see someone suffer the way you did.

You sighed and turned your back to him. “You know it already has, Hari.”

He nodded disappointedly and retreated back into the winding hallway, the echo of his footsteps becoming fainter and fainter. One you were satisfied he was long gone, you push open Eri’s door and lay her down on the bed. You pressed your hand to her forehead and winced at the temperature, she always was feverish after extractions. You took off her nightgown and took out your hairpin allowing your long black hair to fall down from your usual low bun. Your hair then took a life of its own as it strands began whizzing around, inserting themselves into the young girl’s body. You took a seat next to the bed as you felt the energy being drained from you. Using your quirk generally didn’t cause over-exhaustion, but Eri was an entirely different case. Although Kai was supposed to reassemble her body, there were limits to what he could do, or what he was bothered to do, so she was always brought to you on the brink of death. You felt yourself lapse in and out of consciousness, your eyes fighting to stay open. You let your body relax and melt into the chair.

It was going to be a long night.

~

“Yasuko, we have customers”

Liquor, broken glass, smoke

“Brighten up buttercup, no one wants a sulky bitch to give them hits”

They all had different faces, some more familiar than the rest. Their breath reeked of alcohol and tobacco, yellow teeth and dirty fingernails.

“You stupid piece of shit, IT’S LIKE YOU’RE ASKING FOR A BEATING.”

Their sinister smirk and rough hands.

"Don’t get cocky princess, you’ll never amount to anything.”

“- to-san”

“Kato-san, please wake up.”

Your eyes shot open. Eri was tugging on your shirt, eyes darting all around the room in panic. You rubbed your eyes noticing how clammy your hands were. Your shirt, soaked with sweat, stuck to your body like a second skin.

You felt disgusting.

“Sorry about that, Eri.”

She tugged the hem of her dress, “S’okay, Kato-san is okay now.”

Her innocent expression made your body instantly ripple with guilt. She didn’t deserve this, it wasn’t right. You excused yourself and went for a quick shower. Your room was next door to Eri’s, it looked exactly the same as every other bedroom in the complex. The concrete walls were painted a dull cream colour, and the floor polished wood. The room was neat and orderly, devoid of personality, much like a hotel room. The only furnishings in the room consisted of your queen sized bed, dresser and floor length mirror. A giant scroll hung above your bed, painted was the Shie Hassaikai emblem underneath printed, ‘Help the weak, fight the strong’; Kai had long since strayed from those morals. A single framed photo on top of the dresser was the only proof the room was lived in. It was a photo taken years ago when you were only ten. It was clan pride day which meant you, Kai, and Hari were all dressed in kimonos. It was taken out in the courtyard with the big boss kindly smiling into the camera with all three of you gathered around him, dango sticks in hand. Those days were now distant memories lost in Kai’s greed for power.

You undressed and looked at your reflection in the mirror, your body was lined with scars from altercations with street thugs and other kids back in your teenage years. You were reckless and brave back then daring to fight anyone who dared to talk down on the Hassaikai name. You turned around and felt the giant scar that lined your back. It had been stretched weirdly throughout the years growing with you since you were only five.

Your mother possessed the same quirk as you, the regeneration quirk that allowed her to transfer her energy into a patient to magnify the healing process. In her early 20s, she lost her job at the hospital and quickly ran out of money. She was thrown into the streets and soon had to sell her body to survive. Not long after she became homeless, she realised that her quirk could do much more than just heal, when used on a body without any physical damage it resulting in a euphoric high much stronger than that of heroin. She then began to sell herself in a different way, targeting those growing bored of regular illicit drugs. Through this, she met your biological father who became her pimp. He arranged all her customers and took away all of her earnings, she couldn’t care less, she was wildly in love with him.

Two years passed and she eventually gave birth to you. You did not remember much of your early years of life but one thing was for certain, it was not filled with love. You spent most of your time with your mother in the house where strange people would come and go everyday. The air in the room was always cloudy with smoke and smelt like wet clothes, tobacco and alcohol. You remembered sitting in the corner of the room silently watching your father count money while your mother sat on the chair next to the beaten up mattress, paper skin, cracked lips and bruised skin, sent her hair slithering into every customer who walked in through the door.

She passed away from overexhaustion when you were four which coincidentally was when you began to show signs of your quirk developing. Your father, with the loss of his main source of income immediately put you to work. You filled in the place your mother once had and became familiar with the strange faces that you once observed from the corner. Your father pumped you with drugs in order to allow your small body to keep up with demand. He relentlessly sent in customers day in and day out to keep his own addictions well funded.

When you were six, a customer got too handsy with you. He tried to touch you, take off your clothes, while your father merely just watched from the doorway. You kicked his jaw making him unhand you in disbelief. You managed to scramble away and hide behind your father. The man angered by your retaliation unsheathed a small black hunting knife from his back pocket and waved it at your father. They briefly exchanged a few words you didn’t understand, you only remember your father pushing you forwards and locking the door. You screamed and cried for help, pounding on the locked door.

He struck.

One clean cut from the bottom of your shoulder blade across your back to your hip. You curled up in a ball on the floor and shrieked. The blood soaked through your white dress spilling onto the floor. The man looked down at his knife, your blood dribbling down the blade onto his hands, and realized what he had done. Panic flooded his veins. He was a homeless druggie, not a street thug, murders happened all the time in the red light district but the death of some six year old wasn’t going to fly, someone was going to catch wind of this and he’d get caught if you lived.

That's right, only if you lived.

He stood over you, knife in hand, eyes crazed with killing intent. His breath was heavily laboured, it reeked of alcohol and weed.

He swung.

You grabbed the knife by the blade before it struck your skull and threw it to the side. Your hair took a life of its own and shot at his neck piercing the Carotid sinus. He began convulsing, foaming at the mouth and collapsed on the ground. Your hand was gushing with blood, he had cut deep into your fingers. The pain was beyond anything that you had experienced. Out of instinct your hair connected to your back and fingers slowing down the blood.

You couldn’t stay here anymore, you didn’t want to. You slid open the window and ran into the depths of the red light district, away from your father and away from the walls that held you prisoner. That’s how Kai found you, passed out in a back alley covered with blood. He was only eight back then and stood by your body protecting you from stray drunks and the odd policeman until you regained consciousness.

“I’m Chisaki Kai, I’m gonna be honest, you look pretty bad and you got hair stuck in your hand.”

“I know, I’m Kato Yasuko”

He passed you a stale loaf of bread and you told him everything that happened right from the beginning. Your mother, your father, and the handsy customer. He listened intently and comforted you as you cried. Once it was over, he took your hand and began dragging you through the backstreets of the red light district.

“Where are you taking me? I don’t want to go back there.”

“We’re gonna burn that crack house down, retard.”

“You don’t even know where I used to live!”

“Then take me there or we’re gonna be running all day, loser!”

At that moment you couldn’t think of any better alternatives so you ran with him. His short maroon hair was easy to miss, he somehow was able to seamlessly melt into the shadows of the back alleys, weaving through dumpsters and crowds of morally questionable people. But in your eyes he was so bright, like a ray of sunshine. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world, it was like he wore the title street rat with pride. For the first time in forever you felt something positive. This dingy little ill mannered child gave your broken childhood hope. But like he always did, your father anticipated your return. He sat on the old rocking chair on the front porch, cigarette in hand. Staring both of you down as you approached the house.

“I’ve been waiting on your return, princess,” He smirked, “I almost got a little worried there.”

He stood up revealing the gun he had hidden in his other hand. He beckoned you to come forward.

“You’re gonna have to leave your friend outside” his voice became sinister. “We don’t want any dirty footprints in the house.”

Your father was born quirk-less and therefore found it necessary to carry a pistol everywhere he went. Your eyes flitted to Kai, he was seemingly unfazed by the gun and held his ground. You began to panic, Kai, your saviour, was going to die from your selfishness.

“Kai I can go back you don’t need to-”

“Shut up, Yasuko. Have a little hope. Geez!”

That was it, he had gone too far. It would have been easier for you to just go back to your father and spare Kai's life, but something was holding you back from moving forward. You didn’t want to let him go, you didn’t want to go back to that life. But reality weighed onto your shoulders and you made your resolve. But before you even got the chance to move, Kai bolted.

Two shots were fired from your father’s pistol.

The first pierced his shoulder, and the second his forearm. But he didn’t stop.

The colour drained from your father’s face once he realised he was out of rounds. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he backed himself up against the wall. He held out the gun despite its worthlessness and kept repeatedly pulling the trigger to no avail. Kai stood in front of him and reached his arm out.

It wasn’t a secret that you had lived a terrible life prior to that point. You had watched your mother and customers by the hands of your father die. Fistfights and dead prostitutes were no strangers to the streets of the red light district and neither were you. But none of this could have even prepared you for what you saw.

Kai’s hand sliced through your father’s abdomen like a hot knife to butter, it almost looked as if he stuck his hand through an illusion, but the blood that spilled brought you back to reality. You considered your father to be a stoic man, he had a tough exterior and never seemed to be fazed in any situation, even in his death he never begged for his life. You watched the flesh around Kai’s hand churn like a smoothie, enveloping his entire body, turning into an unrecognizable sludge. The whole time, your father’s eyes never left yours. His eyes scorched and burned into yours, making sure his face would live to haunt you in your nightmares. The last words he mouthed were as clear as day.

"Don’t get cocky princess, you’ll never amount to anything.”

…

It was over.

“Was that the first person you’ve ever killed?”

A hesitated pause.

“Yeah.”

As Kai promised you burnt down the house alongside both bodies with matches he stole from the convenience store. He allowed you to throw the first match, casting it onto the lump of flesh that had been your father. It didn’t burn much to your dismay, but the rest of the house did, and you had never felt more euphoric as you watched the flames consume the front porch. You both made a hasty escape before anyone bothered to check up on the house and scaled a nearby three story brothel and watched the blaze from the rooftops, hand in hand.

“You’re like a hero, y’know”

“Don’t call it that.”

You and Kai lived as street rats from that point onwards. Pickpocketing drunken strangers and stealing from street vendors, sleeping in back alleys and behind dumpsters to avoid law enforcement. It was tough but you were happy; you had Kai and that was all that mattered to you. Two years later, you were brought into the Shie Hassaikai and became a faithful servant to the clan. The knife wound from that day was too deep for it to completely heal so it left a nasty scar that branded your back from that point onwards. It was a constant unpleasant reminder of your father’s cocky smirk.

“You’ll never amount to anything,”

The water began to run cold bringing you out of your thoughts, you winced at the sudden temperature change and hastily left the shower. You slicked back your hair into a tight low bun, bobby pinning the stray hairs at the base of your neck. You quickly put on a fresh change of clothes, and took one last longing glance at the photo frame before returning back to Eri’s room.

“Right, let’s go.”

You both walked in silence though the labyrinth of hallways into one of the studies. You set Eri down at the table with a wad of cash and an accounting journal, allowing her to count it for you while you worked on your own treasury work. You never got any sort of education until the Shie Hassaikai at eight which made it extremely difficult to learn any academics without the basic fundamentals implemented at a young age, you made it your job to make sure Eri had some basic education just in case she managed to escape Kai. It was wistful thinking but you were adamant that it happened.

“What comes after 129, Kato-san?”

“130”

“Thank you, Kato-san”

She was so precious that it hurt.

‘I wish i could have given you more.’

Part 2

Master list of all my stuff

A/N: I really don’t know what to say. This idea has been stuck in my mind since I watched season 4 (late to the party I know). I merged the two parts together because I didn’t think the first part would work well by itself. This is the first ever long project I’ve ever started so please bear with me, I’m used to stand alone short projects. I don’t know how I feel about this one :P. I think I’ll put this up on wattpad or something once it’s all finished. Despite that, please enjoy.

[thirstinmore-blog]

Best Albums of 2018

BEST ALBUMS 2018

20. Noname: Room 25

19. Jeremih & Ty Dolla $ign: Mih-Ty

18. Tierra Whack: Whack World

17. Parks Burton: Pare

16. Oneohtrix Point Never: Age Of

15. Angelique Kidjo: Remain in Light

14. Shannon Shaw: Shannon in Nashville

13. Curren$y & Freddie Gibbs: Fetti

12. Ariana Grande: Sweetener

11. Vince Staples: FM!

10. DJ Koze: Knock Knock

9. Mariah Carey: Caution

8. Courtney Barnett: Tell Me How You Really Feel

7. The Carters: Everything is Love

6. Snail Mail: Lush

5. Shannon & the Clams: Onion

4. Teyana Taylor: K.T.S.E.

3. Kacey Musgraves: Golden Hour

2. Blood Orange: Negro Swan

1. Dirty Projectors: Lamp Lit Prose

(Spotify playlist)

(Capsule reviews of Top 10 below) 

10. DJ Koze: Knock Knock.  The music writing trope of “a sounds like b + c” is as lazy as it is played, but sometimes you hear a record and those type of comparisons spring to mind, like when I first heard Saint Pepsi’s Hit Vibes and instantly thought of J Dilla making a disco record.  That was also my response to Knock Knock, which sounds like the Avalanches making a more patient update of Since I Left You for 2018 ears.  The record is long and lush, and draws from roughly nine billion different aesthetics, but its particular mélange still manages to sound fresh.  As with SILY, the album is best experienced as a complete piece of music (though several tracks, such as “Lord Knows” and “Scratch That” would sound great in a mix or DJ set).  Knock Knock takes the listener through ambling pathways that wrap around and revisit each other, like an evening stroll through the spacious Joshua Tree National Park depicted on its cover.  It’s nearly a two-hour journey, but it’s well worth the price of admission.

9. Mariah Carey: Caution.  Mariah got a dirty mouth and I’m here for it.  As mother, a twice-divorcée, a woman nearing 50, her work and her image are all her own; if she wants to include the word “fuck” in a bunch of songs on her new album (“GTFO,” “With You,” “The Distance”), then who the fuck are we to tell her no?   It’s a refreshing twist from someone whose public persona is often so curated, but I’m burying the lede.  The real story here is that Caution is a batch of excellent R&B songs from one of the genre’s all-time greats.  It’s not overwrought – by contrast, the album’s sultry blue cover art is indicative of the moods within.  The Ty Dolla $ign-featuring “The Distance” is laid extremely deep in the cut, assisted by some subtle production from Poo Bear, Lido and—holy shit, Skrillex?  Yup, and like Mariah herself, everyone involved uses an even hand and measured patience to let each song breathe.  

A personal highlight for me is “A No No,” which flips the Lil Kim/Lil Cease classic “Crush On You” on its head.  Here, where Biggie intones “he’s a slut, he’s a hoe, he’s a freak/got a different girl every day of the week,” there is no irony intended.  She gauges her suitors’ intent and responds simply: “that’s a no-no.”  In fact, the word “no” accounts for easily half the song’s lyrics, but it’s still a blast on subsequent listens.  But don’t get it twisted – highlights abound herein, from aforementioned singles “GTFO” and “The Distance” to the thoughtful, expansive, Dev Hynes-helmed “Giving Me Life,” which begins as a downtempo club hit and morphs into a surrealist dream.  Mariah Carey is one of the artists who’s been in my life the longest – I’m so happy she’s still killing it.

8. Courtney Barnett: Tell Me How You Really Feel.  Courtney Barnett is what I was raised to believe an indie rock star should be: an unassuming, smart slacker with regular clothes and the ability to unleash earthbound poetry and atmosphere-puncturing solos with equal aplomb.  That effortless cool permeates every facet of her work, from her casual half-singing style to her loose but proficient playing, a mighty guitar god in the body of a humble 31-year-old.  (That she recorded a collaborative record with renowned cool guy Kurt Vile should surprise no-one.)  But what’s really striking about Barnett’s work is her wryly observant lyrics; whether she’s describing the banalities of urban life (“City Looks Pretty”) or eviscerating toxic masculinity (“Nameless, Faceless”), her keen eye and incisive wit pervade every line.  Tell Me is the sound of a strong artist getting stronger.

7. The Carters: Everything is Love.  I often say that as I get older, my favorite elements of songwriting are editing and restraint.  That’s why I tend to hate double albums and love EPs.  I just believe that most double albums would be better if distilled down to one really strong record.  EPs, on the other hand, leave the listener wanting more.  Such is the case with Everything is Love, which reads like a Beyonce trap record with a number of guest verses from Jay. Regardless of speculation on who did the lion’s share of the writing on the record, both are in top form.  Bey’s signature vocal virtuosity is on display as ever, but the real delight is in her capable delivery as a rapper.  She glides effortlessly through triplets like “Poppin, I’m poppin, my bitches are poppin, we go to the dealer and cop it all.” ��Big Sean could never.  Meanwhile, Jay turns in a few of my favorite bars of the year (and also a very slick Drake diss) on “Boss:”

“You not a boss, you got a boss. N*ggas gettin’ jerked, that shit hurts, I take it personaly.  N*ggas’d rather work for the man than to work for me.  Just so they can pretend they on my level, that shit is irkin’ to me.  Pride always goeth before the fall, almost certainly.  It’s disturbing what I gross.  Survey says: you not even close.  Everybody’s bosses till the time to pay for the office, till them invoices separate the men from the boys. Over here we measure success by how many people successful next to you.  Here, we say you broke if everybody is broke except for you. BAWSE.”

I don’t know if they intend to release more records as The Carters, but Everything is Love is a fun, successful experiment.

6. Snail Mail: Lush.  There’s no reason for a debut LP to be this good.  The record, from solo project-turnt-band of 19-year-old Lindsay Jordan is focused, clever, and sophisticated.  Every component of these songs appears exactly as it should.  Jordan’s songwriting is clean and incisive (“I hope whoever it is holds their breath around you/’cause I know I did,” she sings on album standout “Heat Wave”).  The arrangements are smartly simple; seldom do they deviate from the four-person rock lineup, so the embellishments that are included (the French horn on “Deep Sea,” the layered keys on “Speaking Terms”) really leap out.  The playing throughout is lovely, with Jordan’s beautiful guitar technique front and center (the finger-picking on “Let’s Find an Out” is a particular delight). Everything in its right place – only where Radiohead’s inward gaze can be mopey and self-indulgent, the core strength of Lush is its efficiency.  There’s no filler here – just the exact amount of support that each piece requires.  The drumming feels especially strong in this regard – there’s an economic directness in Ray Brown’s playing that prioritizes the backbeat over everything, including his ego. The fills that he does include are modest and workmanlike.

It’s right that the record would be released by Matador, because these songs are drenched in the influences of the 90s slacker rock of Yo La Tengo, Sonic Youth, Sleater-Kinney and Sebadoh.  And as with each of those bands, Snail Mail’s songs are buoyed by excellent lyrics.  Jordan doesn’t just sound wise beyond her years, she actually seems to have lived more in her 19 years than many folks twice her age.  There’s a subtext of sobriety in some of the songs (“It just feels like the same party every weekend, doesn’t it?” on “Pristine,” or “I’m so tired of moving on/spending every weekend so far gone” on “Heat Wave”).  Perhaps the self-reflection that’s required in recovery has helped to distill her worldview.  

And look, I don’t mean to be patronizing here – this album would be a major achievement from any person of any age.  But to hear an artistic vision this crystal clear and laser-focused from a 19-year-old is something truly special.  I can’t wait to hear what she does next.

5. Shannon & the Clams: Onion.  Upon first listen, Onion struck me as the best record the Clams have released to date.  Now, admittedly, I’m a sucker for keyboards, and the inclusion of organist Will Sprott is pure Patrick-bait.  But beyond my own tastes, the organ both fills out and anchors the Clams’ garage doo-wop sound.  There’s a welcome succinctness to Onion: the songwriting is tight, the guitar playing is melodic and utilitarian, and the vocal performances from both Cody and Shannon are more technically refined than in any of their previous outings.  One wonders if Shannon’s work on her own solo album (the very good, Dan Auerbach-produced Shannon in Nashville, which also came out this year) pushed her to improve her technique.  And don’t get it fucked up – this is still a Clams record.  It’s still shaggy and loud and rambunctious – but they’ve worked hard to reign in their wildest tendencies.  Some might say that it’s layered, just like-- *an oversized cane hooks around my throat and drags me offstage* ….Well…..let’s just say it’s good.

4. Teyana Taylor: KTSE.  Of all the seven-song mini-albums Kanye produced in Wyoming this year, KTSE is both the best and the least talked-about.  She arrives seemingly out of the blue, a fully-formed artist who knows her strengths exactly.  She has bars when she feels like spitting them, a beautiful husky alto when she feels like crooning, and a profound connection to multiple styles of club music that’s borne of her history as a dancer.  It’s become a bit trendy to nod to vogue & ballroom culture in the last few years, but while Drake’s Big Freedia feature on “Nice for What” feels a little forced, Taylor can walk it like she talks it.  A dancer by trade, her comfort in the ballroom is palpable. 

Ye keeps it simple, remaining comfortably in his wheelhouse and flipping excellent soul samples such as Billy Stewart’s “I Do Love You” (which he repurposes into a nostalgic 4/4 slapper on “Hold On”) and The Stylistics’ “Because I Love You, Girl” (which he expands into a melancholy mediation on the horn section of the original).  It’s a welcome return to form.

3. Kacey Musgraves: Golden Hour.  In her SNL performance earlier this year, Kacey Musgraves appeared as a flat-ironed, longhair disco queen.  As she slayed Golden Hour’s catchy lead single “High Horse,” I was reminded of Dolly Parton.  I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dolly’s mid-70s and early-80s catalogue this past year, having purchased vinyl copies of All I Can Do, New Harvest…First Gathering, and Dolly, Dolly, Dolly.  Parton is one of those artists whose discographies are so gigantic as to seem practically impenetrable, so I’ve been trying to hear as much as I can.  Dolly, Dolly, Dolly is an especially interesting entry: released in 1980, it was her 23rd album, and it represents a pretty clear swing for crossover success.  A handful of the tracks are straight-up disco, and these are what Musgraves called to mind.  I was thrilled – Dolly’s disco experiments were widely panned, but I think there’s a lot of good there, maybe Golden Hour would be an attempt to vindicate Parton’s vision?

Unfortunately or not, I was incorrect.  In total, Golden Hour bears more resemblance to Dolly’s friend & frequent collaborator Emmylou Harris (Kacey’s hair should’ve tipped me off, SMH).  It’s a beautiful, understated, and thoughtful set of songs that could fit as well on a folk radio station as a country one.  Like Harris, Musgraves has an innate sense of how to let a great song be great, hanging back in both arrangement and vocal performance.  She’s emotive when she needs to be (“Rainbow”), and contemplative as needed (“Golden Hour”), always letting her writing breathe.  Also, she has the confidence to bury the lead single so deep on Side B that you almost forget it’s there (and are thrilled when it is).  As a person who prefers the full album experience to that of a shuffled playlist, this is one of my very favorite tricks.

Quite simply: great songs + great arrangements = a surprising list-topper for me.

2. Blood Orange: Negro Swan.  For years, the roles of sexuality and gender in black identity have been foci of Dev Hynes’ work as Blood Orange.  He spent time with drag queens and sex workers while writing his debut album Coastal Grooves, and has often cited transgender icon Octavia St. Laurent as one of his primary influences.  But while these interests have colored his previous albums, on Negro Swan they’re the bedrock.  In a press release preceding the album, Hynes described the album as “an exploration into my own and many types of black depression, an honest look at the corners of black existence, and the ongoing anxieties of queer/people of color.  A reach back into childhood and modern traumas, and the things we do to get through it all.  The underlying thread through each piece on the album is the idea of hope, and the lights we can try to turn on within ourselves with a hopefully positive outcome of helping others out of their darkness.”

These ideas are fundamental to the songwriting, and they’re reinforced by snippets of conversations with Janet Mock and Kai the Black Angel (who adorns the cover in a durag and angel wings) peppered throughout the album’s 49 minutes.  On “Family,” Mock defines community as “the spaces where you don’t have to shrink yourself, where you don’t have to pretend or to perform, you can fully show up and be vulnerable in silence, completely empty, and that’s completely enough.”  That search for community, the desire to be seen and loved and supported as your whole self informs each of these beautiful songs.  Already a competent producer, Hynes continues to grow, selecting beautiful flourishes like the jangly, perfectly out-of-tune guitar on “Charcoal Baby” or the soft, echoing snare drum on “Dagenham Dream” to characterize the thematic content of each piece.  Negro Swan is a powerful and complete work of art.  It sounds like he’s finally found some answers to the questions he’s been asking. 

1. Dirty Projectors: Lamp Lit Prose.  On Lamp Lit Prose, David Longstreth appears to be having more fun making music than he has in years, probably because almost 100% of his band has turned over (kudos to longtime bassist Nat Baldwin, whose playing tethers him to his own beginnings).  Beyond the new Projectors themselves, Longstreth spent the months during the writing of the album making new friends in the LA music scene, and bringing them around the studio to record various parts.  Members of Haim contribute to album standout “That’s a Lifestyle,” Syd (of The Internet) anchors the refrain in “Right Now,” and Fleet Foxes’ Robin Pecknold and Vampire Weekend alumnus Rostam Batmanglij stack harmonies onto the swirling ballad “You’re The One.”

I see LLP as the second half of a diptych begun by the self-titled Dirty Projectors, released last year.  While that record wallowed in the pain of a broken relationship with former Projector Amber Coffman, LLP reveals a healed and newly in love protagonist.  Both records feature David Longstreth at his most vocally competent: he’s now able to truly execute the melismatic R&B runs he lovingly wrote and charmingly attempted in his earliest work, his diaphragm now supports his every leap and bound, and his croon is sweeter than ever before.  But furthermore, both albums expand on ideas that have popped up throughout his illustrious and impressive body of work.  Whether he’s reviving the Rise Above era blasts of noisy guitars on “Zombie Conqueror” or revisiting the orchestral ambitions of The Getty Address on the stunningly soulful “I Wanna Feel It All,” Longstreth sounds like a worker with a complete toolbox and a detailed blueprint.  He’s been working at honing his craft for years.

I saw the Projectors in June, at a time when only “Break-Thru” and “That’s a Lifestyle” had leaked.  I didn’t know what to expect, being among the seemingly small minority of fans who liked their previous record.  But their set was staggering.  Flanked by his group of mostly-new faces, Longstreth was bouncing all over the place, proudly showcasing each instrumentalist & vocalist (seemingly everyone had at least one moment in the spotlight), visibly excited about playing with this group of people.  And that makes sense: LLP is Longstreth relishing the fundamental glee of musical collaboration.  The joy is positively bubbling over in tracks like “Right Now,” “I Feel Energy,” and “I Found it in You.”  To see him play these songs live is to wonder if he’s talking about the act of musicmaking itself when he sings: “Ask now, I’m in love for the first time ever.”