bedroom surf

It’s kind of ironic that a band named No Vacation has the means to take us on such sonic escapades with their pop. The San Francisco outfit, who signed to Topshelf Records earlier this year, drenches us with languorous glistening dream wave on their new single Yam Yam, which can succinctly be described as “yum yum”. No Vacation is preparing to release their new mixtape this summer and Yam Yam is a more than intoxicating preview off that release. Its surf tinged bedroom pop is a thick swirl of sun kissed nostalgia. Yam Yam falls right in with some of the wistful sounds coming from their brethren across the Bay, like Hazel English and Day Wave, with a touch of Yumi Zouma and a heftier dose of propulsive bass. No Vacation will be embarking on tour with The Bilinda Butchers later this month. The tour’s final stop brings them back home to the RIckshaw Stop in San Francisco on June 9th.

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Sinking - Part 1 - Smut

Originally posted by oceansprincess

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Reader
Words: 3,900

AN: Super secret project of mine, I’ve been thinking about this for awhile and since I was stuck on The Wedding Singer I decided to churn this out. It’s only going to be two parts. Thank you to my babe @toppunks for reading this over for me and encouraging me and being an all around super human being who I love so much! I hope you like, let me know what you think so far. The mythology here is borrowed from real life and some of it will be made up just an FYI.

Listen to this

You sat on the hood of the jeep, Stiles’ sweatshirt hanging off your frame as you gazed out over Beacon Hills from the lookout. Your best friend was sprawled out beside you, long limbs dangling off the side of the vehicle.

“Did you have a good birthday?” He asked, his eyes flitting over to you as you tucked your knees into the sweatshirt with the rest of your body.

“Yeah, thanks to you.” You glanced over at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, it’s not every day you turn 18, you know.”

You snorted. “Guess not.” You yawned widely.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” He slid off the jeep, his hands coming to grip your hips and lift you, placing your feet on the ground.

You pitched forward, arms wrapping around his middle. “Thanks, Stiles.”

He hugged you back, his lips brushing your hair. “Any time, Fish.” You smiled at the nickname, before letting go and climbing in the car.

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