#beach smoke cigarettes

[angelprincess44]

🎶

[tinyslapper-4-sba]

[newyorkthegoldenage]

A woman at Coney Island beach, 1952-58.

Photo: Garry Winogrand via The Guardian

[nightmarearian]

closed at dusk

wallpaper version + alt draft + ref/inspo

[sku1l-b4e]

2008tom x reader fluff,where they are at the beach🫶🏼

i love this era of him

Beach Day !!

Category: fluff 🫶🏻 Warnings: nothin' much, kissing?, swearing, playful insults... That's ab it.

It was a beautiful summer day, you, your boyfriend and his band had all decided to go to the beach. Thank god you did, your mother had researched a more private beach so you all weren't swarmed with paparazzi or fans, then you all set off. Georg was driving the car, Bill was in the passenger seat so he could mess with the radio, Gustav was behind Bill with his headphones on and you were sat on Tom's lap.

His arms wrap tightly around your waist, as if protecting you despite the fact that the seatbelt was around you both. You smile and tilts you head back, pressing your lips against his jaw to which he chuckles and kisses your forehead.

As soon as the car reaches the parking lot next to the large sand dunes, everyone gets out. Tom unbuckles the seatbelt and changes your position so he can carry you bridal style out of the car. You laugh and cling to his neck, allowing him to pepper your face and neck in kisses, leaving Georg to grumble about having to close the door after the two of you.

A couple hours later, you're relaxing on your towel, in your bikini which seems to have been made for you, it flatters every curve (or lack of) and the colour is perfect for your skin tone. Tom was sitting next to you, a cigarette between his lips as he picks a scab on his shin. You look over at him and gently wack his hand away from the scab, earning a frown from him. "Stop it, don't want you bleeding." You say, to which he sighs and places his cigarette between your lips. You take a puff and blow it out, slowly sitting up to watch Bill be pushed into the sea by Gustav who seems to be having far too much fun with torturing Bill, Bill's voice flowing through the air and to your ears. "Fuck off Gustav! It's so- AH-"

"I love you."

Toms voice breaks you out of your daze and you look to him as his hand reaches for his cigarette again. A smile creeps onto your face, noticing how he had looked away as soon as your turned your attention to him. "I love you too." You say softly, gazing at him with gentle eyes. He glances at you and looks away. "Shut up..."

You laugh at him and shuffle closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. His skin is hot and you know he'll burn soon, you glance over towards his back and shake your head. "You need suncream."

Tom groans and tries to move away from you as soon as he hears the bottle click open but how you wrap your legs around his waist from behind stops him. "Fuck off, bitch." He grumbles, wiggling his back to try and escape the cold liquid being spread on his skin. "Don't be a cunt, Tom. Jus' tryna help."

Soon enough, he gives in and slumps over in defeat. But you soon cheer him up by wrapping your loving arms around him and kissing around his face. He chucks his now finished cigarette into the sand and tackles you onto your towel, wrapping himself around you. "Fuck- you're really heavy!" You laugh to which he chuckles and kisses around your neck, gently sucking on the skin before settling down and cuddling you, not caring about the sunburn that will surely appear later in the day.

IM SO SORRY ITS SO SHORT 😭

[shy-girl04]

Edu & Jorge Roman

[umlammerjammers]

Beach droog that i, coincidentally, drew at the beach

Inspo picture/reference

[angelprincess44]

[goshyesvintageads]

Philip Morris Co, 1970

[fiftiesbbydolldress]

my kinda night

[knbposting]

ik it's probably just an english thing but kise, mura and midorima doing this gesture as 12 year olds is so funny. fuck you too damn!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fordcrownvictoria]

Nights At The Whaler

From 2006 to 2014, my weekends often found their way to the Whaler, a bar that sat comfortably by the sand in Venice Beach, California. It wasn’t the drinks that drew me there — I never cared much for alcohol — but something else entirely: a pool table, a pack of cigarettes, the open night sky, and a swirling cast of characters as unpredictable as the ocean breeze.

The Whaler's upstairs area, with its retractable roof, was a dream of freedom. Stars winked down through the smoky air, the salty scent of the Pacific mixed with cigarette smoke, and the winds off the water cooled the faces of everyone gathered there. It wasn't just a bar; it was a living, breathing snapshot of a time and place that felt untouchable by the steady march of change beyond Venice's shores.

I would lean over the pool table, cigarette between my lips, cue in hand, while around me life buzzed. It wasn’t uncommon to sink a ball and turn around to find yourself in conversation with a beach bum who swore he once surfed with a famous actor, or an artist with paint still under their fingernails. Rich bohemians drifted through in loose linen clothes and barefoot confidence. Businesspeople, weary from the week but still clinging to their loosened ties, sought refuge among us. The Whaler was a strange democracy — once you climbed those stairs, you left behind your job titles and your status. You were just another soul searching for something: a laugh, a dance, a conversation that would make the night memorable.

The beauty of those nights was how simple everything felt. It wasn’t about being seen or chasing anything beyond the moment you were living. The Whaler was a place where stories were currency, and everyone had something to trade. Some nights were wild — laughter crashing like waves — and others were quiet, as I sat at the edge of it all, smoking and watching life unfold like a slow, tender movie.

In a city often accused of being too fast, too fake, the Whaler felt stubbornly real. The starlight made everyone a little more honest. Under that soft glow, dreams were confessed, regrets were nursed, and friendships, fleeting or lasting, were made with startling ease.

Looking back, those years at the Whaler were more than just a phase of youth; they were a chapter of reflection, of seeing the world up close through hundreds of brief encounters. I learned how varied and beautiful people's lives could be, how much kindness could come from strangers, and how sometimes, the best moments happen when you aren't chasing anything at all.

When I think of Venice now, I don’t just picture the boardwalk or the ocean. I picture that smoky upstairs bar, the sound of a cue ball breaking the rack, a warm laugh cutting through the salt-heavy air, and the endless, forgiving stars overhead.

Those nights at the Whaler — they were the quiet heartbeat of an unforgettable time in my life.

[ohiogothic]

withdrawing from nicotine is uh. hmm. drinking a big coffee and dissociating to The Beach Boys in the front seat of my car. my mouth tastes like metal

[angelprincess44]

🪽

[coffeeworldsasaki]

If people expect me to stand up waiting for someone to come inside when there isn't a soul around they can get fucked, I'm already throwing away a whole summer doing unpaid work in a failing place I'm not wasting the quiet moment I can spend reading to please two fuckers that can afford to spend at least 2 hundreds per day on an hotel room in an overpriced dying island