#Shipping Cuban Cigars

[cubancigarscuba]

How Cuban Cigars are Shipped :

These Cuban handmade cigars are all special brands from precious tobacco sun grown leaf from Cuba. Habanos is a tobacco company, Habanos S.A is a Cuban manufacturing company of tobacco that controls the promotion, distribution and other export of premium Cigars and other tobacco products for Cuba worldwide. We are leading sales movement now on Telegram as the #1 company that deals with transparency, honesty, top notch customer service, discount codes, promotions and giveaways monthly to appreciate our customers for their kind and understanding behavior, it was so mature and encouraging during the previous orders. Orders are marked in our system as sold with a printed receipt for confirmation and approval. Furthermore, the orders are being processed to the shipping department for registration with a printed receipt and tracking number to track your package upon arrival time.

The owners of the Habanos;

Owners

Cubatabaco, Altadis SA

Parent organization

Altadis SA

Countries we ship to;

We ship all Mail order cigars to the following countries, Australia, Europe, China, Canada, Japan, UK, United Arab Emirates, USA and more.

Guarantee & Shipping - Customer Care;

Shipment is by express air-courier with approximately 7 days delivery to your door anywhere in the world. Occasionally, delays beyond our control, may occur.

We can ship any of our products to any location around the world in a timely manner. We pride ourselves on offering fair prices and fast international deliveries.

All of the Cuban cigars you see on our website have been sourced from the official Habanos S.A. importers of their respective country and are guaranteed by us. On our website you are able to buy Cigars with ease and in the comfort of your home.

[the-californicationist]

Troubleshooting

For @glitterypirateduck's super fun Oh, Captain! challenge. This is for prompt #8 where our deceptive captain tries to hide a secret from his gunsmith.

She could smell him long before she saw his hulking form stop in front of her office door. The sweet scent of his signature Romeo y Julieta cigars gave him away; a jewel from Villa Clara, Cuba. The tight-rolled tobacco smoldered amber and gold in the dark, its rustic funk and black licorice smoke gently curling out of his parted lips, trapped under his dirty boonie hat.  

When she had been assigned to his team, she’d been dreading the constant relocating and high profile secrecy. It was hard enough to find 5.56 ammo for that mouthy Scot’s Steyr bullpup, much less have it delivered to a black site without a postcode. But, as she let her eyes wander up his mountainous shoulders, tracing the outline of a sharp, scruffy Adam’s apple, watching as his jaw rippled and clenched to bite down on the soft end of his cigar, she admitted to herself that she could deal with a few shipping delays as long as she got to enjoy John Price. Now, just a few weeks into this roughshod operation, she ached to see what lurked under all that gear. 

She cleaned up her station, carefully screwing on the cap to her powder and putting it under the workbench. When he spoke, it was always confident but soft, like a stage whisper, words only she was meant to hear. 

“Smithy,” he took a long drag from his Cuban and pulled the creamy smoke in through his nose, a very casual French inhale, breathing it out and down sharply, purposefully avoiding her face.

He’d never called her by her name, only by his clipped version of her title of Chief Gunsmith. She knew he must be aware of it since he requested her transfer, but she had always been “Smithy” to him. 

“Captain, how are we this evening?” She gazed into his eyes with intent, hoping he would see her desire in them and be pleased. 

“We’re alright,” he took the cigar from his mouth and let it rest between his fingers, smiling down at her as he loomed, his height making her feel small. He removed his hat, placing it on her bench before leaning against the table, his huge hand spreading wide across the stainless surface. He continued,

“You know, this M4 has been giving me a bit of trouble. I cleaned it, but even after a full breakdown, the bolt isn’t sitting flush. Think you could help me get it all the way in?”

She let his quiet rumbling voice wash over her like a wave, lapping at her mind and making her breath catch in her chest. The double entendre was so obvious as to almost be in jest, but his suggestive tone - though subtle - was enough for her to believe in it. 

“Did you use enough oil? A little lubricant goes a long way, Captain, but some parts need more than others. Especially if it was a vigorous cleaning,” she threw him a bone in hopes he would bite it. 

He did, replying with a sly smile,

“Perhaps I went a little rough with her. Think you can take a look?”

He licked his lips, watching as the flush tinted her neck and cheeks, hungry for her attention. She watched him shift his weight, rocking forward towards the bench, flexing his hips. Obviously, she was getting to him. She turned up the heat, pushing her luck,

“Rough is just fine, John, but with the size of the bolt head you’ve got here, you just need to make sure she’s slick enough to take it.”

She smiled sweetly, taking the rifle from him and laying it across the bench. Now that she had turned her attention to the gun, she could only watch him from the corner of her eye. But, she knew she had landed a punch when he had to turn his head away from her and pull at the inside leg of his pants, adjusting. 

Then, as she took apart the barrel from the bolt and its lever, she realized he had been lying to her. He had replaced the trigger assembly before the bolt, effectively causing the problem he was asking her to solve. Price knew this gun better than the back of his own hand, and he had come down to her office with this game, hoping to score. 

Her heart raced when she discovered the error, and she tried her best to maintain a straight face, not wanting him to realize she’d caught him yet. She still wanted to play. 

She rebuilt the weapon, glossing over the false mistake, and pulled the bolt back flush. 

“There,” she sighed, “good as new.”

The ball was clearly in his court and she waited to see what he would do. His voice had dropped into a deep, threatening register, and he was leaning so far over the workbench that she could see his pupils dilate, pushing back the bright blue and revealing the blackness behind it,

“What was the problem, Smithy?”

He began to stalk her around the edge of the table, taking impossibly slow steps toward her side of the bench, eyes fixed on her mouth. She saw his chest rising and falling faster and stronger, lifting his protective vest and causing the lingering smoke between his lips to billow chaotically around his dark beard. She held her ground, turning her body toward his as he walked,

“You made a rookie mistake, Captain Price. One that you’re not capable of making...”

His eyes sparked to life, focusing on hers now, and he knew that he’d been discovered. She continued to dismantle his farce,

“…and I wonder how it can be possible…”

Price rounded the first corner of the table, hanging on her every word. He took his cigar and pulled a long drag.

“...that such an experienced…”

Another step. The leather of his boot creaked as he pressed it down.

“...intelligent…”

Another step. She could smell his cologne now. Vetiver. Musk.

“...diligent soldier…”

He crossed the second corner, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth, pouring like water down his chin and tangling in his beard, holding his breath to let her view the effect. His teeth were clenched together behind his full mouth, and he began to smile in a sinister, pained way. She went on, quieter, her voice betraying her nerves,

“...would somehow forget how to put his own gun back together.”

Price’s cigar had come to an end, and he crushed it out under his boot as he stood in front of her, too close for propriety, just close enough to smell her coconut shampoo. He hummed, playing along, falsifying a sense of wonder and mystery in his tone.

“That is quite the mystery, innit? Must’ve been distracted by…” Price brought his hand up to touch the tip of his gunsmith’s long braid as it lay draped over her shoulder, laying on her breast, “…something important.”

“John,” she whispered, leaning toward him instinctively.

In the half-second between her speaking his name and the silence that came after, he struck like a snake, wrapping the rest of her braid around his fist like a rope, yanking her head back and pulling her to his body, letting their gear and clothes rustle between them, not caring where the vests and belts and buckles twisted and pinched, letting the tension linger. His free hand grabbed her jaw and neck in his wide, open palm, fingers pressing into her skin, warm and callused. 

His voice was so strained and full of his want that it seemed like a growl, rambling in a rushed, fervent monologue,

“You’ve been teasing me again, Smithy. Ever since we got back from that damn operation. You’ve been coming to the gym at night, when I lift, and you wear those fucking shorts and you show off that thick arse, bending over in front of the racks, pulling them up higher so I can how see your wet cunt is soaking right through them,” his hand yanked her head back, making her gasp. He loved that noise,

“Delicious. Your pretty little cunt, ready to eat. Right within my reach. A whole gym, empty, and you pick that spot every damn time. Moving past me in the lockers, letting me smell you, and now I want a taste.” 

She felt the stinging tightness of her scalp as he tugged on her braid, locking her body in place against his, controlling her head, moving it toward his face. He grimaced like he was in agony even though she was the one under his fist. His touch was such a relief. She’d been torturing him for weeks, and she surrendered to him, pliant to his whims, hoping he understood that her lack of resistance was essentially her begging him to forgive her for leaving him starving.

“Alright,” she smiled, still at his mercy, “If you want a taste, you can have one.” She watched as his eyes grew wide with anticipation as she unbuttoned her pants and tugged down the zipper. She bit her lip and shrugged, “On your knees, soldier.”

AO3 Link

[florescentliterature]

Pretty thing

Jfk x Male!assistant

Further info: gay smut, oral sex, mention of affairs

Words: 2k

Notes: I’ve been wrote this fanfic but didn’t post it for reasons.- This is also my first jfk fic I’ve ever written so I hope it’s good 😭

Maurice nervously stood outside the white door of the Oval Office. President John F. Kennedy had called the younger man into his office, and he was thinking about all of his decisions he'd made in the White House as an assistant. What did he do wrong? Was he going to get fired? The thought of the worse happening plagued his mind over and over again, making him even more anxious. He then took a deep breath and turned the golden nob, revealing the entirety of the office.

The Oval Office was illuminated in a soft glow by the lights on ceiling, creating a relaxing atmosphere. President Kennedy was sitting behind the mahogany desk, papers scattered all over the surface making the desk a bit messy. He seemed to be on the phone with someone, his head nodding at the person's words from the other line, he also had one of his Cuban cigars between his fingers, taking a drag from time to time and blowing the smoke out with ease.

The sight of the president made Maurice's knees slightly buckle. Ever since he started working in the White House, he had always found Kennedy to be very attractive, even though the man was twice his age. His charisma, his charm, how he talked, how he moved, everything about him was just so... presidential. That's why he was always so nervous around him.

He then slowly walked towards the president's desk, the heels of his polished dress shoes hitting the wooden floor, making a soft clicking sound that echoed throughout the room. Kennedy was still on the phone, but he looked at Maurice and raised his hand to acknowledge his presence, gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. Maurice nodded and did as instructed, trying his best to appear calm and collected.

"Mhm, yes, I understand," Kennedy said, his Boston accent rolling smoothly over the words as he nodded along with the conversation. The president's green-blue eyes met his blue-grey ones, causing the assistant to get even more nervous under his presence. He looked around the room, spotting the painting of two ships at sea, a nod to the president's love for maritime related things. The room was rich with the scent of cigar smoke and the president's 'Jockey club' cologne, making him feel dizzy.

Kennedy then finally finished his call, putting the receiver back into the cradle with a gentle click. He took a final drag from his cigar before putting it out with a light tap. "Maurice, I've been meaning to talk to you about something," he began, his tone serious yet calm. Maurice felt his heart rate spike as he waited for the president to continue.

The president leaned forward, his leather chair creaking a bit as he did so. "You know about the situation with Cuba, don't you?" Maurice nodded vigorously, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Of course he knew. It was all anyone talked about in the West Wing. The Cuban Missile Crisis had the nation on edge, and the tension was palpable even in the most mundane of office tasks. "Yes, sir."

Kennedy's gaze was piercing, as if he was looking right through Maurice. "Good. And I'm pretty sure you've noticed how stressed out I've been. So, I need a bit of relaxation, and I need you to help me with that." Maurice was a bit confused. Why would the President of the United States ask for his help with something so... personal? He shook off the thought, assuming it must be something work-related. "And how may I help you with that, Mr. President?"

Kennedy then looked at the younger man up and down suggestively, a small smirk playing on his lips as his eyes wandered down his delicate frame. Maurice's cheeks then flushed of embarrassment as he realized what the president meant. Yes, he heard rumors around the White House about the president's sexual escapades or making secretaries drop to their knees, but the thing is that they were all women. And Maurice was a man. So, why was he being asked to...

"S-sir..You do realize that I'm a man, right? What happened to your secretaries?" Maurice stuttered out with shock and confusion, the air of the the room was so thick that it could be cut with a knife.

Kennedy leaned back in his chair, letting out a sexy chuckle that could make anyone weak in the knees. "Ah yes, those sexy secretaries. They always know how to make a man feel good. But I've gotten a bit... bored of the same old routine, Maurice. And plus, I've seen the way you look at me. You want me, don't ya?" He said with a cocky smirk, his confidence unshaken by Maurice's shock.

Maurice bit his lip, despite his nervousness he felt a bit of excitement from the president's words, which was not helping his obsession with older men. He wondered if this was a dream but as he felt the leather of the chair stick to his palms, he knew that this was all too real. He then gulped hard and tried to compose himself. "Mr. President, I-"

"Enough talking. Get your pretty little ass over here." Kennedy's voice was firm, yet held a seductive edge that sent a shiver down Maurice's spine. The way the president said that was so damn sexy, it made him want to moan. He's been fantasizing about this moment, but he never thought that it'll actually happen, now it was, and he was already reduced to a trembling mess. He stood up from his seat and started to walk towards Kennedy, his legs wobbling a bit as he did so. The president just smirked at him, finding his nervousness amusing, he put a strong hand on his waist, pulling him closer. "Get on your knees." He ordered.

Maurice's heart raced, he still couldn't believe that The President Of The United States was asking for a very personal favor from him. He sank to his knees infront of the president, softly hitting the plush green carpet beneath him. With shaky hands he reached for his belt and started to unbuckle it, causing the sound to echo through the office. Kennedy leaned back in his chair and watched with hooded eyes as the younger man's hands fumbled with his belt. The anticipation was eating Maurice up, his heart jumping out of his chest. When he finally got his belt unbuckled, he unzipped his pants, pulling them down to reveal the president's boxer briefs, which had a tent in it. Maurice then took a deep breath before pulling them down too, the presidential cock springing out.

Maurice's eyes widened as he saw it. It was thick and veiny, standing proudly with a slight upward curve, his pink tip glistening with precum. The president looked at him with a knowing smile, "good boy, now you see why ladies love me." He quipped with a chuckle. He then placed his hand on the back on his head, pushing him closer to cock. "Now go on, take it into your mouth."

Maurice gulped before gently grabbed the large member, stroking it a bit before pushing the tip between his lips, delicately licking the precum off the slit. Kennedy groaned, tilting his head back, "Fuck..." Maurice blushed from Kennedy's praise, making him feel a bit of arousal. He wrapped his lips around the head and started to suck on it softly, hollowing his cheeks out. The president's hand grabbed his blonde locks and started to slightly push his head down, encouraging the assistant to take more of his cock. Since Maurice didn't have a gag reflex, he was able to take half of his length into his mouth with no struggle. He then slowly started to bob his head up and down, his tongue tracing the veins as he started to suck him off.

Kennedy's grip on his hair tightened as he began to enjoy the sensation of Maurice's mouth around his cock. He loved the control he had over the younger man, the power dynamics making him grow harder. When Maurice felt Kennedy's cock swell in his mouth, he knew he was doing a good job. As the president's groans of pleasure grew louder, the more confident he became.

"Mmm, you're such a pretty thing...Why don't you take some more, sweetheart?" Kennedy's voice was like velvet as he moved his hand from Maurice's head to towards his neck, rubbing his thumb on the back of it while he urged him to go deeper, to which he complied. Maurice went lower, the tip of the president's cock hit the back of his throat, but he didn't manage to gag. Instead, he took a deep breath and went even further until he felt the tip of his nose touched the president's stomach.

Kennedy's eyes fluttered shut, letting out a sigh of pleasure. "Atta boy." Maurice then proceeded to deep-throat him, impressing him, he had multiple mistresses, but none of them had ever taken him deep without gagging. Now here was Maurice, a fellow man, sucking him off way better than all of them. His soft blonde hair fell over his eyes as he continued to bob his head up and down, but he didn't care. All wanted to do was please the president.

The only sounds that could be heard in the room was wet slurping and sucking noises and Kennedy's occasional groans. Maurice let out a soft moan, sending vibrations to his cock which made him let out a guttural moan. He looked down at the younger man again, his eyes half-lidded due to the pleasure he was receiving. "Look at me, honey."

Maurice looked up at him, his mouth full of cock. The president felt himself reaching his climax so he grabbed Maurice's hair and started to thrust upwards into his mouth. Maurice's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away, instead he took it like a champ as he still sucked on his cock. His hands gently rested on the older man's thighs, trying to stable himself due to the fast movements of Kennedy's thrusts. "Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum.." Kennedy said through gritted teeth.

Maurice felt a bit of excitement as he heard the president say that. He braced himself for the load, closing his eyes, his blonde lashes resting upon his rosy cheeks. He then feel a stream of warm liquid coming down his throat and filling up his mouth, but some of it dripped down his chin. He pulled away with a soft pop, swallowing Kennedy's cum and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Maurice then gave Kennedy's tip a kiss.

The president leaned back in his chair, panting heavily. He looked down at Maurice with a satisfied look on his face, a smile creeping on his lips. "Damn baby, that was good. You're such a good boy." He chuckled, ruffling the younger man's hair, making him blush.

Maurice got up from the floor and watched as Kennedy put his cock back in his pants and pulling out a cigar from its wooden case. "Want one?" Kennedy offered a cigar to Maurice, his hand shaking slightly from the intense orgasm. Maurice gave him a soft smile and nodded, gently taking the expensive cigar out of his hand. The president then lit both of their cigars with a golden lighter, causing the orange fire to reflect off their faces. They both took a drag from their cigars, the smoke flowing out of their mouths and into the air.

"Y'know...You were amazing. Even better than any woman I've been with." Kennedy quipped with a smirk, taking another drag from his cigar. Maurice blushed and felt a sense of pride that he was able to please the president...And the fact that he does it better than his mistresses. The president then looked up at him.

"How about you meet me at my room later on, say around 12AM sharp?" He suggested with a knowing smile, making Maurice's heart skip a beat. He couldn't believe that he was invited to the president's bedroom, that he was gonna be one of his secret lovers. "Y-yes, Mr. President. I'll be there." He helplessly stuttered, trying to contain his excitement.

Kennedy then got up from his chair, revealing the two men's height difference. He then raises the younger man's chin with a hand, giving his rosy lips a soft peck. "Good boy."

[bullet-prooflove]

Washington!Series Part Nine: Anytime, Anyplace - Captain Joe Milius x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @witches-unruly-heart @shhoooketh @greenies-green @thandesa91 @atomic-art-dragon @irishavengersassemble @factualfic @mydarkestsecretlol @burningpeachpuppy

Washington Series:

Part One: Washington - You and Joe spend the night together before he leaves for Washington.

Part Two: Positive - You call Joe for the first time in two months.

Part Three: Tonight (NSFW) - You and Joe get reaquainted after two months apart.

Part Four: Family - Joe finds out your secret.

Part Five: Distance - Joe finds the distamce challenging when he misses your first sonogram.

Part Six: Kicking - Joe feels his baby kick for the first time.

Part Seven: Charlie 1 - Charlie 1 shows up on your doorstep.

Part Eight: The Right One - Joe wonders if he's the right one for you.

Noah Joseph Milius is born in the conference room of your workplace, one week before your due to date. It’s your last day and you’re in the middle of working a case when he decides to make his appearance.

The problem is the majority of the island is currently experiencing a black out due to a ransomware attack on the power grid, so all of the emergency services are slammed.

Of all the scenarios you and Joe have planned for this is not one of them.

Joe’s been back in Hawaii for over two months by this point and has treated preparations for the new baby like a military operation. You’ve enjoyed having him around over the past few months, the pregnancy has been tough during the third trimester. You’re heavier than you expected, less agile and Joe has been picking up the slack.

You’re fortunate that the medical examiner Commander Carla Chase is still on site otherwise Ernie would have been delivering the baby in the breakroom and you’re not sure your friendship would have survived that.

It’s two hours into the labour that Joe makes it back to Pearl. He’s been fielding the relief operation since the power grid went down. He may have missed most of the milestones throughout your pregnancy, but he refuses to miss the birth. He’s with you throughout the duration, supporting, cajoling, motivating until his son enters the world, wailing.

When he holds Noah for the first time, he looks at you with tears in his eyes because he never imagined the turn his life would have taken when you met. His forehead comes to rest against yours as he cradles the baby close.

“Thank you.” He whispers. “Thank you for giving me this.”

***

It’s a month later that you find the package on your doorstep. You’re coming back from a walk on the beach with Joe, Noah asleep in the stroller when you stumble upon the sky-blue hat box with a shiny gold bow on top. There’s no delivery note, or shipping label. It’s clear that it’s just been dropped off.

“Who’s it from?” Joe asks when the two of you are in the house.

He has Noah cradled in the crook of his arm, a bottle in his hand as the baby guzzles the milk. He’s taken to fatherhood the same way he takes to everything else, with enthusiasm and dedication. Having a baby has been an eye-opening experience for the both of you.

You suddenly have this tiny creature who is dependant on you for everything and at times you find it terrifying, however Joe is always there, a steadying presence when you start to have doubts. Being a father comes as naturally to him as breathing.

You reach into the box and remove a teddy bear dressed in a tiny Hawaiian shirt and a pair of it’s very own aviators.

“I guess Charlie finally decided to reach out,” You say before withdrawing a box of Cuban cigars and a bottle of top shelf bourbon. It’s your brand, the same one he brought over the last time he dropped by. “I suppose we should be thankful he didn’t break in this time.”

Charlie had an irritating habit of turning up in places that he shouldn’t. You’d come home a few times in the past to find him sitting in the armchair, a half-eaten sandwich on the table and a bottle of beer in his hand. You knew you weren’t the only one it happened to.

You recognise the gesture for what it is. Charlie’s way of saying he’s done trespassing in your life because things have changed, you have a partner now, a baby. He respects that.

Joe sets the bottle down before using the corner of the towel he has slung over his shoulder to clear the milk that’s dribbled out of Noah’s mouth.

You pick up the card from the bottom of the box, it looks like one of the ones from the gas station a few blocks over. Its glossy and cheap with a picture of a stork on the front. You open it to find a phone number scrawled on the inside with the words.

“Anytime, anyplace.”

Love Joe ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[franciskirkland-deleted]

Hetalia Headcanons - Cuba 🇨🇺🏝️🌺

his full human name is carlos ángel machado ruiz, or shortened to carlos machado. i don't have a set physical age for him but maybe around 30?

he's a marxist-leninist. very intelligent, intellectual but unpretentious, and politically active. he's an academic, probably has degrees in political science and/or economics. i could see him being a medical doctor as well, as cuba is renowned for its advanced healthcare.

he's friendly and generous with a laid back personality, loyal to his loved ones and passionate about social/environmental causes. he can be impatient, and does have a temper but it's hard to provoke and reserved for rude and ignorant people. very much a beliver of respect being a two way street.

his canon bday is may 20th and i honestly love that for him. classic stubborn taurus with a touch of unbothered gemini swag.

he's an ambivert, he throws a great party and likes to socialize but also keeps his circle small and needs a lot of alone time. i think he'd be old friends with russia, though they're not as close as they once were and ivan can get on his nerves. he understandably has beef with america, but is slowly becoming more civil with alfred.

he loves to read, particularly history and political theory. some other hobbies are swimming, fishing, playing the tres (a type of guitar) or afro-cuban percussion e.g. tumbadora (aka conga) and bongós.

his sense of humor is dry with a goofy side that comes out around people he's closer with. he has a quick wit and is always telling dad jokes. also very much a softie for kids, animals and nature.

i headcanon him as gay/demisexual, cucan is an essential ship for me personally so they're a package deal. he is so gentle with mattie, so giving and protective. they treasure each other selflessly and understand one another better than anyone.

he loves to eat and cook, especially loves when matthew cooks for him or they cook together. his favorite dish is black beans and rice with tostones. he also loves strawberry ice cream and tropical fruits.

he's afro-latino + mixed race, with yoruba (west african) taino (indigenous carribbean islander) and spanish ancestry. his skin tone would be a medium warm brown, maybe a 5 on the fitzpatrick scale. once again the canon design is kinda colorist.

he has a distinct accent and is mutlilingual, and speaks quite a bit of quebecois thanks to matthew.

his body type is buff and chubby, he's wicked strong and built like a tank but doesn't have that much definition bc the chub is hiding it. dad bod.... chest hair and moobs. he's about 6 feet tall. he has long dreadlocks that he's been maintaining since he was young.

i could see him being a lapsed catholic/culturally catholic but personally atheist. he's much more material than spiritual in terms of philosophy.

he smells like coconut, cinnamon and cigars (in a pleasant way)

he mostly dresses casually (hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts lol) if hes just chilling at home he's probably shirtless. earth tones suit him well, so do orange, yellow, pink, and jewel tones. bonus; he wears a gold chain and sometimes rings.

he partakes in alcohol occasionally, when he does he loves rum and fruit-based cocktails. sipping a lil drink on the beach is one of his favorite ways to relax and he deserves it. he does smoke weed recreationally but honestly i think matthew is way more of a stoner.

[roxannepolice]

for the ship thing, threegado?

Thank you so much for the OGs!

Who’s the cuddler? The Master, though he'll never just go ahead and cuddle. Rather, he'll sit and stare at the Doctor unmovingly like a cat until he begrudgingly allows himself to be cuddled and if Three doesn't get the hint fast enough it's off with his porcelain

Who makes the bed? UNIT janitors, obviously. They all got a 50% raise and additional three weeks of paid welfare leave since the Master moved in

Who wakes up first? The Master is always awakened by the UNIT hq being alive with the sounds of Bessie

Who has the weird taste in music? "Weird" is relative, but I think Three started latching onto the golden age of British rock pretty quickly while the Master still enjoys music from other planets (and pretends he can't see the Doctor stealing his alien records to play them to David Bowie)

Who is more protective? The Doctor is more comfortable about being actively protective of the Master on daily basis (think the time the Master's car crashed), while the Master needs more life-or-death-or-permanentbrainfrying situations to let his protectiveness show

Who sings in the shower? I'll just leave this here and let evidence speak for itself

Who cries during movies? They both elegantly dab at their eyes and softly sniff when Rick and Lisa say goodbye

Who spends the most while out shopping? The Doctor, who can't get enough frills and velvets this time around. This Master regenerated during a screening of Diamonds are forever (his earlier self forgot about the poisoned popcorn), saw Blofeld and knew exactly what he's going to be like this time, with special selections of scotch and cuban cigars being regularly delivered to his door. Unless they are shopping with Jo. In which case the Doctor just wants her to get whatever she likes best while the Master makes her try every size and colour, present herself in both artificial and natural light and walk around at various speeds, all the while humming disapprovingly and making remarks about the cheap mass fashion with its low quality fabrics and standardized sizes, aqnd if only they had a functional TARDIS they could go and discuss with the charming miss Chanel and Jo just needed some socks

Who kisses more roughly? They're both very old fashioned and restrained about displays of affection, but Three sometimes lets himself get lost in all the beard scratching at his neck and makes things rougher (Brigadier needs eye bleach then)

Who is more dominant? I kind of think these regenerations aren't so much into power plays as their post hiatus juniors. The Doctor isn't interested at all and the Master is still less in "dominate the Doctor" than in "dominate with the Doctor (and make things the way they want them to be)" mindset. That said, it is in this period that they discover the wonderful human invention of bdsm and roleplaying, when it is the Master who does the binding and and the sadoing. The Doctor never agreed to roleplay as any of his companions, though

My rating of the ship from 1-10. The very married couple is a proper 9,5

[justforbooks]

Season of the Swamp by Yuri Herrera

This frustrating novella by a star of global fiction imagines the formative years of Mexico’s first Indigenous president, exiled to New Orleans in the 1850s

Every novel by Yuri Herrera teaches you how to read it in the opening scene. His debut, Kingdom Cons, begins with a musician watching a king shoot a drunk man in his court. The victim’s offence? He refused to pay the musician for his song. The novel unfurls into a parable of patronage and art, cartels and complicity. Signs Preceding the End of the World opens with a young woman named Makina witnessing a sinkhole swallow a man, a car and a dog. I’m dead, Makina thinks, and the novel plunges into a journey from Mexico to the United States to find her brother, its chapters modelled on the underworlds of Mexican mythology. The Transmigration of Bodies starts with a hungover man stumbling out of his house in search of water. He notices the silence first, then “a dense block of mosquitos tethering themselves to a puddle … as though attempting to lift it”. The puddle is blood, and the silence is death. A plague has arrived in the night.

Like his previous novellas, Season of the Swamp follows a nimble, reluctant interloper as he learns to navigate a dangerous new environment. It also calibrates our attention in the opening scene, but even before teaching us how to read it, this novel teaches us why to read it. In a preface, Herrera writes: “1853. Benito Juárez has served as a judge, deputy, and governor of the state of Oaxaca. But he has yet to become the man who will lead his country’s liberal reform, first as minister and then as president, and he is certainly not the hardheaded visionary who will lead the resistance against France’s invasion of Mexico and restore the republic.” In his autobiography, “Juárez says not a word about his nearly eighteen months in New Orleans … despite the fact that it is there he evolved into the liberal leader who would transform the trajectory of his country”. Benito Juárez, orphaned at the age of three, would one day become Mexico’s first Indigenous president, prying his country back from the vice-like grip of the aristocracy and the Catholic church. Biographers agree that his exile in New Orleans was formative, but no one knows what, exactly, happened there. Who could bring this story to life better than Herrera? A novelist of unparalleled tonal agility and negative capability, one with a passion for archival research, who has split his time between Pachuca, his home town, and New Orleans for the past 13 years.

Like his previous novellas, this one begins with its protagonist witnessing violence. Benito and his brother-in-law watch “badges” (policemen) drag an enslaved man from a ship, thwarting an escape. The badges club the man and order him to drop the compass he’s cradling to his chest. Herrera wrote much of Season of the Swamp during pre-vaccination Covid-19, and when I read these lines, I can see the white officer kneeling on the neck of George Floyd, killing him on a public, daylit street as he asked for his mother. Season of the Swamp is about the galvanising power of witnessing. It’s about a revolutionary finding his compass. It also, unfortunately, suffers from an uncharacteristic, unignorable vagueness: vagueness of syntax, character and scope.

Benito and his fellow exiles spend the book wandering Herrera’s meticulously researched reconstruction of 1853 New Orleans. They witness bear fights, poor sewage systems, operas, dead bodies, sex work, duelling pianos, horse races, public executions and numerous parades. They find and lose housing, get drunk, discuss politics. Benito finds work at a printing press, then a cigar shop. He becomes infatuated with a Black woman named Thisbee who sells the best coffee in town. Her true vocation, however, is helping enslaved people escape to freedom. Benito befriends the Cuban poet Pedro Santacilia, who takes him on a harrowing tour of a market that sells human beings. New Orleans was the epicentre of the United States slave trade, and Herrera animates Benito’s experience with factual details of slavery’s daily horrors. Mexico outlawed slavery in 1837 – 16 years before the real Benito Juárez arrived in New Orleans – and the novel suggests that it was his encounter with the American slave trade, above all, that transformed Benito into the leader he became.

Herrera’s exceptional sensitivity to language, penchant for neologisms, ear for regional dialects and dexterous shifts in register make him uniquely challenging to translate. Fortunately, Lisa Dillman has risen to every occasion, brilliantly sailing all of Herrera’s work into English. While she has described him as “astonishingly hands-off”, their dynamic is more collaborative than most; Herrera is fluent in English, and the two maintain an open channel of communication as she works. Despite his propulsive plots, I don’t read his work to find out what happens, but to find out how he (and Dillman) will describe it.

The thick linguistic fog of Season of the Swamp is therefore aberrant. The English translation keeps Benito unnamed, referring to him only as he and him, which is especially confusing in a novel with a large cast of men and very few women. In addition to the pronoun slippage, the diction of the novel can be disorienting. Season of the Swamp is cluttered with the vague syntax of a rough draft, paired with culturally and temporally dissonant phrases. I delight in thoughtful anachronism, but it was jarring to encounter an abundance of contemporary American vernacular. Often, I felt I was watching a McDonald’s bag tumble-weed on to the set of a period drama. When semantic haziness obscures characterisation, the damage is more consequential. Season of the Swamp instructs us to read Benito’s inner life as the stage of its primary drama. Unfortunately, very little is visible in this theatre. When we meet him, Benito is 47 years old and he has already made a political impact substantial enough to get him exiled. In place of an interior life, however, we find notes toward an interior life. Even his encounters with the kidnapping and sale of human beings are rendered in bizarrely flat language; from both Juárez and Herrera, I longed for more than prosaic reflections on the general badness of slavery.

As I tried to identify the fundamental software bug of this novel, I kept returning to the opening of the second chapter, a curious cascade of language: “The most pivotal thing to happen in the weeks that followed was the drumming; no, the most pivotal thing in the weeks that followed was the dances; no, the most pivotal thing in the weeks that followed was the concerts; no, in a way it was kind of the hippodrome, which was fun and also pivotal though in another way …” Further candidates for most pivotal thing to happen in the weeks that followed include the “inner courtyard”, meeting “the canaille”, learning “what funk was”, and “more or less” figuring out “what Thisbee might or might not have done”. On my first read, I read this as an unsuccessful form of linguistic play. By my fourth reading, however, its rapid descent into absurdity began to register as the author’s confrontation – conscious or not – with the formula he has chosen. He decided to write a novel about a chrysalis of time in which a regular man transforms into a Great Man. But what if he fundamentally rejects the Great Man trope of history? What if Herrera – who chose to write about a leader’s pivotal months in exile – rejects the most pivotal thing as an organising force of identity and narrative? The opening of the second chapter seems to say: look how ridiculous this formula is. From the start, it was clear to me that both Herrera and Benito are too interesting to collapse 18 months into three-act structures, tidy conclusions, lessons learned. Regrettably, Herrera never offers an effective alternative. The novel was built on sand. Or perhaps more accurately: on a swamp.

Compared with his previous work, Season of the Swamp reads like notes toward a novel rather than a final manuscript. It is distracted, muddled with placeholders, declaring its purpose every few chapters while desperately searching for one. It is my love for his work – along with Dillman’s delicate, adept translations – that forces me to notice the perfunctory nature of this novel. Herrera’s rough drafts are better than most people’s final drafts, and many descriptions within this book – of languages and crowds, music and ecosystems, tenderness and violence – sing. Perhaps it is unfair to hold a genius to his own standards, but Herrera is a sublime astrological event that will never again occur in my lifetime. I can’t hide my disappointment when he behaves like an average star.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[detectivemaker]

Another dump of ideas I've been having recently

Warning some  NSFW topics are mentioned in this post 

I really like the idea of jervis getting a taste of his own medicine especially Gotham tetch being put under using the old mirror trick, I can imagine it now he's cornered by the Batman in the Hall of Mirrors, he pulls out his pocket watch but the Crepes Crusader steps out of the way and lets his own reflection do the rest, the police find him  his pupils blown and muttering Alice in Wonderland quotes  in a hush whisper,  and he is quite embarrassed when he wakes in prison, and that he was incredibly hard doing in the entire experience

Philip(with an F) as you know like the air of time where Pirates existed, but he also likes rock music, more specifically stuff by Papa Roach and shinedown,  when he's not sailing the high seas drinking copious amounts of alcohol on a ship with muscular man, he can usually be found doing song covers in a cheap gay bar surrounded by  adoring fans

A bit more info on his particular mind screwy power, the  Aura I was talking about is more a natural sense to him that invades people's brains and makes them believe he's whatever they want them to believe he is, and believe whatever he wants them to believe they are,  his powers can be temporarily neutralized by bathing him,  he doesn't take baths to keep his powers potent,  his scent can best be described as a mix between sea salt and several varieties of cheap beer, with a tiniest teenage little flicker of cinnamon

He's ignotic smell also extends to his breath, that smells like Cuban cigars and  a cacophony of dead animals,   his breath naturally comes out in a thick Smoky texture,  he only uses this breath variety of his hypnotic scent on people smaller than him, usually grabbing them by the car or whatever clothing they're wearing and blowing his breath into their faces until they're begging him to let them pleasure him sexually

Usually prefers to be sexually tended to by muscular studs, he does occasionally like to find a nerd and absolutely dominate them

I probably haven't mentioned this before but Michael and his siblings are Dimension hoppers, so they've encountered all sorts of incarnations of Batman   and his Rogues gallery, this is to say that Philip(with an F) usually goes hunting down a riddler when he feels the urge to  subjugate a nerd,  watching that green smartass be turned into a simple sex toy is a real turn on for him

Chimera genitalia is a fusion of the two animal halves, there so Michael has double spiked dongs, and  Phillip(with an F) has double knots, Peter has a regular bear  dong but also a butthole that he pees through

Peter can see the future but only in a metaphorical visions, he also   a skilled necromancer, he can twist the forms of spirits and specters like an artist with clay

the Sensation of being  marked into a chimera's harem feels like a branding iron on whatever part of the body the mark shows up on,  it hurts a lot

Chimera's have a stronger mental defense against the abilities of others of their bloodline,  so unless a reptile bloodline Chimera is trying really hard they can't really affect another, and the amount of hard usually induces nosebleeds so psychic battles for Dominion of the throne usually get  bloody

Michael is immune to the mirror trick because the usual amount of effort he puts into mind  doming a person is the minimal amount, so he barely feels it and usually ends up with the person who tried it being their pants and barking like a dog for the rest of the week

Michael is either killed or  severely mind screwed every Hugo he's coming to contact with, the ones he's mine screwed have been rendered into shells of themselves who can only bark and act like dogs, and he's eating every last one of the ones he's killed

So here's some voice head cannons I have for the  poison siblings

Michael Speaks in a crisp British accent, something you'd hear from a spy movie, or special guest star from England in a  old sitcom

Peter speaks in a  Irish accent,  he doesn't do a lot of swearing,  it's more akin to an Irish Winnie the Pooh than anything

Philip(with an F) either speaks in a very stereotypical pirate voice, like a surfer, or New York gym rat

Elizabeth either speaks like those memes about spray tan English girls or like a valley girl

They were two people the poison siblings can all agree they like to screw if the most, the music master and mad mod

Peter likes both of them because one of them is good at singing and the other has a vintage flare he likes, not the sort of vintage he usually clings on to, too modern for his tastes, but he's good enough

Michael likes them both because they're  mind screws, and he likes to screw his mind screws, also he likes Meister singing voice

Elizabeth likes   them both because they're both theatrical

Peter likes them both because the redheads, and anyone who's redhead like him is someone worth his time, in addition he also likes meister for his singing voice,  guy really helps in winning crowds

They all refer to Meister as Songbird, and each of them refer to mod as either something relating to his real name or his villain name, like mody, Mr dick(his last name is Richard) or   Just Neil

[byenycfm]

Late into the evening on March 29th a window is broken in the Common Room. Madeline Higheagle is the first to notice. Investigating the shards of broken glass they find a radio and within moments of picking it up it shoots to life with static in her hand. A familiar voice jokes with Maddie to prepare for guests before providing instructions.

Several hours later a zipline has been constructed between the Wexley and a neighboring building, mostly thanks to the free climbing skills of the Wexley's head maid--who'd been MIA and presumed dead since the Winter supply runs. In Reality, Tamberlane Shelley had been preparing for a grand return.

She had been the one to instruct the ship-locked survivors to remain in the bay, intending to radio Ashton Ryder and inform him of the situation; Unknowing that his own radio equipment had been broken months prior.

Flying high across the city streets, Lane is only the first of many to cross into the Wexley using the zipline. Dozens of mismatched bags and duffels come one after the other, each carrying a small piece of the treasure Lane worked hard to gather before her return. Captain Eduardo and Chef Trey have made it back no worse for wear along with a friendly dog they picked up on the beach who's name tag reads Lady.

Supplies from the ship

Wheels of Cheese

Barrel of aged Whiskey

Bulk Coffee Roast

Bulk Teas

Bulk Pasta Sauce

Bulk Red Wine

Bulk White Wine

Bulk Saltwater Taffy

Bulk Honey

Medical Supplies from the ships' infirmary

Several Flares & Flare Gun

A Dozen Cuban Cigars

Supplies gathered from the Wexley Department Store

Over the counter meds & vitamins

Canned goods

Hygiene and beauty products

Mini Propane tanks

Deer Feed

Ghillie Suit

2 Crossbows & Bolts

1 Compound Bow & Arrows

???

Several blocks of C4 Explosives

Smoke bombs

What can be used for the party will and the rest will be added to the Wexley's medical supplies and food pantry.

[dutyfreecubancigars]

Discover the world of authentic Cuban cigars at Duty Free Cuban Cigars Online! Indulge in the finest selection of genuine Habanos, shipped worldwide from our tax-free store in the Cayman Islands. Elevate your smoking experience with legendary brands like Cohiba, Montecristo, and Partagás, all at unbeatable duty-free prices. As cigar enthusiasts ourselves, we guarantee the quality and authenticity of every cigar we sell. With secure payment options and exceptional customer service, buying premium Cuban cigars has never been easier. Treat yourself or surprise a fellow aficionado with the gift of luxurious Cuban cigars from www.dutyfreecubancigars.com. Your journey to cigar excellence starts here!

[look-sharp-notes]

#The Polo Bar #Ralph Lauren Home #inspiration #elegantnotes #ralphlauren #poloralphlauren #oldschool #fashion30’ #Borsalino #panamahat #Montecristi #hat #travel #morning press #Morning news #color #Cuban cigar #coloring #Montecristo #ship #see #Boat trip #style #Ocean #Ralph Lauren Home #Cape Lodge #African #Colonial #Exotic #Safari

[rauthschild]

We are facing a new round of another old fraud scheme famously (and illegally) used by the Department of Justice back in the 1930's, which I call the "Poison Package Fraud".  

If they wanted to target someone, they simply had one of their flunkies send the victim a package containing some federally regulated substance, like a box of smuggled Cuban Cigars or booze that wasn't shipped into the country "legally" and so on.  

Today, the targeting scheme has become more sophisticated and the poisons are typically things like cocaine or fentanyl seized at the border but never inventoried as contraband.  These controlled substances are then sent through the U.S. Mail -- which is a felony -- to your name and address, by dirty private law enforcement agents who pretend that they intercepted the poisoned package, when they are the ones who were paid to send it. 

This is a technique used in Third World countries for targeting political opponents, and now, thanks to J. Edgar Hoover and Associates, it has come to America.  

They use the fact that you are the intended recipient of the poisoned package as circumstantial evidence that you are conspiring to commit a crime with persons unknown.  

Therein lies the important word "conspiracy".  That is what they try to hang the heavy lifting on, the idea that the Sender is acting in collusion with you, to import controlled substances of some kind into this country. 

But you aren't in control of whatever any unknown person might send to you in the mail for nefarious purposes and the postal laws recognize this, even if the "federal" scumbags try to hang their scams around your neck. 

If you are contacted by anyone pretending to be a Border Patrol Agent or some other federal officer telling you that a package addressed to you has been intercepted blah, blah, blah --- take down their badge number, name, etc. 

Send a nasty note to the Postal Inspector General, the US Attorney General, and the local U.S. Congressional delegation and object to this breach of postal law and attempt to misaddress you under the auspices of a known form of mail fraud that has been outlawed since the 1930s. 

Where's JOHN SHAFT when you need him? 

[cristobalrios]

Hey there! Quick question, do you happen to know what kind or brand of cigar Rios smokes? Thanks!

Good question! Safest bet, canon-wise would be Romeo y Julieta cigars, either Cuban or Dominican Republic. That's the brand of cigars on the cigar case that he kept a lot of small things in inside his Ibn Majid case seen in Broken Pieces. Now I can't say for sure that's the brand we see him smoking in the show. It was in a case from a ship from ten years ago, so maybe that's the kind he smoked (in his spare time since Starfleet's not super fond of smoking) during his Ibn Majid years -- possibly with Vandermeer? Whether he still uses those ten years later isn't completely confirmed (and maybe he didn't do it during that time and that's a more recent case that he just put things into but it seemed like a lot of sentimentality attached to it to me, so)

Here's the box we see:

Identifying information being "Romeo y Julieta" on the side, "Churchill" on the top and "Reserva Real" on the bottom, and I know basically nothing about cigars so I'm not 100% sure what all that means but I've used it to track down the cigar type. I plan to someday buy an empty cigar box of it which is pretty easy to get, just haven't gotten around to it yet. A link:

https://www.jrcigars.com/item/romeo-y-julieta-reserva-real/churchill/JUCHRR.html

And the Wikipedia page:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romeo_y_Julieta_(cigar)

If anyone has actually taken a close look at the cigars we see him with and has any more info about if they actually are the cigars from this case or not, feel free to add on!

[lairofmxnsters]

"Makes sense." Oron took a glance at the other. "Looks Japanese in design, pretty sleek, almost seamless plating with very little visible bolts on the hull." He commented before turning to fully face the captain.

"Ah, where are my manners. Commander Oron Eaton of the Australian Spec Ops group, Lost Boys." Well... Former commander...

He did give a formal nod before eyeing up the ship once more. "Is it military designed?"

"You sure got an eye for engineering. As a matter of fact, yes it's a top-grade military vessel. Got missile silos, laser turrets, the drill's not just for show either." Gordon explains to Oron, before hearing the man's introduction. So he's a military man as well. A commander no less. He was not as well-versed with the Australian military, so who was he to comment?

"Well, the honor's all mine then, meeting a fellow commander." he'd huff out, before he'd stand tall, at attention. "Captain Douglas Gordon. Formerly of the Earth Defense Force. Now? A relic of better times."

His posture did slump as he reminded himself of his heydays, before he'd reach into his coat to pull out a pack of Cuban cigars, chucking one into his mouth as he'd bite the end off it, spitting it out, and then putting it back in his mouth before offering the pack to Oron.

"Want one? It's prime Cuban, top quality. Afraid I don't got a cigar cutter with me."

@musesbykai

[nameless-brand]

Anyway, the bidding wars have been interesting.

General Avery Sunderland of Sunderland Corporation must be incredibly salty that Wayne Enterprises won the missile defense government contract last month because he tries to drive up the bid any time Bruce Wayne bids.

A Gregory Aggie (in hindsight, definitely on purpose) had put an emperor penguin up for auction - apparently all the papers are in order. And there's been this huge bidding war on it between Mario Falcone of Falcone Imports and Oswald Cobblepott most known for the Iceberg Lounge - a very popular, exclusive nightclub.

The bid reached $700,000 after several heated bids. Falcone claims he's bidding cause he's craving penguin liver, but there's obviously something else going on between the two. Bidding only ended after Cobblepott gave an ultimatum that if Falcone rose the bid any more, he could have the bird - and then proceeded to close his eyes and have his assistant cover his ears. At that point, I think Falcone decided that's as much money he could make Cobblepott waste.

Interesting dynamic. Hope it doesn't blow up on all of us.

Anyway, Tunglr!Bruce was right. People are selling a lot of paintings, some of them hitting a million dollars. There's also been a crateful of Cuban cigars, a bottle of wine (I forgot the name) from 1907 that was in a ship sunk by a submarine during World War I, and several high-end luxury cars including a Ferrari.

There was a small disturbance after the very heated bid for the Ferrari where my world's Bruce Wayne, after getting very drunk, said he needed to "cool off in the pool" - and, in his technicolor suit, decided to do the backstroke in the fountain. The looks on his two sons as they pulled him out of the fountain spoke of long-suffering. Haha.

Eventually, the night ended with the selling of a 7-carat pink diamond, appraised as flawless quality. The final bid was $9,200,000 made by Rupert Thorne of the Tobacconist's Club, an exclusive gentlemen's club geared towards politicians and entrepreneurs. He said it looked like a good investment, and he invited the person who brought it to his Club, a Michael Nate who owns a jewelry company franchise - and also partly owned the Argyle Mines before it closed; 80% of pink diamonds come from that mine. Guess that donation of a single diamond must be worth it to get his foot into the world of Gotham's elite and powerful.

[theworldcigarr]

What to Look for in a Reliable Cigar Delivery Service

Introduction

Cigars are more than just a product; they’re an experience, a ritual cherished by enthusiasts. In today’s fast-paced world, cigar delivery services offer convenience, ensuring that aficionados can access premium cigars without stepping out of their homes. However, finding a reliable cigar delivery service can be challenging. In this blog, we’ll explore what makes a cigar delivery service dependable, with a special focus on local considerations, unique insights, and essential features.

Why Choosing the Right Cigar Delivery Service Matters

The right cigar delivery service ensures your cigars arrive fresh, intact, and on time. It also offers a wide selection, excellent customer service, and adherence to local laws. Let’s delve into the critical factors that make a cigar delivery service stand out.

Key Features of a Reliable Cigar Delivery Service

1. Selection of Cigars

Variety of Brands

A top-tier cigar delivery service should offer a diverse range of brands, including local favorites and international names. Whether you’re looking for Cuban classics or boutique blends, variety ensures you find exactly what you’re craving.

Specialty Cigars

The availability of rare or exclusive cigars is another hallmark of a reliable service. This might include limited editions, vintage cigars, or handcrafted options.

Accessories

Look for services that also provide essential accessories, like cigar cutters, lighters, and humidors, to enhance your smoking experience.

2. Cigar Freshness and Packaging

Quality Assurance

Freshness is paramount when it comes to cigars. A reliable service will use advanced packaging methods, such as humidified packaging, to maintain optimal conditions during transit.

Secure Packaging

Cigars are delicate and require careful handling. Properly cushioned and sealed packaging prevents damage and ensures cigars arrive in pristine condition.

3. Delivery Speed and Coverage

Local Delivery Options

In cities like Mumbai, timely delivery is crucial. Look for services that promise same-day or next-day delivery for local orders.

Nationwide Shipping

A good cigar delivery service will also cater to customers outside metropolitan areas, offering reliable shipping options across the country.

International Options

If you’re interested in sourcing cigars from global suppliers, check if the service offers international delivery.

4. Customer Reviews and Reputation

Authentic Testimonials

Customer reviews provide valuable insights into the reliability of a cigar delivery service. Look for reviews that mention timely deliveries, product quality, and customer support.

Industry Reputation

Check if the service is recognized or affiliated with cigar associations or enthusiast groups. Industry accolades often reflect quality and reliability.

5. Adherence to Local Regulations

Compliance with Laws

Cigars are regulated products. A trustworthy delivery service will comply with local laws, including age verification and tax compliance.

Transparent Policies

Reliable services provide clear information on shipping restrictions, return policies, and duties for international orders.

6. Customer Support

Accessible Support

Excellent customer service includes multiple channels of communication, such as live chat, email, and phone support.

Problem Resolution

Look for services with a reputation for quickly resolving issues, such as damaged goods or delayed deliveries.

Why Local Cigar Delivery Services Are Ideal

Convenience

Local cigar delivery services understand the specific needs of nearby customers. They often offer faster delivery times and cater to preferences unique to the region.

Personalized Recommendations

Local businesses tend to have better knowledge of their customers, providing tailored cigar recommendations based on your tastes.

Unique Insights into the Cigar Delivery Industry

Impact of Technology

Modern cigar delivery services leverage technology to enhance customer experiences. Features like real-time tracking, subscription options, and digital humidification monitoring set premium services apart.

Sustainability Efforts

Eco-conscious packaging and carbon-neutral delivery options are becoming increasingly popular among cigar delivery providers.

Common FAQs About Cigar Delivery Services

Generic FAQs

1. How can I ensure my cigars arrive fresh? Choose a delivery service that uses humidified packaging and temperature-controlled shipping.

2. Is it legal to buy cigars online? Yes, but age verification and adherence to local laws are required.

3. What should I do if my cigars arrive damaged? Contact customer support immediately. Most reputable services offer refunds or replacements.

4. Can I order cigars internationally? Yes, many services offer international shipping, but additional taxes and duties may apply.

5. How long can cigars stay fresh during transit? With proper packaging, cigars can remain fresh for up to two weeks.

Locally Focused FAQs

1. Which cigar delivery service in Mumbai offers same-day delivery? Many local retailers provide same-day delivery within Mumbai. Look for services with high customer ratings for timely deliveries.

2. Are Cuban cigars available for delivery in Mumbai? Yes, several Mumbai-based services stock authentic Cuban cigars. Ensure the service verifies authenticity.

3. Can I get accessories delivered with cigars in Mumbai? Yes, most premium cigar delivery services in Mumbai offer accessories like lighters and humidors.

4. How do I find reliable cigar delivery in Mumbai? Look for services with good reviews, clear policies, and a wide selection of cigars.

5. What’s the average delivery time for cigars in Mumbai? Local deliveries in Mumbai typically take 1-2 days, depending on the provider.

Conclusion

Choosing a reliable cigar delivery service involves considering factors like freshness, selection, delivery speed, and customer support. Whether you’re in Mumbai or elsewhere, a dependable service ensures your cigars arrive in perfect condition. Focus on services with excellent reviews, advanced packaging, and a commitment to quality to enhance your smoking experience. With this guide, you’re now equipped to make an informed choice for all your cigar delivery needs.