#cheroot

[not-your-asian-fantasy]

🇲🇲 The long cheroot that she holds is a typical attribute in studio portraits of Burmese women, whose habit of smoking large cigars was noted with some astonishment by European visitors, who also commented on their relative freedom, beauty and confidence.

The girl wears a striped silk hta-mein (wrap-around skirt) and a close-fitting jacket of fine muslin or cotton known as an ein-gyi. Her hair is adorned with a floral headband and she wears necklaces and earrings.

During the Konbaung Dynasty (1752-1885), rich jewellery, fine fabrics such as silk and garments such as her jacket were reserved for court officials and their wives by sumptuary laws.

x

[chronivore]

Cheroot

[ushas42]

I'm so happy for Gil. This kidnapping is probably one of the nicer afternoons he's had in a while.

Look at him, he's in his element! Out on the town, wearing an open collared shirt and smoking a cigar! He's gotten to fight a bunch people, show off his medical skills, and talk about how cool his girlfriend is with his new friend who's required to either hold his hand or climb all over him like a rhesus monkey at all times.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Headcanon: Cad Bane’s breakfast consists of caf and ambrian cheroot, much like coffee and a cigarette, but it’s with a shot of whiskey. Kinda like Carajillo is made, or an Irish coffee without the cream and sugar.

Apparently there is a name for it already: “Spiran caf,” which can be found at Oga’s Cantina on Batuu.

Bane sips it while he sits cross-legged, reading the holonews and the most wanted list.

“Whaddaye mean ah’ve been bumped down off de top five?!”

[mermaidsirennikita]

literally one of my favorite historical romance micro-tropes is when the hero goes to the heroine's brother (usually because the heroine has been all *Eartha Kitt voice* "Ha!!!!!! STUPID!" to a marriage proposal) to be all "waaaaaaa go make your sister marry meeeee"

and the brother is all "I shall not make her do anything she does not wish to do because I am properly the hero of a previous book or the hero of a future book and that means I must exhibit a minor regard for gender equality""

to which the current hero goes "welllllll 🥺 she may be pregnant lmao idk it's been like half an hour but SHE COULD BE"

and you just have this long dramatic pause where it sinks in and you can feel the brother hulking out

[dailyjimmybuffett]

Cowboy in the Jungle

There's a cowboy in the jungle And he looks so out of place With his shrimpskin boots and his cheap cheroots And his skin as white as paste

Headin' south to Paraguay Where the Gauchos sing and shout Now he's stuck in Porto Bello Since his money all ran out

So he hangs out with the sailors Night and day they're raisin' hell And his original destination's Just another story that he loves to tell

With no plans for the future He still seems in control From a bronco ride to a ten foot tide He just had to learn to roll

Rolled with the punches. Played all of his hunches Made the best of whatever came his way What he lacked in ambition, he made up with intuition Plowin' straight ahead, come what may

Steel band in the distance And their music floats across the bay While American women in muumuus Talk about all the things they did today

And their husbands quack about fishing As they slug those rum drinks down Discussing who caught what and who sat on his butt But it's the only show in town

Tryin' to drink all the punches, they all may lose their lunches Tryin' to cram lost years into five or six days Seems that blind ambition erased their intuition Plowin' straight ahead, come what may

I don't want to live on that kind of island No, I don't want to swim in a roped-off sea Too much for me, too much for me I've got to be where the wind and the water are free

Alone on a midnight passage I can count the falling stars While the Southern Cross and the satellites They remind me of where we are

Spinning around in circles Living it day to day And still twenty four hours, maybe sixty good years It's really not that long a stay

We've gotta roll with the punches, learn to play all of our hunches Makin' the best of whatever comes your way Forget that blind ambition and learn to trust your intuition Plowin' straight ahead, come what may

And there's a cowboy in the jungle

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: June 10

“Cowboy in the Jungle” by Jimmy Buffett

[almostinfamous]

they remade this at Raymond's tomb in Hyderabad

Frank Horvat

The Greek Temple

Agrigento, Italy, 1981

[luxebeat]

CHENNAI: Of Cocktails & Cuisine

The French have always had a penchant for Tamil Nadu given the historic Pondicherry connection. Whilst Pondicherry became a chic French colony, Tamil Nadu’s capital Madras remained entrenched in hoary tradition. Until Madras was renamed Chennai and transformed into a hotspot for IT and multinational factories. BMW, Audi, Michelin, Toyota, Nissan, Hyundai etc., launched factories in Chennai whilst…

[thiefbird]

Channeling my inner stephen maturin with mild substance abuse before writing

[not-your-asian-fantasy]

Group of Burmese Cigar makers , Burma

Publication date : 1920

Credit : Whiteaway , Laidlaw & Co

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

I consider it my sacred duty to break the rules. A broken rule is the open gate to a wilder meadow. I smoked an Arturo Fuentes cheroot with the Buddha. Forgive me. Asked if he had any rules. He said, just one. Vow to be healed by your tears. Then he opened up to me about his sadness, admitted he had to come back because he was lonely. Maybe as Anthony Bourdain. Maybe Dolly Parton. I made a bourbon smoothie and shared it with Jesus. Asked if he had any rules. He said, just one. Call me brother, not Lord. Cucumber, mint, and kale with a shot of Wild Turkey, forgive me, it was delicious. A broken rule is the open gate to a deeper rule, unwritten and harder to disobey. The rules of the body lead to the rules of the soul. Like the one that says, love for no reason. The one that says, make friends with the brokenhearted. The one that says, forgive yourself again and again. So I discover the rules I cannot break by breaking the ones I can.

~ Fred LaMotte

[vintagetvstars]

Eric Close Vs. William Shockley

Propaganda

Eric Close - (The Magnificent Seven (1998-2000), Now and Again (1999-2000), Without a Trace (Seasons 1-2)) - He's just really cute and I have problems with his face.

William Shockley - (Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman) - As the callous, often vicious saloon-owner Hank Lawson, William Shockley's character was one of the primary antagonists in Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman. Whether the showrunners made a mistake by casting a rangy, blue-eyed, flowing-haired beauty with a fantastic smile is up to each viewer to decide, but I don't think so. Shockley's laid back, often grinning demeanor, even through his cruelty, serves to make the character's angrier swerves all the more dramatic. With his cheroots, loose peasant shirts, low-slung gun belt, festive floral vests, and, let's be real, good looks, he gives the character a memorable design, and when the script allows him some softer scenes, Shockley even sells those too. His performance creates an irreverent, uncaring, colorful contrast to the heroes' earnestness, and so often Shockley gives you the impression that he's enjoying every disruptive moment.

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Eric Close:

William Shockley:

[heaven-is-in-your-arms-series]

Just What Was Wan Smoking?

I suspect, for the most part, Wan was smoking cheroots.

Cheroots are filterless cylindrical cigars, easy to hand roll and clipped at both ends.

In Thailand, they were traditionally rolled in banana leaves and as well as tobacco, the leaves of the Indian cork tree were often added, along with the flowers sometimes for fragrance.

Things like molasses, honey, rice wine, pineapple and banana were often used to sweeten the mixture.

Sometimes cannabis could be added, which was historically used for pain relief in Thailand.

It seems like Wan relies on smoking these as a way to manage his mental health issues, like many smokers, who reach for a cigarette when they are stressed, we often see him smoking when he is feeling disturbed.

We can see from the film that Khem seems very comfortable with the act of stealing but we only ever see him steal or think about stealing, cheroots on Wan's behalf.

He even splashes out on expensive imported "cigarettes," as a gift for Wan which his friend is clearly touched by. That recognition from Khem, that these are important for Wan.

It's as if he recognises that they are something Wan needs, we never see Khem smoke himself although they were both clearly fans of betel chewing before they were forbidden to do so in ManSuang.

Hence their black teeth.

Betel nut is a stimulant and many people describe the act of chewing betel as giving them a bit of a high. It is certainly addictive but was also a standard part of socialising for a very long time in several parts of Southeast Asia and India.

As Khem and Wan are forbidden from chewing betel while they stay at ManSuang, it is likely that they both would have experienced some withdrawal symptoms and this probably made Wan rely on the cheroots even more.

Cheroots originated in India along with beedies which historically were made from leftover scraps of tobacco and rolled into leaves.

Cheroot smoking was very traditional both in India and Myanmar.

[thesapphiclibrary]

What is ’Behind the Green Door‘? 239 Kings Road, Chelsea, there is a white door, that was blue (as seen in the picture taken in 2007)and before that was very famously GREEN and is said to have inspired the song … Behind the green door was ‘Gateways’ - a very famous members club that catered primarily to the Lesbian community from 1943 until the 80’s. For many women, a visit to the Gateways was the first introduction to lesbian life.

.

The club was described as having a green door with a steep staircase leading down to a windowless cellar bar that was only 35 ft x 18 ft. The walls had been painted by local artists and there was a constant smoky atmosphere. The layout included a bar that was located at one end of the room, with the toilets and a cloakroom at the other.

.

It was not secretive (to be a lesbian was never illegal in Britain) and it played host to several films about the female gay life and several documentaries. It appeared in BBC’s Call The Midwife. When I was a boy I had an Aunty Alice … she had a ‘friend’ called Patti who had hair like Johnny Cash, wore black velvet jackets and smoked cheroots … they were together for 50 years and they met at Gateways…. They were lovely, happy people.

The club was shut in 1985 after the club lost its licence after local residents objected to the loud music.What is ’Behind the Green Door‘? 239 Kings Road, Chelsea, there is a white door, that was blue (as seen in the picture taken in 2007)and before that was very famously GREEN and is said to have inspired the song … Behind the green door was ‘Gateways’ - a very famous members club that catered primarily to the Lesbian community from 1943 until the 80’s. For many women, a visit to the Gateways was the first introduction to lesbian life.

.

The club was described as having a green door with a steep staircase leading down to a windowless cellar bar that was only 35 ft x 18 ft. The walls had been painted by local artists and there was a constant smoky atmosphere. The layout included a bar that was located at one end of the room, with the toilets and a cloakroom at the other.

.

It was not secretive (to be a lesbian was never illegal in Britain) and it played host to several films about the female gay life and several documentaries. It appeared in BBC’s Call The Midwife. When I was a boy I had an Aunty Alice … she had a ‘friend’ called Patti who had hair like Johnny Cash, wore black velvet jackets and smoked cheroots … they were together for 50 years and they met at Gateways…. They were lovely, happy people.

The club was shut in 1985 after the club lost its licence after local residents objected to the loud music.

[the-merry-thieves]

Curzon Street Confrontation, rewritten from Anna's POV

An Anna Lightwood fanfiction/POV rewrite

After an eventful debrief at Curzon Street, Thomas, Christopher, and Anna walked out to the front steps together. Cordelia’s news of the night was still spinning in Anna's mind when she saw Ariadne standing beneath the steps.

“Ari.” Anna moved leisurely toward her on the pavement, making a point of stopping to take a puff of her cheroot. Ariadne had donned her gear from earlier that day and was now in an olive green dress that came in at the waist, accentuating her elegant figure. She looked as beautiful as she always had. “Taking a walk?”

“I wanted to see you,” Ariadne said. “I thought we could—”

Anna stopped the other girl in her tracks. She wouldn’t let Ariadne say anything that might faze her, wouldn’t let Ariadne see the reaction her words might evoke. “Go to the Whispering Room?” Anna blew a long, slow smoke ring and watched it dissipate into the cold night. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. Tomorrow afternoon, if you—”

Now it was Ariadne’s turn to interrupt Anna. Her voice was steady with resolve. “I was hoping we could go to your flat.”

To this, Anna said nothing, only willed her face not to betray her. Over the past two years, she had worked to make her flat a place of comfort, a place that was fully hers. She did not think she could bear being in such a vulnerable space with Ariadne. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I have an assignation tonight.”

This was true; it was no secret that Anna had a penchant for debauchery, and that she enjoyed the novelty of having a different girl in her bed with each fortnight. Besides, after the battle at the courtyard, Anna had been in the mood for a little fun with a pretty mundane girl. That is, until she saw Ariadne.

Ariadne faltered, and Anna could see a momentary flicker of hurt pass through her eyes. But she covered this up with a smooth, cordial nod of understanding that made Anna’s heart pang inexplicably.

“Today,” Ariadne pressed on, “when we were in the courtyard—when we were first attacked—you pushed me behind you.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Did I?” she asked in her best nonchalant voice, tapping the cheroot between her fingers.

But it was no use; they both knew it was true. Anna knew that she had been unguarded in that instant, letting her face reveal true fear as she thrust Ariadne out of harm’s way. She cursed herself—two years of forgetting, reinventing, and she was still letting Ariadne throw off her guard. She wouldn't let it happen again, starting with this encounter.

“You know you did,” Ariadne said. “You would protect me with your life, then, but you will not forgive me. I know I asked you earlier—”

Anna sighed. “I am not angry at you, nor trying to punish you. But I am happy with who I am. I do not desire a change.”

“Maybe you are not angry with me,” Ariadne said. Dampness had gathered on her long eyelashes; she quickly blinked it away. “But I am angry with myself. I cannot forgive myself. I had you—I had love—and I turned from it out of fear. And perhaps it was foolish of me to think I could pick it up again, that it would be waiting for me, but you—” Her voice trembled. “I fear it is because of me that you have become what you are. Hard and bright as a diamond. Untouchable.”

The cheroot burned, disregarded, in Anna’s hand. But she merely said, in a cool tone, “What an unkind characterization. I cannot say I agree.”

“I could have managed with you not loving me, but you do not even want me to love you. And that I cannot bear.” Ariadne laced her hands together. They were chapped red from the frigid night air, providing an idea of how long she must have waited for Anna outside the house; Anna hated that she noticed this. “Do not ask me to come to the Whispering Room again.”

Anna shrugged, feigning indifference. You are Anna Lightwood, conqueror of others' hearts and ruler of your own; you will not let anyone see you otherwise, she reminded herself. “As you wish,” she said. “I had better go—as you know, I do not like to keep a lady waiting.”

Anna swiftly strode down the steps without another glance at the girl who had broken her heart once and had just broken it again tenfold. She managed to walk only a short distance before sinking down into the unforgivingly hard cobblestone steps of a neighboring house. She laid her head down on the steps and shook silently; no tears would come. She had not cried in so long, it seemed her body had forgotten how to do so.

Anna knew that she had pushed Ariadne away this time, that she had hidden her heart away with intention. For this very reason. So you wouldn't get hurt when something of this sort happened. She thought, trying to convince herself of the assertions she had clung to for years. But if they were true, why did she feel as though her heart had just been run through with a thousand daggers?

------------------------------------

Alright, I hope you enjoyed!! The dialogue is verbatim from the book so credits to the wonderful Cassandra Clare (and of course the characters are also Cassie's), but Anna's thoughts/the things in between are mine!

I'd love to get more involved in the fandom and meet new Shadowhunters-loving friends, so please comment your thoughts and message me if you want!