select men

Ladies and gays and select straight men and everyone…Kesha’s new single is coming tomorrow, do NOT let me or her down. It’s time to get your coins and also to start streaming. We are NOT letting that disgusting PIG Dr. L*ke win. Her success means his failure and we WILL see the harvest. We ALL need to band together and support the return of an ICONIC LGBT ally superstar and magnetic songwriter/singer.

When I was a freshman, my sister was in eighth grade. There was a boy in two of her periods who would ask her out every single day. (Third and seventh period, if I remember correctly.) All day during third and seventh she would repeatedly tell him no. She didn’t beat around the bush, she didn’t lie and say she was taken–she just said no.

One day, in third period, after being rejected several times, he said; “I have a gun in my locker. If you don’t say yes, I am going to shoot you in seventh.”

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Liu Chuyu was the first-born daughter of Emperor Xiaowu and his empress, during the Liu Song dynasty. Never heard of it? Neither had I. Lasting just 60 years in the 400s CE, it was one of the four southern kingdoms which succeeded the Eastern Jin Empire. While it was going, the Liu Song dynasty ruled most of southern China, but a string of incompetent or tyrannical emperors led to internal instability and the dynasty’s quick downfall.

Luckily for her, Liu Chuyu was born during a relatively stable period. Her father became Emperor Xiaowu by force, but his reign was more or less stable, and he died of natural causes when she was 17 or 18. The transition of power was bloodless and his son, Liu Chuyu’s younger brother, followed Emperor Xiaowu upon the throne.

Before he died, her father married her to He Ji, son of a prominent official. Liu Chuyu doesn’t seem to have been so happy about this. History records that when her brother left the palace she would often go to see him. One of those visits, Liu Chuyu said to him “While our genders are different, we are born of the same father. However, you have more than 10,000 women in your palaces, and I only have one husband, and this is unfair.” In response, her younger brother selected 30 young handsome men for her to keep. (Doesn’t it sound weird when put like that?) Liu Chuyu … enjoyed… them for a year before her brother was assassinated. Her uncle took the throne, denounced Liu Chuyu for her immorality, and ordered her to commit suicide. No more male harems for princesses.

The producers from The Bachelorette did Rachel dirty.

Look at her selection of men. Ugh It’s like they sent her every Tyrone and Side Show Bob they could scrape up from the local street corner, and plopped them on her season purposely.  

Then they sent her that fuckboy Demario with his fast-talking lying ass. I took one look at him and could tell that A. he was a conceited bastard who had no interest in being on the show other than to get his face on TV and B. he didn’t even like black women. I can spot the “I only date white girls” types a mile away.

Then they sent her an undercover racist…like wtf are yall doing? Did the producers even try to get some upstanding individuals for Rachel or is this apart of some plan to further perpetuate the idea that black women can’t have a wide variety of good men to choose from? 

djislame  asked:

Wait a sec so Whorsebane is suppose to be an intimidating character even for somebody like Roose,I feel like I missed this. Also he's gay I feel like I missed that also. Which if he is is kinda cool that he's this intimidating gay man from a house known to be imposing and intimidating.

*rubs hands together* Yes, please, let’s take a deep dive into the characterization of Hother “Whoresbane” Umber, the smartest and most dangerous member of his clan and one of my favorite background characters in all of ASOIAF.

Does “most dangerous Umber” seem like a stretch? Don’t get me wrong, I certainly wouldn’t want Crowfood or the Greatjon mad at me, but they’re presented as jovial life-of-the-party drunks as much as badasses. There’s a wry affectionate “oh, you scamps” sort of tone to how GRRM writes the Umber men…except Whoresbane, who is framed with an ice-cold laser-focused menace about him that his kin do not possess, despite Hother being the least physically imposing of the lot. Within the Northern political community, “Old Whoresbane” has a well-established reputation as perhaps the most fearsome figure within that community, a living legend spoken of in whispers (rather than the loud-and-proud stories surrounding big brother Mors), someone with whom you simply do not fuck if you care to see another spring: 

A crow had once taken Mors for dead and pecked out his eye, so he wore a chunk of dragonglass in its stead. As Old Nan told the tale, he’d grabbed the crow in his fist and bitten its head off, so they named him Crowfood. She would never tell Bran why his gaunt brother Hother was called Whoresbane.

Odd as it might seem, old Hoarfrost Umber had once believed his youngest son had the makings of a maester. Mors loved to boast about the crow who took his eye, but Hother’s tale was only told in whispers…most like because the whore he’d disemboweled had been a man. 

And now the Bastard of Bolton was riding south with Hother Umber to join them for an attack on Moat Cailin. “The Whoresbane his own self,” claimed a riverman who’d just brought a load of hides and timber down the White Knife, “with three hundred spearmen and a hundred archers. Some Hornwood men have joined them, and Cerwyns too.”

“Night work is not knight’s work,” Lady Dustin said. “And Lord Wyman is not the only man who lost kin at your Red Wedding, Frey. Do you imagine Whoresbane loves you any better? If you did not hold the Greatjon, he would pull out your entrails and make you eat them, as Lady Hornwood ate her fingers.”

“Fear is what keeps a man alive in this world of treachery and deceit. Even here in Barrowton the crows are circling, waiting to feast upon our flesh. The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal, and Whoresbane…the Umbers may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning.”

But, I hear you protest again: more menacing than Roose Bolton? Surely not! Well, look at how Roose himself describes Whoresbane. That ellipsis speaks volumes: Whoresbane Umber is so thoroughly intimidating that Roose gods-damned Bolton, the Leech Lord, Westeros’ answer to Vlad the Impaler, is reduced to trailing off and staring into the middle distance, ultimately unable to bring himself to cite specifics.

That’s the first layer. The second layer is the implication that Whoresbane has been the brains of Last Hearth for a very, very long time. He was only at the Citadel in the first place because his father Hoarfrost (which: yes) believed he had “the makings of a maester,” which certainly bucks the Umber stereotype. After Hother came home, his status as the smartest man in the room–a Halfmaester, if you will–has held as the decades have gone by. The Greatjon is certainly not an idiot (just look at how he tests and then crowns Robb), but his grab-with-both-hands approach to life carries with it some significant blind spots, and it’s Whoresbane who rides to Winterfell to point them out:

Hother wanted ships. “There’s wildlings stealing down from the north, more than I’ve ever seen before. They cross the Bay of Seals in little boats and wash up on our shores. The crows in Eastwatch are too few to stop them, and they go to ground quick as weasels. It’s longships we need, aye, and strong men to sail them. The Greatjon took too many. Half our harvest is gone to seed for want of arms to swing the scythes.”

Contrast Hother with Mors, and the picture becomes crystal clear. Crowfood, too, is far from stupid, but he comes to Winterfell to dance with the serving girls and offer his magical grief-curing cock to Lady Hornwood. Whoresbane is the one with the numbers in his head, the one keeping track of the harvest and the wildlings, the one looking out for the smallfolk of Last Hearth. Crowfood is doing everything he can to escape his brother’s household; Whoresbane is the one the Greatjon trusted to keep the lights on and bring concerns to the Stark in Winterfell. 

And yes, as that anecdote about his time in Oldtown reveals, Whoresbane is gay. (Or possibly bi, but again, Crowfood is the one who asks for Lady Hornwood’s hand and macks on the serving girls, whereas Whoresbane shows interest in neither.) For me, this is part of an overall characterization in which Whoresbane defies the public image of his House and yet somehow also turns that image up to 11. Hother Umber is a gay man in a family of aggressively straight dudes, a “gaunt” and “cadaverous” man in a family of larger-than-life giants, an intellectual in a family of jocks, and is still the most metal of them all, and everyone knows it. How can you not love that?

What really cements Whoresbane as one of my favorites, though, are the hints about what the payoff for this characterization will look like. In ADWD, Whoresbane joins Team Bolton, taking half the remaining Umber men to the Dreadfort (and from there to Moat Cailin, Barrowton, and finally Winterfell) while leaving the rest with Crowfood. As Barbrey tells us, though, there’s no pretense that he’s actually loyal to Roose and Ramsay. Indeed, in Theon’s first ADWD chapter, we see that Whoresbane is wearing armor even to dinner, and can’t stop himself from expressing disgust at Ramsay’s treatment of Theon. And then, in Theon’s released TWOW chapter, we learn a very telling detail: 

“Mors took the green boys and Hother took the greybeards.”

Whoresbane didn’t just randomly select half the remaining men at Last Hearth. He specifically brought his fellow greybeards with him. And what is it that old Northmen do when the food runs short as we know it is at Last Hearth (“half our harvest is gone to seed for want of arms to swing the scythes”), when winter is no longer coming, but here?

Alys sighed. “My father took so many of our men south with him that only the women and young boys were left to bring the harvest in. Them, and the men too old or crippled to go off to war. Crops withered in the fields or were pounded into the mud by autumn rains. And now the snows are come. This winter will be hard. Few of the old people will survive it, and many children will perish as well.”

It was a tale that any northmen knew well. “My father’s grandmother was a Flint of the mountains, on his mother’s side,” Jon told her. “The First Flints, they call themselves. They say the other Flints are the blood of younger sons, who had to leave the mountains to find food and land and wives. It has always been a harsh life up there. When the snows fall and food grows scarce, their young must travel to the winter town or take service at one castle or the other. The old men gather up what strength remains in them and announce that they are going hunting. Some are found come spring. More are never seen again.”

“Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue.”

So I think Whoresbane’s master plan (and given all of the the above, I’d say it’s very much his plan, and Crowfood is following his lead) is to lead the old men on a glorious kamikaze mission against the hated Boltons, while Crowfood preserves the next generation, who now may have enough to eat. Like his great-nephew Smalljon, he’ll go down a Stark man to the end, Umber on the inside where it counts. 

Sex Workers: Don't let a Poor Man tear you Down

I just had a “client” call to inquire about my rates, and then tell me I didn’t have “the type of body” for my rates while trying to tell me he still wanted to fuck me to fulfill his fantasies in the future. At first I started letting my neurotic insecurities take over, started noticing the extra pound I gained, examining breakouts from weeks ago, things that he doesn’t even know or see.

Then I got some sense back into me, and reverse searched his number.

Research Stalking: ON

LOL, it’s a bald, middle aged, Hispanic guy living in the hood projects of Los Angeles with 2-3 kids from different baby mama’s. The rusting bucket car in his profile is worth less than my hourly rate.

I sent back “My especially positive reviews online are good indicators that I clearly have an upscale clientele base that deem my figure "worthy”. Unfortunately for you, I only cater to a very selective caliber of men who are successful in life. I’m sorry to hear that you certainly don’t qualify to be part of the lifestyle I cater to. It’s one thing to be poor, it’s another to be bitter about it. I wish you luck in your search for a girl that you MIGHT be able to afford, and who you won’t feel so threatened by simply because women are out of your reach. There’s no need to discuss a future meeting because I’m only interested in successful men with class. Please be aware any messages or calls you send back will be lost in the abyss of blocked numbers. Have a good day.“.

There’s been wealthy men who’ve insulted me but few. In my experience, nobody is as vindictive and degrading as an unsuccessful man after hearing rates or allowances he can’t afford. Whatever he says to tear you down (criticizing weight, curve sizes, facial features, age, etc) is done so HE feels better because he can’t attain what other men he’s jealous of, can. It’s backtracking cause he doesn’t want to admit he wants something he can’t have.

(This is of course, for the ladies that don’t "bait and switch” or catfish POTS or clients.) It’s not unreasonable for a man to say your rates are way too high if you’re falsely advertising something or someone you’re not.

Moral of the story to all SW: If he’s called/texted/reached out to you in an attempt to set up a meeting or arrangement, you’re obviously attractive enough. You are something that he wanted but can’t admit simply because he can’t afford you. It doesn’t matter what your rate is, whether it’s lower or higher than the average; he reached out in hopes of meeting you.

Don’t let a poor man tell you you’re worth less because of his own empty pockets.

anonymous asked:

Okay so hear me out....voltron in romp-hims

ngl i didn’t know what romp-hims were before but i’m glad i do now 

this one,, this is The One 

Outtake - ‘Line Of Sight’ Photographed by Yarden Lawson for Schön! Magazine

Fashion / Patrick Clark

Models / James Magee, George Culafic & Aaron Gatward @ Select

Grooming / Tarik Bennafla using Buble & Bumble

Fashion Assistnat / Marlène Le Gal‘Line Of Sight’ Photographed by Yarden Lawson for Schön! Magazine
Fashion / Patrick ClarkModels / James Magee, George Culafic & Aaron Gatward @ SelectGrooming / Tarik Bennafla using Buble & BumbleFashion Assistnat / Marlène Le Gal