Hey How The FUCK Are You Booping Each Other

Re: he/him or male identifying lesbians (as someone who isn't any of those things, this is just what I've seen other say)

Also I just woke up & I dont mean any of this to be rude, I'm just not awake enough to think about tone of text-voice

1 pronouns don't equal gender and you're original wording implied it does so keep that in mind

2 its actually a pretty big thing in butch culture, especially among older butches, to take masculine terms for themselves. I haven't ever seen any reasoning for this outside of potentially just trying to make straight men mad, but I do know its a thing

3 i think "male identifying lesbians", assuming you mean people who identify with no part of womanhood but do still use the lesbian label, would be similar to nonbinary lesbians or anyone who, at some point, was part of the lesbian community before (or while) figuring out gender stuff & still feels a connection to the community and the culture around it. But otherwise the only times I personally have seen a lesbian use masculine terms was in the way in point 2, which is mostly just "this is how people explain things with the words available to them and their own experience with their gender and attraction"

I hope this helps and I'm glad you asked instead of just getting lost in discourse posts because honestly? Its so hard to try to learn anything from just people yelling at each other (and usually with increasingly incorrect information)

Thank you so much, this rly helped. Also, yeah, discourse it just......blegh.

(Also super sorry for implying the whole pronouns=gender thing, twasnt intended)

- Nori

Im tired of doomscrolling can shit just get better already

Combining all my favourite charcter design traits into one mf, I’ll keep yall updated

Ough having bad legs is so fun like. I love theatre <3 I signed up for footloose <3 i love the dances <3 this was a good idea :) and my legs will just be down there going no it wasnt get your ass back on that chair you little shit >:( where cane? Where walky stick? Where aleve? And ill just. No. Let me dance. Fuck off. Then they take matters into their own hands.

I rly wanted to play payday 2 but no one wanted to play w me so i played it by myself and can i just say that dallas and wolf aint shit if nobody got me i know houston got me. He saved me more times than anyone else today and honestly i would buy this guy a drink. I rly like Jimmy and Sangres and Wick and Joy and Jacket and Sydney and Jiro and Bonnie and Houston just got added to the "drinks w the bois" gc.

- Nori

Kakyion and Tommy: *makes a tumblr for the system to use*

Kakyion and Tommy: *sets it on the floor.*

Me: hey ur gonnaa use that, yeah?

Kakyion and Tommy:.........

Kakyion and Tommy: *runs.*

- Nori

Me going thru blighttown fr

Literally just started playing ESO and Jakarn is already my favourite character. Why does this happen to me. He is simply a bastard.

- Nori

Behold, I said id do it so i have done it. Heres a small fic about Jacket that I wrote for an rp server a few weeks ago!

Its not the best, but I’m proud of it!

The man rested his baseball bat on his shoulder. Deep crimson red painted the streets, painted his jeans, jacket, hands, painted the dead-eyed chicken mask concealing his face. A shaking, bruised hand reached up and tugged the thick latex from his head. His dirty blonde hair was matted and clung to his forehead with sweat. His hazel eyes gazed up into the orange sky. The sunset was always beautiful over the ocean this time of year. Too bad he wasn’t back in Florida to see it. DC sunsets will have to do. Before he knew it, his back collided with the concrete stairs he rested on. His eyesight began to blur as quick footsteps approached.

“Jacket! There you are! We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you!”

That voice. His old biker friend. He lifted up an old cassette recorder.

Click.

“Cloaker no longer in working order.”

Click.

“Yeah, I see that. Pretty sure the whole fuckin’ police force is no longer in working order after this.”

Click.

"In the event of personnel damage, please locate the nearest first aid kit."

Click.

“Are you hurt? Where?”

The man sat up, shedding his brown letterman jacket. Under his muted teal t-shirt, his skin was morphing into a collage of deep, blotted purples, reds, yellows, and greens. A beautiful, morbid painting on the body of a beautiful, morbid man.

“Jeez, they really got you, huh? It’s alright. We’ll get you home and put some ice on it. You’re gonna be okay.” The older man cradled Jacket’s arm in his hands. He sniffed. Thick, scarlet liquid ran down his face, over his lips, off his chin, dripping onto his shirt.

Click.

“I made a mistake.” The recorder reversed. “Rust.”

Click.

“It’s gonna be alright, Jacket. You’re gonna be alright.”

Jacket rested his head on the biker’s shoulder, letting his salty tears gently dot the other man’s black leather jacket. He felt his body leave the ground, then it all went black.

When he finally came to, Jacket was home. He lay in his room, on the soft, plush couch pushed so snugly against the wall, and covered with a few crocheted blankets. He reached up and rubbed his eyes. The boxing tape on his hands was gone, leaving nothing but pale skin and the reddened knuckles of his thin fingers. He took a deep breath.

Shhhk shhhk shhhk.

Jacket sat up. Someone had changed his clothes while he was asleep. Instead of his usual jeans-and-tshirt getup, he had on a pair of black sweatpants and a slightly oversized, grey, long-sleeved t-shirt. It was comfy. He looked around.

Shhhk shhhk shhhk.

He slowly swung his legs over the edge of the couch, his bare feet meeting the cold concrete floor. Well, mostly, part of his left foot landed atop the fake tiger-skin rug on the floor. Magenta neon lights illuminated the space around him, and the light over his workbench was shut off.

Shhhk shhhk shhhk.

He pushed off, coming to his feet. He looked towards the entrance of his little cove. Through the doorway (if you could call it that, there wasn’t a door) he saw the closed door to Bodhi’s workshop. Strange, the surfer spent most of his time there. Must be asleep.

Shhhk shhhk shhhk.

Jacket shuffled out of his room. Just outside, Sokol batted a hockey puck to and fro on the concrete floor of the Safehouse basement. The Russian looked up, having seen movement in his peripheral vision.

“You’re awake! I was afraid you’d miss dinner, you need some meat on those little birdy bones of yours!” He laughed heartily.

The workout area a little to the left of the “hockey area” was empty and unlit. Sokol leaned his hockey stick against the wall and made his way over to Jacket. He clapped a hand down on the man’s shoulder.

“Dallas brought food, everyone is upstairs, eating. I told them I would wait for you to wake up so we can eat together.” He smiled.

Jacket felt a tug on the skin around his mouth. Is this smiling? He never really knew. The blonde gently nodded. Sokol beamed and took the Sociopath’s hand and eagerly led him up the stairs, his tennis shoes barely thumping against the stairs. The sound of socializing heisters grew steadily louder and clearer.

“AW, ya shoulda SEEN ‘im! Jacket’s a beast, mate, I’m tellin’ ya!” Jimmy gestured wildly with his fork as he spoke. “Took down like, eight dozers by ‘imself! Ran off and just kept goin’ and goin’!”

“Where’d ya even find ‘im, Rust?” Sydney looked at the older man. He sat, almost hunched over, eating out of a takeout box.

“Stairs outside of the library.”

“Wait, the big one? Downtown?”

Rust nodded.

“Christ, that’s like four miles from where you guys were!” *Sydney gawked in amazement.*

“Still had a bag of coke on him, too.” Rust grumbled. “He fuckin ran off and slaughtered three quarters of the police force just to clock out on some stairs.”

“Jeez.” Jimmy sighed happily.

Wick looked up from his drink and elbowed Rust’s shoulder. “Look who climbed outta bed.”

The biker looked up from his food and locked eyes with Jacket. His face didn’t show it, but his eyes twinkled with….relief? Almost…excitement, even.

“Speak o’ the devil! There’s the man o’ the hour!” Jimmy beamed. “Cmon! There’s plenty of food still left!”

Sokol led Jacket past the group and to the kitchen. The main five stood together, exchanging quiet stories and witty remarks. Hoxton turned to the newcomers.

“Christ, you look like hell.” He scoffed, earning a firm bat on the shoulder from Houston, who set down his water bottle on the counter and approached the pair.

“You alright? You look pretty banged up, dyou need anything?” He spoke gently. Jacket shook his head.

“Just food.” Sokol piped up. Houston immediately got to work, separating two takeout boxes from the rest and quickly scribbling their names on them with a Sharpie. He handed the two their meals.

“Let me know if you guys need anything.” He smiled kindly before getting back to the group.

“Oh, hey, Jacket.”

Jacket locked eyes with the unstated Leader of the Payday Gang.

“Good job out there. You did great today.” Dallas gave him a thumbs up. The blonde responded with a simple nod and followed Sokol out to join his friends.

“Why do you ever tell us that?”

“Piss off, Jim.”

I love being a greek pagan dating a norse pagan cause both of us say "oh my gods" but which ones? Fuck around and find out, bucko.