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I didn’t do the cosplay just for the meme….

Flying to Italy and finding the exact field to recreate the picnic scene was pretty amazing. The costume took me a month to make 😮‍💨 it was so nice to shoot it in THE field!!

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bdsm enjoyers r onto something. i think we should incorporate aftercare into just hanging out. i need a buddy to hold me and say “that was really fun and you seemed normal”

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love the word “rapscallion”. like not only are you a rascal but you’re also kind of spring onion about it too

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Entry #1

4:56 PM June 16, 2024, Father's Day

Father’s Day has always been frowned upon by me. It felt like a chore. I would wake up, be nice to him no matter what look I got in return, and go to sleep. My dad would always have a series of questions that day, different year by year. But always the same one stuck: What's my birthday?

And every year since the age of five when I could remember the date, I would answer confidently: November 1st, 1975. He would give me a civil nod and a pat on the back and walk away, preparing his next question that he would ask a couple of hours later at breakfast. 

This year, the question was: What's my job? 

Both Remy (older brother) and I (Dakota) looked at each other with confusion. After a few moments, Remy uttered the simple four words, ‘To be our father’. 

My parents created a rule when we were younger that we couldn’t ask them about their jobs or anything relating to work. We never knew why, but we followed the rules. It was easy enough to do. 

I wouldn’t say I had the best relationship with my father. I would come home from third grade, having made a finger turkey on a piece of printer paper in homeroom, and give it to my dad with a smile plastered on my face. He would grunt at it, break a small smile, and tape it to the fridge. I would wake up the next morning and it would be in the trash. Guess he didn’t like the art. Too mundane for him.

But as time went on, everything was too mundane for him. The only thing he got excited about was family drama between his siblings. The last time I saw the whole family in the room was in 2014. Nine years old and the last time I saw every family member together. But hopefully, it’ll happen three days from now.

He died five hours ago, at approximately 11:43 am. I thought he was playing a stupid joke or something, but when I shook his shoulder, he didn’t move a single muscle. His body was limp but still slightly warm. I called for my mother and she came running from the backyard, weaving her way from the backdoor to the living room. 

I think it was the first time I had called him dad in years, repeating the words that hadn’t escaped my mouth in front of him since I was 13. My mother felt for a pulse, putting her fingers to the side of his neck. This was the first time I had cried in front of my mother in years as well. I had rested my forehead on the top of his right hand, begging for one more stupid turkey drawing to make it into the trash. One more moment with him, whether it was good or bad.

Remy had walked through the front door, rushing over to my side as the bags of groceries dropped by the stairs. He crouched down next to me, pulling me into his arms as I sobbed into his shirt, letting out all of the tears that I had held in. My dad hated it when I cried.

My mother had called the ambulance minutes prior as she felt for his pulse. He was pronounced dead as the EMTs came into the house and checked him out.

They took his body away on the stretcher, covering it with a thin white sheet, the straps holding him down. The man who was once known as my father, David Watson, was now a corpse. 

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2:43 PM June 19, 2024 The Day of the Funeral

I read the first entry that I had written. I stood at the front of the church, casket behind and over to the left of me. It was closed. My mother didn’t want anyone to see him. Didn’t want his shame of death to be public or known by the funeral guests. ‘He can be known as dead but not seen’ my mother repeated.

I kept my eyes on my best friend, Shaun, who sat in the front row. My eyes kept darting down to my hands that trembled slightly as I turned the page. I read excerpts from the journal that he kept when Remy and I were kids. He would write down the most random shit like ‘Remy walked home from school today’ and ‘Dakota didn’t hang out with that kid Avery from school’.

It was like he was documenting every single movement that we made. I shrugged it off, but explained it to the guests as something that was just one of his quirks. I didn’t want to make him seem like a bad person or a father in front of people. That was the last thing I wanted to do at the funeral. Besides what happened after.

I walked down the small entryway of the funeral home and saw our mutual friend Grant standing there. Why did this strike a problem? They weren’t on talking terms with each other after Grant went off to college without him, leaving both of us back in our hometown of Valentine, Nebraska.

I kept up with Grant during his freshman year, him being a year older than Shaun and I since he skipped that extra year of preschool. Fucking loser. I would text him the occasional ‘How are you?’, then he wouldn’t answer for days. He would eventually respond after four business days with ‘Alright, you?’ and I would respond back with ‘Peachy’. It was my go-to response to the god forbidden question that I hated answering since I was a kid.

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Grant walked up to me in his button up white shirt and his nice black slacks. He had a few inches on me to say the least. I stared at him with some type of grudge, knowing he hadn’t answered the message from three days ago. ‘My dad died.’ Read at 4:43 PM. Shaun stood behind me, also looking at Grant the same way but for his own reason.

“Fuck you.” I said simply before walking away. I could hear both their footsteps following close behind me. I reached for the door and walked out of the room. Grant mumbled something but I didn’t care to listen. The only part that I paid attention to was listening to Shaun telling him to stay back and holding him against the wall as I walked out of the building.

Grant got out of Shaun’s hold, chasing me down the steps and grabbing my wrist. He turned me around and I pushed him away.

“Get the fuck away from me!” I yelled. He looked slightly shocked that I had said it. “You didn’t care to fucking answer because you never do! When have you ever fucking cared about someone other than yourself?”

He looked hurt.

When will I stop hurting people?

I don’t mean to.

I don’t mean to hurt him.

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I went home after that. I haven’t left my room since. My mom knocked on my door. Remy knocked on my door to try and get me out. Hell, even Shaun tried to get me out. He started throwing pebbles at my window from the front lawn. I ignored the clicks of it against the glass.

I can’t. I can’t leave the room. I can’t go back down the hallway that my father put our heights on the doorframe of my parents bedroom. I can’t walk past his now locked office that I haven’t seen the inside of in a decade. I only saw the inside when I was 8 because I picked the lock. The one thing I learned from him. How to pick a damn lock. He also taught me how to hold back my feelings. But now that he’s gone, I can let them out freely like a flock of doves being let out of a bird cage.

I feel bad for yelling at Grant. Especially after the funeral. But I had to let it out. I had to tell him something that had been bugging me for a year. The person that had changed so much over that year. The person I considered a best friend who had quickly turned into a peer.

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they thells she shells by the he whore

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remembering the time i drunkenly told a stranger i was a trans man and he started going off about alpha sigma and beta males and how each one was equally important no matter what anyone says and that i shouldn't feel pressured to be a strong alpha male because emotionally intelligent beta males were just as important

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new trend called 'heavenmaxxing' basically where you be really kind to others and help little old ladies cross the road & stuff

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when i grow up i wanna be that green blob from the xbox boot animation

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do not forget the patron saint of these weeks that we celebrate ourselves proudly and openly in the streets

her name was Marsha P Johnson, and we have her to thank for so much.

remember, the first Pride was a riot, and she was one of the brave souls who endured it to help carve the path which so many of us walk today. she helped found several activist groups regarding LGBT safety and wellbeing. and she was absolutely radiant, too.

thank you, Marsha. we remember you.

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men will tell you "i experimented in college" and then you don't know whether they smoked weed, kissed men, or built an 8 foot tall monster in the comfort of their dorm