caseywond3r

I made this out of the rage I felt from seeing transphobic, butchphobic and enbyphobic comments in my tl.

Being a lesbian is part of my identity too and I refuse to let other people tell me I am not a lesbian just because I don't fit their binary perception of things. It's so sad to see other lesbians shitting on butches and gender non-conforming or non-binary lesbians.

But hey, we are here and we're not going anywhere, I am not going anywhere. I've always been a loud lesbian and I'll always be.

she also goes limp like a dead thing when I pick her. very boneless animal

“Chopping carrots with Ilya,” Shane sings under his breath. “Making salad with Ilya.”

Yuna smiles softly from the dining room. This is one of her favorite things about her son. From the time he could (barely) talk, he made up little songs about anything and everything. The first time he’d done it, he’d been strapped into his car seat and watching cars go by. When he’d caught Yuna’s eye in the rear view mirror, he’d smiled with all 8 of his little teeth and waved.

“Dwiving,” he’d sung, all of 18 months old and barely able to say the word properly. “Dwivin’ wi’ Mama. Wuv Mama.”

Yuna’s not sure if it’s Shane’s way of processing the world around him, just A Thing some people do, or something special about her baby boy. All she knows is that from the first time he’d made up a little tune about Driving With Mama, everything turned into a song. When he’s comfortable and feeling at ease, Shane turns little things around him into music.

Learning to tie his shoes? “Daddy’s teaching me to tie my shoes. One lace over the other. Make the bunny ears!”

Gearing up for practice when he was 8? “Going to practice. Gonna be great. Gonna score a goal!”

Studying for a science test? “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. Everyone says it because it’s true. Moving on—organelles and cell walls.”

Gearing up for his first Metros game as captain? “Taping my hockey stick. Going out on the ice. Gonna kick some ass.”

It’s something so uniquely, adorably, perfectly Shane.

Today, though? As Shane’s in the kitchen preparing a salad for lunch? For the first time, someone else sings along. For the first time in Shane’s life, someone hears the tune and lyrics that only exist in his head and joins in.

“Making salad with Shane,” Ilya croons along, hooking his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulder and wrapping strong arms around his waist. “Preparing lunch with my love.”

Shane smiles and sings back as Ilya nuzzles his neck. “Being domestic with my boyfriend. Thinking of boring things we can do together.”

Ilya laughs and kisses his ear before finishing the song. “I love to be boring with yooouuuu.”

Shane pauses on the other line, breath catching as he holds back overwhelming emotion.

“Mom,” he croaks. “I…fuck.”

Yuna stays calm. She mentally takes stock of the situation. Ilya’s fine—he just texted her, a few seconds before Shane called, to warn her of the incoming storm. David’s fine—he’s sitting right next to her, confused and alarmed as their son has some manner of episode on the phone. She’s fine. So what’s—

“—wi’ Dada!”

…oh. Oh.

It’s soft at first, but picking up in volume. Tiny pit-pats in the background accompany the most beautiful little voice Yuna’s heard since Shane made up his first song, Driving With Mama, from his car seat all those years ago.

“Eating,” the little voice sings in the background. It’s garbled by what Yuna assumes are half-chewed remnants of an afternoon snack; probably organic peanut butter on apple slices. “Eating wi’ Dada. Eating wi’ Papa. Dada on phone! Who on phone, Dada?”

There’s wet laughter in the background, further from the phone. “Oh God, Shane. It’s genetic. She’s a little you!”

More tearful laughter, this time from Shane. “That’s not—she’s adopted, Ilya.”

“I don’t care what the papers say. She is you. Listen to her, she is perfect. She must be part you, sweetheart.”

So this guy has been extremely active for around fifteen years, during which he spread these beautiful, high quality pieces all over the country, way over a thousand of his standard signature, and probably thousands more. He did completely batshit stuff like literally spray painting an entire train from top to bottom or leaving his signature at the top of a 600ft tall overpass and this whole time, only five people from his crew know who he really is. To everyone else it's a complete mystery.

And then he dies at the age of 35. A few weeks after his death, his crew shows up at his completely unassuming parents' doorstep, reveals who they are and asks if they can host a memorial exhibition of his art.

I went to the memorial exhibition his friends and family hosted and it was probably one of the most breathtaking experiences I've ever had. The entire art scene of the city showed up. They screened a movie they made out of videos EXUDT shot of himself painting and it was so crowded that not everybody fit into the backyard where the exhibition was.

His mum baked his favourite cake for the exhibition visitors 🥺🥺🥺

EXUDT left his standard signature in every single town/village in the federal state and there was a showcase with a map of the state, surrounded by photos of all signatures which were connected to their location with a thread. I overheard the guy who set that display up asking his friends over and over if it's good and dignified enough to honour his friend. Despite the fact that he increasingly withdrew, this guy was so, so loved by his community.

In the area where I grew up you practically can't go anywhere without seeing his signature. When I take the train to my beloved, I pass by 25 signatures visible from the train alone. On my way from home to my university campus there's 13.

Despite increased police presence in the city center, his crew managed to leave a small memorial painting right at the control hotspot. It reads "EXUDT 4 EVA - DANIEL FOREVER."