social vandalism

High Hues and Fumes (4/20)
  • a/n: happy 4/20, I wholeheartedly believe Pete smokes pot. Summary: Sonny comes clean about his deal with Pete, but it might be too late
    Warning: whoops made it angsty, cannabis mentioned, cursing, inclinations of police brutality annnnnd it’s a rough draft so you know, raw-uneditted shit. 

  • w/c: 2544

The gaseous smells of paint trickled out between small alleyways where apartment building met apartment building. No one could smell it, the sickly chemical scent was buried under the smog of cars, big buildings, pollution but that was New York for those who lived there. New York was a shithole, it spots where people made an effort to look nice. The city rich sprinkled potpourri over the places where the shitstains didn’t stink to much. They glorified the idea of a big city with diverse joys.

Joys only tourists and the rich can benefit from.

It was here where the smog hung low, where the police sat on corners waiting for a slipped up teen, where the chemical spray cans made their mark on walls, where Pete lived his life. Pete’s life had been one bad move after another. He dropped out of school after hanging with the wrong crowd. He was constantly being chased out of stores and chased down by cops. The only place Pete was safe was among his people. No one in this little strip of pavement ratted Pete out. He was one of those ‘harmless’ thugs. Just a little nobody kid that wasn’t going to do much trouble, it would have been too much effort to throw him to the dogs.

All of the bad moves Pete made in life mirror all the right strokes he made with his paint can. He ran his hand over his paint splattered sweats that hung dangerously low on his waist. The top of his boxers exposed, as the elastic squeezed his bony hips. He stared down his next canvas, a dead end alley between two buildings. A huge, unmarked brick wall in a dark, dank dump spot. Perfect.

“Yo.” He spoke without looking back. “Wass’ good, Sunshine.”

“Maaan” Sonny groaned, he had tried to be extra sneaky this time. Sonny swore Pete had ears like a hunting dog but Pete knew he was no hunter. Not on these streets, Pete had ears of a prey animal. He had senses of survival. Sonny felt a blush grace the tops of his freckled face, flustered he turned his hat forward and pulled the brim down. “How did you even know it was me?”

Pete looked over his shoulder, paint can in his hand. He shook the can as he deliberately made Sonny wait for his answer. “I felt you” he smirked, Sonny’s face took on a confused look. He turned back to his wall finding the urge to paint something. Sonny did that to him. Pete meant it, he felt him coming. Sonny filled the room like sunlight. In this dark, damp ghetto Sonny was like…a lotus flower. A budding beautiful thing growing out of muck and mud of shit and poverty. Would it be too cliche for Pete to say Sonny was the best thing that happened to him? Because it was true. Sonny was Pete’s muse. He couldn’t paint a thing without thinking ‘would Sonny like this?’

“You felt me, well did you feel this!” Sonny lunged towards him and roughly pounced on Pete. He forced the guy to stumble a bit, while Sonny took the chance to wrap his arms around him. He hugged him from behind and poked his head over Pete’s shoulder eyeing the wall with only a few streaks of blues over it. “Whatcha paintin’ picasso?”

“Hm dunno yet.” Pete looked over the blues and wonder what they’d be. He didn’t start a thing knowing what he would make. He waited for the wall to call him to, for the paints to speak to him. “What do you see?” He peeked over at Sonny who looked at even random streaks like a Monet painting. Sonny had enough belief to make every tag a piece of work.

“I see a rainbow.”

“…Sonny you’re fucking gay.” Pete chuckled, “you’re welcome~”

“As a matter of factly I’m bisexual. Cuz’ Nina is still hot” Sonny smirked a bit feeling Pete angrily rip Sonny’s arms off him. He started spraying the wall angrily. If his face got any hotter it would have caught fire from the mix of heat and chemical spray. “But I’m in love with this cutie right here.” Sonny slapped Pete’s butt, only getting a grunt in response. “But seriously, man, I see a rainbow…like you got that dark blue–”


“With that other blue–”


“Ok, Pete, I ain’t the artist here, das you boo.” Sonny backed up a bit and watched his boyfriend get to work. Sonny climbed on top of a closed dumpster and watched magic happen. Sonny was in love with his boyfriend’s mind. The way he could look at a wall and a couple of colors then boom, art. He was a creator, like a god. He made something that spoke out of nothing. That mind saw things that weren’t there like a …a magician. Pete was one of those things in the ghetto Sonny called a gem.One of the kids that Sonny knew if he was given half of the shit they deserved, alittle more attention, a little more help, Pete would have been in art school. Pete would have been famous.

At least to Sonny, Pete was somebody. Sonny leaned back against the dumpster and listened to the hissing of the paint cans, the clattering as Pete shuffled between colors. He closed his eyes for a few minutes and slowly he felt a pair of lips against his. “Yo, it’s done.” He moved off the top of Sonny.

“Jesus Pete…” Sonny sat up and looked over the art. It was basically like the starry night painting Sonny had seen once. Except the stars were more like suns, and the colors weren’t muted blues and night colors. They were vivid, hot shades of the rainbow. “…it’s amazing.”

Pete rolled his eyes and began rummaging through his pockets. “You say that about everything I make.”

“Thats cuz’ you’re talented…you’re like…the Banksy of our generation.” Sonny watched as with a small arched eyebrow as Pete placed a small, brown cigarette looking piece between his lips.

“Who?” Pete chuckled, he pulled a lighter right after and lit up his blunt. He could feel Sonny’s wry gaze on him. He puffed a few times, watching his good boy of a boyfriend eye the street watching for the police. “Hey…” He pulled the blunt out of his mouth and wiggled his eyebrow. “Gimme a beso, baby”

“Pete, you’re gonna get caught and you’ll be kissin’ bars soon.” Sonny grunted, though the half lidded gaze Pete gave him undid his conscience. He hopped off the dumpster and stood in front of Pete, his fingers reaching for the blunt. His fingers grabbed nothing, Pete pulled away and took another drag holding the smoke in his mouth. “That’s how it is?” He frowned as Pete smiled with his cheeks puffed up with cannabis fumes. Sonny leaned in and kissed him, his tongue forcing the vault of his mouth to open.

The first thing he tasted was the weed. The taste of the plant smoke hit the back of his taste buds and sent a small cringe to his face. It was bitter, but that was quickly masked by Pete’s taste. His mouth hot from taking hits right from the blunt, it made Sonny only want to kiss him more. Their weed boated tongues lazily battled it out. They exchanged breathy kisses, Pete periodically pulling away to take another drag from the blunt and share more smoke with Sonny.

Weed was only fun if Pete was sharing otherwise Sonny never smoked.

Soon the drug kicked in, and Sonny felt that wave of chill come over him. His senses diluted in some places and heightened in other. He felt a calm and sleep like happiness wash over him. “You’re such a pothead…” Sonny giggled, wrapping his arms around Pete’s neck. He hung there for a moment letting Pete’s body hold him up as he laughed. “Petey~ the pot~ head~”

“I ain’t a pothead, I can stop any time.” Pete smirked, “I’ve got a better drug right here.” He kissed all along Sonny’s neck. “I got a handful of sunshine.”

Sonny felt like Pete’s sun. As if he really was the center of this man’s world. “I love–”

Woop Woop, that was the sound of the police.

“SHIT.” Pete quickly peeled himself off Sonny and started tossing paint cans back into his bag. He should have been faster, he jumped on top of the dumpster and pulled the fire escape ladder down. “Sonny, lets go.”

Sonny was not meant for the streets. Usnavi did a good job keeping Sonny on the straight and narrow most of the time, so running from the police was still one of those ‘frozen in fear’ moments for him. He snapped out of it and started towards the dumpster when he noticed the blunt was on the ground. Pete must have dropped it. In a moment of hurried anxiousness he grabbed the blunt, so there would be no evidence for the cops. He couldn’t risk them trying to run DNA and catching Pete. Not that they would but the cops these days looked less and less like they were on the side of reason and logic. Sonny kept the joint tight in his hand as he scaled the fire escape with Pete. The took it to the rooftop and walked across to the other side ofthe building and shimmied down the other firescape. They did this several times, weaving between buildings, climbing up and down.

No wonder Pete was fit. It wasn’t an easy life. Sonny felt his arms and legs burn like he had ran a marathon. They reached the De La Vega corner store and Pete stopped there. “I better go before your cousin chases me down.”

“Hey…don’t say that, Usnavi he likes you…” Sonny was a terrible liar. Pete didn’t bother fight him, he kissed his boyfriend softly, then playfully flicked the hat off his head. “Bye.”

“See ya, sunshine.”

Pete kept moving like a real life Aladdin. Sonny watched him disappear across the street and up another fire escape. He giggled to himself, slowly backing into the store door.

“Sonny, you’re late.” Usnavi sounded like a broken record. “Pick up a broom and sweep up.”

“K’” Sonny shrugged off his jacket and in a moment he opened his hand the joint fell out of it. Usnavi’s keen eyes didn’t miss a thing that landed on his floor. He walked over and nearly shoved Sonny into the shelves. Slowly be picked up the blunt and could smell it, it was lit not too long ago.

“Sonny what the fuck is this?” Usnavi held out the paper wrapped cannabis to his teenage cousin. “Sonny, what the FUCK IS THIS?” His voice got louder, angrier. Sonny slowly felt fear claw up his throat, nervous fear, he didn’t like being yelled at. No kid did, but Sonny especially. He struggled to find the words so Usnavi’s anger bulldozed him. “Sonny are you fucking nuts? Have you lost your fucking mind? Este maldito muchacho de diablo (This damn fucking kid). Where are you getting this from, hm?”

Sonny froze. Usnavi took a moment for his anger to calm for a second. He had a moment of clarity. He knew Sonny. He knew the boy he helped raise and kept on raising. Sonny didn’t deal, Sonny didn’t buy. Sonny didn’t smoke. Sonny didn’t, who…

“Fuckin’ Pete isn’t it? You’ve been messing around with that low life-”
“Thug ass kid, Sonny he’s a criminal! He tags public buildings and fucking does pot!”
Sonny felt hot angry tears prick at the edges of his eyes, waves of emotion rolled over him but he stood his ground. The tsunami of emotions wouldn’t wash him away. “Pete is an artist! And Pot isn’t that bad…”

“Have you been smoking too?” Usnavi charged, he tried to find signs of being high in Sonny. Red eyes, flushed face…but it was hard to tell. “Sonny, you’re going to school, you’re gonna get yourself fucked up out there. DO YOU KNOW WHAT COPS DO TO KIDS LIKE YOU?” He tossed the blunt in the trash and grabbed Sonny by the shoulders.

Sonny met Usnavi’s glare, but there wasn’t anger anymore. It was pure, unnerving fear.

“Do you know what happens to kids like you? One joint and cops are gonna pick you up, you’ve seen the news. Cops pick up kids like you and next thing you know you’re dead. You try to talk back, you’re dead. Do you understand that? Do you want to DIE on me Sonny?” Usnavi couldn’t, his heart couldn’t take another loss of the family. He couldn’t lose his Sonny. “You stay away from Pete. I swear…Sonny, he’s going to get you killed.”

“Navi’…” Sonny sniffled, his face was hot, the tears rolling down felt like magma against his flushed skin. Of course he knew…and he knew better than to play around with Pete like that. Pete did some stuff but that didn’t define him. This hood didn’t define him! “I can’t…”

Usnavi gave him a hard look, as if he was two seconds away from slapping Sonny. “What?”

“I…” He licked his lips trying to find the right words.

“You what? You think your lame ass friend is more important than your life?”

“No.” He sobbed a bit. Why couldn’t he think straight? Why couldn’t Usnavi back up for a second and not yell. His brain ached and throbbed as he searched every lobe in his brain for an answer.

“No what Sonny? No you think he’s more important, no he’s not a lame ass?” He hissed.

“No..just…no…he…” He hiccuped, his breathing was fast and irregular, his mind was melting he couldn’t find it. All he could say was no. No to all of it, no to this. He wanted to eject right out of his body right now and be somewhere else.

Usnavi pulled away from Sonny, finally giving him a moment of space. He took off his hand and roughly ran his hand through his hair. “…If I see him anywhere near I’m callin him in.” Usnavi wasn’t a snitch. He didn’t believe anyone in the hood was bad, but if some little punk was hell bent on bringing his cousin down…well blood was always thicker than water. He was going to keep Sonny safe even if it came at the expense of another youth.

The tear soaked tea felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard as the reality hit him. Pete wouldn’t stay away. He knew Pete enough, he knew Pete loved him as much as Sonny did him. So he could see it, Usnavi calling him in. Pete would be…No.

The streets would be bare again. Brick canvases would never light up with the life Pete gave them. Empty spray cans wouldn’t dot the corners were Pete had been. Random masterpieces hidden in corners that no one would ever see them wouldn’t be little surprises to the lost passerby or the hiding alley way drunk. No more, ‘hey sunshines’.


“What.” He grumbled half ready to fight Sonny if he tried to test him now. “What is it?”

“Pete…he…I…” He licked his lips a little, “I love him.”

How did people react when Obama and Trump won?

When Obama won:

  • On election night, Ralph Nicoletti, Michael Contreras, and Brian Carranza committed four racially-motivated crimes. They attacked one black man, pushed another, and verbally assaulted a Hispanic. They even hit a white man with a car, incorrectly believing that he was black.
  • There were relatively few protests
  • There were many reports of anti-black vandalism

When Trump won:

  • Protests started nearly immediately and lasted for days. 
  • People:
    • blocked roads
    • smashed windows
    • looted businesses
    • sprayed graffiti
    • damaged cars
    • burned American flags
    • fought against the police
    • threw bottles, Molotov cocktails, rocks, and firecrackers
    • and injured others
  • The hashtag #NotMyPresident became popular on social media.
  • People began to fabricate hate crimes in order to make Trump supporters look bad.
  • Students protested Trump’s victory by not attending their classes. Some universities even provided ‘safe spaces’ for students. 
  • While yelling “you voted for Trump!”, five people beat a 50-year-old man at an intersection. The man’s car was stolen by one of the attackers. It was not classified as a hate crime.
  • And most recently (and, in my opinion, the most disturbing of all), four black people kidnapped an 18-year-old with special needs. They tied him up, put duct tape on his mouth, cut his clothes, cut his scalp, beat him, and forced him to drink toilet water. Other acts against him may have been committed: he was believed to have been kept hostage for at least 24 hours.
Dragon Fears Headcanon

Some probable fears or phobias your dragons can have. No skydancers because still no lore >:C  Please be considerate of others when you make comments since people may have similar fears. Hardest ones to think of were for coatls, ridgebacks and wildclaws. Some are repeats because I feel they could apply to several species/breeds. Feel free to make your own additions!

Coatl: dullening of feathers, illness, death, feather loss, misfortune, cold

Fae: heights, being crushed, being misunderstood, isolation, loss of magic, being eaten

Guardian: loneliness (not being able to find their charge), hurting a friend, inability to protect their charge, mortality (of both self and charge), dishonor, treachery, failure, betrayal

Imperial: Death/improper burial/emperors/even of other imperials, enclosed spaces, imperfection, disappointment, being replaced, heights-aerial attack “vulnerable in aerial combat”,  darkness

Mirror: weakness (incapable of keeping up with the pack, being a burden), illness, age, starvation, isolation/being left alone or away from own kind, heights

Nocturne:  loss of hearing, isolation/solitude/loneliness, being stuck in an eternal feedback loop, not knowing their true-self,  open spaces, physical confrontations, insanity, light/brightness

Pearlcatcher: loss or breaking of pearl and horn, imperfection/being 2nd best,  having their whiskers stepped on, social ridicule/isolation-outcasting, vandalism of lair or art, physical confrontations,  exposure of secrets, betrayal, darkness, pain

Ridgeback: water/drowning, loss of wealth, starvation, spine loss/breaking or inability to grow a male nose horn, itching, hurting a friend in battle, cave-in, rejection

Snapper: memory loss, ignorance, immobility (gembond?), sleep, enclosed spaces, being on their back, being lost, being forgotten, physical confrontations, change, commitment

Spiral: immobility/being trapped/stuck in a knot, loss of sight, falling, wing tear/broken wing, silence, getting stuck (maybe enclosed spaces despite being a tunneler),  cave-in, rejection, being useless/inability to do something

Tundra: loss of smell, memory loss , knots/matted hair/shedding/hair loss,  fire, betrayal, loss of family/isolation from kin, starvation, physical confrontations

Wildclaw: weakness (inability to provide for clan), illness, age, social ridicule/exclusion, dishonor, destruction of work, failure, loss of eggs or hatchlings/loss of family/isolation, dishonesty

about the yarn bombing - this'll be my last post on it

i grew up with kids who did graffiti - some of my best friends - for a while i did myself but i thought it probs wasn’t my medium because of all the fumes and how i can’t run from the cops for too long without having a coughing fit. still now yearly somebody we all know has a run in with the pigs, maybe gets roughed up, definitely gets run in, faces fines, charges, community service, some people jail time. ive seen ppl yarn bombing in my neighborhood in the middle of the goddamn day on the main strip. everybody all smiling and waving and shit, like “oh hey, wow that’s so nifty you made a tea cosy for where a bike sits at! how quirky, that’s just what this neighborhood needs!” it’s socially condoned graffiti which should be an oxymoron. graffiti is protest, not sweaters for trees.

we had to look at that shit for a few months before we burnt it off one night. judging by the amount of support i’m getting in messages and re-blogs that act of burning the yarn was a WAY BETTER art piece than that rained on rainbow sod to some people. it definitely was too us. it was our neighborhood too and that was literally one street across from my house, right outside the cafe we frequented, where i washed dishes at.

acting super upset cause another kid fucked up yr old ass piece just goes to show how disconnected yarn bombing is from graffiti. maybe before you put your shit in the street you should accept how sort lived & transient that art could end up being. “oh no someobdy ruined that thing i left in the street for months :( :( :(” is that how the logic goes?

we burnt the yarn on concrete a safe distance from all other flammable objects in the area. it was a steel spiral bike rack with no bikes attached. within a few weeks they had restored the bike rack’s horrible soon to be mouldy dinner jacket. honestly these ppl do it to the BODIES OF TREES in my neighborhood. you start taking away my cities trees, i eat a pizza while my friends burn you down. :)

it’s not like it was some massive protest we had been working up, we got onto the subject and a friend of mine said she just wished she could burn it and then we realized it would be safe in that spot to do so, so we did and had a great time.

let’s not pretend this isn’t the socially acceptable way to “vandalize” yr neighborhood. let’s not pretend it doesn’t relate to class and race (see: Knitta! Please, ugh). let’s not pretend rainbow yarn fire in the night isn’t the light by which we all hope to party.


i wrote this cause i have a hard time not engaging questions sincerely - it just wears me down after a while, lol. it was fun to be a silent selfie brat for a few days. thanks to my supporters - thanks for all the nice messages. 

p.s. no more anon, if you wanna talk to me about this write me properly and with transparency. <3 <3