#snarchie

[ask-gangreen-snake]

happy valentines gay

[ask-gangreen-snake]

time travelin' in the 80's

[ask-gangreen-snake]

Writing prompt: leather

Rick’s jacket may be Snake’s favorite thing in the world. A hefty statement, they know, especially considering the affinity Snake already has for loving clothing items (they grew up a poor homeless kid, sue them for being materialistic). 

Even so, among all of Snake’s pretty velvet tops, baggy tee’s and jean skirts and leggings and the like, Rick’s jacket has got to be ranked number one. It’s soft, in a way that no jacket Snake’s ever had can compare, and the cold shock of a stud or a spike or button that stand out sharply against the smooth surface doesn’t startle them the way sudden sensory changes are wont to do. 

It’s much too big for them, hanging low on their hips and longer on their arms, broad in places they are most definitely narrow, but they steal it anyway when Rick’s not looking (he always knows, but there’s a peculiar look in his eye when he catches Snake with his prized jacket on, never angry, but soft, nostalgic). The jacket sits heavy, but slick on the inside from its silky lining. It’s like a coat of armor with its chains and patches, and Snake imagines that Rick feels strong when he wears it. 

They try to feel strong when they wear it, too. It’s hard though. If the albeit lessening stigma of being a ghastly (cute, Rick and Archie say, cute) shade of lime-green isn’t enough, the stigma of being trans can crush them sometimes. Crush them in ways that even the comforting, thick weight of Rick’s jacket can’t protect them from.

That’s alright though, because when Snake comes home after a day like that, beaten down, cold and tired and done, Rick is there to be their coat of armor for them. 

[ask-gangreen-snake]

Writing prompt: smoke

Every time Archie exhales a drag from his cigarette, Snake is overtaken by a part of himself that’s too scared, too beaten-down and wary and jaded to say is love, but knows is love anyway. 

He thinks that Archie might be artwork, and that he is the kind of thing people would go to museums to admire. Snake has really never understood the idea of museums and the enjoyment of art. He thinks he understands now, as he rests his head in a manicured hand, and his elbow on the railing of the back stairwell of his apartment building. 

Archie has somehow managed to scale the railing in those big, clunky, duct-taped boots of his and perch himself effortlessly on said railing, without plummeting the six stories to his death. At least he’s got his feet hooked in the vertical bars, slightly calming the frantic beating of Snake’s heart. 

He quickly becomes distracted again as Archie exhales once more. They really shouldn’t be lighting up inside, but the fire alarms stopped working last September around his birthday and Snake doesn’t think they’re getting replaced anytime soon. 

Gaseous silk exits Archie’s mouth and nose, he’s always been able to release his cig drags through his nose, even though his makes Snake sneeze something fierce. The murky grey curls around Archie’s septum piercing, sways in the subtle wind of the stairwell’s open window into his (for once) let down hair, twisting itself into the neon green relaxed curls it finds there.

It’s almost as if it dances with him. Each puff elegant and whimsical, flirtatious and cunning. Archie’s eyes never water when it finds its way into his lashes, and Snake only now notices that Archie’s down to his last drag of the cigarette. He’s almost sad. It feels like saying goodbye to a friend. 

He feels much better when Archie turns his head, flicking the burnt down butt out the open window into the snow below and expertly shakes another bogie out of his pack. American Spirits, the strong kind. Ironic, for a British man. Snake is shaken out of his daydreaming when his boyfriend gives him a lecherous grin, as if he knows how whipped Snake is for him. He offers the cigarette to the other, and holds out a white lighter- notoriously bad luck, and Snake loves it.

“Wanna get lit, sugar?”

[ask-gangreen-snake]

snake: hits a bong at a new years party

archie & rick:

[ask-gangreen-snake]

//snarchie scott pilgrim au i totally ripped off from @maconeggmcbuffin

[ask-gangreen-snake]

found a familiar faccce at the bar tonight

[ask-gangreen-snake]

Snake is already asleep, bundled in a blanket and sweater- he gets cold so easily- between his two boyfriends. Archie smacks a happy kiss on his cheek and Rick curls his arm around his shoulders a little more snugly. Killer, who'd largely comforted Snake through his breakdown, pads up and noses his way under the blanket the three of them are snuggled under and curls up to sleep as well.

(magic!anon: can't sleep 10/10)