#frosty form a coherent sentence challenge go

[frostyget]

I want to yap about (yet again) Sabine’s hands.

cw(?)

This is purely a head cannon but an also reasonable assumption considering her work and seemingly lack of care for herself.

Viper’s scarred hands; chemical burn scars vary in appearance/severity depending on the strength of the chemical, how long it was in contact with the skin, and the depth of the burn. Viper however, works with toxins and both lethal and corrosive chemicals such as (educated assumption) sulfuric acid, hydrochloric acid, and nitric acid, or even bases like sodium hydroxide that could and will scar her hands from exposure. H₂SO₄ (used for chemical synthesis is Sabine’s likely case), HCl (chemical application/production of chlorides), and HNO₃ (key in explosives, other production ect.) are known for their corrosive properties and can cause severe burns upon contact with skin. They’re all chemicals Viper very likely uses in a multitude of experiments every day, not to mention the hundreds of other chemicals used.

Now does she exactly care about being scarred and having physical exposure to such things? I hate to say it but probably not.

Scarring on her fingers, palms and hands, wrists, even forearms are very very likely, and as someone who works with chemicals and has slipped up or had things knocked over, exposure and scarring happens. Am I implying the possibility of exposure being intentional is some very rare cases? Yeah absolutely that woman is not stable in any way. But aside from that fact, once again simply head cannoning, she most definitely has scarring, it’s impossible she doesn’t after decades of working with chemicals in both Kingdom and Valorant.

[sunsetinmyvein]

Stay Frosty - Trick or Pete 2018

A/N: Hey, happy Halloween guys! I hope you’re all out there enjoying your day/night/whatever. We’re gonna do something a little different this week because I wrote a thing for the Trick or Pete collection over on AO3! (Which is here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/trickorpete2018) Heaps of people have written Halloween inspired Peterick fics that will gradually be added to this collection over the course of Halloween. It closes when Halloween is over in Honolulu, so check back once it’s closed because there will be heaps of stuff up there to be read! Feel free to give kudos/comments/nice messages to all the writers you love. 

Anyway. This was heavily inspired by the sheer level of “Get the fuck off me” in this image: https://78.media.tumblr.com/a240439fc26828dbdc648323afd5f5d9/tumblr_mi18zbqKBs1qblwcwo1_1280.jpg

Mid-July 2006

“What do you mean you only have one bunny suit and it’s already booked out?” Pete asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry, sir,” The cashier behind the counter said automatically. He could see that she very much didn’t want to be having this conversation when Halloween was still three months away. But he did want to be having it, so they’d be having the damn conversation. “It’s been reserved for that night.”

He took in a deep breath, trying to steady his hands that were gripping the edge of the counter. His knuckles had gone white in his attempt to not pick up the nearest object and hurl it across the room. “By who?”

“That’s confidential information, sir.”

“By who?” He repeated, trying to keep from shouting. She only gave him an indifferent stare in return. After a few seconds of glaring, his anger boiled over. “Fine. FINE! I will find some other costume shop that will help me.”

“Not a problem. Have a nice afternoon.” She called out after him as he stormed away from the desk.

“Get fucked.” He growled, kicking over a hat rack on his way out.

 Two Weeks Earlier

“So he doesn’t actually have different coloured eyes, it’s just an illusion because he has an issue with his pupils.” Patrick finished. After someone had mentioned in passing that they liked ‘that one guy who sang that one song’ and it turned out to be David Bowie, he had spent the last half an hour going over just about every Bowie fact he knew.

“Ughhhhh” Joe groaned, his head hitting the table in front of them with a resounding thunk.

“And-”

“Stop, Patrick.” Andy said, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder reassuringly. “I think we’ve heard enough for now.”

“But, you guys don’t want to-” Before he could even finish his sentence, the table of friends around him erupted in a chorus of ‘no’s.

“Honestly, ‘Trick,” Pete started, laughing to himself like he knew some inside joke that nobody else at the table had the privilege of sharing. “I don’t think you could go a week without trying to lord your music knowledge over someone.”

Patrick frowned up at him, feeling as though those words contained a lot more underlying bite to them than what everyone else heard. “Fuck you, Pete.” He spat back. “Just because you can’t appreciate good music doesn’t make me a music snob.”

 Pete stared at the shorter man sitting across from him. He could feel the competitive tension growing between them, but nobody else seemed to take notice in the shift in atmosphere around them. A part of him wanted to keep taunting the kid, but he knew that would only result in a black eye tomorrow. A better solution would be for him to put his money where his mouth is.

“I bet you couldn’t go a whole week without correcting someone on music.” He challenged, trying to fight the smile that wanted to plaster itself across his face.

“A week?” Patrick scoffed. “Easy. I could go a month.”

Pete shrugged. “I’ll settle for a week, know-it-all.”

The singer glared at him, wanting nothing more than to lean across the table and knock the self-satisfied look off of his face. He had punched Pete for less in the past. “You’re on.” He said with a firm nod. Pete held his hand out across the table, waiting for Patrick to shake it to seal the deal. Without thinking about it, he took Pete’s hand and shook it once.

 As soon as Patrick had walked away from the table to get another drink, Pete grabbed a napkin the seemed (mostly) clean and pulled his pen out of his pocket. Within minutes it was filled with lines and lines of writing and dot points.

“What are you doing?” Joe asked, leaning over the table to look at what Pete was scrawling onto the napkin on the table.

“Working out what Patrick will have to do when he loses.” He answered.

“He didn’t set terms?” He asked in surprise. Pete shook his head as he continued to write. “You really think he’s going to lose the bet?” Joe asked with an eyebrow raised as he sat back in his chair. “He’s pretty stubborn.”

Pete started laughing loud enough to get the attention of the guy behind the bar. “Oh, he’s going to lose the bet.”

 Mid-July 2006

Patrick lost the bet within two days. He had tried to excuse himself (“Well I couldn’t just let them get away with saying that The Beatles did more work than Prince to get where they were. I wish I could write as many songs as he has”), but Pete’s terms were clear. He couldn’t allow someone to be wrong about music, so he lost. It was at this point that Patrick realised that they had never set a condition for what happened in the event that he did fuck up. Unfortunately for him, Pete had already run through almost every embarrassing thing in the book that he could think of to do to the poor boy. But what he had settled on, much to Patrick’s displeasure, was choosing his Halloween costume and activities. Patrick wasn’t a fan of Halloween at the best of times so having someone force him into something he knew he would hate was already setting him up for failure. But nobody, nobody, could love Halloween as much as Pete. It was his favourite month of the year and he’d been forming ideas since last Halloween. Patrick had complained to no end that Halloween wasn’t for months yet and to just get the bet over and done with, but Pete’s mind was made up.

 He’d spent the past two weeks trying to find the perfect costume to shove his bandmate into, but every idea he came up with seemed to leave him empty handed and back at the drawing board. The costume shop he’d just left had already dealt with his anger twice this week, but it was only getting worse as he continued to be denied his requests. He figured maybe it was time to call in some backup.

“Joe, do you know any costume shops?” He’d asked into the receiver of his phone as his shoulder pressed it up into his ear.

“Is this about the bet?” Joe’s voice crackled down the line.

“Do you know any or not?” Pete huffed as he continued rifling through his closet to see if he had anything stashed away that might suit.

“Did you try the one over on Fullerton?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been there twice already.” He sighed. “I don’t think I should go back.” He added under his breath.

Joe let out a long groan and Pete could hear the indifference in his voice. “There’s this really good one over on Belmont, but my girlfriend keeps talking about this one on Irving Park, Scary Terry’s or something. Could be worth checking it out.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Don’t make him wear anything-” Pete hung up the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket before Joe could finish.

 Halloween 2006

After a few more attempts, Pete found the ideal costume to shove his guitarist into that hadn’t already been booked out. He was rather proud of his efforts. The weeks passed and the holiday rolled around a lot quicker than Patrick had anticipated. The familiar feeling of fall started to fill the air, decorations slowly started appearing on houses and then all of a sudden pumpkins were on every doorstep. Patrick had been ordered to be at Pete’s place at 4pm sharp on the night (a bold request from someone who was always late), and he begrudgingly forced himself to step into his excuse of an apartment. As he made his way through the door, he was met with Pete’s shit-eating grin sitting on the recliner that had been pulled over to face the entry.

“Happy Halloween.” Pete said, trying his best to maintain composure of the serious master-planner that he saw himself as.

Patrick rolled his eyes with a groan. “Get it over with. Where’s the costume?”

“In my room.” He said with a wink. Patrick only groaned louder, walking past him to his bedroom and punching him as hard as he could in the shoulder on the way.

 A few struggled minutes and grunts later, Patrick came stumbling out of the bedroom in a fluffy, white llama suit. “Pete, why the fuck am I in this-” Patricks sentence was cut short as he came face to face with Pete’s Halloween costume. His eyes nearly bulged out of his skull and his jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of Pete’s matching purple llama suit.

“They were out of bunnies and unicorns.” Pete shrugged as he pulled on his fluffy mittens, answering the half-finished question. Patrick now noticed that he had apparently walked straight past the two llama suit heads sitting neatly by the front door in his rush to get his embarrassment over with.

“Why are we matching?” Patrick asked as his voice cracked from the anger suddenly building in his chest. He could deal with wearing a stupid costume, but being with Pete while they were both in stupid costumes? That was out of the question. And he hadn’t even revealed what they were meant to be doing tonight yet.

“Well I couldn’t let you look stupid alone.” The shit-eating grin was back, and Patrick wanted nothing more than to knock out Pete’s teeth so that he’d never have to see it again. But instead of busting up his knuckles, he let out a loud shout, unable to put his hatred for this moment into coherent words. Pete’s smile faltered for a moment, but it only came back with a more malicious hint to it as he added. “You lost, remember?”

“I know! I know I lost!” He yelled.

 Patrick spent a while pacing Pete’s lounge room and muttering to himself angrily, but eventually he calmed down. He knew that the sooner they did this, the sooner he could get out of the suit and go home to pretend this never happened. And at least the head of the suit would hide his face so that he could pretend he was someone else.

“So…” He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to keep his newly formed headache at bay. “What are we doing?” He asked the man who was now lying across his couch and waiting surprisingly patiently.

“We’re going trick or treating.” He answered, glancing up from his phone. Patrick went to start another half an hour of objections, but then he figured that out of everything that they could be doing tonight, this was probably the least likely to result in him destroying what little reputation he had. He may not even run into anyone he knew while trick or treating, even if they were definitely far too old to be collecting candy.

“Okay…” He sighed. “Okay, let’s go.”

Pete’s smile returned as he jumped up from the couch and grabbed his llama head. He stopped for a moment though to turn and admire his handiwork. “You make a cute llama” He said as he ruffled the shorter man’s hair.

“Fucking get off me.” Patrick barked as he slapped Pete’s hand away. He tried to glare at him with as much menace as he could muster, but it was hard to make it come across as intended when he was dressed as a llama. There was nothing in their bet to say that he couldn’t murder Pete for being the worst human being in the world, and if he kept going the way he was, that event was imminent.

 Pete gave them a ride to the neighbourhood that they were to go trick or treating in. He said he knew one of the best streets in Chicago to hit, which was nearly a half hour drive away. But at least they didn’t have to walk. Which Patrick was very grateful for because the full body suits got very sweaty very quickly. Pete had bought them pumpkin shaped candy buckets for collecting their haul which just put the bow on top of the whole awful experience. The first few houses they went to were fine, they got some odd stares but Pete seemed happy to stay silent while people dished out their candy to them. Their fifth house along the run though was a different story. Not three seconds after knocking on the door, a little old lady pulled it open. She had a pleasant smile on her face until her gaze was drawn up to the two fully grown men standing on her doorstop.

“You’re some very large... children.” She noted as she pushed her glasses up along the bridge of her nose. The duo didn’t say anything, instead just shoving their buckets towards her. Pete had to bite his tongue to not laugh every time she made contact with the llama eyes and not his own through the hole in the suit. She hesitated for a moment before giving them each a single piece of candy. They both nodded as thanks before headed back down her driveway. Even as they walked away she still watched them with an odd sense of curiosity.

 They continued along the street, hitting house after house and getting heavier and heavier buckets. Patrick had no idea what he was going to do with all of this sugar. His childhood dreams of demolishing it all in one night were long gone, and most of it he didn’t like anymore. They were about to ring the doorbell of the second last house on the street but the door was pulled open before they got the change. They were suddenly met by a guy grinning at them with a knowing smile. He looked oddly familiar.

“Pete!” He exclaimed, pulling the purple llama into a hug. “And Patriiiiiick.” Patrick could hear the alcohol entering into his voice, and he could definitely smell it as he was also pulled into a hug. It was at this point that Patrick heard the music coming from the backyard and saw all the people crowding the house. This was a party. “I’m so glad you guys came!”

Patrick’s mind raced for a moment before he turned to Pete. “You fucking knew this was here!” He growled. Pete didn’t say anything and only walked into the house. Patrick grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “You dragged me to a fucking party with people we know at it.” He continued through gritted teeth.  

“What’s Halloween without a party?” He asked. Patrick knew without even having to look that he was beaming with excitement. This is exactly the kind of thing that Pete liked to do for Halloween. Patrick on the other hand preferred to have a quiet night inside, ignoring the children at his door and watching b-grade horror movies. “C’mon, ‘Trick,” Pete started as he went to wrap an arm around him.

“Fuck right off.” Patrick spat, giving Pete the finger over his shoulder as he walked away into the back of the house. But it didn’t really translate through the fluffy llama mittens.

 Patrick spent his time at the party trying to avoid people. If nobody saw him there, or at least if nobody knew it was him in the suit, they could never bring it up to him later. But he especially tried to steer clear of Pete at all costs. He could deal with the embarrassment if people recognised him, but if they were seen together he might just curl up and die. Certainly if he didn’t spontaneously combust from humiliation on the spot, he could never been seen in Chicago again. He would need to start a new life in Iceland. When he was certain that Pete wasn’t in the kitchen, he made quick trips to the fridge to soothe his mortified nerves with alcohol. He was satisfyingly tipsy after a few hours when he made the mistake of venturing into the backyard, only to bump into his counterpart on the way.

“Patrick!” Pete shouted at the top of his lungs. Great, everyone knew who he was now. He briskly darted back inside and started heading for the front door. He would find a way home. He’d hitchhike with a questionable trucker for all he cared at this point. “Patrick, hey! Wait up!”

“I’m done! I did what you wanted.” He called back, pushing through the front door. Before he could get out of the front yard, Pete tackled him to the ground, knocking the wind out of his lungs and both of their llama heads to the ground. “Get off me!” He wheezed.

“No! We’ve gotta be matching.” He sung. He was obviously drunk. Why couldn’t he have been drunk enough to not remember he dragged Patrick here? Or at least drunk enough to be asleep on someone’s couch. He started stroking the fur on Patrick’s arm and making weird humming noises.

“Get the fuck off me.” He repeated as he attempted to jab a knee into Pete’s groin. He assumed he must’ve missed because he certainly didn’t get the reaction he wanted.

“But you’re so soft.” He mumbled as he pressed his face into Patrick’s costume.

“Stop it, you asshole.” He said as he pushed himself up, and Pete off, to drag himself to his feet.

 Pete lay on the grass for a few drunken moments before realising that Patrick had already walked away. He quickly hauled himself up, waiting a moment for his head to stop spinning before starting down the street in the direction he assumed he would’ve gone, leaving their llama heads on the damp grass. It took a solid fifteen minutes to spot the fluffy llama sticking out like a sore thumb on a swing set in a park. Pete walked over to him, taking the swing next to him without saying a word. He was beginning to think that maybe he had pushed Patrick too far. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the wind rustling the trees around them and the swings quietly squeaking under their weight. Patrick eventually felt the burning need to speak up, refusing to let Pete continue to ruin their night with any more of his stupid ideas.

“You’re such an ass sometimes.” He said, scuffing his stupid slippers on the asphalt.

“I’m sorry. I just thought the costumes would be a cute couple thing” Pete admitted with a shrug.

“We’ve only been dating for a few months-”

“Four.” Pete corrected.

“Four months. Are we really up to tha- this?” Patrick asked, gesturing down to his fluffy suit.

“Halloween is my favourite holiday; of course I wanna look stupid with you.” He said, pushing himself sideways to bump his shoulder into Patricks. The guitarist let out a quiet laugh, the first happy noise he’d made all night.

“Why llamas?” He asked.

“I dunno. I just think they have a lot of potential.” Pete said. Patrick erupted into full blown laughter at that. Of course it was one of Pete’s hare-brained schemes.

 Part of Pete was happy not to go back to the party, to just spend their night sitting here and enjoying each other’s company. But he had promised that he would help pull a few Halloween themed pranks throughout the night.

“We should head back. You can take the suit off if you want.” Pete said. “I’ve got a change of clothes for you in the car.”

“No, it… it’s okay.” Patrick said with a soft nod, a smile slowly starting to form on his face.

“Sorry again for making a bet with you that you obviously couldn’t win.” He said with a wink. Patrick leaned over and punched him in the arm. “But you can school me in music knowledge anytime, ‘Trick.” He laughed as he kissed him on the cheek.

“Good, because you’re wrong a lot.” Patrick’s words seemed a lot less harsh with the blush that painted his cheeks.

“Hey! It’s not my fault the NeverEnding Story soundtrack is better than Batman.” He added with a shrug, a devious smirk playing on his lips. Patrick took a moment to process the words Pete had just blasphemously spewed into the darkness. He stared at him in bewilderment as he rose to his feet and started to head back in the direction of the party.

“You can’t say that.” He scoffed, not entirely certain if Pete meant what he said or not.

“I just did.” He called over his shoulder.

“No, that’s actually-” He only continued walking away. “Pete – Batman has a way better soundtrack.” His explanations fell on deaf ears. “It’s just fact. No, for real, Pete.” He scrambled to his feet, starting to run after the bassist. “Pete! Come back! We need to talk about this!”