#everything about Yak has boxing gloves | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tysonrunningfox · 5 years ago

Text

Ripped: Christmas Special

It’s the Ripped Christmas Special! Where Ripped is during Christmas. It’s...wow they’re them all the time

Ao3

“We could have ordered a tree online, you know,” Snotlout huffs, readjusting his grip around the freshly cut trunk of the seven-foot Fraser fir between them, his breath a puff of steam in the alley air. Someone opens their back door to throw a bag of trash into a dumpster and he jumps.

Hiccup rolls his eyes, “then we wouldn’t have gotten to pick it out.”

“Ok, we could have ordered a plastic tree online, since all of those look the same.” He starts walking, making Hiccup stumble backwards and catch himself on an alley wall, brick scraping against his glove. “Let’s get this home before we get murdered.”

“No murderers here,” Hiccup starts shuffling forward again anyway, “or at least I thought you caught them all, detective.”

“You think you can just mention my promotion and I’ll forget you’re a magnet for horrible, murderous luck?”

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugs, sighing when he hears the music accompanying the streetlamp glow introducing itself to the mouth of the alley. “Great, Christmas Carolers.”

“Lugging a giant tree across downtown is fine, but some cold people singing ‘Jingle Bells’ is too much holiday cheer for you. That makes sense.” Snotlout rolls his eyes, relaxing when he emerges onto the well-lit sidewalk half a block down from their front door. One of the carolers looks surprised to see them and Hiccup gives a half-hearted wave before tucking his chin to his chest to hopefully avoid interaction.

“Do you need some help with that?” A man’s voice infused with the probable self-importance of ‘Chief Caroler’ asks and Hiccup shakes his head.

“Nope, we’re almost home, thanks though.”

“Well, any requests for music while you work?”

“Silent night?” Hiccup snips but the intended insult goes over the man’s head as he conducts his jolly group in the first few offkey notes of the song.

Getting the tree up the stairs ends in casualties of a few lower branches and the rest of Snotlout’s patience when Hiccup accidentally props the tree up on his foot, but it’s worth it when he opens the door and sees Astrid’s face light up. Or maybe her face doesn’t light up, maybe it just reflects some of the hundreds of multicolor lights she’s strung around the apartment since he left for work this morning. Either way, it’s worth half an hour of dealing with cold, murder-paranoid Snotlout.

“Can we please get this fire hazard inside already?” Snotlout barks from behind the tree in the hallway and Hiccup barely catches his end as it tips forwards, shedding a shower of pine needles on the floor.

“You got a tree,” Astrid practically bounces over to help, taking Snotlout’s end from him and steering Hiccup to a patch of bare floor by the front window where a plastic tree stand is already sitting.

“I told you I would,” he nudges the tree stand with his toe, “you said you were getting a tree stand, what did you intend to put in it? A bush?”

“Just a second,” Astrid sets the trunk down before kneeling to adjust the tree stand in some way, “I figured since you were walking, it’d be smaller.”

“Snotlout graciously volunteered to help me carry it,” Hiccup gives his cousin the credit he doesn’t deserve as Astrid places the trunk in the stand, absently directing Hiccup to lean the tree this way and that until she deems it perfect and starts screwing it into place.

“Anything for you mom,” Snotlout grins.

“Don’t.” Hiccup narrows his eyes, “not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not this whole visit, ok? Do not.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.” He relaxes only slightly when Eretson appears from Snotlout’s room. Snotlout can’t be too obvious with his boyfriend in the room, right?

Then again, Eretson isn’t wearing his business-like ‘keep his employee-slash-boyfriend under control’ suit or expression. Instead, he’s wearing felt reindeer antlers and a sweater that says ‘Tree-Rex’ under a dinosaur wrapped in little flickering lights.

“There,” Astrid pops up, clapping her hands together and taking a step back to examine the tree.

The fierce light that bloomed in her eyes when he casually mentioned decorating for Christmas in preparation for his mom’s visit only brightens and it’s almost enough that he doesn’t notice her bulky sweater striped with chunky knitted green trees and white reindeer on a fuzzy, well worn red background.

“So Eretson borrowed the getup from you, I see,” he puts his hands on her waist and turns her to face him, earning about as much of her attention as someone distracting Michelangelo from the brick of marble that would become a statue of David.

“Hmm?” She frowns, glancing at Eretson, “no. He just has Christmas spirit, unlike some people.” She looks disparagingly at the plain blue sweater peeking out of his jacket.

“I thought he was going to yell at the carolers outside.” Snotlout greets Eretson with a tip-toed kiss on the cheek and it’s still weird how pleased Eretson manages to look about it.

“Lights, where did I put the lights?” Astrid will not be kept long from her tree and she pats Hiccup’s arm as she steps out of his grip.

“Over here,” Eretson produces another box from a bag on kitchen counter and tosses them to her, “and Hiccup, really, Eret is fine.”

“Right,” Hiccup shakes his head, hanging his jacket up and looking down to make sure that there’s nothing actually wrong with his sweater. Work clothes still feel like a costume more often than not, and while he’s ok with Astrid judging him on lack of Christmas themed patterns, he was hoping to look at least marginally like an adult tonight, “sorry, just habit. I’m not used to being on a first name basis with my lawyer.” His laugh is awkward, hollow, and everyone else rolls their eyes.

“He hasn’t been your lawyer in like eight months, dude,” Snotlout idly takes a price sticker off of the bottom of a golden reindeer that has taken up residence on the coffee table.

“I know,” Hiccup turns back to the tree to hide his blush when he inevitably remembers that Eretson also wasn’t his lawyer last month when he accidentally walked in on him in the shower. Which is good, because that’s definitely breaching some client-lawyer-confidentiality agreement, or something else legal, or something.

So, it’s good their legal involvement was over. For all parties.

“What time’s your mom getting here?” Astrid asks, fussing over making the lights even as they spiral around the tree.

His breath catches briefly as the feeling that this apartment wasn’t ever really home without her hits him again in one of those random, familiar waves that he still can’t make himself get used to. Sometimes she’ll swear over the fire alarm after burning breakfast or he’ll find one of her pristine paperbacks on the coffee table and he’s smacked with overwhelming nostalgia for something he hopes to never, ever have to miss.

“Come here,” he grabs her elbow, itchy wool on his palm only magnifying the feeling of home as he kisses her.

She sighs into it, indulging him with a hand torn briefly away from the tree to rest on his hip as his fingers cup the back of her neck, tangling in soft hair.

“Well, we don’t need this mistletoe then,” Snotlout scoffs and Hiccup registers just enough to flip him off as he pulls away, dropping one last kiss on Astrid’s nose and smiling to himself when it wrinkles.

“Maybe we do,” Eretson puts an arm over Snotlout’s shoulders, “to contain them in one area.”

Astrid glares at the both of them, arms wrapping slowly around Hiccup’s neck as she turns back to him, confusion knitting her brows together, “what were we talking about?”

“I have no idea,” he sets his hands on her waist, “the fact that Christmas carolers in this area are operating on a fraudulent myth that singing songs on the sidewalk has anything to do with the Grimborn investigation during Christmas eighteen-eighty-three?”

“No, that definitely wasn’t it.”

“Because that doesn’t make sense, given that A Christmas Carol was released in eighteen-eighty.”

“Ok, Scrooge.” She rolls her eyes but kisses him again, sweater sleeves rubbing against the side of his neck.

“Was it that itchy wool gives me a rash?” He teases but it doesn’t crack the shell of her recovered concentration.

“No,” she bites her lip and he barely resists the urge to kiss her again, “oh! I forgot to set the yaknog out.”

“Yaknog?” Hiccup and Snotlout ask at the same time and Eretson nods.

“She let me try some earlier, it’s good.”

“It’s to be respected,” she kisses Hiccup on the cheek before letting go and rushing to the fridge to pull out a large glass pitcher filled with cream colored liquid. “But it is delicious.”

“It’s eggnog,” Snotlout says after a first weary sip before taking another and Eretson pats him carefully on the shoulder. “What’s the difference between eggnog and yaknog?”

“The amount of rum I saw disappear into that pitcher,” Eretson says respectfully and Astrid grins, handing Hiccup a glass.

“That’s why Ruffnut named it yaknog,” she explains, “if it is not respected, it will make you yak.”

“It’s good,” Hiccup compliments, even though he can’t say he’s ever been an eggnog fan. Then again, he could be, especially when it makes Astrid smile again, reaching around him to take a package of shiny ornaments off of the counter and hold them up.

“Tree?”

“Sure.” He follows her back across the living room, obediently holding the package open for her to choose the first ornament to anoint the tree.

“The thing that people get wrong about tree decorating is that you have to have a plan,” she instructs, tucking her hair behind her ear and carefully picking a shiny red bauble up by the gold ring at the top of it, like she’s trying not to smudge it.

“You do?” He watches her hang the first ornament as high as she can reach, oversized sweater pulling up barely enough to show the back pockets of her jeans. “What happens if you just hang everything all willy-nilly?” He takes a gold ornament out of the box and hangs it on the other side of the tree at about hip height.

“It ends up unbalanced,” she purses her lips, undoing his decorating attempt and cleaning the smudges off of the ball on her sleeve before putting it back in functionally the same place.

“Wait,” he hands her the box of ornaments, “I’ll be right back.”

“I thought you were going to help,” she complains half-heartedly after him as he disappears into their unusually clean bedroom just long enough to grab the top hat from the bedpost.

“Oh God, the dorky hat,” Snotlout complains, barely distracted from his debate with Eretson on the couch. Hiccup ignores him.

“If you’re going to instruct me in the art of proper Christmas tree decoration,” he sets it on her head and it slips slightly crooked, like it always does, “you need this.”

“Fine,” she hands the box back to him and selects her next ornament, hanging it carefully on the tree.

“What, exactly, would make a Christmas tree unbalanced?” He loves when she takes things too seriously, assigning methods to things he’s always been sure were madness.

“Bare patches,” she shrugs, “uneven distribution of color.”

“Ok, that seems serious,” he jokes, handing her a blue ornament with a grip careful not to smudge and grinning when her warm fingers brush carefully over his, “and what are the consequences of having an unbalanced Christmas tree?”

“Consequences?” She looks up from under the brim of his hat, straightening it when it tips backwards.

“Yeah, what…great harm will befall those dumb enough not to listen to your ancient knowledge of Christmas tree decoration?” He realizes, with a jolt that makes time slow down, what exactly it means that he’s off work until the new year and she’s done with her semester. That’s at least ten days at home with her, ten days around the soon to be perfect tree, ten days with the multicolor lights reflecting in her eyes.

“Bad luck,” she nods solemnly.

“Oof,” he holds the box of ornaments to the side to step closer and whisper, “I should be probably paying attention then, I’ve had enough bad luck this year.”

“Not only bad luck, I hope.”

“Good too,” he assures, kissing her briefly and smiling when she forgets herself enough to press an ornament against his neck as her hand finds his cheek, “lots of good.” He flips Snotlout off again when he groans, then tries to pry the ornament free of Astrid’s grip before she smashes it against his jaw.

“Oh no,” she pulls back all of a sudden, staring from the tree to the counter where bags sit entirely depleted of Christmas decorations.

“What is it?”

“I forgot a star,” she blushes, messing with her hair and almost knocking the hat off of her head, “for the top of the tree.”

“Oh,” he looks around, half wondering if Snotlout would consent to his badge being a shiny tree-topper at least for tonight, before the idea hits him. “If I may…” He plucks the hat off of her head and goes onto lopsided tip toes to set it carefully on the top of the tree. It immediately falls slightly crooked, like it’s on a very rustic hat hook, and he expects Astrid’s too serious lecture about tree balance to start up again, but it doesn’t. “Is that—”

“I love it,” she grins, “you obviously didn’t need tree decorating lessons, you’re a natural.”

“You taught me everything I know,” he puts his hand on his heart to swear it and she rolls her eyes.

“Help me get the rest of these on before—”

A knock at the door cuts her off and she freezes, eyes wide as she tugs at her sweater, shifting half a step back from him. Right. His mom. That’s what she was asking about earlier before she distracted him.

He checks the time right as Snotlout stands up from the couch.

“I’ll get it.”

“No, you won’t,” Hiccup rushes to the door but stumbles, wasting precious time juggling an open box half full of ornaments and ultimately losing the race.

“Good evening, Miss Haddock,” Snotlout greets stepping aside to let Hiccup’s mom through, “may I say that you look particularly lovely this—”

“You may not,” Hiccup cuts him off, setting the box on the arm of the couch and resisting the urge to shove Snotlout out of the way. “Hi Mom.”

“Seeing Spitelout Jorgenson’s son grow up into such a polite young man,” his mom looks at him anxiously for a second and then sets a warm hand on his shoulder, “makes me wonder where I messed up.”

“Hey!” Hiccup laughs anyway and Snotlout holds out an arm.

“Can I take your coat?”

“I’ve got it,” Hiccup steps in, folding his mom’s coat awkwardly over his arm when she hands it to him.

Is he supposed to introduce Astrid now? Or get his mom settled first? Should he have introduced her before he took his mom’s coat? Should he have asked Eretson to take her coat, given that he trusts Eretson not to hit on his mom?

“Oh, Miss Haddock,” Snotlout interrupts Hiccup’s racing thoughts and gestures to Eretson, who looks as composed as any grown man could in a novelty sweater and felt antlers, “I don’t believe you’ve met my boyfriend, Eret.”

“He’s also my lawyer,” Hiccup blurts out, hastily tossing his mom’s coat onto his hat’s old peg on the coat rack. He’s lucky that it doesn’t fall.

He’s never introduced a girlfriend to his mom before, but he is relatively sure he was supposed to do that before introducing his lawyer. Ex-lawyer. Ex-lawyer, occasional victim of accidental shower peeping.

At least he didn’t say that out loud.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Haddock,” Eretson holds his hand out but Hiccup’s mom hugs him instead.

“Valka is fine.” She looks at Snotlout, “for all of you, really.”

“Well, if you insist.” Snotlout laughs how adults do when there’s no real joke, the laugh that Hiccup hasn’t even attempted to master.

“Oh, and Mom?” Hiccup clears his throat, stepping beside Astrid and grabbing her hand in his. He wonders if she can feel him shaking and internally thanks her for not mentioning it. “This is Astrid. My girlfriend. And Astrid, this is my mom. Obviously.”

“Nice to meet you,” Astrid squeezes his hand before letting it go and offering it to Hiccup’s mom. There’s a tense millisecond before she gets a hug too, a little more enthusiastic than Eretson’s, if Hiccup isn’t mistaken, and he breathes a little easier. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Hiccup’s mom laughs, hands on Astrid’s shoulders, “Hiccup has been very tight-lipped about this whole thing—”

“Mom,” he sounds fifteen when he whines, but he can’t seem to hold it back.

“I half thought he’d made you up.”

“Mom.”

“He didn’t even mention how absolutely gorgeous you are.”

��“Oh. Thank you,” Astrid blushes, “can I get you anything? Would you like some yaknog?”

“Sure,” his mom agrees, asking ‘what the hell is yaknog’ with her eyes as she looks back at him. “She really is beautiful—”

“I know,” he cuts her off before Astrid can hear again, fumbling for his own glass of yaknog and toasting in his mom’s direction, “and she makes great eggnog. I mean yaknog. It’s eggnog with a way higher rum quotient, I’m told.”

“Merry Christmas,” his mom responds, humming appreciatively when she tries it.

Snotlout offers suspiciously graciously to get his mom’s bag from the stairwell, and she accepts before sitting down at one end of the couch, by Eretson. Snotlout’s seat is assumed, and that leaves the chair, which Hiccup sits in without thinking. Usually, Astrid would just wedge herself in beside him or make herself comfortable on his lap, but of course she can’t do that now, because his mom is here.

“Oh, sorry, you can have the, um, chair—” He starts to stand up, but she stops him, hand on his shoulder as she perches on the arm, resting her glass of yaknog on her knee.

“So,” his mom leans forward slightly, looking around the apartment like she’s wondering how many of the little changes since she lived here are Astrid’s influence. The answer is most of them, and Hiccup suddenly doesn’t know when he got so old that he didn’t have to ask permission for someone to move in with him. He guesses he asked Snotlout without getting permission, but that’s different. That’s a roommate. “Tell me everything.”

Eretson laughs, shooting Snotlout a knowing look when he comes back inside, arm on the back of the couch like an invitation to snuggle up together and watch the carnage. Sometimes, he’s enough of an ass to deserve the ‘lawyer’ title.

“Everything?” Hiccup clears his throat, “what’s everything? I mean, work is going great. I just got a petition with over ten thousand signatures to save the Grand Hotel from being torn down up to the State Legislature. I might even get to go defend it, which would be good because that’s how I got most of the ten thousand signatures, by promising people that if they signed my form, they’d be forcing me to talk in a very public, uncomfortable court, and I guess I was annoying enough that it’s something literal thousands of people wanted to force me to do.”

He laughs. No one else does. Astrid squeezes his shoulder, half-comfort and half-reminder, and his mom’s eagle eyes snag on the motion.

“You told me about your job on the phone,” she reminds him, “I was referring more to the fact that you’re living with a girlfriend you couldn’t find a minute to send me a picture of.”

“Would you have believed him?” Snotlout snorts, polite mask slipping for a second until Astrid glares at him. “About the job. Of course. I’m shocked you believed that Hiccup got a job. I hardly believed it, it’s really just Astrid being a good influence.”

Eretson and Astrid share a look and he puts a hand on Snotlout’s shoulder, urging him quiet.

“I heard you two met at your old apartment building?” Hiccup’s mom directs the question at Astrid and she freezes, eyebrows raising, “was that before or after the ‘little run-in with the law’ that he told me about?”

“Oh,” Astrid nods, “when you say everything, you mean that much everything.” Her fingernails dig into Hiccup’s shoulder and his grin turns plastic.

He didn’t know how to tell his mother that he got a little bit framed for serial murder, but it’s fine now, so he kind of just omitted the first half of the sentence.

“Is that not how you met?” Having his mom catch him in half a lie in front of his girlfriend is somehow worse than having his mom catch him in an absolute lie in any other circumstance. Unpredictably, it’s worse that he’s an adult, a real adult with a job, who just started using beard oil because isn’t the mark of true adulthood the accumulation of small bottles in the bathroom?

“Do you want to tell it, babe?” Astrid asks, an edge in the pet name, and he sighs.

“I’ll take your lead on this one.”

“Well,” she takes a long drink of her yaknog before continuing, “I’m assuming you know that Hiccup used to do Viggo Grimborn tours.”

His mom nods, “I was hoping to catch one on this trip, actually.”

“I don’t actually do them anymore,” Hiccup shrugs, “but I suppose exceptions could be made.”

“Anyway,” Astrid’s heel knocks against his metal shin as she swings her leg, mysteriously nervous rather than actually mad at him for lying by omission, “I happened to move into an apartment that featured on his tour.”

“So, we did meet at your building, technically.”

“Yeah, but I was in the building, and you were in the courtyard yelling about murder and shining a laser pointer into my bathroom,” she corrects him, voice softening throughout the sentence.

“And you don’t react well to being startled,” he fills in, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “as evidenced by the fact that you threw your toothbrush at my head.”

“Dropped it,” she insists, and he grabs her hand.

“With deadly aim, sure.”

“And I’m assuming you apologized,” Hiccup’s Mom raises her eyebrow and he nods.

“Of course, I sent her a pizza.”

“It didn’t stop you from coming back three times a night,” Astrid teases.

“That explains the ‘run-in’ with the law,” his mom gives him a stern look, like he’s six and his dad caught him elbow deep in the cookie jar, so he’s actually in trouble, “it does leave me a little foggy as to why a seemingly smart girl like you moved in with someone who stalked her.”

Astrid laughs, a little awkward, grip tightening on Hiccup’s hand like he’s her lifeline for once.

“Technically he only stalked my apartment.” She shrugs, “and he’s pretty persuasive. Especially about being harmless.”

“And lucky for him, you’re a huge nerd too,” Snotlout interjects, earning a blushing glare and an admonishing look from Eretson.

“Yeah, lucky for me,” Hiccup agrees, because it is luck that Astrid wasn’t just an undeniably gorgeous and unmistakably violent woman who threw things at him. He doesn’t know how much of his luck he spent for her to be so much more than that, but it’s worth it.

“That’s quite the story,” his mom finishes her yaknog and Astrid gets up to refill it for her, shooting Hiccup a look that he doesn’t quite understand. Almost checking in, almost worried, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because his mom turns to Eretson. “Hiccup said you’re his lawyer, maybe you’re the one to ask about his ‘run-in’ with the law, as he puts it.”

“Well,” Eretson looks almost panicked for a second, before adjusting his antlers and gesturing at Hiccup with the arm not over Snotlout’s shoulders, “given that I’m no longer his lawyer, I’m afraid you’ll have to direct all questions surrounding the dismissed case at my former client.”

Snotlout snickers.

“Is that what you would have said in court?” Hiccup wipes his face, arms itching to pull Astrid into his lap when she sits back down on the arm of the chair, like he could hide behind her where he could pretend he’s not going to have to explain this to his mother. “I’m shocked you didn’t see it on the news, Mom,” he gestures to his face, “it was everywhere, that’s why I ended up growing the beard, I didn’t actually take to fame as well as I thought I would. I’m sure you remember the magic tricks? I used to think I’d love to escape handcuffs on stage, but after I kind of did it, if the twenty-four-seven news racket counts as a stage, I discovered I kind of hated it—”

“I can’t take this anymore,” Snotlout stands up, hands held out like he’s projecting a scene onto a screen between them, “ok, so this really creepy dude infiltrated the police force and framed Hiccup for a bunch of murders—”

“Snotlout!” Astrid tries to stop him, but he waves her off.

“It’s your big meet-Hiccup’s-mom moment, I get you. I’ve got you, she comes out of this story looking…like oh my God, I’m not going to spoil it, just—wait, did you hear I got shot?” He pauses and then reaches for the hem of his shirt.

“Snotlout!” Hiccup snaps, almost knocking Astrid off of the arm of the chair as he jumps halfway to his feet.

“I was just going to show her my scar.”

“She doesn’t want to see your scar,” Hiccup assures him, sitting back down and tugging Astrid with him, his hips notched slightly behind hers so that they can share the chair. She crosses her legs and her ankle slides across his knee, anchoring him for whatever spectacle he’s about to endure.

Eretson has a stupid, bemused expression on his face that Hiccup only recognizes from his own reflection when he happens to be thinking about Astrid, and inviting his mother for Christmas was obviously a mistake.

“I’ll skip to the good part,” Snotlout promises, “Hiccup is in jail, for multiple murders, and Astrid goes to visit him, but of course the bad guy chooses that time to gloat about it, and Astrid—this Astrid, right here, takes her umbrella,” he mimes a wide swing like he’s hitting a home run, “and shatters the creep’s nose. One orbital socket too, I heard from the hospital. I’ve seen the video it’s…”

“Classified,” Eretson interrupts, “that case is still ongoing.”

“It’s awesome,” Snotlout insists, “that’s what it is.”

“It was nothing,” Astrid tries to hold some approximation of a humble expression but then she grins, allowing the compliment, “ok, it was pretty satisfying.”

“Multiple murders,” Hiccup’s mom says slowly, eyebrows raised, and he gives into the urge to hide behind Astrid, chin on her shoulder, arm possessively around her waist as he shoots a glare at Snotlout for revealing that little tidbit of information, “quite the ‘run-in’.”

“That I didn’t, you know, commit.” He mumbles after a too long second, “I was framed.”

It isn’t received as the comforting statement he was going for and he looks up at the lights strung around the window before whispering in Astrid’s ear.

“How do I get the conversation off of murder and back to Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” she flushes, whispering as quietly as possible as the three on the couch engage in halting small talk, “Jonbenet Ramsey?”

Hiccup snorts even though he shouldn’t, burying his nose in her hair to try and hide it. His humor has always skewed dark, and that’s probably why he’s not in a padded room right now, but the last thing he wants to do now is explain how Astrid’s knowledge of true crime beyond Grimborn is not only funny, but also endearing and kind of sexy in a way he can’t contemplate with his mom judging him.

“What was that?” His mom asks and Astrid’s neck warms as her blush travels down it.

“Nothing.” She clears her throat, patting Hiccup’s arm for him to let her up and take all of her warmth and protection with her. “I was about halfway through decorating the tree when you got here, I think I’ll go finish that.”

“Can I help?” His mom offers and while his first instinct is to follow and make sure that everything goes well, Astrid is far more capable of assuring that particular outcome than he is.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Hiccup tries not to watch them. He offers to order a pizza, because of course he didn’t plan for dinner in the rush of getting the tree and he doesn’t think anywhere delivers a whole Christmas goose on such short notice. He tries to focus on his phone or Snotlout and Eretson’s conversation about some law he doesn’t think he’s broken yet, but his entire being still snaps to attention when Astrid makes his mom laugh.

“…not even listening to me, are you?” Snotlout’s voice breaks his concentration as he tries to make sense of the joke or embarrassing story about him or whatever they’re bonding over and he glares at him.

“What?”

“I said ‘you’re not even listening to me, are you?’,” Snotlout scoffs and stands up, walking over to the chair as Eretson migrates closer to the tree, “and then you said ‘what?’, which proved you weren’t—”

“What did I miss?” Hiccup rolls his eyes, “because I heard the whole story where you admitted to my mother that I was wrongly incarcerated for murder. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“No problem, I figured it’d be easier if she heard it from me.” His smile is borderline flirtatious, and Hiccup grinds his teeth.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t give you another reason to thank me?”

“What’s the reason?” Hiccup stands up, returning to the counter to refresh his yaknog, sure that he’s going to need it to cushion whatever Snotlout is about to say.

“I’m doing you a favor—”

“Tell me what the favor is, and I’ll decide if I’m going to thank you for it.” His eyes flick to the tree again when Astrid laughs. She must have stolen Eretson’s antlers at some point and she slaps his hand away when he tries to recover them.

“I think your mom should sleep in my bed.”

“What?” Hiccup snaps, too loud, and everyone looks at him like they’re nervous to even attempt to understand the size and scale of whatever his problem is.

“Is everything ok?” Astrid cocks her head and he nods back at her, tight lipped and sloshing yaknog on the front of his apparently inadequate blue sweater when he tries to wave her off.

“Fine. Good. I just need to talk to Snotlout outside for a second. Alone. Where no one can hear him scream—”

“Scream?” Eretson asks but Snotlout brushes him off, following a little too willingly when Hiccup drags him out into the stairwell.

“I asked you to stop with the hitting on my mom jokes for one day,” he hisses out on the sidewalk, glaring at the carolers who have managed to move all of a block down the frigid sidewalk, even as the slow falling snow should have convinced them to head home by now, “for Astrid to meet her, because it’s a big deal—”

“It’s not a joke—”

“Sometimes, I wish I’d gotten convicted for shooting you so that double jeopardy could apply,” he runs out of steam all at once, shoulders slumping, “so are you telling Eretson that you think my mom should sleep with you or is it my turn to make a fool out of you by telling a stupid story?”

“I said your mom should sleep in my bed,” Snotlout claps him on the shoulders, “not with me. I can crash with Eret while she’s here, then your mom doesn’t have to sleep on the couch. I already changed the sheets.”

“If that’s what you meant, why did you phrase it like that?”

“To make you freak out,” he shrugs.

“Right. Thanks for that.”

“No problem,” Snotlout pulls a wad of green out of his pocket and it takes a second for Hiccup to recognize plastic mistletoe, “we’ll probably head out soon, actually, I grabbed this from Astrid’s decoration stash, I was thinking about hanging it from my belt buckle.”

“Gross.”

“Eret seems pretty into Christmas, I thought it was festive—”

“I’m going to go back inside, before you say anything else, or before—” Before something goes less than perfectly between Astrid and his mom. “Nope, that one reason is enough.”

“Dude,” Snotlout sighs, “calm the fuck down, Astrid’s great, and way too hot for you. There’s no way your mom isn’t going to like her.”

“Great pep talk.”

“I’m here to help,” Snotlout claps him on the shoulder before leading the way back inside.

He explains his purposed sleeping arrangements to Hiccup’s mom, and she makes another comment about how surprised she is at his politeness. If it wouldn’t make him stick around and cause more havoc, Hiccup might take the opportunity to clarify that it’s all an act, and a thin one at that, but as little as he wants to think about what Snotlout just overshared, he really wants him to leave. Not only to get his wildcard mouth out of the situation, but because there’s something nuclear about the idea of being alone with Astrid and his mom. Something a little more traditionally family shaped.

His dad’s absence is a little heavier as they sit around the remarkably well-balanced tree, eating pizza and hashing out vague plans for the next few days. Astrid teasingly promises to help with a Grimborn tour, if he’s too rusty, and he wonders what must show on his face for his mom to yawn so quickly and excuse herself to bed, blaming flights and travel and anything other than Hiccup’s blush.

She points silently at Astrid’s back on the way to Snotlout’s room before giving Hiccup a not so subtle thumbs up that he appreciates as much as it embarrasses him.

After the door is shut, Astrid stands with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head and shuffling towards the kitchen, promising to put the remnants of the yaknog away and meet him in the bedroom. And listening to the quiet clang of the pitcher in the fridge while he takes off his work clothes and flops onto the bed in his underwear only enforces the feeling of home and family and stifling rightness that has perfumed every awkward minute of tonight.

Astrid pauses when the door clicks shut behind her, cocking her head as he props himself up on an elbow, a bemused little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“What?” He looks down at his chest, “did Yaknog soak through my shirt?”

“I can’t tell from here,” she unbuttons her pants and shoves them down to join his in a disorganized pile on the floor before doing that female trick where her arms disappear into sleeves for a moment and her bra appears, also immediately abandoned. Her sweater hangs halfway down her thighs and her knee-high socks are covered in candy canes and Christmas trees. “I was wondering why you aren’t under the covers.”

“Ran out of energy,” he shrugs, “right here. Can’t move another inch.”

“Right,” she nods, unimpressed as she climbs onto the bed beside him and tugs absently at her side of the covers, biting her lip and sitting cross-legged, tucking her hair behind her ear. “How do you think that went?”

“Oh, I was a spaz, so everything’s right on schedule.” He lays back, hand landing on her knee and sliding down to trace the edge of her sock against her calf.

“No, I mean,” her voice dips, “how do you think I did with meeting your mom?”

“Great,” he rolls on his side to face her, leaning halfway up on an elbow, “of course. Were you worried?”

“Of course, I was worried,” she crosses her arms, but even she struggles to look scary in an oversized sweater and holiday socks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought it was obvious.” She scoffs, “I want your mom to like me, of course I was nervous.”

“She likes you,” he skips to the fact instead of meandering through the long explanation that of course his mom would like her, because there’s nothing unlikeable about her, “she gave me a thumbs up on her way to bed. That’s high approval.”

“Oh,” she brightens, hands tucked back into too long sleeves.

“I have a secret too,” he flops onto his back, “I don’t know if you want to hear it though…”

“Don’t tease me,” she follows, straddling his hips with her hands on his chest, like she’s planning on holding him down until he talks. Not that he minds, if anything he folds his arms behind his head with plans to draw it out. “That’s just mean.”

“Snotlout stole your mistletoe,” he says seriously.

“Bastard,” she whispers, fingers curling absently against his chest.

“I know. I would have fought for it for you—”

“Of course.”

“But he told me he was planning to hang it from his belt buckle, so then it felt tainted.” He laughs when her nose wrinkles in sympathetic disgust. “I know.”

“Well what are we going to do now?” She presses her thumb to his lower lip, fingernails scratching gently through his beard and he shivers. Her smile is just on the right side of teasing,“if you’re cold, you should get under the covers.”

“Told you, I’m too tired,” he pushes back on her hips with hands that suddenly can’t move fast enough and she scoots back enough to let him sit up. “I also told you that wool gives me a rash,” he tries to kiss her as he pulls her sweater up, but she pushes him back with a hand over his mouth.

“Without mistletoe?” She snickers through her false incredulity and he pauses his quest against her sweater to tuck her hair behind her ear, “that’s not very festive.”

“We don’t need it.” He attempts to roll her onto the pillow but only half succeeds, hovering over her as she scoots back, knees hugging his hips when she’s comfortable. “It’s a pagan thing anyway.” Her sweater makes his chest itch when he kisses her neck, but her hand trailing down his side makes it hard to care.

“Oh, so like ‘keep Christ in Christmas’?” She asks, arching into him when he grinds down against her, hand sliding down the back of her thigh.

“No,” he sits back on his heel, carefully unfolding her leg and setting her novelty sock clad heel over his shoulder, “it’s all about commercialism.”

“Right. Of course,” she laughs, eyes bright with something better than Christmas spirit and stronger than yaknog.

“A reason to sell socks,” he kisses the edge of the sock on her calf, “and deforest small, ornamental trees.” He kisses the inside of her knee. “Run up the electric bill with hundreds of twinkling lights.”

He kisses the inside of her thigh, knees scooting backwards on the bed as her heel drags up his spine.

“They’re LED.” She’s not laughing anymore, voice low like she’s reminding herself to be quiet, and she lifts her hips when he hooks his thumbs in the sides of her underwear.

“A reason to buy twinkling lights, then.” He pushes her sweater up enough to kiss her hipbone and she nearly growls under her breath, hand firm on the back of his head as she redirects his focus.

“Ok, Scrooge.”

He’d make some quip about the ghost of Christmas future not being particularly scary, but he doesn’t think she’s listening.

#ripped #ripped christmas special #httyd fic #modern au #hiccstrid #osha would allow it #eretlout #the meaning of christmas is capitalism and that's just fine with them #meeting the parents

75 notes · View notes

thedeaditeslayer · 6 years ago

Photo

My worst moment: Bruce Campbell and unmanageable costumes — 'no one ever talks about the pinches, the scrapes, the chafing'.

Here’s an article where Bruce Campbell shares an interesting story from on the set of Army of Darkness.

According to Bruce Campbell, who hosts the latest version of “Ripley’s Believe It or Not!” on the Travel Channel, there is a decent percentage of risk-takers featured on the show. “Probably 20% of our stories are daredevil-ish and that’s always fascinating,” he said. “Who does that? Who are these people? Who’s crazy enough to launch themselves on a motorcycle doing flips? Or smash things with your head or pull things with your hair? How did that all come to be?”

Campbell’s role is mostly to provide voiceover, which means he has yet to meet the individuals spotlighted. “But I hope to because I do a lot of conventions and I tour and man, nothing would be better than to get some of these folks doing a live demonstration at one of these conventions. There are astonishing skills here.”

Does Campbell have any notable skills?

“Oh, amazing skills. I can read a teleprompter like nobody’s business. I do have one skill I developed: It’s a diagonal banana slice. If you just slice your banana — bing, bang, bing — the little slices that land in your bowl, 42% of them are going to stick together because they’re all the same shape and angle. So I do an alternating angular slice. You cut diagonal, spin the banana, cut on the opposite diagonal. And now these diagonal chunks are falling in and when they hit each other, they are bouncing off each other there’s no way they’re going to stick together. You’re welcome.”

He was quick to point out the skills highlighted on the show are “things that you and I could not do. When you see what these folks have gone through in their lives and what they’ve overcome, talk about their worst moment! A lot of people in these episodes have had moments that changed their lives and this is what they did to overcome it or deal with it. It’s surprisingly uplifting.”

When asked about his own worst moment in a career that has spanned many incarnations of the “Evil Dead” franchise as well the USA series “Burn Notice” (and much, much more, detailed in his memoir “If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor" and its sequel "Hail to the Chin: Further Confessions of a B Movie Actor"), Campbell recalled a story about a costume that got in the way of a certain bodily function.

My worst moment …

“I was shooting ‘Army of Darkness’ (from 1992), which was the third ‘Evil Dead’ movie and it was our version of ‘The Vikings’ — when we were kids, (director) Sam Raimi and me and some of the other guys, we liked ‘The Vikings,’ which is this Kirk Douglas movie (from 1958) where it was like, attacking castles and burning oil and stuff like that. We were all at our physical and mental best and we had enough of a budget that we could make this big epic.

“In the movie, I play two characters: Good Ash, who is the main character, and also his rival, Bad Ash, who is possessed and is a demon. The demon makeup took three hours to put on and I’m in a demon costume with a demon suit-of-armor. And because I’m possessed, I’m wearing contact lenses that blocked out my vision and I have these demon gloves that are like these Playtex gloves you would wear to wash your dishes or whatever, but they’re monster gloves and they have two-inch nails on them. Like, sharp, menacing fingernails. They were so clumsy. I couldn’t do anything once I had them on. Couldn’t open the door, couldn’t hold a cup of coffee.

“We were shooting in the desert outside of Palmdale, California. It’s the middle of the night — and I have to go to the bathroom. And my only option was out in the darkness, somewhere in the desert. There was no port-o-potty at this particular place.

“So someone, like a production assistant with a walkie talkie, was like, ‘Alright, I’ll take Bruce by his arm and lead him off the set over to some yucca plant that’s out of the light.’ It was probably out behind this castle where we were shooting.

“So I’m standing there and realize, I can’t unzip my own fly — let alone get access to it in order to do what I needed to do, because of the fingernails on the monster gloves. It takes two people to put those gloves on and they’re not easy to remove. Once they’re on, you’re not taking them off to do anything. They’re on. They’re yours for the night.

“So, what am I going to do — call my wife over to help do this? Because I wasn’t going to ask the walkie-talkie person to do this. So I said, ‘You need to find my wife and bring her over because there’s an issue here. I cannot access myself to do what I need to do.’

“And I’m thinking: Is this what I’ve stayed in the film business for? For this? Is this what it’s come to? You know, you work hard and train hard and you can’t even urinate in the dessert. The raw indignity of it!

“My wife did end up helping out. She figured out what was going on pretty quick, no one needed to explain it. She was the costume designer on the movie so she was partially to blame for my misery. Her name is Ida Gearon and I said, ‘Ida, look: You and your department, we gotta figure something out here! I need easy access.’ She laughed but it wasn’t funny to me. After that, I think we cut a slit in the glove so you could bend the glove back and pop your real hand out of it. So a box cutter was the solution. Easy solution, took four seconds.

“If she hadn’t been on set that day, the makeup effects guys would have had to come out and remove the gloves — and that would have been a half hour that we didn’t have.”

How long before was Campbell able to laugh about the moment?

“About 10 years later it got funny (laughs). It took about a decade to get funny. It’s still not really hilarious. That was early in our marriage so it was a good test of our relationship, I suppose. It encouraged her to come up with a solution so it was a win-win, as they say.

“Sometime costume designers don’t think about the practical side of things. Or just the weight of what you’re wearing. I did a TV show called ‘Jack of All Trades’ where I was a masked marauder that always wore this velvety red cape, and I put the thing on and it almost gave me scoliosis. I gave it back to the costume designer and said, ‘Put this on and do a sword fight, I dare you. This needs to be a half or a third of the weight.’ She wanted it to flow right, which was absolutely correct. But I was like, ‘We’ve got to find a middle ground between what looks good and what is manageable.’

“The Batman costume? No thanks. Everybody’s like, ‘Bruce, would you ever want to be Batman?’ Not a chance in hell. I would be Commissioner Gordon, no problem — wear a nice suit, double-breasted pinstripe, everything’s good. But nothing could compel me to take a role where there’s a lot of prosthetics or that kind of all-encompassing costume. Earlier on in my career, no problem, get me in that suit, heck yeah! But now, you couldn’t write a soliloquy that could get me into one of those suits. I’m busy fishing.

“I’m not the first guy to say this, by the way. If you get cast as Batman or Spider-Man or Superman, kiss your bathroom goodbye. Or wear a catheter, or something. It’s the nightmare of these costumes. Hey, hurray — you’re Iron Man! Guess what? You’re never urinating again unless it’s in your suit.

“I mean, this is the nightmare of the modern-day actor wearing these stupid costumes (laughs). Everyone’s saying, ‘Oh God, Robert Downey Jr., he’s Iron Man, what a great career!’ and he’s probably cursing that stupid suit to this day. And the rashes, no one ever talks about their rashes — the pinches, the scrapes, the chafing, oh the chafing! I bet they sell more talcum powder to Marvel productions than to anybody else. Our beloved Chewbacca just passed on (played by Peter William Mayhew) and the only thing he ever talked about was how stuffy and uncomfortable that suit was. It’s like acting inside of a yak.

“So that was a real low point for me. People think you’re starring in a movie for Universal, this is the highpoint of your life. And actually it’s like, no, this is a low point.”

The takeaway …

“Don’t wear elaborate costumes (laughs). It’s almost as simple as that! Just don’t go there.

“Or, make sure you go through a NASA-style testing process where it’s like: Put me through all the possibilities. I’m sure the new Batman is going to benefit from everything they learned from all the previous Batman costumes, all the predecessors. Plus, I’ll bet the materials are lightweight now. If it were me, I’d call them all — George Clooney, Val Kilmer, Christian Bale — and be like, ‘Guys, what do I need to know about the dumb suit?’ I’d be right on top of that.

“It’s a thing called prep and it’s a lost art. I actually ran into a producer who had a T-shirt that said, ‘Prep is for (losers)’ — on his shirt! That’s what we’re dealing with.”

#Bruce Campbell

43 notes · View notes

superflyfishing-blog1 · 6 years ago

Text

Best New Flyfishing Gear for 2019

Each July, the International Fly Tackle Dealer (IFTD) show is held in Orlando, Fla., in conjunction with ICAST, and it’s there that companies unveil the latest flyfishing gear—from rods and reels to poppers and packs. This year yielded a bumper crop in terms of excellent new releases, with major product introductions from companies large and small. Here are 19 of my favorites. Some of the products are available now, while you’ll have to wait until the fall and spring for others.

Orvis’s new flagship rod was designed with one key objective in mind—accuracy. The blank is constructed to make loading easy, so that the rod generates line speed super quickly, requiring fewer false casts. According to Orvis, the rod has a 77 improvement in impact strength compared with past models, and it tracks incredibly well with very little wobble at the end of a casting stroke. It’s an expertly crafted fly rod that comes in two flavors—F, for a moderate action, and D, for longer casts, bigger flies, and better performance in windy conditions.

Smith Transfer Sunglasses

Smith has developed a new type of frame technology called QuickFit, in which a wire-core mechanism is molded into the frame. A simple flick of the wrist and bend of the frame tightens or loosens the glasses, so you can adjust them for demanding and more relaxed conditions. Combine that with color-filtering lenses and optional prescription compatibility and you’ve got one badass pair of fishing glasses. Available from regular to XL sizes for all you bucket heads out there.

Korkers Wraptr Wading Boots

Korkers has eliminated stitching on their new Wraptr wading boot. Yeah, you read that right. The place where most boots fail—the stitching—has been virtually eliminated from the company’s latest boot. Because of this development, the Wraptr is not only mega-durable, but also lightweight, since less fabric is needed to hold the boot together.

Rep Your Water Side Channel Button Down

This husband-and-wife duo first took the fishing world by storm with their catchy designs and state-pride-themed hats. Now they’re at it again with a remarkably good-looking button-down for all-day action on the water. It boasts UPF 30 UV protection, a super-light polyester feel, a functional fly patch, and quick-dry technology.

Patagonia Tough Puff Hoody

The Tough Puff was made for bashing through the bush and standing around all day in a favorite steelhead run, swinging flies in chilly water. It’s an update on a previous best-seller; made of a more durable, breathable face fabric; and is treated with a DWR water repellent. It also has elastic cuffs for landing fish and two oversized pockets for fly boxes.

Flymen Fishing Company Surface Seducer Double Barrel Bass Bug

Flymen’s latest popper took home best in show for freshwater flies at IFTD with this bug. If you’re a largemouth fan, it’s easy to see why the pattern claimed top honors, given its massive front cup for aggressive popping. What’s more, it’s constructed of lightweight yet durable EVA closed-cell foam and finished with a thin coat of flexible epoxy.

Fishpond Thunderhead Submersible Pack

Fishpond’s newest pack is truly 100-percent submersible, and it’s built with an extremely robust 1680D, entirely recycled TPU-coated fabric. It’s one of the most robust backpacks I’ve seen in a long while, and it’s designed for the angler who likes to push boundaries a bit. Its open design lets you dictate how the inside is arranged, and the pack is perfect for protecting sensitive camera equipment and gear.

A newcomer to the fishing scene, Soft Science has released what they are calling the “ultimate wading boot for flyfishing.” Bold. But, I must say, I’m pretty intrigued by this company. The shoes are incredibly light (about 10 ounces), look really damn good, and are built with a proprietary sole called Trileon. The idea is that the sticky bottom conforms to rocks, but is still lightweight and provides impact-resistance with great support.

Buff makes the best gloves for fishing and rowing out there—period. This year they are upping the game with the lightweight Aqua Gloves. Features include pull tabs at the wrists and middle fingers for easy on-and-off; a silicone palm for great grip; a double layer of fabric between the index finger and thumb, for increased durability; a bonded hem at the wrist that eliminates chafing; and, of course, a 50-plus UPF rating.

Tacky Fly Fishing Predator Box

Tacky is back at it with the Predator Box, one the best streamer boxes I’ve ever seen. It measures 11x6x1½ inches. The silicon slit system uses polycarbonate ribs molded into the box—thus eliminating the need for adhesives (think about those hot car days)—that have perfectly spaced slits for storing large hooks. The box also boasts neodymium magnetic closures, and comes with five “wishbone” pieces, which hold articulated flies in place like a champ. The box is a touch heavy at 21 ounces, but if you’re a streamer junkie on a boat, or like to have the big bugs with you, it shouldn’t much matter.

Fair Flies Composite Brushes

This product may change fly tying forever. Each “brush” consists of up to five different materials on a stainless-steel wire; by simply turning the brush once around a hook creates a fly. Not only are these composite brushes good for flies, but they also work well for making homemade jigs, spinnerbaits, and other types of baits. Fair Flies aims to have over 100 different colored brushes available. Watch the video below to get a better idea of how this works. It’s incredibly simple and genius.

Redington’s new i.D. might be the most fun reel to hit the market in a decade. Its flat back surface is blank, and you can choose between images of donuts (my favorite), state flags, goofy sayings, and fishy artwork to customize it to your preference. Word on the street is that Redington plans to unveil a template down the line so you can trick out the reel with any image imaginable. The reel also has a smooth rulon disc drag, a large arbor, and a comfortable handle to boot.

Like everything Vedavoo makes, this thing is simple. By dropping the butt of a rod through a loop and buckling a strap around the grip, the holster secures your rod in place, making for easy fly changes and for easy transport. Imagine having something like this while wading the salty flats, or when bass fishing and you need a second rod ready for carp. Simple, smart, and completely made in the U.S.A.

Creek Company T. Rex Mini Drifter

The T. Rex Mini Drifter is an angler’s dream. It’s a legit tough-as-nails, four-chambered, drop-stitch-floored fishing vessel, complete with frame and handles. And somehow it weighs only 115 pounds, and can easily be stuffed in the back of a car.

Drinktank Insulated Growler

I can’t think of anything that goes better together than fishing and beer. The only thing that could perhaps improve the pairing is having a vacuum-insulated growler. Enter the Drinktank Insulated Growler, which keeps brews cold for 12 hours. Not only that, with the add-on keg cap, you can chill your beer with a blast of CO2, turning the growler into a mini-keg for your boat, backpack, or trunk.

Catch and Release Print Shop

Here’s a novel idea: Instead of getting a replica mount of the trophy fish you caught on vacation you can go a pseudo-Gyotaku route and contact the Catch and Release Print Shop. They will create a print of your fish to the exact length and close to the proportions on archival paper and inks with your name, and any other information about the catch. They have partnered with three different artists and have 1,500 different species of fish to choose from, so it’s a solid bet they can make you a print no matter what you catch.

Bonafide Kayaks, a newcomer to the kayak-fishing world, launched themselves at IFTD this year. The team is well-versed in the ways of ’yak fishing and has designed its new kayaks from the ground up. With a focus on stability and paddling performance, the kayaks also have a genre-blending hybrid cat-hull design. Keep an eye out for Bonafide, because there is a good chance they could blow open the fishing world.

With the new G Series, Scott Rods has turned a classic rod into a magic wand. Scott launched the original G series in 1976, and revamped it in 2006. The latest iteration is not a do-it-all model, but, for lovers of medium-action, smooth-casting rods, you’re going to enjoy the hell out of the new G Series. It’s 20 percent lighter than the original and bends super deep, all the while retaining a stable feel. Go cast one at your local shop.

Simms SolarFlex Armor Shirt

Simms took first place with the all new SolarFlex Armor Shirt in the general apparel category at IFTD. And rightly so. It’s probably one of the most technically advanced shirts ever made in regards to sun coverage. But to me, the best part about the shirt is the patent-pending integrated hood and sungaiter system, which at first looks bulky but I can assure you that it is far from it. The SolarFlex Armor Shirt is also anti-odor, moisture-wicking, and UPF 50 rated, and features a cooling material that reduce its temperature by up to 30 percent when wet.

1 note · View note