fox residence

Hiram Lodge... how do I even begin to explain Hiram Lodge?

Hermione: Hiram Lodge is flawless.
Mary: I hear his business is insured for ten million dollars.
FP: I hear he does shady business deals… from prison.
Veronica: His favorite movie is The Godfather.
Hal: One time he met Kelly Ripa on a plane -
Alice:  - and she told him he was handsome.
Fred: One time he put a hit out on me. It was not awesome.*

Who are you, Hiram? I don’t need to tell anyone who follows me about my obsession with Riverparents, so YES I was excited for this. 

Information we knew about Hiram from season 1: Fred refers to him as the “rich kid” Hermione choose over him. He is from Riverdale. (In the first  tie-in comic, Hermione refers to Riverdale as “the town upstate your dad and I are from,” so making this assumption here.) Lodges are quite possibly one of these “founding families” the Blossoms refer to, since their history in Riverdale seems to date back to it’s founding (75 years of getting paid off by the Blossoms). And that is… it? He’s in prison for white collar crime, yada yada yada on the details.

Hermione tells her daughter several times to stop turning him into a villain and Veronica does seem genuinely shocked when she keeps discovering all these shady things her parents were doing. We can hardly blame her in this sense, because it seems like she did have a pretty good relationship with both her parents (minus going on the occasional bender to piss off mom) back in NYC. Spence student, Dakota-living, personal-Barney’s-spending-account Veronica Lodge was, first and foremost, a daddy’s girl.

My Hiram headcanon before Mark Consuelos was cast was that Hiram was perhaps slightly older (must Sheriff Keller be our only resident Silver Fox?) like in the comics. Distinguished. Hermione probably came from a middle class (probably on par with the Coopers) and was won over by the older boy’s charm and, yes, perhaps a little by his money. Everyone liked messy, Springsteen-loving Bulldog Fred Andrews, but Hermione never looked at Fred as  much more than a boy. Hiram was a man. 

But it appears Hiram is more their age and perhaps Fred’s line of “rich kid” does refer to him as being a peer. Was he in the same grade as them in high school? Was he a future MBA? Did he throw his weight around, knowing the Lodge name could get you whatever you wanted in Riverdale? Was he friends with any of our other Riverparents? Did him and FP have an epic rich-kid/poor-kid dynamic where they were constantly trying to out do one another? I know the idea of a flashback episode has pretty much been shot down, but could we get like… a tie-in comic of them in high school at least? A scene with them looking at their high school yearbook? Like come on, I’m a desperate woman with a very specific obsession here. Throw me a bone, RAS.

I’m actually a little let down we saw him so soon, as I waned a little more build up to this moment of seeing Hiram. It’s been like… three days since they said he was getting released early? But this is Riverdale Law and shit don’t have to make a lick of sense here (re: FP in jail, Jughead going to juvie… I could go on). So okay, he “came home early.”

Let me tell you, this scene gave me CHILLS. I love that he’s just sitting there in the shadows of the dining room. Hermione obediently at his side. During this father-daughter reunion, he literally makes his daughter cross all the way to him to give him the most heartless kiss I’ve ever seen. Geez. Way to throw your power around, Hiram.

And Hermione. Lets talk about Hermione. She’s so back and forth during season 1, which I thought was perfect because, just like her daughter, she was using this move to Riverdale to try and turn her life around. Forget being this socialite rich bitch, you’re scrubbing grease off the grill at Pops. Talk about becoming humble. We see Hermione do these “bad things,” but overall it seemed like she was doing so many of them to make sure she and her daughter were able to stay afloat. If that meant being the courier for Hiram’s deals, so be it.

Hands down, the best Hermione moment of this episode was her threatening to slap Veronica. But holy shit. “And she drank your Cristal.” WHAT IS YOUR GAME, WOMAN? You know when your sibling was in trouble and you were  pissed at them, so you just feed your parents more bullshit to get them madder? (”How the hell is your cell phone bill $300?” “BECAUSE SHE’S ON THE PHONE ALL NIGHT TALKING TO HER BOYFRIEND, THAT’S WHY DAD.”) That’s literally the tone Hermione was using. I also want to point out that Hermione has zero problem with her 15/16-year old daughter enjoying a mimosa after a night of hot teen sex, but she has a problem when it’s a $400 bottle of champagne being used in that mimosa. I fucking love you, Hermione.

I am SO READY for these mildly evil (okay, there is no “evil” or “good” in this town, it’s always both) Lodges. BRING IT. 

*no, I don’t actually think this “angel of death” has anything to do with Hiram. It just seemed like an appropriate line.

foolishheadstronggirl  asked:

How about a fic where Mulder gets addled/hypnotized/messed up by some kind of manipulative woman and Scully sweeps in bad-ass style and puts a whooping on her, with some serious UST-to-RST to boot?

Drabble; PG-13; Humor, UST; Season 5; A bad woman entices Mulder to do her bidding. 

A/N: I tried to make Scully more of a badass but she got too frisky. I’m sorry! It took me awhile to figure out what to do with this prompt. And I just realized it said UST-to-RST, and not UST, but I hope to get some kind of sequel up to redeem that. Sorry :(

A/N 2: Send me prompts in my ask-box! Taking MSR, Scully x Reyes and gen any character(s). Specify if you’re looking for something R or NC-17, please.

***

She’d be laughing her ass off if she wasn’t so scared. Mulder won’t let go of the wrench and she’s holding a little old lady at gunpoint. How did this all happen?

“Stop trying to fix the sink, Mulder,” she demands through gritted teeth. He doesn’t. The older woman huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes, urging Scully to straighten up her shooter’s stance.

“He won’t stop until it’s fixed,” replies the woman, not bothering to keep the boredom out of her voice. Her eyes fall on Mulder and she studies him gleefully. “And then he’s going to install my drape-runner.”  

Mulder curses when he turns the faucet too tight and water sprays at him from an angle. His head disappears back under the sink.

“He’s not going to install your drape-runner!” Oh god, she’s yelling. She sounds crazy. Is she crazy? What is happening right now? “What did you do to him?”

“The drug will wear off in about three hours. Just a simple serum.” The felony-committing blue-haired enemy raises her eyebrows reproachfully and nods at Scully’s gun. “Now, if you put that gun down, I can have the nice man fix us some tea and you can wait here until the sink is fixed. And my drape-runners are installed. Please,” she points to the chair next to her in invitation. “Stay awhile.” 

God help her, Scully does. What else can she do? Cuff the woman and drag a drugged, manic Mulder all over town? She lowers her weapon and perches on an armchair. She does not re-holster.

Her eyes follow the flex of the dimples in his lower back, the way his biceps jump and glisten under the strain. He’s grunting like an animal as he works that faucet. 

Everything is way too hot. Did the suspect have him fix the A.C.? Why not?

“Does he have to be shirtless?” Scully asks shrilly.

“Hey!” cries the woman, holding her hands to her chest defensively. “I did not tell him to do that. He took it off himself.”

The heated pair watch him in seething silence as he puts all his effort into fixing this sink. It’s amazing. She knows how deep his concentration runs and never thought to apply it to some average household chore. Other things besides government conspiracies for sure… but never housework.

After he’s finished he rises up with a rumbling groan and wipes the sweat from his body with a kitchen towel. Scully watches rapturously as he drags the cloth over the indented vee of his hips and throws it to the floor. 

When his eyes fall on them, Scully is floored by the intense look on his face. His eyes are completely devoid of color, overpowered by thrumming, bottomless pupils. His jaw sets ruggedly, clenching and unclenching with boundless energy. He looks helplessly between them and grunts out, “Fix.”

“Over here, dear.” The old woman shows him how to set up the drape-runner. 

While he works, Scully reasons she should at least investigate the crime. She is a federal agent. This is her job. Talking to the lady she finds that the superintendent of Mulder’s building has fallen a little behind on some maintenance duties. The woman, who introduced herself as May Ellen, needed to do something quick. Her grandchildren are visiting soon. She saw resident Fox Mulder, big, strong special agent man that he is, and knew he’d be perfect for the job. So she concocted a serum, a family recipe, you see –

Scully pretty much tunes her out after the initial introduction. Mulder’s tight ass glares at her every time he bends down to pick up a different tool and she can’t stop thinking about giving it a nice smack to see it jiggle under her palm. Those sweatpants hide nothing. If he turns around, maybe she’ll see –

Oh, he’s finished. He rubs his hands together triumphantly when the blinds flip at the press of a button.

The woman hollers delightedly as she checks over his handwork, slapping his back with a satisfied grin. Turning to Scully and clasping her hands, her face twitches with false benevolence.

“He’s all yours! Fox, dear, help your friend Ms. Scully. Fix what needs to be fixed.” 

Oh no. He rounds on her like a bloodhound and pitifully asks, “Fix?” 

In the car he’s restless, but at least he’s got a shirt on. He leans over her stereo and plays with the dials until he knows for sure it’s in full working order. It’s not until he cups his strong hand between her legs and throatily asks, “Fix?” that Scully realizes she might lose control over the situation if she doesn’t act fast.

She takes him home to figure out what’s wrong with her garbage disposal. 

Highest Bidder - Chapter 1 (Eric X OC)

Rating: M - Smut and Swears, the usual

Genre: Romance/Humour

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85 @frecklefaceb @mom2reesie @elaacreditava @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt @jaihardy @treeleaf @pathybo @beltz2016 @lilu46 @equalstrashflavoredtrash

@girlwith100names @gaia25 @readsalot73 @bookgirlthings @slayer0507 @stone-met @lostinthebeans @lauraaan182 @queenara4 @letmagichappen @girlslovestorys @tonyt1995 @sterek-foreverandever @lacy-love @littlesouthernrebel @fuckthatfeeling @micolegg @sparklemichele

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A new stand-alone story with Fox and Eric!

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“Hurry up and get out here so we can see your hot ass!”

Fox rolled her eyes heavenward, stifling a snort. “This is stupid, why the hell did I agree to this?”

“Because the Dauntless Singles Auction is the hottest event of the year!” Christina chirped. “All the guys and half the girls are going to be bidding on you.”

“It’s still stupid.”

“Get out here.”

Keep reading

motherofmajesticflapflaps  asked:

Okay I gotta ask seeing as you mentioned it in my previous ask (thank you sooo much by the way) what's Tarcien?

TARCIEN is my favorite crackship, tied with elriel of course. But Tarcien is a crackship made my someone (I think it was @aedicn).

Anyway, besides all that^^, Tarcien is a wonderful ship of Lucien and Tarquin, our beautiful resident fox and Aqua-Man™.

I absolutely love them and you should totally check them out if you seem interested at all in them. They’re an amazing crackship.

Also, if you’re looking for primarily Tarquin @highlord-tarquin is the person to go to. She loves him to death (it’s my personal favorite to say they’re mates. She agrees every time). Anyway, she has a whole book on Wattpad about them. It’s over 70 parts, and it’s my favorite thing (even though I’m procrastinating reading it cause I don’t want my heart hurt). But, yeah. I love it to death💚❤️

@azrielsiphons has a whole series (SAD OATS) written about Azriel and his special someone. It’s wonderful💜❤️

@feysandsmut has a series about Tamlin (forgot the title) but it is NSFW, so that’s a bonus. She also has a series based off Aelin and Rowan’s child being the mate of Feysand’s child. It’s amazing💜💙.

@paperbacktrash is writing Fortune’s Fool about Tamlin and Vassa’s daughter meeting up (and hopefully mating up) with Feysand’s kid. I’m hooked so far💕❤️.

@rowaelinsmut (previously deziremyacotar) has a rowaelin wedding fic that’s 💯💯💯💯

@queen-archeron and @highladyfxyre are just my writing queens™ and they have so much stuff they’ve written. I couldn’t even get through it all. What I have read is amazing and I love it💕💝💖

Other than that, I don’t know many more.

because i am absolute garbage and i love to cause myself emotional pain, i bring you yet another ‘neil gets injured’ headcanon (loosely inspired by this post)

Neil knew Riko and Kevin had rabid fans. He knew how mercilessly dedicated exy fans were to their favorite teams, and players. But he’d never imagined himself staring down the barrel of a gun because of one.

“It’s because of you,” the guy shouted, waving the pistol the slightest bit.
You are the reason Riko is dead. You are the reason Kevin never rejoined the Ravens. You, you, you!” He was shouting now, his voice verging on maniacal.

All Neil could do was breathe. His brain was filling with a sharp panic that pushed every reasonable or logical thought out of his head. Just like that, he was back with his father, with Lola, with every threat he’d ever seen in his life.

The fan had caught him on a jog, and Neil still hadn’t recovered from someone sneaking up behind him while he stopped for water. The cold tip of the pistol had sent a shiver down his spine.

He was so close to Fox tower, too. A minute more, and he would have been walking through the doors. But it was five in the morning, and no one was around to see this.

“Nothing to say? Do you have no defense? Or do you already know you’re guilty?” The fan looked less maniacal and more angry now, and Neil was searching for something, anything, to say. 

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. He thought what kind of joke Andrew would make right now, something about Neil finally shutting the hell up. The thought of Andrew sent a pang through his chest, but it was also  grounding thought. Even the memory of one of his deadpan jokes brought a insistent half-smile to Neil’s face. He immediately regretted it the moment he felt the muscles twitch in his cheeks.

“So you think it’s funny huh? I can be funny to,” the fan’s face went taught, and Neil only had a second to realize what he meant before a loud echoing bang went off.

Neil felt it hit him with a force that sent him immediately to the ground. He couldn’t tell where the bullet had hit him, but he knew his chest was on fire. 

Distantly, he heard the gun clatter to the ground. The fan whispered a small “oh my god oh my god,” before footsteps thundered past Neil’s head and faded away.

Neil began to feel cold, and his mind was growing slow. He knew what that meant; he was losing a lot of blood, and fast. He kept thinking if he could just roll over, or crawl, or do anything, he could get help. He lifted his head and was smacked with a wave of vertigo that had him slamming his head back down on the pavement. 

“Help,” he said, trying to yell but instead his voice came out as more of a whisper. 

Again, he found his mind wondering to Andrew. Andrew, and his knives, and his sharp attitude that Neil liked for whatever reason. Andrew, who always smelled like cigarettes. Andrew, who was going to find him dead on a sidewalk.

“Help,” Neil tried again, his voice at least coming above a whisper. He heard a door bang open, and Neil thought for a moment that it was Andrew. That Andrew had come to be his saving grace now, like he had been for the past year. 

Neil lolled his head to the side and saw that it was only a random resident of Fox tower, someone he had never seen before. He was blonde though, so in his dazed state Neil pretended, just for a moment, that it was Andrew.

“Oh my god!” The guy yelled, practically throwing himself the several meters towards Neil. 
“I got up early to study, and I heard the gunshot, and I…” He trailed off. Either that, or Neil was losing so much blood that the other man’s words were growing fuzzy. He swore he heard the blond mumble ‘oh my god’ again before picking up his phone.

As he heard the guy begin to go through the script to calling 911, he closed his eyes. He was tired, and he figured he’d be woken up when the ambulance got there.

“Hey, buddy, c’mon. They said I have to keep you awake. Please, you can’t-”

Neil ignored the student’s pleas and kept his eyes firmly shut. It felt too good. Soon he drifted into a cool unconsciousness. 


Flashing lights are the thing that bring him out of it. And after the lights, it’s the sirens. After the sirens, it’s the screaming. Neil can’t make out who it is, but someone is raising their voice louder than everyone else. It’s low, and angry. Like everything this morning (was it still morning? Neil couldn’t tell) the voice reminded him of Andrew, but he couldn’t match Andrew’s face with the sound.

“Andrew,” Neil choked out anyway, barely getting the word out. The yelling stopped. 

“I’ll get him for you, kid,” the voice replied. Neil fell back asleep.


When he woke up again, he was blasted with a bright white light. His first thought was that he really was dead. His second was that he couldn’t believe the white light cliche was true. Then everything stared to piece themselves together. The area around the light came into view. White ceiling tiles.

He tried to get up, but a sharp pain in his chest stopped him, as well of several painful points in his arm that prevented movement. He moved his head as much as he could and saw that he had an IV hooked into each arm. 

With this, he also saw a tuft of blonde hair laying very carefully next to him on the hard hospital bed. A hand sat next to Neil’s; close enough to be touching, but very consciously not. Neil grinned. Finally, he thought.

“Andrew,” he whispered, followed by a coughing fit. His mouth and throat were so dry they felt like sandpaper. Immediately though, the figure bolted up off the bed as Neil took a last long breath to calm down.

“Yes or no?” He asked, looking over Neil like he was assessing the damage of his car. Neil only nodded, and Andrew slipped his hand into Neil’s own while the other went straight to his neck.

Andrew looked for a minute like he might start interrogating Neil right then, but he let out a breathe and moved his hand down to Neil’s chest.

“You’re making it really hard to do my job, Josten. I can’t protect you if you get yourself shot before I even wake up.” Andrew paused, his face as emotionless as ever. “Damn Wymack had to come and tell me you were here.”

Neil would point out hat it wasn’t Andrew’s job to look out for him anymore, but he didn’t have it in him to argue. 

“I won’t do it again,” was all he said, staring at his own fingers interlocked with Andrew’s. He brushed him thumb over Andrew’s hand ever so slightly.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Josten.”

2

day 5 - whiskers

inspired by this fic that wrote about naruto’s whiskers as an indication of the fox residing inside of him; being hated by the village, loneliness. hinata loving his whiskers symbolises the fact that she accepted him for who he was from the beginning- seeing him as a person rather than a monster. /cue emotional naruto/

6

ya lit meme | [3/6] locations
300 fox way and it’s residents ⇁ the raven cycle

“mornings at 300 fox way were fearful, jumbled things. elbows in sides and lines for the bathroom and people snapping over tea bags placed into cups that already had tea bags in them. there was school for blue and work for some of the more productive (or less intuitive) aunts. toast got burned, cereal went soggy, the refrigerator door hung open and expectant for minutes at a time. keys jingled as car pools were hastily decided.”