savages. @scrpcntking-blog - Tumblr Blog

skystrattons:

Despite the fact that it was her night off, Skylar was still pushing her way through a crowded bar. Albeit, on the other side this time. And with a clientele that she wasn’t completely familiar with, feeling like she knew too much personal information about the ones that frequented the Whyte Wyrm to ever interact with them outside the work setting. But here, at one of the only other bars that a small town like Riverdale offered, she could blend in. Or stand out in a way that she wanted to, which was more her style as her heels clicked against the floor.

Her walk was determined, like she was on a mission. And in a way, Skylar was doing just that. The corner behind the bar was one she was all too quick to make a beeline for, a wide grin crossing her face at the sight of a few friends there. And after just a greeting something was pushed into her hand, the familiar package clasped tightly in her palm as she turned to head towards the bathroom. The night wasn’t really going to get started until she had her boost, letting out a groan as she saw the line.

“What the hell is this?” she complained, mostly to herself and the few others leaning against the wall near her. “If any of you know where I can do this in peace,” she gestured toward the few sticks of jingle jangle in her hand, “I might even be willing to share.”

For a (more or less) sober alcoholic, a bar might just be one of the highest ranking worst places to be. At least for FP it was. Still, when old friends ask to grab a drink, you go. So he went. He didn’t intend to actually drink, after all, he promised Jughead that he wouldn’t and for once he decided he’d actually keep the promises he gave his son.

Still, the temptation was undeniable and hard not to succumb to. For a second he thought who cares. Jughead probably already hafl expected him to relapse sooner or later, he wouldn’t even be that disappointed. But that wouldn’t do. No, FP was done being some self-fulfilling proficy so when the peer pressure (which he always assumed was a phenomenon solely reserved for high school kids) almost became to much, he excuseed himself, venturing towards the bathroom.

Only to bump into yet another Serpent. “Are you serious?” The Serpents had long started priding themselves in not being involved with Jingle Jangle. That was a Ghoulie thing, their monopoly and in turn something Serpents were better off staying away from. “Don't tell me you're actually doing this? Supporting their business?” For all he cared, Skylar could do what she wanted - coke, crack, heroine. But supporting the enemy? That was one step too far.

#c: skylar

queenxfhearts:

It was one thing vouching for FP Jones in court (a small sacrifice compared to what would have happened if she had refused Betty Cooper’s kind request). Meeting him at Pop’s, a free man once again after what he did to Jason, after stuffing her dead brother in a freezer, after helping her monster of a father clean up the gruesome crime he committed was something entirely different. It showed in the way she carried herself, no hint of the broken girl she played on the day of the trial, but all straight back and crossed arms and cold stare as she looked at the old man.

“I just figured that now that Pop’s has become a sort of safe haven for all kinds of critters and vermin, it takes some serious effort to make sure it doesn’t lose its pristine reputation.” The smile on her lips remained frozen in place, but her words were dripping with venom that even the Snake would not be able to best. “Just imagine what fear the poor townfolk must feel when walking through that door at night being faced with a convicted criminal.”

FP snickered at Cheryl’s snide remark, the bite in her words almost entertaining him if she hadn’t been so brazen. It was hard to deny that she was getting under his skin, something about the guilt he felt for the involvement with her brother’s murder that had kickstarted Riverdale’s descent to hell and her insufferable attitude making it so much easier for him to get annoyed with her.

Despite everything, he still would have liked to snap at her. He didn’t of course. Because after all, she had all right to be mad at him. Also, FP was a respectable member of society now and respectable members of society didn’t snap at little ginger girls out in public. “How considerate of you,” he said, a hint of sarcasm buried deep in his words as he looked at her, eyebrow cocked. “What can I get you?” The forged politeness in his voice did little to mask the obvious wariness on her face.

#c: cheryl

inxjustice:

Being a cop is not just a job. It’s a calling. Leyla didn’t even know how often she heard that quote without actually understanding what it meant. Things were easier in New York. Easier to ignore the things going on in the town after night settled over it and she ended her shift. Riverdale was different. She knew half the people living here and at least heard of all the rest. Everything going on seemed to suddenly be her business - even after she clocked out and left the station for the night.

In New York, she could look away when some guy snatched a candy bar from a store when she did her grocery shopping after a night shift at four am. In Riverdale, even people looking vaguely suspicious were enough to catch her attention and push her to intervene. This? Definitely past her definition of vaguely suspicious. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”, she asked, trying a lot harder to sound tough now that she didn’t have her uniform to convey authority for her.

As the years piled on, so did FP’s run-ins with the police. It started when he was sixteen, when he just earned his snakeskin and had never quite stopped after that. He was well known around town, his reputation preceding him when new people came to town. Only that Leyla wasn’t so much new than she returned, grown tired of the big city life as her sister had informed him. Still, considering their connection, he would have expected a little more civility, even if he was currently showing up at her front door uninvited.

“Good evening to you too, Leyla,” he said half mockingly, a small smirk on his lips that he knew would make her roll her eyes at him the way she always did. “I’m just paying a visit.” Craning his neck to look past her, he tried to find any trace of her younger sister in the dark hallway of the house. “Your sister home?”

#c: leyla

andrewsfather:

It was obvious what FP was thinking from the expression on his face – but Fred honestly hadn’t meant for his words to be taken that way. He was too old, and far too worn out to be making those kind of entendres. Wasn’t he? And FP should be, too. They both had sons who qualified as legal adults, for crying out loud, not to mention ex wives! But then again, Fred knew FP better than to think he was ever going to act his age, so he just gave the other man a flat look, trying to resist the urge to snort.

The speech about changing his ways was uncomfortably familiar, but Fred carefully didn’t react. Who was he to judge, if FP wanted to try the high road again? Just because it hadn’t worked the last, oh, ten or so times he’d insisted it would didn’t mean that it wouldn’t this time – or maybe it would go up in flames again. Fred refused to invest himself in the other man’s supposed change of heart again. He’d been down that path before, and it never ended well. For either of them.

“I hope so, FP,” was all Fred said, and nodded with slight smile. “Can I get a burger and fries?” It was tempting to order it to go, and go sit in his own home to eat, away from the stares and paranoia of the rest of the town. But that felt a little too much like hiding, and the older Andrews refused to start acting like a coward.

“Looks kinda dead in here, today.” Dark eyes drifted around the empty diner until Fred redirected his gaze to FP. “I guess people aren’t taking any chances this time, huh? Not that I can blame them– getting shot isn’t exactly one of my favorite memories.”

The look on the other man’s face was a little disheartening. Not like he blamed him. He had talked about this too often, coming clean, getting his family back together. He was more than concious of the shortcomings and errors he commited during his life, piling on to an ever growing list of mistakes. Still, there was something unsettling about seeing that Fred was more than aware of it, too.

Still, he figured that more promises - empty promises, as far as Fred was concerned - wouldn’t really do much good. Instead, he gave a smile and got to work. “Coming right up.”

Turning around, he looked at Fred over his shoulder as he spoke, letting his eyes wonder through the deserted diner for a moment. “Sure is. Has been for the past few weeks.” Honestly, FP had been shocked when people came flocking back in the day after Fred was shot like nothing ever happened, the smell of the floor cleaner used to scrub up his blood from the floor. “This is bad. Even for Riverdale’s standards.” Even he had to admit that.

“How are you anyway?” It was barely a change of topic, but anything redirecting the conversation away from himself seemed good in FP’s book. Only now did he realize that he never took the time to check up on Fred after Jughead told him what happened. He wondered if maybe he’d taken offence at that.

#c: fred

ncrthernheart:

Archie narrowed his eyes at FP’s prying, not quite old enough yet to overlook a father’s prying. “By a dentist, Mr. Jones. Like a normal person.”

He began stuffing his textbooks into his bag, determining that their encounter was another tally mark against Pop’s Chock’lit shoppe. He decided quickly that he really didn’t like talking to Mr. Jones, reformed or not, when all he could think about were all the times he’d seen Jughead looking miserable at school.

“I think being with the Serpents on principle is shady business,” he commented snidely before sliding out of his seat and standing up. He still wasn’t as tall as the other man but he’d certainly filled out from when he was eleven and had only first come to the conclusion that Jughead’s dad wasn’t a very nice man.

“I’m just curious, don’t you have the power to veto Jughead’s membership or whatever into your little motorcycle club or do you just not care?”

“Must have been a pretty brutal dentist,” he mumbled more to himself than anything, but intentionally loud enough for Archie to hear.

The cockiness of that kid was uncanny, FP noticed. Nothing like Fred, worse than Mary even. He’d blame that on living on the Southside, giving Archie the benefit of the doubt by considering him some nature-vs-nurutre case study come to life.

“I don’t,” he said simply, knowing that he didn’t even owe him an explanation. Still, Jughead was a sore point, Jughead being a Serpent even more so. It was a constant reminder of his shortcomings as a father, that he was in jail while his son ran off and joined a gang.

His expression faltered for a moment when he remembered that conversation he had with his son. About how he didn’t want to college anymore, about how he was content with wasting his potential in this suburban hell. A simple shake of the head was enough to banish the thought to the back of his mind, looking at the ginger boy with rare honesty on his face. “Believe it or not, Archie. I don’t like Jug being a Serpent any more than you do. But he made his decision and there is nothing I can do to reverse that now,”

#c: archie

ncrthernheart:

Archie had plenty of real, justifiable reasons not to trust FP Jones. After all, despite the man having had a long history with his father, he knew just about as much of FP as the rest of Riverdale did– or maybe less with the abrupt discovery that the man had been heading the Serpents for God knew how long, a fact that still didn’t sit right with Archie after finding out that Jughead had joined their ranks. He easily considered that another tally mark against the man for bad parenting, as if his absence and negligence didn’t catch up all at once for all the times Archie had thought Jughead just really liked his father’s undercooked lasagna.

He batted his eyes at FP’s concern, watching the way the other’s eyes flit over his jaw. Did he look at Jughead that way when he showed up with his face looking like a bingo punch card or was it a ruse? Archie returned the scrutiny with interest, taking note of the pristine condition of FP’s uniform.

“I got my wisdom teeth removed,” he answered baldly. “I’m surprised you’re still here, Mr. Jones. Last I heard, you were with the Serpents again.”

“By whom?”, he asked, raising his brows at Archie’s words, not able to shake the feeling that the tone of his voice sounded more like defiance than honesty. “Some guy with a fedora and groove pliers?” That was what it looked like, at least if the swelling of his jaw was anything to go by. Or maybe he had just watched too many gangster movies when he was a kid. It almost made him wonder just how many of the bad decisions he made throughout life could be attributed to an overconsumption black-and-white mafia films.

“I am,” he admitted, finding no use in lying when he could rely on his son to tell his (former?) best friend all their family secrets anyways. “Part-time, at least. No more shady business.” Again, one of those statements that out of the mouth of the Serpent King just sounded wrong. Being a serpent had never been just skin deep, for no one, but with how long FP had been one of them, it had long seeped into his bones, his DNA - and having his son follow in his footsteps only went to prove just that.

#c: archie

pettyalicecooper:

Fuck Hal! He’d ruined a perfectly wonderful family breakfast. Alice didn’t get up before sunrise to cook a good wholesome meal for her family just to have him interrogate her son. It was Hal’s fault Chic hadn’t been raised in their home. Hal’s fault Polly left and didn’t even tell them the twins were born. Her daughter had given birth to them alone. Alice knew what that felt like. She hadn’t wanted it for Polly. But they’d lost her. They had Chic now. And Hal was still being a dick. Naturally. Today was one of those days she’d like a maple syrup truck to plow right into the bastard. Widowhood would look good on her. Until that happened her bad mood was not going to be eased. Especially not with some abomination blighting the town. “What the hell is this? This town used to be a decent town. A respectable town. A town we could all be proud to live in. And now we have this garbage? Who is responsible for this?” Fucking people ruining her suburban dream. She did not claw her way out of the Southside, marry fucking Hal Cooper, and build her life into something out of Better Homes and Gardens for this! No one had any fucking respect in this town. Whoever was responsible for this was going to be dragged through the mud in the Register. What was the use of having a paper if not to use it for your own petty ends. “Despicable!”

“Come on, Alice. They are just kids,” he said, a certain fondness in his voice as he looked out the window of the diner, watched the young Serpents hang out in the parking lot. Yes, it looked like a mess. Yes, they were probably supposed to go home and do their homework instead of loitering in a parking lot. Yes, FP was pretty sure that the beer can they were currently kicking around had been full only a couple of minutes ago. But who was he to care and deny them some simple pleasures? “And anyway, we were up to way worse when we were their age,” he reminded her with a teasing smile, placing the cup of coffee down on her table. For a moment, he just stood there, eyes still focused on the kids outside, reminiscing about those simples times. “So you’re not exactly the best person to act all high and mighty now,” he added, still not looking at her, smile only growing wider as he imagined the expression on her face.

#c: alice

andrewsfather:

There were a lot of things that scared Fred Andrews. The impending failure of his marriage had been number one on the list for a long time, along with being a terrible father and losing his son, his business going under, and the thought that one day, he was going to open the paper and find his childhood best friend’s name in the obituary section. Snakes had made an appearance on the list, as well as wasting away and dying a slow death – but the walk to Pop’s from the construction office? That had never been something to think twice about. Riverdale, for all its nosy neighbors and prejudices, had always been a safe place.

That changed, the day he got shot. It had been in motion before that, when Jason Blossom’s body came ashore on the banks of Sweetwater River. but as much as Fred didn’t want to admit it, that hadn’t directly impacted his life. The Black Hood, though – that had. And now, after believing the man who had nearly killed him and terrorized his son was dead, Fred had to be afraid all over again. The message on the last person running for mayor left no doubt in his mind that the murderer had not truly been caught – and as self-centered as it was, Fred couldn’t help but feel that he was walking around with a target on his back.

Fred found a little relief when was inside of the brightly-lit diner, as long as he kept his eyes away from the spot where he’d fallen months ago. He made his way to the bar and settled his tired form on the nearest stool, and opened his mouth to order – but he stalled when he noticed who it was staring at him in the neat, white uniform Pop gave his servers.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you back there,” he told FP with a slow, half smile. “Didn’t realize you’d gone straight again.”

@scrpcntking

There were days when FP hated the chime of the doorbell, days when the diner was way too crowded, more customers pooling into the store by the minute, tween girls feeding the jukebox with coins to play the same three bad songs over and over again. And then there were days where he stood behind the bar, wiping down the counter for the god knew how manyeth time just to give himself something to do. Today was the latter, people still too scared of the new/old threat of the Black Hood, preferring to stay in or at least somewhere where the self-proclaimed vigilante had spilled some poor man's blood on the floor. Maybe they were right to do so. Maybe they were gullible cowards. Or maybe even something in-between. One way or another, the bell caught FP's attention, pulling him away from his mind-numbingly mundane task, directing his attention to no other than Fred Andrews. Smirking at his old friend's double entendre, he barely managed to swallow the comment of ‘You should know better than that.’ Instead he settled for an open gesture and a smile. “What can I say, Fred? I’m a changed man.” He knew how those words sounded out of his mouth. He knew it because he had said them one time too often for anyone to believe, turning into some sad, middle-aged version of the Boy who cried Wolf. The Southsider who cried ‘I’ll stop being a fuck up.’ Only that now, he really meant it. “And this time, I plan to stick with it. Do right by my son, clean up the trailer, keep my job.” That last part reminded him; “Speaking of. What can I get you?”

#c: fred

queenxfhearts:

All Cheryl wanted was a nice, cool bottle of cherry cola, her usual order at the diner and a good enough distraction from her mother’s business as any. Sadly, there was something about Pop’s retro atmosphere that seemed to attract all kind of shady folks once the sun went down and even this night did not seem to be an expectation. Tonight, however, did seem to be just a tiny bit special. At least Cheryl thought so when she spotted a person alone in a booth who might not have been a complete waste of space. In fact, the redhead figured she might just be able to get something out of this. And would she really be a Blossom if she didn’t at least try?

“Do you mind if I sit?”, Cheryl asked, a sugarcoated smile on her lips as she slipped into the booth, as usual not even allowing them the time to reply to her question. After all, their answer would hardly have stopped her. “Why don’t you let me buy you a milkshake?”

The Blossom name had been synonymous with trouble since the very founding of Riverdale. There might have been a time when FP might have tried to fool himself into believing that Cheryl and Jason were the expectation, that they were just children not doomed to follow in their father’s footsteps. But before he knew it, he had stuffed the boy’s body in a freezer and listened to Cheryl vouch for him in a court of law, proving that she was just as much of a Blossom as her parents.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted something, the fact that he couldn't point his finger on what it was agitating despite his calm demeanour. Not even during his break did he get a few minutes of peace. “No, thanks,” he said casually, wanting nothing more than to finish his meal quietly before finishing his shift, but there was no way the ginger would actually take that hint. So he might as well act civil, he decided. “What are you doing here this late, Cheryl?” He almost warned her about the kind of people lurking around, just waiting for a girl like her to pass by at this hour of the night, but considering the history he had with her family, even the most well intended warning would probably come across like a threat.

#c: cheryl

ghculking:

Sweet fucking freedom. One of those many things no one really seemed to appreciate unless they lost it for a while. And fuck. After months of juvie, Malachai couldn’t help but notice how sweet the night air of Riverdale smelled. Of all the things he had missed, the artificial neon street lights were definitely way up there.

Number one was his car. Without a doubt. In fact, he was just on his way to pick it up, making his way through the dark streets by himself, gleefully appreciating how little had changed while he was gone. This was still his town. And of course, being the benevolent monarch of Riverdale, he couldn’t shake the need to help his people. Especially not when they were stranded on the side of the road, clearly struggling with their car. “Need a hand?”, he asked, the hint of a smile on his lips as he strode towards them.

Cars were not FP’s forte. A bike he could fix in five minutes flat. Cars, however, were a lot more complicated. Maybe FP was just lucky that his trusty truck never caused him any trouble, not nearly as much as his bike anyway. That machine had always been a bit of a diva, but his truck? That thing breaking down felt like a personal betrayal, having him feel more than just a little frustrated as he went to pop the hood, brows furrowed into a tight frown as he looked at the insides. Shit. He had no idea what was wrong. There was no denying he needed a hand and he was just about to accept the friendly offer with a strained smile, to mumble some throwaway line about how Southsiders had each other's backs, always. How you didn’t find kindness like this on the Northside anymore. That was until he turned around and his eyes met the Ghoulie king. “I’m good,” he said instead, lips pressing into a tight line. He had made plenty of mistakes in his life, adding taking a favour from a Ghoulie was not something he wanted to add to that list. “Move along, kid.”

#c: malachai

ncrthernheart:

“It looks worse than it is, I promise,” may as well have been Archie’s famous last words lately. There wasn’t much else he could say about the bruising on his jaw or the swell of his cheeks despite his avid attempts to minimize the brutality of what he’d been claiming to be an emergency wisdom teeth removal. For the most part, that was exactly what it was.

Events as of late had been somewhat of a blur following the merger, of which had easily fallen to the back burner in lieu of Veronica’s family drama. Sitting next to the Serpents in history class had gone from marginally obnoxious to largely gratifying in the sense that at least, with enough supervision, the Southsiders invading their school bore less threat than unmarked food vans and black-hooded resurgence.

“I’m really beginning to think that purple’s kinda my colour, you know?“

The bruise blossoming on Archie’s face looked awful, all blue and purple like violets. He inspected it for a short moment, noticed the swelling, too. All while wiping down the bar at the diner for the umpteenth time that day. “Well, lucky you then. Because it looks pretty fucking bad, alright.”

There was the initial concern that one of his boys was to blame for this. That they ignored his advice of laying low and snapped under the pressure. But more importantly, there was the concern that Archie had gotten himself into real trouble, the kind that even the leather clad Southsiders couldn’t offer.

The two men had their differences, sure. But Archie was still Jughead’s best friend, still Fred’s kid. Fred, who took care of Jughead more times than he could count. And while FP might not have known much about parenting, he knew plenty about bruises and how to get them. So maybe this was his chance to finally pay his old best friend back. “What happened?”