#also i just briefly saw the article but why did it end with 'leaders eyes'

[chrisbangs]

[the-record-columns]

Jan. 22, 2020: Columns

Jerry Lankford writes his obituary every day...

Ellen Lankford at age 16

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Note:  The following column is taken from remarks made by Ken Welborn at memorial services this past Saturday for the late Ellen Kay Lankford, sister of The Record's Jerry Lankford.

  Good afternoon folks, my name is Ken Welborn and I work for The Record, a newspaper in North Wilkesboro. 

I am sad—yet honored to be here today to speak with you about Ellen Lankford, who died very unexpectedly this past Monday morning at the young age of 57.  Speaking at a service like this is privilege I do not take for granted, and today is no exception, but for some reason, this one feels different.  I will just do the best I can, speaking from my heart.

As I mentioned a moment ago, I work for The Record in North Wilkesboro where I have had the pleasure of working with Jerry Lankford, The Record's editor, for over 20 years. We spend more time together than most married couples do.  I personally value loyalty above all else, and in working with Jerry through these years, I have come know and trust him like very few people in my life—and thanks to him I have had the opportunity of getting to briefly know his relatives.  I never met his brother Gary, who died as a young boy.  Sadly, however, in our years of working together, I have watched him lose his entire immediate family; first his mother Willa Mae, then his brother Mike, and now Ellen, his sister and last sibling. This is the third funeral he has honored me by allowing me to speak.

Jerry Lankford is sad today, I can only imagine how sad he must be, but he sits on that church pew down front today with a clear conscience, because he knows he has spent his entire life caring about—and taking care of—his family.  And a clear conscience is a soft pillow.

I do not profess to have gotten to know Ellen Lankford nearly as well as many here today.  Most of what I know about Ellen came from conversations with Jerry.  He was proud of her—how smart she was, how well she did in school, earning a master's degree in Biology from Appalachian State University and continuing her education further at Wake Forest University School of Medicine.  She made a career as a laboratory scientist at various institutions in Guilford County where she spent most of her adult life.

He also spoke of Ellen with great respect and pride for her willingness to be such a loving aunt to his daughters, and, when Ellen, Mike, and Jerry's mother, Willa Mae, died in 2009, Ellen seamlessly transitioned to a grandmother figure to those girls. She took on the same role for Jerry's grandsons, Sammie and Charlie, years later. 

When Jerry's own health issues prompted his moving in to live with Ellen at her apartment in the Mulberry Community, he will tell you that her medical background, her “Mother Hen” nagging, and her “Fear of God” proclamations, helped get him on the straight and narrow, and has made a substantial difference on his own road to better health.

Again, I cannot profess to knowing everything about Ellen Lankford, but, some months ago, circumstances worked out in such a manner that I was able to do a favor for her regarding some things she had left stored for some time in Guilford County. It really wasn't that big of a favor as far as I was concerned, but Jerry said Ellen was truly grateful and wanted to do something for me. Of course I told him no, that nothing was expected, but she persisted.  Then one morning at work Jerry told me that Ellen had decided she wanted to take me to lunch—and wasn't going to take no for an answer.  When I said no again, he told me I was going to hurt her feelings and would I please meet with her for lunch, as she really wanted to say a special thank you to me.

Well, the lunch went fine, and it turned out I was really glad I went.  Ellen Lankford spent practically all of the entire hour and a half we were there talking about one person—her baby brother, Jerry.  She spoke of his love and kindness for her and of how he had taken such wonderful care of their mother, and everyone else in their family.  She told stories about growing up with Jerry, about the warm feeling of security he gave her just knowing that he was always going to be there for her.  As she continued to speak, it was with tears in her eyes—tears of love—tears comfortably shed in front of what amounted to a perfect stranger—because Jerry meant that much to her. I told her what I could in the way of “Amens” to what she was saying, reminding her that I trusted Jerry with anything I had, and of the countless times he has covered my rear end so to speak, and how I knew he would always keep my confidence. Ellen and me had a Jerry Lankford love fest, and I was a proud participant. 

After that lunch I felt as though I knew Ellen a lot better, and felt better about her. 

We would have an occasional visit if I answered the telephone when she would call to speak with Jerry. I always noticed the little lift in her voice as she would ask “...has my baby brother has made it down there yet?”  It is totally appropriate that when Ellen was in distress this Monday past, Jerry immediately stopped his work and went to her side.  He talked with her, he comforted her, he told her—and once again showed her—that he loved her. 

And he held her hand as she died. She was not alone in her hour of greatest need. Jerry saw to that, as he always saw to everything.

I hope you folks are following what I am getting at. 

I noted earlier that this funeral felt different to me, and it still does. While we are here today to honor the life and memory of Ellen Lankford, I would also like to note the obvious, that funerals are for the living as well. 

As I noted earlier, this is the third Lankford funeral at which I have spoken—I do not want to do a fourth. Jerry Lankford should be there to conduct my funeral. To that end, I would ask, as an appropriate way to honor the life and memory of Ellen, that this family continue to take Jerry into their arms. Hold him close and give him the love, the kindness, and the respect he deserves—simply put, that which he gives every one of you, every day of his life.  He needs it.  He appreciates it.  And I know in my heart that Ellen would certainly approve. 

  Thank you.

Terror and Murder for political gain

By AMBASSADOR EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

Special to The Record

The United Nations designated Monday, Jan. 27, as International Holocaust Remembrance Day. 

This day also marks the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau; two World War II Nazi extermination camps located in Poland where millions of Jews and others suffered and lost their lives. 

Next week more than 40 world leaders will gather in Jerusalem to participate in special events and ceremonies called ‘Remembering the Holocaust: Fighting Antisemitism.’  Why? Because humanity is obligated to make certain that ‘never again’ will there be another Holocaust. 

Recently it was revealed that an official Palestinian newspaper published an article calling for murder on Holocaust Remembrance Day in Jerusalem.  Their goal is to disrupt, and perhaps even cancel, the ceremonies.  We’ve heard nothing of this from mainstream U.S. news outlets but that’s because what Arab leaders say to their people in Arabic is very different from what they say to the English speaking world. 

Contained in the article is the statement, “One shot will disrupt the ceremony and one dead body will cancel it.”  The implicit message is that one of the 40 world leaders slated to be in attendance will be a target.  This is unacceptable.

The Palestinians are deeply opposed to the Holocaust Remembrance ceremony taking place for several reasons.  First of all, most Palestinians have been taught that the Holocaust never really happened. In fact, the president of the Palestinian Authority, Mahmoud Abbas, promotes and perpetuates the lie that the Holocaust is a myth. Secondly, the Palestinians believe that Jerusalem, both East and West Jerusalem, belongs fully to them and that it is a place where Jews do not belong. In plain language, Palestinian leaders are promoting murder to further their political agenda.

The international community must reject the Palestinian Authority for promoting terror and murder. They must not be given a free pass. Terror and murder cannot be used, or threatened to be used, in order to achieve political goals. These are the people with whom the world wants Israel to make peace.  It’s outrageous.

Miles and Miles of Hotdogs from an Igloo

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

How do you eat a mile-long hot dog?

One foot at a time or at least that’s how Linda Green approaches the process.

Linda Green stopped in at the Igloo shop in Millers Creek to pick up her order. Linda likes her hotdog all the way which includes a split grilled hotdog on a toasted bun with mustard, chili, onions, and slaw. Linda is a loyal customer who has been getting her hot dog, and ice cream fix at the Igloo for the past 40 years.

When I ask her how many she had ordered over the years, it seemed to work out to average two or three for most weeks. With a mile having 5,280 feet it has taken 40 years, but Linda is close to either side of a mile of delicious hot dog bliss.  

Matt Maston was also in line, he has been placing his Igloo order for more than 30 years, he’s another fan of the all the way dog, and he is well on the way to his membership in the Hotdog Mile Club. Matt recalled attending Millers  Creek Elementary   School across the highway from the Igloo and making regular trips.

Nowadays the menu offers up a variety of other options, however the hot dog rules supreme at the Igloo. The business opened in 1976, and was owned and operated by Chancie and Ruth Ashley, who were chicken farmers. The chicken business was changing, and the couple wanted to look at other income sources.

The building was a mail-order novelty concept. When the Igloo opened for business, the people in the surrounding area enjoyed visiting for ice cream. After two years the hotdogs were added to the menu, and over time the chili and slaw were perfected and become a favorite for loyal customers.

Kay Call is the daughter of Chancie and Ruth Ashley, and is now the owner. She recalled the opening days, when for the first two years, ice-cream was the only offering. Hotdogs were the first non-ice-cream food added; the boiled hotdogs were a favorite, however when the grill was added customers loved the extra flavor profile of grilling the dog to finish it off. The chili was, and still is, made from scratch with a slight sweetness and a nice texture. The slaw is made fresh and not complicated.

Cindy Dillard has been employed at the Igloo for 28 years and was working the grill during my visit. Cindy moved around the kitchen and filled order after order with the greatest of ease.

Debbie Whitley has been employed for a few years and said she enjoys being part of the seven-to-eight-person team that keeps the food flowing.

Cindy said the chili and slaw are so well-liked that a lot of the regulars order their dogs sloppy, which is double the amount of an already generous portion.  “It’s sloppy alright, and it’s good,” she said.

I do not doubt that there are many unofficial members of the hot dog mile club. It’s easy to lose track over the years, but one thing is for sure. The modest hot dog has a way of bringing people together and producing a lot of smiles.

Kay has done an excellent job of giving the hot dog its place of honor and respect. She has also preserved a piece of our Americana landscape.

Most of the Igloo buildings have been taken down. However, the one in the Millers Creek Community is standing and is home to a revolving door leading to miles and miles of tasty hot dogs.

You will need a napkin!

[wordgirl80]

A Fanfic I wrote after the finale. All the kitchen sex we wanted, but the Serpents cockblocked us from getting. This is really a series, but could be a one shot. Link to the series is at the end. Enjoy!

Chapter 15: The Southside

Summary:

Oh, dear Lord Jesus, we were blessed by the finale. And I was right all along. Jughead Jones does fuck. Also, I had fully intended on leaving this fanfic for the summer since all the chapters have coincided with the episodes, but Juggie putting on that Serpent jacket has given me new life, and this might be continued. . . In the Southside

Chapter Text

Betty peered around the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. Jughead was visible through the crack in the doorway. The Southside Serpents stood on Jughead’s snow covered front lawn, jacket in one of their hands. Jughead looked out at all of them, men he had told her he was always forbidden to speak to, even though they were all close to FP. Jughead thought it was because his dad didn’t think that he was good enough or tough enough to associate with the Serpents, but Betty had figured out that FP had actually been trying to protect Jughead from the underbelly of the Southside.

As Jughead slipped on his dad’s Serpents jacket, Betty saw his devilish smirk and the glint of darkness in his eyes. This wasn’t just a jacket. It was an invitation into their family--a family that Jughead Jones had always longed for. Joining the Serpents would only complicate his already complicated life. Trouble liked to follow the Jones family, but it continuously nipped at the heels of the Southside Serpents.But damn it if Jughead didn’t look hot in that black leather jacket.

“Juggie?” she said, genuinely wondering what he was thinking and why he'd so willingly put on the symbol that he'd always fought so hard to distance himself from.

Jughead turned to her, stepping away from the Serpents, and leaning into the entryway of the trailer. “It’s okay. Let me get rid of them, and I’ll be right back inside.” He kissed her briefly on the cheek and then he was gone. She eased the door shut, and went back into the kitchen. In their lust filled haste earlier, they'd knocked a green cookie jar to the ground, breaking it. She took out the broom and dustpan and swept up the debris. Then she turned on the coffee machine to brew a pot. It was late, but she had a feeling they would be up for a while. They had a lot to talk about.

Betty would support Jughead in whatever he did, even his having to move to the Southside, but the Serpents were different. She'd seen firsthand what FP’s association with them had gotten him. No matter how hot Jughead looked in that black leather jacket, she couldn't let him get mixed up in their mess.

As the water in the pot boiled, Betty back leaned against the counter, waiting for Jug. The only sound in the trailer was the dripping off the coffee, the rain hitting the trailer’s tin roof, and the deep din of the Serpents’ voices outside. That was FP’s jacket that they'd given Jughead, and Betty had to wonder if they weren’t just inviting them into the gang, but asking Jughead to take over as leader while FP was in prison. She shook her head. Surely not. Jughead was smart, but they wouldn’t pick a sixteen year old to be in charge. But with Jughead changing high schools and moving across town, things between them wouldn’t be the same. Yes, they loved and supported each other, but what if loved wasn’t enough to keep them together? Oh, god. What if he met someone else at Southside High? He had told her that he fit in better with the Southside crowd? Then what the hell was he doing with perfect good girl Betty Cooper? What if it was actually Jughead who was slumming it with her until something better, someone more like him, came along?

She shook her head again, and went to the fridge and started pulling out eggs and milk, and then flour and sugar from the cabinet. No. No. Jughead was her soulmate. As cheesy and ridiculous as that word used to sound to her, it was true. They brought out the best in each other. She made him happy, and he kept her darkness at bay. They belonged together, and nothing, not a change of high school, not induction into the Serpents, not Social Services, not a Riverdale Civil War, not a new address--nothing would tear them apart. Betty would make sure of it.

She measured out flour into a bowl, cracked an egg, and whisked the rest of the ingredients together. She pulled out a pack of bacon and a frying pan and threw slices of bacon into the skillet. The timer on the coffee machine went off as she poured the pancake batter. She had one hand on the frying pan handle, and the other reaching into the cabinet, pulling out two mugs, when Jughead walked kitchen. She could feel the outside chill radiating off of him as he neared her. He was damp from the freezing rain, his hair curling at the ends. He still had on the jacket, making him look like a modern day James Dean. She wanted to forget the discussion they were about to have and jump him like she was about to do before literally being cockblocked by the entire Southside Serpent gang.

“Betty, what are you doing?” Jughead asked.

“I’m making breakfast,” she replied.

He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. “It’s 11:00 at night.”

“So?” she asked. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry,” he said. He stepped next to her and stilled her hand that was mixing the pancake batter again. He gave her a dish towel and she wiped her hands on it. “You’ve told me before that baking calms you when you’re nervous or upset. Which one is it?”

“Can’t I just cook for my boyfriend?” She flipped a pancake.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her. “Which one is it?” he repeated.

“Both,” she admitted. She poured more batter into the pan, and checked on the bacon that was now turning golden and crispy.

“Why?” he asked. He leaned his back against the counter and tried to look her in the eye, but she averted her attention to making the meal.

She took a plate out and stacked the pancakes on it. Once the bacon was ready, she plated that up, too.

“You’re moving away,” she said.

“Yes, but not across the county, just across town.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No. We already talked about this. There has to be another way. You’re not leaving. Riverdale is your home, Jug.”

Taking her face in his hands, he said, “Betty Cooper, you are my home.”

“But I live in Riverdale. We’re going to have to be apart.”

“Just during school. Yeah, that sucks. No more having sex on a desk in the Blue and Gold classroom.” He raised his eyebrows as he smirked at her.

Right now, as tempting as it always was with him, sex at school was the last thing she was thinking about. “The Blue and Gold! What’s going to happen to the school newspaper without you? There is no Blue and Gold without you.”

“You write amazing articles, Betty. Alice will help. The Blue and Gold will live on. And think, you can write from your angle on the Northside of Riverdale, and I’ll write for the Southside.”

“Or we could form a new newspaper!” she exclaimed, letting the plate clank onto the table. “We could still have my mom be our advisor. She would let us merge the two high school papers together. I'll have her go to the school board Monday morning”

“You want to form one super human newspaper, where we fight for freedom, justice, and the Riverdale way?” he asked, one corner of his mouth quirking up, letting her know that he was teasing her.

“I know you’re mocking me a little, but yes.” She stood next to him, a cup of coffee in her hand.

He stared at her as he took a bite of pancake. “I feel like if I agree to this, you’re going to make me start writing notes for a new article right away.” He set down his fork, waiting for her answer.

The idea of a new, bigger and better newspaper for them to write about the wrongs going on in their hometown had invigorated her. Her mind was reeling with ideas on how to write to expose the injustices in their town. She realized then that she was pacing in front of him. She stopped herself and turned to the counter to start the cleanup from her meal prep.

“No,” she said. She placed the bowl and pans into the sink, and used a dishtowel and wipe the counter. “I think we both could use a good night sleep first. And we need to finish what we started earlier.” “Oh?” Jughead said. “Is that so?” She heard his fork drop to the tabletop.

She continued to wipe up the kitchen, keeping her back to him. “I told my mom that I was sleeping over at Veronica’s,” she said.

“So we have all night,” he said.

“Your breakfast will get cold,” she said.

“I don't give a shit about pancakes right now.”

His chair scraped across the cracked linoleum floor as he pushed it away from the table. She didn’t turn around as he approached her. He pushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck, gently nibbling at her spine with his teeth, and then he brushed his smooth lips up the sensitive spine.

Betty braced herself, her hands clutching the edge of the counter as she arched her back, pressing herself into him. He placed his hand on the counter, too, weaving his fingers with hers. Through the thin fabric of her skirt, she felt his hardness resting against the cleft of her ass. He sighed in her ear as she rubbed herself against him.

He bent at his waist, levering her over the countertop. He started at her knees, running his palms over her thighs, bunching up her modest grey shirt around her waist. His hand dipped into the front of her panties, and she was wet with wanting. His fingers slipped into her, in and out as she continued to grind herself against his erection.

“The Serpents aren't coming back, right?” she asked, gasping for air. He had got her so worked up before they were interrupted that she knew it wasn't going to take much this time.

“No, they aren't coming back tonight.”

She wanted to ask him for the details of what he'd discussed with the other Serpents, but he was making it very hard for her to concentrate on anything but the movement of his fingers inside of her and how how his thumb circled the bud of nerve endings at the hood of her sex.

He unzipped her skirt and shoved it down as she stepped out of it. Then he moved his other hand under her shirt and palmed her breast, her nipples instantly hardening at his touch.

“Jug,” she whimpered as she gave into the build of pleasure.

He didn't even give her time to recover. Instead he spun her around to face him, and she tried to kiss him, but instead he hoisted up. Her legs hitched up, her knees around his ribs. He brought her back to the kitchen counter. Her ass bumped against the countertop as her head slammed into the cabinet door. It didn't hurt tough. She was feeling too many other sensations, her brain so fogged by lust that the pain didn't even register.

He took off her top and threw it. It landed somewhere near the kitchen table. He yanked the cup of her bra down with such force that the thin, pink strap snapped in the process. He smirked down at what he'd done when Betty thought he would have apologized. But it didn't bother her. There was a glimmer of darkness in his eyes, the same one she had seen when he first put on the Serpents jacket. And she liked it.

Maybe instead of fighting each other's darkness, they could embrace it, use it to their benefit. She was so goddamned tired of being the perfect girl next door. Maybe Jughead was sick of being the martyr. Maybe they could go bad together. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra. He stepped back for a moment, letting his eyes roam over her. “You truly are a goddess among us, the most stunning creature to ever exist.” He kissed her gently on the lips, but then his hand went to her throat, his fingertips digging slightly into the slender column of her neck. He groaned, and she felt something in him change, darken.

When he started to shoulder off his jacket, her eyes flew open. She grabbed at his collar. “No, leave it on,” she said, pulling it back into place. He paused to grin smugly at her, and then went back to what he was doing. He kissed her collarbone, nipping it as she arched her naked breasts against him. He knew what she wanted, so he leaned down and drew a taut nipple between his lips, suckling with such fury that what she felt was somewhere between pleasure and pain. And she liked it. Even though he'd always been so tender, Jughead always took what he wanted. He was a little more forceful this time, but it only made Betty want him more.

His mouth released her breast, and his lips moved back up her neck, drawing her skin in between his teeth. He would leave a mark on her, and she was glad. It would be proof in the morning of what had happened between them in this kitchen. She reached in between their bodies and unhooked his belt, unzipped his pants, and took hold of him. He was hot and hard and just as ready to go as she was. She guided him to where she always ached for him to be.

He did not take time to be timid, but tenderness wasn't what Betty wanted right then. He shoved her legs farther apart, her knees going up around his waist. The back of her head banged against the cabinet as he slammed into her, over and over again until her legs began to shake and a tremor went through her entire body. She bucked beneath him, rising off the counter as every inch of her was overtaken by the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced. Then he shuddered all over and collapsed into her, his torso weighing heavily against her, the soft, worn leather of the black jacket against her bare breasts.

After a moment, he moved his hands under her and lifted her up off the counter. She was naked in his arms as he carried her down the hall to the bedroom. He placed her on the bed and then went to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and handed her one of his S t-shirts. She sat up and slipped it over her head. Then he went to the closet and pulled out an empty hanger. He gently removed the jacket and hung it the closet.

“That's FP's, isn't it? What does it mean, Juggie?” she asked.

He closed the closet door and turned to her. “When I was little, my dad treated that stupid jacket like it was made out of gold. No one was allowed to touch it, especially me. As a kid, I hated what that jacket meant, but also longed for it to be mine. Strange, I know, but it's the truth. I feared it, but also desired it. The power and respect that jacket enticed from others.”

She did understand that. Alice had always been a force to recon with, while Betty had always been sweet. But that wasn’t who Betty was deep down. She wanted to embrace the rage within herself like Alice had. “But them giving you that jacket symbolizes something. What do you think it means?” she asked again.

“I don't know exactly,” he said shrugging. “But the Serpents promised me they had my back and would watch out for me. They could keep both of us save from whatever storm is coming at us.”

“And we both feel that something bad is heading to Riverdale,” Betty agreed.

“One of them even offered me a place to stay,” Jughead said.

“On the Southside?” she asked.

“Well, yeah.” He came to her and stood at the foot of the bed in front of her. “Unless your mom actually will let me live in your basement, I have to go where I'm wanted. No one in Riverdale is going to take me in, and until I'm eighteen or FP gets out of jail, I have to have a legal guardian.”

“Couldn't you just live here in the trailer?” she asked. She went up on her knees and ran her hand up his chest. “Just think of how much fun we'd have here, Jug. Just you and me and all those nights alone to do whatever we wanted.”

“Believe me, I want nothing more than to have sex with you on every inch of this trailer, but I doubt social services would let a minor live here alone.”

“But couldn't one of the adult Serpents tell your caseworker that you're living with them, but you could stay here most of the time?”

“Betty Cooper wants me to lie to a government official so she can have more sex with her boyfriend?” She nodded, and he gave her a satisfied smile. “As tempting as that sounds, I'm tired of fending for myself. I've been taking care of myself for so long that--”

“You just want a family.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding in agreement. “Even if it's just temporary.”

“But that means you'll have to move across town.”

“You're right, but Riverdale isn't all that big. I have FP’s truck now and a driver's license. It's about a seven minute drive from the Southside to your house. That's nothing.”

“But . . .” She bit her lip and sat back on her heels, moving away from him.

“Betty,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “Why are you so worried?”

“What about the Serpents?”

“Don't be concerned about them. They aren't the crimelords Sheriff Keller makes them out to be. Sure the are a little rough around the edges, but so am I. They are good people, just misunderstood.”

“Just like you,” she said, understanding why he'd pick to live on the Southside instead of Riverdale. He never had and maybe never would feel like he belonged here. She knew how he felt because she'd always felt the same way. Everything and everyone inside her house, in the town limits of Riverdale, pretended to be so perfect, but nothing was perfect. People were flawed. They had layers. And that was what had always drawn her to Jughead. He was never afraid to show people the ugly truth, in himself, in others, in this town. The Southside was rough, but it was honest and true, just like Jughead, just like she always wanted to be.

“Nothing between us is going to change. I promise you,” Jughead said.

“Does wearing that jacket make you a Serpent?” she asked.

He shrugged as he said, “Dunno.” He rounded the bed and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head underneath his chin. “Would you still be with me if I was a Serpent? Would you love me if I went to the dark side, to the wrong side of this civil war?” His tone was hypothetical, but the Betty had seriously considered it.

For some reason a thrill went through her. She tilted her head back so she could look up at him. She had always known the answer. “I will always love you, no matter what. Whichever side you're on, I will be beside you.”

“I love you, Betty,” he said. “Always and forever.” He kissed her softly on the lips. But when he lifted her against him, he slipped his hands under that bottom of the T-shirt she was wearing. She hadn't taken the time to put her bra or underwear back on. In fact, she wasn't even sure where her undergarments had landed in the kitchen. He groaned when his fingertips came into contact with the naked skin of her spine. He was backing her towards the bed when they heard a loud bark.

They broke apart. Jughead sighed in frustration as he plowed his fingers through his dark hair, combing it back into place. “I swear to God,” he said stomping to the front door. Betty padded after him. “If those damned Serpents came back uninvited, I'm going to throw that jacket back in their faces.”

Betty stayed behind the wall that separated the trailer’s living room from the entry way. She peered around the corner as Jughead retched open the front door. There was nothing there but chilling rain and darkness. Just as he was about slam the door shut again, a white, fuzzy nose poked through the crack. Judged stepped back as a shaggy white dog waltzed into the trailer. Jughead smiled as he crouched down and petted its head.

“Who is this?” Betty asked.

Jughead looked up at her, still grinning like kid on Christmas morning after Santa had dropped off every present he'd ever wanted.

“Hotdog, this is Betty. Betty, this is Hotdog.”

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213313/chapters/22666340