#lexington travel agency

[thetravelauthority]

Family Fun in the Heart of Kentucky: Lexington's Top Attractions

When it comes to family-friendly destinations in Kentucky, Lexington stands out as a hidden gem. At The Travel Authority, your trusted travel agency in Lexington, we understand the importance of creating lasting memories with your loved ones. That's why we've put together a guide to the top family attractions in the Bluegrass State's charming capital.

Kentucky Horse Park: Start your adventure at the world-renowned Kentucky Horse Park, where you can meet majestic horses, learn about equine history, and even catch a thrilling live show. It's an experience your kids won't soon forget.

Lexington Children's Museum: Spark your children's curiosity at the Lexington Children's Museum. With hands-on exhibits covering everything from science to art, it's a place where learning and fun go hand in hand.

The Explorium: If your kids are budding scientists or explorers, The Explorium is the place to be. This interactive science center offers engaging exhibits and activities that will inspire their imagination.

Keeneland Race Course: For an authentic taste of Kentucky's equestrian culture, visit Keeneland Race Course. While the kids enjoy the beautiful grounds, you can indulge in a little horse racing excitement.

Raven Run Nature Sanctuary: If your family enjoys outdoor adventures, take a hike at Raven Run Nature Sanctuary. This pristine natural area offers hiking trails suitable for all ages, as well as opportunities for wildlife spotting and picnicking.

When planning your family trip to Lexington, trust The Travel Authority, your premier travel agency in Lexington, to handle all the details. We'll ensure your family getaway is filled with unforgettable experiences and cherished moments. Contact us today to start planning your next adventure in the heart of Kentucky.

[hanckocks-dagger]

Shake, rattle, and roll

masterlist

John Hancock x f!reader

Description: After three weeks on the road, you come home to Goodneighbor to find a sweet surprise from Hancock. Naturally, you fuck him about it. 

Tags: Such sappy smut guys, holy shit theyre in love, Hancock is a simp. Reader could be viewed as SoSu or not, no y/n, female anatomy

Warnings: smut! Pretty vanilla though, honestly, so nothing else to mention

Word count: 6K

Cross posted on my ao3

The last day of travel was always the worst; with the end goal in sight

The morning sun beat down on you, the trek from Lexington having seemed almost endless. There was only one thing on your mind as you marched over the Harvard bridge; Hancock's bed. You had the full intention of crawling right into it and staying there, comatose, for several days.

Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. You needed to unload the spare weapons you'd picked up, throw those to KL-E-0. You also had some things to drop at Daisy's, some things to pass on to Ham for the Third Rail...

You pulled your pack higher onto your shoulders, ignoring the ache of your back from the weight of it, all the junk you'd decided to ferry back with you. The straps of the bag were sure to leave deep, painful indents in your skin, almost permanently rubbed raw after weeks of travel.

Downtown, you skirted between Diamond City outposts, making your usual wide berth around the city itself. Despite being human and technically welcome inside the city, you'd taken to avoiding it, as if their prejudice was infectious. You hadn't entered the gates in months by now, and even though you missed Power Noodles and stopping by the agency to bother Nick, you felt no real urge to step inside.

The inhabitants' paranoia, towards the institute and towards outsiders, made the air in the city oppressive. Compared to the freedom of Goodneighbor, even with all of its own problems, Diamond City felt tyrannical in comparison.

You made a wide berth around the old scrap yard, overrun by feral dogs, climbing a fire escape to reach the elevated turnpike.

The closer you got to Goodneighbor, the hard it was to push forward. With the end in sight, close enough that you could practically count the steps you had left, aware of every finite amount of energy you had to eke from your body. Still, you reused to break, pushing forward, hands wrapped tight around the straps of your pack, like a schoolchild with their brightly colored schoolbag

Just a little further. Just a little more. The turnpike turned North, and you had to duck and pause as some gunner scouts passed, the highway connected to some high-rises, precarious wooden planks forming bridges.

Crouched down low, your calves burned, your fingers ached as you gripped your revolver, checking the bullet count on autopilot and lining up a shot, just in case you were spotted.

You weren't, the mercenaries passing from one end of the bridge to the other, wood creaking under their weight, loud, unconcerned conversation passing between them.

You sneaked past them in a crouch, knees and back protesting, familiar flood of adrenaline humming through your blood, heartbeat in your ears. The thrill stayed even once you were out of eyesight, until you'd shaken out your joints and rolled your shoulders, back to your brisk pace.

One of these days, you promised yourself, zeroing in on the broken jaw of the freeway that you used to find your bearings, you'd find a way to make a portable Ham-radio. Staying away so long was making you half-insane. You hadn't heard his voice in over two weeks, and at this point you would have sold all the loot you were lugging around to see his face a few minutes sooner. You'd pay insane sums to be able to hear him on the regular while you were away. Joking, complaining, hell, even just reading off his fucking caravan logs.

The body of the freeway dropped to the ground, crumbling concrete surrounding a Gunner camp, probably the one those two idiots earlier were supposed to be protecting. Well, you thought, pulling a trip-mine from your pack, it wasn't your fault if they were fucking morons.

Behind the rusted body of a truck, you waited for the perfect moment to strike, listening with patience to the Gunners as they yelled and laughed, carefree in the way only over-confident assholes ever could be. On a different day, you would have attacked with something more complicated, something that could blast the entire camp in one go, but today, you were tired and homesick.

At the right moment, you activated the mine and tossed it, scurrying from behind your car to drop off the side of the freeway, landing in a crouch in an alley a street over from Goodneighbor, booking it as the mine went off and the yells changed from happy to panicked.

You'd often thought, as you and Hancock laid spread eagle on the bed, or sprawled over the couch, that between the two of you, you were by far the one more likely to turn feral. He was too clever, his mind too sharp, even dulled by drugs. You were the one running around the wasteland, scampering like some little creature, hoarding old-world junk, killing nearly indiscriminately. You survived on the high of your own adrenaline, surviving scrapes by the skin of your teeth, by clawing, biting, crushing, choking.

You held your breath until you could see the glow of the welcome-sign, neon arrow pointing at the door, like to the entrance of a dingy nightclub. It shone like a beacon even in the daylight, beckoning you home.

When your fingers touched the door, you swore you gained a second wind, the eerie stillness of downtown Boston turning into the hum of bustling Goodneighbor residents. You greeted the Neighborhood watch as you entered the town, and they variously tipped caps or winked at you, hands always on their guns.

Daisy's was full, the sure sign of a newly passed caravan. You spotted that Railroad guy, sipping from a bottle on the bench in front of the store, doing his usual job of completely failing to fit in by being almost unnaturally nondescript. That might work in Diamond city, but not in Goodneighbor.

Your steps were slow as you maneuvered through the crowd, aware of the pack on your back and the guns slung over your shoulders. You headed for Kill or Be killed, planning to unload some ammo and spare rifle you'd picked up. You kept your eyes peeled for that flash of red in your periphery, the heat that filled your chest whenever you were near him.

KL-E-0's store was empty, meaning she was probably on the second floor, conducting some less than savory business. You'd hustle out of there if you heard the sound of her laser powering up, but you decided to spare a few minutes.

You leaned your forearms onto the counter, taking some of the weight off your sore feet and back, eyes running over the visible apparel, wondering what things you should offload.

Sure enough, barely a minute passed before you could hear the wood creaking above you, footsteps descending the staircase and an achingly familiar voice:

"-Talk when my girl brings something new, call it a uh- personal favor."

You raised your head from where it had been lolling, that familiar voice sending a sweet ache through your chest and a giddy smile onto your face. His girl.

Hancock was turned away from you, speaking to KL-E-0, trusty shotgun in his hands.

If your pack had been lighter, you would have bounded into his arms and dragged him right back to the old State House. You would have indulged the exhibitionist in him, wrapped your legs around his waist and let him stick his tongue down your throat right there in the street.

Instead, though, you settled for walking over, supporting the bottom of your pack to keep it from rattling. KL-E-0's red eye flickered over to you for a moment, inscrutable as always, but she stayed quiet, allowing you to surprise Hancock as he chattered about the recoil of his gun.

You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, smushing your face between his shoulder blades. You breathed him in, the familiar smell of tanned hide, cigarettes and that ever present old-museum-smell that he'd tried many times in vain to get rid of. You inhaled with a shudder, pressing a kiss to his back, feeling his momentary frozen shock melt away as he seemed to register who was touching him.

He spun in your arms, leaving you face to face with soft eyes and a softer smile, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

Warm lips pressed to yours and you melted arms sliding up to hook around his shoulders, pulling him flush to you. A corner of your mind– or your heart– which had spent the past two weeks growling about being apart from him, finally quieted down.

"Is that your gun digging into my hip, or are you just happy to see me, love?" He asked you when you separated, leaving you to snort and hide your face in his shoulder, so giddy you thought you might burst with it.

You swallowed past your joy, composing yourself so that you could lean back and flick the tip of Hancock's tricorn-hat upwards, giving you a better view of those lovely dark eyes, always so emotive, crinkled at the corners.

"Good to see you too, Mister Mayor," You breathed, hands sliding from his shoulders down to his waist, backing out of KL-E-0's store, dragging Hancock along with you. He came willingly, not allowing even an extra inch between the two of you.

All thoughts of bartering, even your own body's complaints were forgotten, your heart singing. You blinked against the sunlight, convinced suddenly that the weather was reflecting your mood.

"What's your plan for the day?" You asked, when it became clear Hancock was too busy staring at you to say anything. The two of you seemed to be wandering in a leisurely pace towards the old State House, but you didn't care where you were going. You'd follow him around all day if you had to. You could be going right back into the Wastes for all you cared. You'd trail behind him as he did whatever he needed to do, collapse from exhaustion and let him carry you back to bed.

"Oh, you know," He said, pulling you up the steps to the Old State House, opening the door for you, ushering you inside, "Was gonna get high and mope around all day, waiting for you." He had no sooner shut the door than he grabbed you by your belt, pinning you to the wall, your heavy pack hitting the wall. "Probably drive Fahrenheit crazy with my pining–"

You hum, smoothing out the lapels of his coat as his hands wander.

"Now, I'm thinking we go up and let the whole town we're reunited."

"Sounds perfect," You agreed, pressing a kiss to his jaw before pushing him gently in the direction of the staircase. He led the charge, half toppling over every step in his desperation not to let go of you.

The second you hit the landing he whisked you back into his arms again, hands restless as he squeezed your sides, traveled up your arms, touched your face, all before coming right back down again to squeeze your ass. Another breathy laugh escaped you, so happy you couldn't put your smile away even as you kissed him.

His hand slid up to your lower back, guiding you towards the bedroom, your lips still locked together.

you pulled away at the door as Hancock filled with the stubborn doorknob, always jammed right when you needed it to open. You keep your arms hooked around him, but you give a salute to the neighborhood watchman stationed in front of your door. His face stayed stoic, either used to yours and Hancock's antics, or from copious threats from Hancock. Both seem equally likely.

He did give you a nod, though, as Hancock crooned in victory, having managed to fling the doors open. You gave him a smile, right as Hancock grabbed your arms and pulled you in. You kicked the doors shut behind you, already laughing as Hancock showered your face with kisses, dipping you like a dancer.

You separated from him enough to finally drop your pack, which thumps to the floor. Your guns come off, placed down with more care, followed by your bandolier and scavenging jacket.

Hancock cracked the doors open as you busied yourself, calling out, "Make sure to keep all the riff-raff out today, yeah brother?" And then the doors were shut and locked. A peaceful quiet descending over you.

He takes your hands, pulling you to the center of the bedroom, leaving you bathed in afternoon sunlight peeking in from the open balcony door. The room was as clean as it ever was, five hundred years of grime that you'd long given up on trying to get rid of.

With the door open and the spring air flooding in, everything felt fresher, not weighed down by centuries of history, but just a normal bedroom. Your books had been stacked in neat piles on the dresser, where you could see one of your shirt sleeves peeking out from the drawer. The bed was newly made, and....

"Is that..?" You stared, taking in the sharp white color of the fresh sheets, looking brand fucking new. Not Commonwealth new either, no, this looked like the bleached and pressed sheets of a fucking prewar hotel.

Your eyes sought out Hancock's, expecting to find him grinning, boastful, the usual exaggerated ego coupled with his general cool-demeanor, but instead you found him looking... uncertain. One hand rubbing the back of his neck like he was... bashful.

"Where did you get this?" You asked, stepping over to the bed. You ran a hand almost irreverently over the fresh sheets, feeling the starched, crisp texture of it, not rotting and mildewed like almost everything was.

"Oh, a uh– new trade caravan passed through last week. From somewhere out west, they've been growing cotton and weaving shit.

As if in a trance, you started shucking off your clothes, not wanting to sully the fresh sheets with your blood and dirt stained layers. You only get as far as your outer shirt when Hancock's hands sneak back onto your waist, almost timid in their touch. You half wanted to slap them off in your urge to get naked, get under the sheets and let him touch you there all he wanted.

Instead, you spin around to face him, guide his hands under your shirt to the warm skin of your stomach. "You're an angel, you know that?" You said.

He laughed, "Only for you, sister. Devil to everyone else."

You laughed back at him, finally shedding your shirt. As you try to wrestle off your boots with the force of your heel, all the examples to the contrary fly into your head: Every kind action he'd done, every willingly shared drug, every situation where he'd chosen less violence than he needed to. The nights you'd spent watching him agonize over whether he was good enough for his community, whether he was making the right decisions.

Instead of bringing those up, you pecked his lips in thanks. With his 'help' (groping), you got your undershirt and bra off, leaving your torso bare.

You leant down to unlace your boots, your earlier attempts having been futile, but before you could Hancock had you off your feet, tossing you head first into soft, fresh sheets. He took over, hands trailing teasingly over the waistband of your pants before he turned to your boots, sliding them off and taking your socks with them.

You groaned, cheek smushed into the mattress, as nimble hands pull your pants down and off. Trailing fingers, tickling the backs of your naked calves, up into the hollow of your knees. You had to stifle a giggle as a feather light touch against your inner thigh made you jump.

The bed shifted as he climbed onto it, his legs bracketing yours, knees pressing into the flesh of your thighs.

Fingers on the waistband of your underwear.

"How about we get these off?" His voice, low and gravelly, suddenly hot in your ear. A gentle bite to the cartilage of your earlobe, the drag of fabric as your underwear was pulled down your legs and then tossed somewhere.

"You know," You breathed, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could crane your neck and tried to catch him in a kiss. You missed, but settled for kissing his shoulder, hovering just by your head. "I'm feeling a bit exposed here. You've stripped me bare and you're still clothed."

You turned underneath him, determined to get him to kiss you again, were met with his grinning face just above yours. "Well, let no one call me an unfair man," He said, sinking onto his haunches, just out of reach of your desperate mouth. He plucked his tricorn from his head, settled it onto your.

You raised yourself to him, stole a quick peck, languishing in every brush of his lips against yours. It was dangerous, how much you'd missed him on the road, pining to the point of distraction. The times you'd ducked into buildings to ease an ache brought on by reminiscing, imagining him besides you, or on you, or in you. Imagining him being beside you as you stumbled into firefights, imagined his hands patching you up, rather than your own.

"You didn't happen to remember to take any Rad-X this morning, didya?"

His words pulled you from your stewing. You groaned. In your excitement to get home, you'd completely forgotten.

"Can't we just... skip it? This once?" You asked, pulling on his collar, dragging him down to lie on top of you, his mouth in reach again. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, hooking one leg around his waist to ground him to you, keep him from getting distracted.

"You and I both know you'd regret that in the morning, sister."

He was right, the bastard. Spending your morning throwing up, hooked to a Rad-Away was not your ideal first day back. So, lamentably, you release your grip on him, hands and leg flopping to the side as he leant over to grab a bottle from the nightstand.

"I'm sure we can find something to... entertain you, while we wait for it to kick in."

You pouted, making a show of how frustrating his interruption had been, how desperate you were to get him back. Here you were, naked, spread-eagle and waiting, with patience you didn't have.

You watched, silently, as he dug into the bottle, drawing out two pills. As he stepped back over, you pulled yourself back onto your elbows, waiting for him to hand them over, or maybe deposit them into your mouth himself.

Instead, as he kneeled onto the bed, he put them into his own mouth, leaning over you to meld his lips to yours. You grabbed at him, feeling his arms wrap around your waist to support your weight as you melted in his arms. Slowly, in long, deep, searing kisses, the pills moved from his mouth to yours. Once they were on your tongue, he pulled his mouth off yours, scarred lips shining with spit, and moved to your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as you gather enough saliva to swallow the pills.

Rad-X was quick to kick in, but the effects weren't instantaneous, leaving the pair of you with at least ten minutes to kill. On a normal day, you would have been happy to spend those minutes making out, taking your time in stripping Hancock off his clothes, egging each other on with dirty words and dangerous fantasies. But you'd spent over three weeks away from Goodneighbor, over three weeks of precarious mental foreplay, dreaming of his touch at night, fantasizing of him in the day. Suddenly, even the prospect of radiation sickness was not enough of a reason to stay away.

You tore at his coat, rucking his frilly shirt out from under his sash, exposing his slim stomach. You watched the muscle there tense under your touch, as you ran cold hands over his hips, tugging him closer to you. With practiced hands, you made quick work of untying the sash at his hips, satiny fabric sliding from your fingers and onto the floor like a waterfall.

Hancock bit into the flesh of your shoulder, making you hiss and dig your nails into the skin by his hip bones in retaliation.

You pull his chin upwards, leading his mouth to yours again, keeping those teeth from doing any more damage just yet.

Your generous hands wandered, up and under his shirt, roaming over the breadth of his chest, feeling it expand as he inhaled. You nipped at his bottom lip, drawing out a rumbling groan, felt both in your mouth against his, and in the vibrations against your fingertips.

You scooted to the edge of the bed, bracketing his hips with your thighs, freeing his hands so you could tug his coat off. Your hands slipped up under his collar, pushing his narrow shoulders backwards, giving you enough leverage to push the heavy coat backwards, the heavy fabric thumping to the ground.

Sometimes, when Hancock looked particularly vulnerable, usually collapsed on one of his couches, bleary with the haze of jet, his outfit reminded you of a child playing dress-up. In ancient coat tailored for a man with broader shoulders, a hat fit for a pirate and a disdain for the sort power he wielded.

You pulled your lips off of his, formulating a plea that would get you what you wanted, what words would make him understand just how badly you  ached for him, just how unbearable the emptiness in you was. You pressed a chaste kiss to his sternum, bare but hiding in the ruffles of his shirt, and made a blind grab for the waistband of his pants, words suddenly elusive.

His hands stopped yours, stilling them just by the button on his pants, so close to their goal.

You whined, the sound almost entirely involuntary, tilting your head up to meet Hancock's gaze with your own, sure now that he was teasing you.

"John," You managed, "This is cruel."

His eyes crinkled, as if you were the one making the joke, as if you weren't the one burning from the inside out.

"Well, now, I can't have you destroying my reputation. I worked hard to be known as a generous lover."

"Then stop teasing and fuck me."

But he only snickered like a bawdy teenager, gentle hands guiding yours to grasp at the fresh sheets. You watched helplessly, heartbeat in your throat, as he stepped back, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows before sinking to the floor in front of you, guiding your legs over his shoulders.

"This'll coast you over, sister."

He grabbed you by your thighs, tugging you closer until you could feel his breath on your [core]. Your thighs trembled, heels digging into his back, desperate to push him closer, to get his mouth where it needed to be.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, hands balled into fists, half convinced you would burst into tears if he didn't do something. You swore you could feel him laugh, right up against your pussy, unable to hear it over the rush of blood in your ears, a split second before his tongue was finally, mercifully, on you. The slick drag of it landing quickly on your clit, lapping at it teasingly, every strike on your nerves making you seize, already so worked up from being near him.

You cursed on an exhale, lungs burning, every nerve in your body sparking, your blood heating. There was an obscene slurping as he sucked hard against your clit, pressure just on the right side of pain, his fingers digging into your thighs.

Your head pushed hard into the mattress, Hancock's hat falling into your eyes, rendering the outside world suddenly dark.

Suddenly, all pressure vanished, making you let out a long, pitiful whine, releasing your death grip on the sheets to raise the hat and see what the ghoul would be torturing you with this time. You raised your head, found Hancock on his knees by the bed, looking at you with pure reverence, fingers running up and down over the plush, soft skin of your inner thighs.

You could feel the way his ministrations had spread your juices, the way the skin at the meet of your thigh and pelvis were glued together, sticky, pulling at your pubic hair just enough to be uncomfortable.

"What are you starin' at?" You panted, trying to get his wandering mind back to the matter at hand.

He grinned up at you from his perch, "What do you think?"

Fingers, crawling slowly, teasingly, up your thigh, into the divot where leg meets hip, tickling. Then, slow, gentle strokes through your pussy lips, scooping up all your wetness. A teasing, fleeting touch across your clit, making you seize, arching off the bed with a whine.

Then, the slick, slow glide of those fingers inside you.

"F-Fuck," You huffed, meaning to say something more like 'fucking finally, you torturer'.

"Such a pretty girl for me," Hancock says, that sly purr sending its own spark up your spine, mixed with his fingers, a slow, tantalizing in and out, "Been thinking about you for  days,  love. All alone out there, with no one to help you out. Running back home, to me, to let me help."

His fingers stilled. You clenched around him, every muscle in your legs seizing, your chest heaving.

"Is that what you were doing?" His voice was delicious, closer now. There's a bite into the flesh of your stomach, just above your belly button and you tensed against it, squirming into his fingers.

"Yes," You breathed, grinding hard onto his fingers, willing something, anything, to put pressure on your clit. You try squeezing your legs together, but Hancock's arm is in the way. A pathetic whimper escapes you.

"Wanna tell me about it, sister?"

You get out a "Please," legs moving restlessly, trying to get him to do anything, go in our out, anything at all. Blindly, you reach out and get him by the back of the neck, trying to push him downwards. You can feel his smile against the skin of your hip.

"Nngh- mmm, yes, I thought of you. Every day I was away." His head sunk lower, chin resting on your pelvis. "Thought about this, or sharing a hit of jet, or letting you pour wine into my mouth."

His mouth found your clit again, and you were sure you could cry, feeling his tongue flicking at the little nub, fingers starting to move again, a slow, languid in and out.

You arched off the bed, hands gripping the back of Hancock's head, legs going over his shoulders, pressing into his back.

"Shit," You breathed, one hand shifting to grab his forearm. The pressure on your clit increased suddenly, sending a spark through you that left you limp. Your hands slid from their grips, spilling onto the bed.

You looked down, finding Hancock's eyes on you. Then, he twisted his fingers in a way you didn’t recognize increasing the suction on your clit until you felt like he was trying to give you a hickey. You gasped, fingers digging hard into the bed, fabric rustling in your palms, hips snapping upwards, further into his mouth.

"Wait, that felt– do it again," You panted, to which he happily obliged, tongue and fingers twisting in a way that lit a spark in your body, like the strike of a lighter. A few more repeated movements and you moaned, probably loud enough to wake the drifters in the attic. Hancock's free hand wandered up the bed, catching one of yours in his own with a gentle squeeze. A moment so sappily romantic it managed to push you over the edge, your orgasm cresting over you like a warm wave.

Slowly, with a few extra nips to your inner thigh, Hancock sat back. Face wet with you, mouth curved up into a smile. You squeezed your legs together, shading your clit from the open air, chest heaving as you recovered from over stimulation.

"Get up here, please," You called, voice languid, hands reaching out to embrace him, crush him to you, hold him there forever. He obliged, crawling up against you, the texture of his pants against your naked thighs sending goosebumps across your skin. He slotted perfectly into your arms, pressing his mouth to yours.

You ached for him, wanting to get him closer, to tangle with him until you were impossible to separate. You kissed him like you were starving, all teeth and desperation, hands moving to shove off his vest, to unbutton his shirt, to get him naked, get him closer. He helped you, tossing the vest and then the shirt to the floor, warm chest pressing to yours, your tits trapped between the two of you, his rough skin grazing against your nipples, heat building behind your sternum.

Between your bodies, you felt his hand work at his pants. You were pressed so close together that every fumble grazed against your core, sending shocks of heat through you. You were so overwhelmed with need you couldn't decide where to put your hands, sure you'd be more of a hindrance than a help if you tried to get involved.

He made quick work of it, tugging down his pants, followed by his underwear.

He lined himself up, your excitement mounting until you were sure you would come again the second he entered. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, and finally your hands moved without you having to think about it, settling low on his hips in an effort to drive him closer.

"Ready?" He asked, and you felt your mind flash back to your first time with him, a rushed affair after a night drinking with him at the Third Rail. Even then, as it was a desperate fumble to get naked as fast as possible, spread over the couch in his office, clawing and biting with ferality, both of you desperate to get closer, even then, he had paused, hands on your panties, and asked, in that same soft tone, if you were ready, as if he expected you to have changed your mind.

"Yeah, I'm ready," You breathed, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation.

It's a slow, slick, delicious glide that has both of you groaning. Something in you slots into place, all your frenetic energy calm, as you grip at Hancock's back, burying your face in his neck as he starts to move.

"God, that's so–" you gasped, unable to finish, unsure of the words. You hitched a leg up onto John's waist, dragged him in for another kiss.

His pace was achingly slow, his touches sickeningly sweet. You focused on the fullness of it, the way the glide and drag of it seemed to fill your lungs even as he stole your breath with his tongue.

You wanted to live in this moment forever, here with him, inseparable in every way, as close as you could be. Hancock's hips drove deep, making you arch your back with a gasp for air, his lips vanishing off yours. The pace stayed sweet, sentimental, and you relished every sound that came from his mouth, every trembling breath.

"Wait," you breathed, tapping his shoulder like a time out, "Lemme, ugh–" With a few moves, you've twisted the two of you around, him on his back, you supporting yourself over him. He looked up at you, eyes twinkling with pure adoration, as you settled yourself with your legs under you, hands moving to his chest so you can keep your balance.

You settled yourself down onto his cock, your hips flush with his, and his hands found your waist, squeezing with that same softness. You set a pace, still calm, but decidedly faster, enough that your tits jiggle as you move.

"If this is some fucked up hallucination," Hancock rasped, voice choked, "I swear I'll lay off the drugs."

You laughed, breathless, grinding down to find that perfect spot inside you, hitting it over and over again, until the pleasure of it turns the inside of your eyelids white and your hands buckle, give out.

Arms caught you, of course, Hancock flipping you back over, managing to land that sweet spot again, enough that the tension spreads across your body, every muscle tensing up as you moaned, inches away from your second orgasm. His fingers on your clit do the trick, a few tight circles and the tension suddenly seeps out of you, a long, silent exhale. He fucked you through it, pace slowing down as you catch your breath.

You lean up to capture his lips again, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts, encouraging him to speed it up, to chase his own pleasure, relishing in the way his pace grows frantic, sloppier.

He gripped your wrists, bringing them over your head, held tight in his hands. Your torso lengthened, chin tilting upwards, exposing the length of your neck to him. He pulled away from your mouth so you take the chance, craning your neck upwards to nip at his skin, finding the soft tendons and sucking hard.

Through gasping breaths, he asked, "Where– nngh– where do you want me?" Your legs tightened around him, hands clawing at his back, using all the strength you had to keep him where he was.

Already, you can feel the way your own pressure is building back up, the way the repeated slide of it drives you right back to the edge.

"In– in me," You gasped, muscles shaking as he managed to hit that perfect spot in you over and over, back arching clean off the bed. You still weren't ready to let him go, even as you neared your third orgasm, still desperate to keep him where he was.

"Are you–"

"John," You cried, his hips slowing as he stopped again to check, your welfare always at the front of his mind. Sure, it would leave you raw and burning, making the next round a bit more pain than pleasure, but all you could think about was keeping the sensation of him imprinted on you as long as possible. "I'm sure, please."

He rutted against you, hips grinding against yours. His head dropped to your shoulder, gasping against your sweat slicked skin, two fingers sliding down against your throbbing clit.

You whimpered against him as pleasure flooded your body again, your grip on him weakening as your muscles shook, legs slipping from around his waist.

You mumbled words of praise as he came, hands roaming around his back, onto his cheek, your whispers of, "So good, so perfect, you're perfect, baby," audible only to him as he moaned. You felt the heat of him inside you, the slow building of fullness even as he softened.

You felt the slow, familiar tingling that preceded the lightly burning pain that would start. You felt Hancock shifting out of you, his mouth twisted into a guilty frown in the skin of your shoulder.

You clenched, feeling the slow dribble of heat spilling onto your skin.

Hancock's lips traced a path across your shoulder, down your arm, the occasional wet smack or nip at your skin pausing his journey. He detached himself from you slowly, regretfully, as if taking his skin off yours was some great sin. And it was, but in the service of a greater good, grabbing a clean strip of cloth from the bedside drawer, cleaning you up in gentle caresses, stickiness removed from your inner thighs, even softer touches over your pussy lips.

You let him busy himself, even as your fingers itched to get him back, wanting to tell him that you'd had worse pain, that you'd hurt for him every second if you had to. Instead, you only smiled at him when he glanced up at you, reaching up to pull him back to you. He came willingly as you pulled him back into your arms.

Tension faded out of your muscles and you melted into the bed, hands wrapped around Hancock's middle. "Did you miss me while I was gone?" You asked, smiling, voice soft. You just wanted to hear him say it, your own little version of 'I love you'.

Hancock raised his head, pecking your lips gently, leaving them tingling.

"More than you could ever know," He said, painfully earnest.

"Mmm, I think I have some idea."

Notes:

The smut chapter took me ages to write for some reason, so if it sucks... uh. No it doesn't (if u see any spelling errors pls let me know tho)

Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment, or request something, or just come chat with me!

[thxnews]

HSI Nashville Leads to Child Porn Sentence

HSI Nashville's Pivotal Role in Child Pornography Case

After Homeland Security Investigations (HSI) Nashville conducted a thorough investigation, a Kentucky man received a 25-year federal prison sentence on January 3rd. This case, adjudicated in the Eastern District of Kentucky, involved two counts of distribution and one count of possession of child pornography. The sentencing marks a significant achievement in the ongoing battle against digital crime, particularly those involving the exploitation of children.  

Digital Crime Detection and Federal Prison Sentencing

Cory Johns, a 42-year-old from Nicholasville, Kentucky, emerged as a perpetrator in November 2015. The Lexington Police Department, through its collaborative efforts, initially connected with Johns via a file-sharing program, leading to his identification. This digital engagement led to the download of images and videos depicting children in sexually explicit conduct. Further involvement by the Kentucky State Police (KSP) in April 2016, using similar detection methods, reinforced the evidence against Johns. A subsequent search warrant execution at Johns' residence yielded additional incriminating material, culminating in his conviction.   Law Enforcement Collaboration: A Unified Front HSI Nashville Special Agent in Charge Rana Saoud, U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District of Kentucky Carlton S. Shier IV, KSP Commissioner Phillip J. Burnett, and Lexington Police Chief Lawrence Weathers jointly announced the sentence. This collaboration underscores the critical importance of a unified approach by law enforcement agencies in addressing child pornography charges and other forms of online exploitation.  

Online Child Safety and the Role of HSI

HSI's role extends beyond investigation and prosecution. The agency encourages public involvement in safeguarding children from exploitation. They maintain a toll-free tip line, accessible 24/7, for reporting suspected child predators and suspicious activities. HSI's victim-centered approach in these investigations aims to not only identify and bring perpetrators to justice but also to rescue and stabilize victims of exploitation.   Internet Crimes Against Children: A Collective Effort In partnership with entities like the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force partners, HSI plays a crucial role in solving cases and rescuing sexually exploited children. Public awareness and reporting are essential in these efforts, further aided by the National Center's toll-free hotline for reporting suspected child sexual exploitation or missing children.  

HSI's Global Impact and Commitment

HSI's commitment to protecting children from exploitation is a key part of its broader mission to safeguard the public from victimization. As a global leader in this investigative discipline, HSI utilizes its extensive authorities and international footprint to address transnational child sexual abuse. The agency's involvement in the Virtual Global Taskforce further strengthens its capabilities to deter online child sexual abuse in collaboration with international law enforcement agencies and private sector partners.   Homeland Security Investigations: A Broad Mandate HSI, serving as the principal investigative arm of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security, is tasked with investigating transnational crime and threats. Consequently, this responsibility encompasses a wide range of criminal organizations that exploit international trade, travel, and financial systems. Moreover, with a vast workforce and a significant international presence, HSI's role in law enforcement extends across national borders. As a result, it has become one of the most influential entities in both U.S. and international law enforcement.  

A Resounding Message Against Child Exploitation

The 25-year sentence handed down in this case sends a resounding message about the seriousness with which child pornography investigations and subsequent prosecutions are treated. HSI Nashville, in collaboration with local and state law enforcement agencies, has demonstrated its unwavering commitment to online child safety and the broader mission of protecting the most vulnerable members of society from exploitation and abuse. This case exemplifies the effective synergy between law enforcement agencies and the community in identifying, prosecuting, and ultimately reducing the incidence of such heinous crimes.   Sources: THX News & US Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Read the full article

[jonathanbelleofficial]

Seattle Superman Journey so far.

I am sitting here thinking about all the places and jobs I had since quitting my career job at Union Pacific and I realize I have no timeline written down anywhere. So, for my records and to someday look back at this “Origin Story” time. Here is a record of my travels and jobs so far.

November 2016

Quit Union Pacific. Drove to Reno, Nevada and stayed with my older brother and his family for about a week. Drove to Eugene, Or and stayed there for about three weeks. Made it up to seattle December of 2017

December 2017

Started working at Pacific Regent as a dishwasher.

March 2017

Ordered my Superman Suit

June2017

Van broke down. Got a second job at Lucky Strike in Bellevue to save for another van. Finally bought one in July.

October 2017

Superman Suit came in the mail.

November 2017

Went to London for a week.

December 2017

Got two more part time jobs as dishwashers for a month to try to save more money. I quit both of those in about three weeks.

March 2018

Got a second Job as a pressure washer/ House Cleaner/ gutter cleaner.

April 2018

Quit The dishwashing job at Pacific Regent.

July 2018

Started working for a Temp Agency for Conductors. My First job was Montana for a year in a half. In this year and a half I stayed in a hotel room in Sidney, Mt. Paid all my credit cards off, bought a new van, paid IRS, got totally out of debt, bought a new laptop, new camera, new cosplays, and saved a lot of money.

January 2020

Headed out to Pennsylvania to stay at a friends house for a bit. While driving out I visited Cleveland, Minneapolis, and Chicago. Once I dropped off some stuff in PA I went to New York for a month. During this time the temp agency asked if I wanted to start a new job contract in Vermont. I said yes.

February 2020

Drove to Rutland, VT to start working on a contract that was supposed to last until September.

April 2020

Vermont contract canceled due to the pandemic. Went back to my friends house in Philadelphia. I stayed there for four months and house sat, while she was stuck in California. Also due to the pandemic.

September 2020

Got offered another contract in Lexington, Kentucky that was supposed to last for three months. Halfway in they transferred me to Alabama.

November 2020

Typing this from Sylacagua, AL

[newstfionline]

Headlines

Canada and U.S. likely to extend ban on non-essential travel ban—sources (Reuters) Canada and the United States are set to extend a ban on non-essential travel that was imposed to fight the coronavirus outbreak, although a final decision has not been taken, two Ottawa sources familiar with the matter said on Monday.

Workers are pushed to the brink as they continue to wait for delayed unemployment payments (Washington Post) Alexis Herdez has been filing for unemployment every week since April, shortly after she was laid off on her first day of work at a bridal clothing store. But more than two months later, the 23-year-old in Lexington, Ky., has yet to receive any payment. She and her husband have been struggling to pay rent and make their monthly car payment. The automated phone system for the state’s unemployment system takes her to a queue for a callback that has yet to come. Visits to state offices have been fruitless. While Herdez was finally able to get an appointment with someone at the unemployment agency to look at her case, it’s not until August, she said. The pandemic’s toll on workers who have been furloughed or laid off like Herdez is measured in numbers that splash across headlines: 1.4 million new weekly unemployment claims and 18 million people are already receiving continuous unemployment insurance. Four months into the worst recession since the Great Depression, tens of thousands of workers like Herdez across the country have filed for jobless claims but have yet to receive payments. Many are now in dire financial straits. The issue has spilled back into public view in recent weeks, as thousands of frustrated workers awaiting payments have camped out, sometimes overnight, in front of unemployment offices in states like Oklahoma, Alabama and Kentucky.

U.S. budget deficit shattered one-month record in June (Washington Post) The U.S. budget deficit widened to a record-high $864 billion last month because of the federal government’s extraordinary response to the coronavirus pandemic, the Treasury Department said on Monday. In June 2019, the budget deficit was just $8 billion. Federal spending rose to more than $1.1 trillion in June, more than twice what the U.S. government spends in a typical month. The amount of tax revenue collected by the federal government remained largely flat, at about $240 billion. The huge surge in June pushed the budget deficit for the first nine months of the fiscal year to $2.7 trillion. June’s deficit figures highlight just how much havoc the coronavirus pandemic has wreaked on U.S. budgeting. In prior years, the federal deficit was considered large when it approached or eclipsed $1 trillion for an entire year. The United States spent about $2 trillion more than it took in via tax revenue from April to June alone.

Governor shuts bars, dining as virus hits California hard (AP) As the coronavirus swept California with renewed ferocity, the governor once again closed bars, inside dining and, for much of the state, gyms, indoor church services and hair and nail salons in an effort to prevent COVID-19 cases from swamping hospitals. Gov. Gavin Newsom issued a sweeping set of closures on Monday as the state recorded more than 329,000 cases and deaths topped 7,000. Hospitalizations have surged by 28% in the past two weeks, including a 20% increase in patients requiring intensive care. Meanwhile, the Los Angeles and San Diego school districts, the two largest in California with a combined K-12 student population of about 720,000, announced Monday they won’t bring students back to classrooms next month because of rising coronavirus hospitalizations and infection rates.

Bottleneck for U.S. Coronavirus Response: The Fax Machine (NYT) Public health officials in Houston are struggling to keep up with one of the nation’s largest coronavirus outbreaks. They are desperate to trace cases and quarantine patients before they spread the virus to others. But first, they must negotiate with the office fax machine. The machine at the Harris County Public Health department in Houston recently became overwhelmed when one laboratory sent a large batch of test results, spraying hundreds of pages all over the floor. Picture the image of hundreds of faxes coming through, and the machine just shooting out paper,” said Dr. Umair Shah, executive director of the department. As hard as the United States works to control coronavirus, it keeps running into problems caused by its fragmented health system, a jumble of old and new technology, and data standards that don’t meet epidemiologists’ needs. Public health officials and private laboratories have managed to expand testing to more than half a million performed daily, but they do not have a system that can smoothly handle that avalanche of results. Some test results arrive via smooth data feeds but others come by phone, email, physical mail or fax, a technology retained because it complies with digital privacy standards for health information. These reports often come in duplicate, go to the wrong health department, or are missing crucial information such as a patient’s phone number or address.

Disappearances in Mexico rose during López Obrador’s first year, now top 73,000 (Washington Post) Mexico added more than 11,000 people to its official count of the disappeared on Monday, bringing the total during a 14-year epidemic of criminal violence to more than 73,000. The number includes hundreds of American citizens who vanished and were never found. The newly added cases span several years, but the problem remains critical. Last year, the first under President Andrés Manuel López Obrador, saw the second-most disappearances on record. In Mexico, the disappearances are blamed on a wider variety of culprits: organized crime gangs, police, the military or some combination of all three. The great majority of the victims have gone missing during a period of extreme violence that began in 2006, when the government launched an offensive on drug cartels. About 288,000 people have been killed since then.

Lockdown can be horrible, and beware of emus (Foreign Policy) Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro has reported he “can’t stand” the routine of having to remain in place during his coronavirus-induced isolation in the presidential palace, calling it “horrible.” While strolling in the confines of the palace, the president fell upon more bad luck after he was reportedly bitten by an emu, one of many such birds who roam the grounds. Bolsonaro may be free of isolation soon, as a coronavirus test scheduled for today could give him a clean bill of health.

India’s tech hub, other towns back in lockdown as coronavirus infections surge (Reuters) India’s high-tech hub of Bengaluru will go back into a coronavirus lockdown for a week on Tuesday after a surge of infections, threatening to derail government efforts to revive a stuttering economy.

Caught in ‘Ideological Spiral,’ U.S. and China Drift Toward Cold War (NYT) One by one, the United States has hit at the core tenets of Xi Jinping’s vision for a rising China ready to assume the mantle of superpower. In a matter of weeks, the Trump administration has imposed sanctions over punitive policies in Hong Kong and China’s western region of Xinjiang. It took new measures to suffocate Chinese innovation by cutting it off from American technology and pushing allies to look elsewhere. Then, on Monday, it challenged China’s claims in the South China Sea, setting the stage for sharper confrontation. “The power gap is closing, and the ideological gap is widening,” said Rush Doshi, director of the China Strategy Initiative at the Brookings Institution in Washington, adding that China and the United States had entered a downward “ideological spiral” years in the making. “Where’s the bottom?” he asked. For years, officials and historians have dismissed the idea that a new Cold War was emerging between the United States and China. The contours of today’s world, the argument went, are simply incomparable to the decades when the United States and the Soviet Union squared off in an existential struggle for supremacy. The world was said to be too interconnected to easily divide into ideological blocs. Now, lines are being drawn and relations are in free fall, laying the foundation for a confrontation that will have many of the characteristics of the Cold War — and the dangers. As the two superpowers clash over technology, territory and clout, they face the same risk of small disputes escalating into military conflict.

Hong Kong Voters Defy Beijing, Endorsing Protest Leaders in Primary (NYT) Defying warnings from local officials that the Hong Kong opposition’s unofficial primary vote could be illegal under a sweeping new security law, hundreds of thousands of people chose avowedly pro-democracy candidates to run in citywide elections this year, results released Monday showed. Early returns showed that the more than 600,000 people who had voted favored candidates who were prominent supporters of the months of demonstrations that have gripped the semiautonomous Chinese city. Their choices indicated a desire to see the goals of the protest movement pressed within the government itself, but could lead to an intensifying confrontation with the authorities, who could bar some from running.

Quarantine loopholes bring fresh efforts to fight outbreaks (AP) An Australian state is toughening its punishments for anyone caught violating coronavirus quarantines, including jailing rule breakers for up to six months—a warning that follows rising virus cases worldwide and violations of restrictions that are now being further tightened. The current set of fines for breaking a mandatory 14-day hotel quarantine for some visitors or lying about their whereabouts “appears not to be enough” in some cases, Queensland state Deputy Premier Steven Miles said. With higher fines and a threat of six months’ imprisonment, “I hope that will demonstrate to the public just how serious we are about enforcing these measures,” Miles said.

Taliban Stage a Major Attack, as Violence Intensifies in Northern Afghanistan (NYT) The Taliban waged a sustained assault against an Afghan intelligence complex in the city of Aybak on Monday, killing at least 11 people and wounding more than 60 others, part of a bloody wave of violence across the country’s north. With the opening of peace talks between the insurgency and the Afghan government stalled for months, the Taliban have intensified their offensives, creating one of the deadliest years of the long war.

Middle East downturn (Foreign Policy) Oil producing countries in the Middle East are expected to see their economies contract by 7.3 percent and make $270 billion less in oil revenue this year, according to a forecast by the International Monetary Fund (IMF). Driving the steep decline is the estimate for Saudi Arabia: In April, the IMF projected the country’s economy would contract by 2.3 percent this year; that figure has now been revised to 6.8 percent. Saudi Arabia is not only facing declining revenues from low oil prices but will take a further hit now that the hajj pilgrimage is closed to overseas travelers.

[bk000123-blog]

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[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 38

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 5. Go to previous. Go to next. A treatise on earning stripes and flying colors.

__________________________

The bucket only had a few golf balls left now. ‘Choly had nabbed a sports visor off the body of someone who’d been on the green at 9:47am October 23, 2077. From beneath its faded brim, his gaze skimmed the balding, scorched fairway and snagged on the metallic bits that caught the sunlight. The Billerica Golf Course had once employed eighteen robots, half Mister Handies, and half Protectrons. Seventeen of them now lay in pieces across the property. He placed a fresh ball on the tee, and hammered through the 4-wood stroke with a clenched jaw.

Bogey did its best to sit still. It had put out its pilot light again, and it resembled a tripod in an odd way. With his Pip-Boy plugged into the brass Handy to access its disk maintenance algorithms, 'Choly wondered if a Handy really could get efficient mobility on its tendrils rather than its pilot light, if it came to it. Bogey seemed to manage with it, uncanny as it was. Perhaps it had adapted.

“Really, I can’t tell you all that much about the raiders. I... I tend to hide at the first sign of their approach. They call themselves the Rust Devils. They prioritize parts salvage, to the point they’ll demolish perfectly stable, operating robots in order to... gut the remains...” Bogey’s three ocular lenses all retracted under their plates for what it said next. “...From what I’ve observed, I believe they turn off all AI processes not vital to combat. Between the victimized robots’ altered processing state and the unceremonious mishmash of the customizations the raiders jerry-build... I dare say that to encounter one... it must feel to a Handy, what it's like for a human to encounter a feral ghoul. And most of them-- they’ll wear shell components like armor--! It’s just awful--”

“My word,” Angel ejected. “Most appalling. They wear shells?” Its tendrils shuddered.

“I’m more worried what they’re combining,” ‘Choly mumbled. “And where they’re getting the parts from.” He buried himself in the algorithm scan, and tried not to dismiss the two robots’ revulsion. It didn’t matter that ferals didn’t repulse him. His comfort zone wasn’t on the table here.

With his mind wandering, he didn’t even notice where the ball landed. It didn’t matter, range picking Protectrons or no. He placed another ball. The next swing took the tee with it, and he stuttered a detached curse under his breath.

“You should come with us to Lowell,” ‘Choly soothed. “To the Deenwood Compound. I’m sure Angel agrees with me, that we’re both anxious at the idea of leaving you somewhere vulnerable like this.”

“Me? Go to Lowell!?” Bogey moaned, its ocular lenses flying animate again in incredulity. “I don’t know where the Rust Devils have stationed themselves, but they always come down here from the North. The way’s not safe! You two shouldn’t... no, can’t! Surely I could dissuade you. They’re barbaric!”

“Mister Carey, there’s the option of--”

“--No. There’s not.” He pointed a stern finger at Angel. “We can’t. We’re just an hour or so from the base now. We can’t afford to add another day’s travel.”

“But Bogey’s a brass--”

Really, he wasn’t being selfish by refusing to double back. Was he? He re-teed and the next stroke threw out his shoulder from the force jarring the follow-through. He grumbled and rubbed at it with a fat upper lip. He thought to himself, I can dick around on the green for an hour, but I can’t double back to get Bogey someplace safe? No, he wasn’t dicking around. He was clearing his head. Forming a plan. He and Angel would leave soon.

“I really didn’t want to worry either of you about me. I’ll be safe here. Really,” Bogey swore. “It’s been a year since they last came on premises for salvage. It’s unlikely they’ll come down here again. By comparison, last year, they looted about every other month. They’ve probably taken everything they want. I’m smart about it, too. I keep the clubhouse looking uninhabited. No lights, not even my thruster. I only move as necessary. And I never move objects or furniture. It’s been excruciating not to dust, but it’s been a necessity. They won’t know to look for me. Even if they do trespass again, I’ll put out my pilot light and hide like I always do.”

“What did Angel mean?” ‘Choly crossed his arms, scrutinizing Bogey’s body. “What does it mean, for a Mister Handy to be brass colored?”

Suddenly, Angel regretted having said anything.

“It’s a great deal how different Protectron models have different plating colors. Mister Gutsies are army green for being combat-oriented. Miss Nannies are white for their domestic and medical prowess. Chrome is the standard for a basic Mister Handy. ...Being brass means I’m not fully outfitted,” it admitted, feeling small. “I thought you might have noticed during your scans, so I didn’t mention it. I have no tendril accessories. Only my pincers.”

“I, I could-- If you--”

In addition to ‘Choly’s upkeep, Angel had split its fusion cells with its new acquaintance. They still had Angel’s first laser attachment, and ‘Choly doted it upon Bogey readily. Bogey could defend itself a lot better now, between recalibration, refuel, and re-equipment. Bogey could sit tight for the moment, while he and Angel proceeded on to their destination, to assess the best course of action. It was a smart, if not cowardly, robot. If it wouldn’t go with them, he and Angel would just have to trust it.

Suddenly, the chemist couldn’t quite grasp why he was getting himself involved in defending a robot he’d only just met from raiders that might not even exist. Did he really care if Bogey was safe? Either way, the habits described of these savage robotics enthusiasts, with their proximity so close to base, presented a very real composite of concerns. Depending on the Devils’ luck and stubbornness, they very well might have forced their way past the security measures, and had the entire fleet of military robotics at their disposal. The Rust Devils inevitably stood between him and the closure he sought coming all this way. Nearly, he wondered if smoking them out of their operations in Lowell was what Missus Murphy had suggested all along.

Abandon help him, he hoped not. He didn’t want it to come down to dismantling another raider outfit. From the sound of it, the Rust Devils were more organized and committed to their goals than the Lexington raiders. His mind hiccuped on the desperation of searching the fairway for bloatflies he might harvest, and he sniffed to quieten his wilding.

“...And sky blue?” ‘Choly asked. He looked between the two Handies when neither would answer him at first.

“I’m DIA issue, Sir. A government robot.”

His earlobes burned. Did everyone he’d ever met know these things? Did everyone know why he had a Mister Handy issued by the Defense Intelligence Agency? His mind slipped through an anxiety-curated set of memories, of times his nationalization must surely have come across as incomplete. Everyone he’d ever known in the States had known he was Russian, didn’t they?

“You said you were off to the Deenwood Compound?” Bogey began, feeling the tension and dread building in the robotics maintenance shed. “If Angel is a DIA Handy, that means you must have handled some very important things for the military. You must have been an incredibly important person, if they felt that great a need to keep you safe.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten through my time on base, if it weren’t for Angel. That’s for certain.” He forced a smile at his old friend, and carried it toward new one. “I suppose Angel’s purpose isn’t so clean cut anymore, now that I’ve repaired it in such a way.”

“Call it a little dose of that ‘self agency’ you go on about at times, Sir. I’m my own robot.”

Bogey glanced at its newly augmented tendril, with its sky blue tip. It looked back up to them when it managed to initiate it to switch over to the laser attachment.

“Perhaps I’m my own robot as well. I’m glad you both stayed here.”

‘Choly placed another ball and rolled his shoulder until the amount of crackling it generated appeased his confidence he’d reset it. He shanked the ball and it whiffed off to the far left toward a stand of naked trees and overgrowth. His head fell askew in exasperation with himself. He slung the 4-wood back in the golf bag beside his tee box, retrieved his cane from it, and ambled across the fairway with an agitated wanderlust. I’m not going far, he reasoned. Just to the bounds of the driving range and back.

He stopped dead a few steps into the wooded patch, eyes wide. He’d happened upon a deer--or rather, what looked like it might have been a deer. Its two heads grazed at the foliage that had avoided sun-scorching within the shade of the husks of the trees. At least two hulking curled antlers branched from each of its two heads, and spiny cutaneous nodes jutted out of its foreheads and cheekbones like a rash. Radiation-induced mange had blighted its hide. It had too many limbs, but the penetrating uranium glow its organs emitted through its flesh transfixed him to where he couldn’t quite draw the faculty to count them, let alone process the form before him.

The stag seemed aware of him, but continued to eat undeterred by his observation. He watched for what felt like an eternity, and a crooked smile melted across his face as he shifted from alarm to awe. It was so strangely charming, with its too-much-ness. The impossibility of tracing the silhouette of some otherworldly entity, with dimensions that didn’t quite fit in his reality. A streak of wonder cut through him, at the uncertainty if such a disfigured creature was now even more so prey than before, or if it had since become a predator in the apocalypse. The dialectical soup of fear and enrapturement glued him in place, and every gamut of possible emotion hooked his smile into a frenetic grin.

“--Ah! Sir.” Angel approached at a whisper and a caution, noting the stag, which had stopped eating to stare back at the two of them. “There you are. We weren’t sure where you’d popped off to. Admiring the wildlife?”

“They’re not dangerous... are they?” he uttered, still staring onward.

“Not unless provoked, I imagine.”

As though pursued by something terrible and unseen, the stag abruptly leaped about face and bolted off deeper into the wooded area. ‘Choly jumped at the sudden animation, and looked to Angel, snapped out of his daze. He sighed, nearly disappointed that the spell had broken.

“It was so beautiful... and terrible... at the same time.” He looked back to where the stag had stood. Vacantly, he squinted at the foliage. For all the cruelty, murder, and pain in this new world, encounters such as the hubflower and the radstag proved to him some hint of beauty still existed. His face slacked when he realized why he was staring at the plants, and he pointed to them with a repeated and increasing insistence. “Angel. Angel, silt beans. It was eating--”

“Fresh produce!” Angel swooped in to collect bean pods, and added them to an empty carton from the pharmacy.

“They’re no good raw,” he mumble-rambled, “but they’re edible cooked... They’re starchy. I...” He snorted in thought. “I wonder if they’d make a decent flour. I think you were right, that it had been a soy product I used. Soy flour. This could mean potential major progress reinventing the Melancholia.”

“Even if it doesn’t work out to a substitute in your recipe, I can still cook them up as something substantial and delicious!”

“Maybe I won’t have to dread a future sucking down a fifth of bismuth a day.”

They doubled back to the clubhouse one last time. In anticipation of a conflict, ‘Choly changed out of his new outfit and back into his Vault Suit, holster harness, and Pharm Corps coat as before. Zipping up, he sat on the locker room bench, and traced the bloodstained, dime-sized hole the bloodbug had ripped in his suit. Pieces of his nightmare filtered back into forefront. His heart clenched in his ribs, searing down his left arm. He hadn’t encountered those things until he got near water, and they were headed to New England’s Venice. He’d inevitably encounter them again.

He could get better, could be better. He just needed proof of it, for his own sake.

They bid Bogey their farewells and headed out once they were certain it had the clubhouse secure. With a golf bag slung between him and Angel, ‘Choly had at the ready a handful of clubs, his syringer rifle, and his cane. In anticipation of a conflict, once they hit Route 3 again, Angel traveled with all three lasers drawn. Though he only had two clips of ammo left, ‘Choly still kept to his .38. He begged fate not to give them a run-in with the Rust Devils, but he knew their luck tended to reflect a likelihood otherwise.

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Language Profiles: student agency & multilingualism

This post is relevant either to language A/B teachers or to educators looking at whole school literacy implementation ideas.  

Thank you, Yi Shen (Sandy) for showing me the power of a language profile in our workshop in Hong Kong (Sha Tin College, September 2017)!  This is something any of you can try with your teaching staff or your classrooms to make language a truly dynamic part of the learning process at your school and help people become aware of the power and challenges that come with personal language knowledge.  

Some schools will already have a language profile for each student.  Often, this only lists the home language(s) and level of English (or language of instruction) of the student.  We can do more!  Also, sometimes the level of English listed is from an application filled out by parents trying to impress the school.  Find out where the information comes from to really understand what it means.  Essentially, there are many ways to get more information that can help gain knowledge for the student’s personalised learning strategies, but likely the best person to create this portfolio is the student, at least in secondary schools.

In order to understand how this works for students, try to do it yourself:

Think back to your infant development and schooling: what is your language story?  Where and when did you learn language(s)? What dialects do you speak?  What slang do you know?  Especially if you live away from where you grew up, this dynamic has probably changed over the years.  Even if you only speak English, you have probably had exposure to different kinds of English and use a certain type with friends, family, and students.  You probably also at one point learned a second language in school.  What was this experience of language learning like for you?  What excites you about (other) languages?  What scares you?  How does language give you power?  How does it make you powerless?

There will probably be a wide range of responses to these questions from colleagues and students alike.  Sharing your language story with a colleague or two can help you to express what language is for you and to have empathy for others who may find difficulty with language.

Try drawing a map of the language(s) you use today.  With whom and for what purposes do you speak different languages, dialects, or slang?  Maybe your register simply shifts; that is ok as well. Maybe you speak some languages for fun and others out of a need.  

I was raised an anglophone.  Hailing from Boston, I avoided the accent and local dialect due to the nature of the transplant and immigrant town of Lexington that I grew up in.  My parents came from Minnesota and Texas, and each had lived in Boston since just after their university years.  We had a blended American English at home.

My mom also studied French extensively at school, so when I started lessons at age 7 in our school system, the fit felt natural.  Half of my mom’s family is French and with Québec not that far away, schools in the area at that time all taught French to students as a ‘second’ language.  I took French all through grade school until the AP exam when I feel out of love with the language.  Suddenly, I had teachers who just cared about correctness and memorisation rather than taking us to see the Impressionist exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts or teaching us how to make crepes.  The joy was killed.

So at university, I took Spanish for a year.  It was fun, but I wasn’t quite in love with it the same way.  And then there were all those other courses on the syllabus and I wanted to double major…so…no language B study for a couple of years.  But then, Latin the last year.  I had wanted to take Latin as a first-year but my advisor said it was a dead language.  What was the point?  I found the grammatical structures a fun puzzle and our tiny class of five a fun classical oasis.  

After college, I went straight into my MAT to earn a teaching degree.  I hadn’t studied abroad like so many US students mostly because of sport with the plan to somehow do it later.  My MAT programme allowed you to do your student teaching abroad, but you had to find the school.  It was much of the reason I had chosen the program.  

I had decided I wanted to give French a go again.  After writing to many schools in Switzerland and France, I finally got a positive response from the Lycée International American Section director, just outside of Paris.  Paris!  What a dream.  They wouldn’t pay me, of course, but I could work with several of their teachers and live with one of the school’s families in exchange for some babysitting and tutoring.  

That year was bliss.  But I could digress for ages about my love affair with Paris…back to the language!  I had to take intensive French courses again as part of my visa.  It was also a great way to meet people from other places.  I had very good, slow, correct French, I was told time and again.  But it was slow.  Part of culture is how you speak, and the French, at least the Parisians, don’t like to speak slowly.  I was given the advice to just spit it out and not worry about my mistakes.  So I did that, time and again, until I felt comfortable in French.  I felt like a different part of my personality came out in French.  

Fast forward three years: I had moved back to the states and then to Italy.  My French proved very useful in learning Italian and the locals were even more encouraging about just trying the language out.  Within a few months, I was comfortably having conversations.  Sadly, a lot of that is lost now after more than a decade without much exposure, but I think I could reclaim it in a month or so if given the opportunity.  

Similarly, when I moved to Hong Kong, I took Mandarin Chinese lessons.  But though I loved it, I found it difficult to practice the language in a place that is mostly Cantonese and English.  Cantonese was trickier to learn and ‘not as useful’ once you move away.  I never knew how long I would stay…if I had known it would be eight years, I probably would have learned right away.  In any case, learning some Chinese helped me to at least understand what it’s about and is something I would go back to as well with a longer stay in the mainland or again in Hong Kong.  

I kept up the French, though, with long, frequent stays in France, lots of films, and a long-term French beau along the way.  Now, I have friends with whom I speak French in Vienna, I read in French when I can, and I have that dream of living there….

But most of my life is still lived in English.  I’ve learned some German living in Vienna.  I took a class and did some self study.  But there’s always that time factor, and I decided to have a baby and do some writing instead.  Maybe I’ll go back to it.  Let’s see how things shape up in a year or two.  The little I’ve learned is certainly helpful and shows a sort of respect in trying, I think.  When I travel I also like to learn a few phrases for this reason.  We who speak English are privileged to have the ‘international language’ at our fingertips.  But we are only denying ourselves if we limit the other languages we can learn.  

Now I also have a baby boy who is learning language every day.  We speak American and British English at home.  We try not to swear around him.  I sometimes speak with him in French.  He will attend a mostly German speaking nursery school soon.  It makes more me aware of how and why we learn these languages.

That’s my language story in brief.  I’m sure you can find links with geography, emotions, work, and more to understand even more where it all comes from.  I have students with much more dynamic backgrounds.  Some speak three languages at home with their parents, a different one at school (English), take a foreign language, and speak in some kind of multilingual slang with their friends. When students go through their language journeys, their stories, they find ways to use language for learning.  They acquire agency.  In asking teachers to also go through the process, they can connect with the student’s learning as they make reflections on their own journeys, connected also to emotion, place, people…the list goes on. These associations help us understand the way we use languages as well as our motivations or fears connected to language.  

One of my students studying three language A at school (English, German, Italian) for a trilingual diploma (wow!) conducted her Extended Essay research on the topic of multilingualism and cognition.  She narrowed it to bilingualism since little research has been done beyond this, even though, as she noted, many people speak more than two languages.  She always felt her languages were a hindrance, which really shocked me.  Most of the recent research I had read showed the cognitive power of having more than one language.  This is why so many people try to get their kids in immersion programs if there is only one language at home.  She was aware of this, but sometimes felt like words escaped her or she couldn’t understand something she read.  She realised that even though she reads a lot, the time is divided among these three languages. Her vocabulary development could be limited in that way.  Research supported this, but this was the only area she found to be a hindrance.  The way she uses language can be more creative and the development of her brain allows for code switching that goes beyond language and into experiences.

Are any of you doing research in this area?  I would be interested to hear about any current work with multilingual speakers and happy to post a link to your published work on my blog.  

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In this engaging guest post, we explore the multifaceted services offered by The Travel Authority, a distinguished Lexington travel agency, in crafting unforgettable experiences across Ohio. Emphasizing their deep-rooted expertise in personalizing travel itineraries, the post navigates through Ohio's vibrant cities, serene natural landscapes, and rich cultural tapestry. From the bustling streets of Columbus to the tranquil trails of Hocking Hills, The Travel Authority ensures a travel experience that resonates with each individual's preferences. Highlighting their ability to tailor journeys for all types of travelers, from adventure seekers to cultural enthusiasts, the post underscores the agency's knack for uncovering Ohio's hidden gems. Whether it's arranging corporate trips, luxury getaways, or family vacations, The Travel Authority stands out as a pivotal resource for anyone looking to explore the diverse allure of the Buckeye State, ensuring every journey is not just a trip, but a collection of cherished life-long memories.

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