#City Rides

[techdriveplay]

Race Fans Invited Take the Front Seat in a Luxury Supercar With Jack’s Rides

 In celebration of its partnership with the McLaren Formula 1 Racing Team, Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey is bringing the exhilaration of the racing circuit to Melbourne’s streets by offering fans the exclusive opportunity to take an adrenaline-fuelled drive in a pair of luxury supercars via some of Jack’s favourite venues.  From Friday 22 to Sunday 24 March, ‘Jack’s Rides’ will transport…

[shoupman]

Forgot to post yesterday’s ride.

[icannotgetoverbirds]

help me escape homelessness and live with my lover!

If you can't help me with donations, reblogs are always appreciated!

Also I have hella bad waiting mode anxiety that is made better by knowing what to expect after what I'm waiting for happens, so if anybody wants to tell me how this process will go, I would greatly appreciate it.

Bonus points if you give me some ideas in the notes of mundane things to do with my wife!

[deewellsosd]

Remembering the Fung Wah Bus: NYC to Boston’s Wildest Ride

If you ever needed to get from New York City to Boston (or vice versa) on a tight budget, chances are you’ve heard of the legendary Fung Wah Bus. For years, Fung Wah wasn’t just a cheap way to travel—it was an experience. From its unbeatable prices to its wild reputation, Fung Wah was the stuff of urban travel folklore. Whether you loved it, hated it, or were just slightly terrified by it, one thing’s for sure: it was unforgettable.

The Birth of a Legend

Back in 1996, Fung Wah Bus started out as a little-known service shuttling people between Chinatown in NYC and Chinatown in Boston. Tickets were dirt cheap—sometimes as low as $10! Founder Pei Lin Liang had no idea he was about to start a revolution in intercity travel.

While companies like Greyhound and Amtrak charged way more for the same trip, Fung Wah attracted students, immigrants, and broke adventurers. The buses were simple: no Wi-Fi, no comfy seats, no frills—just a bus, a driver, and a promise to get you where you needed to go (more or less).

The Fung Wah Experience

Let’s be honest—riding the Fung Wah wasn’t for the faint of heart. The buses weren’t exactly luxurious, and the drivers? Let’s just say they had skills—skills that often felt like they were auditioning for NASCAR.

The stories from Fung Wah rides are legendary. Overheated engines? Check. Buses randomly pulling over on the highway? Oh yeah. Packed seats and questionable smells? You bet. But somehow, that was part of the charm. It was like a rite of passage for college students and budget travelers.

Despite the occasional chaos, people loved it. Where else could you spend a few bucks and make it to another city with enough left over for lunch?

The Rise of Chinatown Buses

Fung Wah’s success kicked off an entire industry of “Chinatown buses.” Suddenly, other companies were offering the same cheap rides between cities like Philadelphia, D.C., and Boston. These low-cost buses gave traditional carriers like Greyhound a run for their money, forcing them to drop prices and rethink their business models.

For a while, Fung Wah ruled this space, becoming the go-to option for anyone looking to save cash. Sure, it wasn’t the safest option, but hey—it got the job done.

The Downfall

But all good things must come to an end. Fung Wah’s fast-and-loose approach eventually caught up with it. Over the years, the company faced growing scrutiny for safety violations. There were crashes, breakdowns, and federal investigations.

By 2013, regulators had had enough. The U.S. Department of Transportation shut Fung Wah down, citing major safety concerns—like cracked bus frames. They tried to make a comeback in 2015, but it didn’t stick. And just like that, Fung Wah was gone.

A Legacy That Lives On

Even though it’s no longer around, Fung Wah lives on in the hearts (and memes) of those who rode it. It wasn’t just a bus—it was an experience. For many, it symbolized freedom, adventure, and a chance to explore without breaking the bank.

Today, plenty of budget bus options exist, and they’ve learned from Fung Wah’s mistakes. They’re safer, more reliable, and (sadly) less chaotic. But ask anyone who remembers Fung Wah, and they’ll tell you—it was something special.

Fung Wah in Pop Culture

Over the years, Fung Wah has become a bit of an urban legend. It’s been mentioned in stand-up routines, memes, and indie films. For those who rode it, these nods bring back memories of cramped seats, fast drivers, and the thrill of cheap travel.

Why We’ll Never Forget

Fung Wah wasn’t perfect, but it was iconic. It made travel accessible for people who couldn’t afford Amtrak or didn’t want to deal with Greyhound. It connected communities and opened up a new way to explore on a budget.

If you ever rode a Fung Wah Bus, you’ve got a story to tell. And if you never did? Well, you missed out on one of the most chaotic, thrilling, and oddly charming travel experiences ever.

Fung Wah may be gone, but its legacy is still rolling. Here’s to the little bus line that changed the game—and made the NYC-to-Boston trip one heck of an adventure.

[apexboy]

[isbergillustration]

Death & Hatred to Norwegian Rail

[spac3d0lls]

ride the cyclone PSA for you all:

a lot of people don’t realize that uranium city isn’t a fictional town. it is a fictionalized version of the real uranium city, a town established during the cold war era boom of uranium mining towns in the 1950s.

it was a thriving mining town, with business shining throughout the 60s and the town boasting a population of over ten thousand.

the sudden closure of its last mine in 1982 saw the population plummet from 4,000 to almost 400 people.

to most, it’s now considered a ghost town, with only between 50 and 90 residents depending on the season.

relics of when the town was thriving remain scattered throughout the area. candu high, built right before the population plummet, remained in operation for 4 years before shutting down.

the only remaining school only serves students from kindergarten to grade nine, meaning that the only way a high school education can be pursued is through private means. there exist no cafes, and the few hotels and apartments that existed in the area have since shut down.

uranium city is a lot more than a dead-end highway town in real life: it’s almost completely abandoned. assuming the musical takes place in 2009, it wouldn’t have been big enough to host a fair and a cafe wouldn’t have enough customers to maintain business. part of uranium are fictionalized in ride the cyclone but the town itself met an even worse fate than the fictionalized uranium.

just an interesting bit of history i wanted to share :)

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More Mech Au-Au!

Swindle-orientated chapter, with sprinkles of TexAid.

Swindle smiled at everyone.

He smiled at those he was happy with, he smiled at those who had pissed him off, he smiled at those he was making deals with, the list was endless.

The only time he didn’t smile was when he was on his own. The door would click closed behind him, the lock automatically engaging, and the facade would slide from his face.

This all had to be worth it. It had to. He’d risked so much already, he was gambling at stakes he couldn’t pay. Failure would mean death, death for all five of them, and as such, failure was unacceptable.

He’d promised Onslaught.

Vortex was a source of pride for him - a prototype mech who had survived against all odds, plumping up his resume handsomely. The only surviving AI from that round and the round that came after - against all odds, Vortex had persisted. He hadn’t self destructed like his own cohort had, he hadn’t lost his sense of reality, he didn’t completely lose himself. He remained exactly who he was, for better or for worse. The discussions of destroying him once he’d begun to show his more aggressive tendencies were terrifying, sending Swindle scrambling for ways to extract Vortex from the mech. They didn’t get this far just to be treated like they were disposable. Had they forgotten that they were real people they’d trapped within the metal? What did it matter that they were slated to die anyway? That didn’t mean they could just be destroyed when they became inconvenient, there was supposed to be a due process. They were owed that much.

Swindle hung up his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Fuck. They’d gotten so lucky with that boy – Felix, right? That was his name, and Swindle has a vague recollection of his name meaning luck. Good for them that he lived up to it – they were lucky that he was persistent and determined, lucky that Vortex seemed to like him. His teammate liked to play with his food, and it seemed he was settling in to give First Aid a good long chew. Which was good! It meant Vortex was unknowingly buying himself some more time whilst he looked for ways to extract him and put him in something else. Anything else would do at this point - shit, he could be his toaster and burn his toast for eternity. At least he’d still be alive and he wouldn’t be left alone again.

Shit. How depressing. How did this become their only option?

Swindle kicked off his shoes, neatly placing them away onto the rack, and shrugged off his jacket

“I want to make them burn in hell.”

He’d done it because he had to. He took no pleasure in what happened to his team after he gave the wrong people the right intel - but it was this, or they’d all be dead. Like, dead-in-the-ground-dead. Skullfucked by maggots dead. Not on ice, not in giant suits of armour with guns and swords bigger than buildings, dead. Dead and forgotten, and it would be all five of them. Nobody alive to fight in their corner, nobody to keep them as safe as they could, nobody to do what needed to be done.

The screams didn’t haunt him like they used to. While they were still alive, skulking around the research centre with tags and monitors and cables and cameras on them at all times, people did terrible things to them. Trepan was the most frightening. He was enraptured with the idea of creating super soldiers. That’s what they’d tried at first - they’d needed warm, fresh, and living bodies - and who would notice if a mercenary group went missing? Everyone would just assume that they had died, and that would be that. They wouldn’t even look for their corpses.

Vortex had been the most difficult one for them to deal with. He was rude, unruly, and dished back what he was given. At one point they’d had to strap him down Hannibal style just to give him his injections - after they’d removed his prosthetic arm when he’d slashed through the restraints and three researchers with the hidden blade, he’d taken to biting down hard enough to rip chunks of flesh from the researchers instead. Vortex would laugh through the blood that dripped down his chin, but he’d always ended up screaming.

Brawl was freakishly quiet. He would press his palms to his temples, his eyes dull and face gaunt. Swindle would never admit how it made his insides churn, how guilt had ravaged him into sleepless nights. They all screamed, they all cried through the agony of it, but it was the worst when they were quiet. His team wasn’t meant to be quiet. They were always doing something, saying something. Vortex was always pissing off Blast Off, winding him up like a younger sibling did to an older one. Brawl was always playing music far too loud in his headphones. Onslaught was much quieter, but he was his own kind of orchestra of sound. A gun being cleaned, turning pages, the squeak of leather.

They weren’t in the research facility. They were shadows of themselves.

Onslaught had always given Swindle his looks though. No blame. No fault given. Thankful. They’d made a promise, after all. They’d agreed that this was what they would do, how it would happen. Anything that gave them longer to figure out what the fuck they were going to do.

The experiments were a failure. All it gave them were broken men. But that only gave them perfectly usable test subjects for something else, for another failing project.

Trepan had asked Swindle personally who he would volunteer as their first test subject. Who did he think had the best chance of success? Who did he think would make the best immortal warrior?

The cockroach, he’d replied. Vortex was fucking impossible to kill. He’d seen him getting himself blown up multiple times. He’d had to pay to fix his face, he’d had to pay to fix his spine, he’d had to pay for that damn prosthetic and every single hospital stay to stitch him back together. And not once had the man been touched by death. If a nuclear bomb were to fall on them, he was convinced Vortex would emerge unscathed and demanding a cigarette.

He was also extremely resistant to control. He despised being told what to do. Onslaught was an exception because he had actually made an effort to build a rapport with him, it was a relationship built on mutual respect and understanding. And Trepan? Every single scientist in this building? Vortex would rend them to dust and ash if they even entertained the thought of controlling him.

It was a hopeful moment, a glimpse into an optimistic future. Vortex would lose his humanity, but they would all regain their freedom.

But good things didn’t favour terrible men.

Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

The photoshoot with Blurr was overrunning. It was already eleven o’clock at night - they’d been at this since 10 in the morning, working hard to get their perfect shots. The photogenic mechanics (paid actors). The intelligent engineers (more paid actors). The trustworthy medics (yet more paid actors). Their only non-actor was Blurr, but even then he was just their show dog. He wasn’t actually a pilot, not in the traditional sense. He wasn’t deployed, he was paraded.

Blurr would want to talk after, to natter away about something or other, to get a drink together and maybe a bite to eat, but Swindle just wanted to go to bed. He was tired. Exhausted. Going into his teammates lockers to grab a photograph had just dug up old memories from where he’d buried them, and he’d woken up with Vortex’s screams in his native tongue ringing in his ears, unable to get back to sleep. He could still hear it between the sounds of the camera shutter.

First Aid seemed to be a nice enough kid. He got on well with others, he did his job without complaint, and he was efficient. He didn’t dally around when he was to clamber into Vortex, he was quick and to the point - and, Swindle noticed with growing curiosity, he studiously avoided touching his controls.

If only the pilots were smart enough to pick up on that. Shame, really. It was starting to get real expensive to keep this quiet.

So it was with quiet horror that he watched as First Aid was trapped within the cockpit, the medic accompanying him collapsing to the floor as blood spurted up the glass from where his leg used to be.

He found himself hissing through his teeth. Don’t do anything stupid, Tex!

When First Aid stumbled out looking like his first pilot he’d ever had did, Swindle felt a grim mood take over him. How hard was it to fucking behave? To not do something so unbelievably stupid? To not get himself killed? Apparently it was too much for Vortex to fucking control himself.

But First Aid had been okay. The next day he was as chipper and chirpy as ever with full recollection of the previous day. He’d thought it was funny.

And that’s when Swindle knew that the boy was their chance. If he could survive Vortex, if Vortex was allowing him to live, then they had to seize the opportunity they could.

Nobody listened. Nobody fucking listened. They were repatriating children in biohazard bags, not even a hand left intact for their loved ones to hold as they said goodbye, and they weren’t listening to him.

They needed Felix Anwyl in that mech. Now. He was sick of watching lambs being offered up for sacrifice. Vortex was a malicious bastard but even he would get bored of it all eventually - and from where Swindle was standing, he saw a much better chance of getting their brothers online if Vortex settled down and stopped acting like he was possessed by the devil.

Seeing Felix sprinting towards Vortex in a pilots suit that didn’t fit him, Swindle discretely cleared the way. He distracted the officers with him, had them avert their eyes for a second to let him pass. He redirected people, he gave distractions, he delayed who he could to buy First Aid much needed time to get to the mech before that cadet took a single step inside. Vortex would kill them for the intrusion, he’d explicitly had enough of it and was demanding what was his. His words in the morning memos were enough.

Swindle was out of options. He needed to get First Aid into that mech before they stamped the paperwork to render the supposed AI obsolete and for the scrap heap.

He didn’t have a toaster ready for him yet.

Prowl had looked thunderous on the catwalk. So had Pharma. He had to fight to keep his grin at bay - he had to press his hand to his lips to hide it when Vortex began yelling ‘mine’ through the walkie talkie.

Oh, he really liked this one.

Pharma had kicked up the biggest fuss. He didn’t want to lose his precious medic.

Swindle checked his file. First Aid hadn’t been on any major medical assignments since the previous year, and there was no record of why. No particular displeasures, no signs of any faults or major errors, any need to retrain, or competencies lapsing and requiring reassessment. Pharma had just decided to force First Aid away from his job in some bizarre, inexplicable act.

He’d grabbed him by the collar and hissed into his ear that the blood was on his hands. That if he wanted to keep First Aid, then he could be the one to clear the mech out, that he would be the one to write to the families and explain what had happened.

Pharma had opened his mouth and begun to say something about a punishment, but Swindle placed his finger to his lips and shook his head.

“It’s not on his record.” He reminded him, tapping the file. “Do you want to incriminate yourself? Right here?”

And so he’d received the stamp of approval that evening. The ink was still wet as he shook Pharmas hand, the man holding his too tightly.

First Aid seemed to like Vortex too.

Pilots didn’t usually go and hang out with their mechs. They liked to be near them – apparently there was something about the connection that had them bond in such a way that they liked to be close to them, that they’d feel drawn towards them, but First Aid’s seemed to be almost excessive. At every free opportunity, he was there. If you couldn’t find him, the advice was to check Vortex – he’d probably be in the cockpit reading a book or listening to music, or he’d be elbow deep cleaning out the joints from the gunk the clean up crew didn’t manage to get. If it was a meal time and he wasn’t in his room or in the cafeteria, he was with Vortex.

His secondary role on base was still, technically, a medic – but Pharma had made it clear that he wasn’t welcome back in the medical bay. He’d made his bed, so to speak – if he wanted to be a pilot, then he’d be one, but it was at the sacrifice of his oath to medicine, so he wasn’t allowed to perform it. He was left to spin his wheels, to attend training sessions when they could run them for him (it was an open secret that he wasn’t a pilot, but a secret it was) and scratch his arse until the alarm went off and he was marked for deployment.

Swindle didn’t know that Pharma could hold such a grudge. He’d made a mental note to never piss him off.

A few times, when Swindle couldn’t sleep and was on a walk, he’d seen First Aid slipping into Vortex. He’d raised his brows at that.

Swindle didn’t know how Vortex hadn’t squished him yet.

Vortex fell back into the Shatterdome, rain thundering down on his armour sounding like the roar of a passing train. Sparks erupted from the gaping hole where his shoulder used to be, two of his back blades torn free and the remaining hanging on by rapidly breaking cables. The mech fell to its knees, catching itself on its remaining arm, its visor flashing a single message over and over.

OBJECTIVE ONE: PROTECT THE PILOT.

For the first time, Vortex had obeyed the objective embedded into each of their mechs. Protect the pilot. More than that, he’d brought him straight back to them.

Swindle watched him in quiet awe.

Wow. He really liked this one.

When the radio had cut out in a roar of static, Swindle had half expected Vortex to stay out on the front and continue his slaughter like he usually did when his pilot died, but instead he watched as the red dot that symbolised Vortex on the screen instead turned around and began sprinting back to the Shatterdome, ignoring all of the targets around him, ignoring when a quintesson got a good hit on him, barrelling past the other deployed mechs. Mission Control received multiple communications from the other pilots out in the field, confused calls from the crews of the helicopters monitoring from above - Vortex wasn’t responding. Vortex was moving entirely independently - his pilot was unresponsive and his life signal was so weak it could easily have been the electricity from the cables exposed to the elements being detected instead.

His walkie talkie crackled as Vortex looked directly at the large room Mission Control sat in overlooking the hangar. A voice he hadn’t heard in years ground out.

“He dies, everyone dies.”

Swindle swallowed hard, and nodded.

“Tex?” The voice was weak and unrecognisable. Swindle realised it must have been Felix. He was alive and conscious enough to speak - Swindle was already waving off people trying to get permission to do things, motioning for them to just get fucking on with it.

“Get that pilot out!” He hissed at them.

“It’s going to be okay.” Vortex promised. Swindle didn’t know his voice could get so soft.

“Stay put, Tex. Don’t move a muscle and unlock your emergency escape, the medics are here.” Swindle spoke into the walkie talkie. He received a few weird looks from those around him, but he ignored them. He’d field their curiosities later - for now, he had to focus on keeping Felix alive and figuring out how they were going to safely contain Vortex.

Fuck. He wished Onslaught had been activated. He’d know what to do. For a brief moment he wished their positions were reversed. He’d have handled all this shit so much better. Swindle would never tell him or ever admit it, but Onslaught was always the brains of the unit, he always had a plan. He’d probably have had all of them activated by now, brought the whole team back together again.

He chewed his bottom lip until it bled, the taste of copper stinging on his tongue.

The medic had to live. He had to. There was no protecting Vortex if he went on a murder spree - they could just about justify the pilots being pulverised inside of him, the difference between the cost to spec up and build and test a mech that was his equal vs the cost to train a new pilot was extraordinary. Vortex could, in theory, chew through a few hundred more pilots before they’d start to wonder if they should have just built a new mech. But to destroy a whole base?

Yeah. No. It would be significantly more difficult to justify it as a misidentified ‘protect the pilot’ protocol. Sure, he could argue that the base failed to save his pilot, but how would the mech know? Why did the mech identify the Shatterdome as a target? Clearly it was faulty, glitched, and needed to go.

Vortex was not one to be reasoned with. Swindle knew that all too well. There wasn’t going to be the opportunity to talk him down from his decision.

They succeeded, or they failed. That was it. One or the other. Felix survived, or everyone died.

God, he prayed that Felix was as much of a cockroach as Vortex was.

[kotonni]

Ok this might be a stretch but after act 2 I was so curious to see why Jayce had looked upon Viktor like that

It wasn't fear, not exactly, upon seeing Viktor in a divine sort of position I could only describe Jayce's gaze as awed.

Of course, before the third act came out, the popular theory of "Jayce is stuck in a time loop and has killed Viktor many times before" explained a lot about his behavior but not about this look. Why would he look so shaken if this isn't his first time seeing him?

Now that the show is over I do believe we might have an answer and of course the answer is given to us in this scene.

When Cait mentions Viktor, forcing Jayce to confront that more than Ambessa, the greatest threat to their lives and Piltover is Viktor himself, Jayce thinks back to that first meeting after the time skip.

Of course we know at this point that there was no time loop. This is indeed the first time Jayce sees Viktor as the herald, and Viktor's reaction to seeing Jayce for the first time after months has been distorted in Jayce's own memories.

In his mind Viktor smiles at him. Although he is about to kill him, from Jayce's perspective, Viktor's first look at him after months of being separated is one of pure affection.

During his time in the arcane he was forced to undergo contidions that directly reflect Viktor's own upbringing, but let's not forget he was also haunted by such visions:

Making Mel's image dissappear only to be replaced by Viktor's is extremely symbolic, this is not Jayce obsessing over Viktor and his actions, instead we are directly told that not only is Jayce's relationship with Viktor of the same sort as his relationship with Mel, Viktor is quite literally replacing his former lover.

We could talk about the constant parallels between Mel and Viktor for days, but I believe my last point is backed up even further by propably the most evident mirror shot of the two of them:

appearing again during Viktor's conversation with Jayce:

This is very clearly a POV shot of Viktor from Jayce's own eyes, although it is Viktor talking, the images we see are from Jayce remembering their first meeting which, of course, was fated to happen.

With this established and going back to my main point, I believe upon seeing Viktor for the first time in months, who is gazing down at him with a smile on his face, and after being forced to confront his feelings for Viktor, Jayce looks up at him with love.

This is his own realization that they are in fact meant to find one another in every timeline.

[egophiliac]

hashtag just class B things 🤷

[tapakah0]

Home after 13 (14) days of animation competition

[skulls-and-wishbones]

Hey do you guys remember when dex tried to give Sophie homebrew steroids and nearly killed her when they were both twelve? What was up with that?

[wiisagi-maiingan]

I don't personally live in an area where free public transit would be relevant (our idea of public transit is uber hahahaha please send help) but thinking of what a huge difference that would make for kids in cities makes me emotional, especially for kids who don't leave their neighborhoods (or even homes) much because of costs, traffic, violence, etc.

Thinking about middle school kids being able to take the metro or bus for free to go to other free events and activities in the city that they wouldn't otherwise make it to. . . Ah, it just makes me happy. I wish every kid had that ability.

[mg-aesthetic]

[myokk]

Some sketches of Eloise…not sure if I uploaded all of these💓💓💓

1 & 6: Eloise with her hair down🥹 she barely ever wears it down bc she HATES her unruly hair but…I personally LOVE drawing it. (It’s also extremely scandalous in Victorian times to have your hair down…I imagine wizarding society is more accepting but Eloise spent 5 years living as a proper muggle lady and could NEVER😳

The rest of the drawings are just random sketches that were for asks or don’t deserve their own post bahahahahahahahah💓💓💓 the penultimate was one of my first drawings of her though…I want to redo it!!

[motocrunch]