#cheap hot travel destinations

[wanderlustphotosblog]

40 Cheap Destinations to Travel to for Under $40\Day

If you love to travel, but struggle to find ways to travel as much as you'd like, then you will love my list of cheap destinations to travel for less than $40 per day.

Traveling can be a richly rewarding endeavor that broadens your horizons and teaches you about other cultures and ways of life. On the flip side, travel can also be extraordinarily expensive, especially if you travel internationally. I cannot tell you how many people I have spoken to who would love to travel more, but just can’t make it work with their budget. If you are in this boat, I think you…

[ghoulsbounty]

From a Previous Life (Pt 3)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Preg!Reader

Summary: You rush to the Ghoul's aid, but find that hospitality doesn't come cheap in the wasteland.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, pregnancy, talk of cannibalism, mention of child loss, canon-typical violence, blood, angst, grief, yearning, rejection.

Word Count: 8.8K

A/N: This is late! I'm sorry this wasn't finished last week, but it took me a while to get the ending to a place where I was happy with it. Part 4 coming up next! I'd love to know what you think 💌

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

In the weeks that followed, a palpable tension thickened the air, suffusing every moment with a sense of unease. The Ghoul, ever cautious and seemingly intent on minimizing any unnecessary interaction, forwent sleep altogether. Instead, he adopted the role of a silent sentinel, perched upon whatever seating deemed acceptable as he watched over the entryways of your temporary shelters. There he would remain, a solitary figure in the dim moonlight filtering through shattered windows, his hat pulled low over his ghoulish features, shrouding them in shadow.

As you lay awake, restless and watchful, your gaze was repeatedly drawn to him, silently pleading for him to abandon his post and join you in the refuge of your shared space. Still, he remained steadfast, his bed beside you still empty and unused by your departure the following morning.

During the days, you travelled in silence under the relentless glare of the blistering sun, each step bringing you closer to your elusive destination. You would pause occasionally, your keen eyes scanning the barren landscape for any sign of abandoned treasures that could be sold for a fine price. Each discovery was accompanied by a hopeful glance towards your companion, a silent plea for approval. More often than not, his response was a grunt or a dismissive shrug, leaving you to carry the weight of your excitement and disappointment alone.

He had truly reverted back to the aloof and distant man he had been before that fleeting moment of connection shared around the crackling fire—the night he had gifted you the Pip-Boy. It had felt like a heavy reminder of the vast divide between you, a symbol of the distance that must remain for your child's safety.

The internal struggle waged within you relentlessly, tearing at the fabric of your resolve as you walked alongside him. On one hand, the instinct to protect your child, to prioritize their safety above all else, pulsed through your veins like a guiding light. But on the other hand, an undeniable longing stirred within you, a selfish desire to throw caution to the wind and reach out for him, to seek the comfort of the companionship you had felt briefly.

You remembered the warmth of his arms briefly wrapped around you, the intimacy of talking freely together like you had done that night by the fire. The memory tugged at your heartstrings, igniting a fierce longing that threatened to overwhelm your senses. And despite your best efforts to bridge the conversational gap, to break through the walls he had erected around himself, he remained stubbornly distant.

The silence between you grew more pronounced with each passing day, a distinct barrier that seemed to stretch endlessly between you. You couldn't help but feel a sense of resignation settle over you. Some divides were simply too vast to bridge, and perhaps, you thought with a heavy heart, yours and the Ghoul's were among them.

It wasn't until one particularly hot mid-afternoon as you battled against a relentless radscorpion that had sprung at you from beneath an overturned refrigerator in that evenings shelter, the Ghoul's patience reached its limit. With a single, precise shot from his magnum, he dispatched the giant arachnid before turning to you with a sour expression.

"Outside," his voice commanded, firm and unwavering.

You followed behind him obediently, watching in silence as he collected the empty Nuka-Cola bottles scattered on the porch and lined them up along the railing. Once satisfied with his work, he turned to you and nodded, signalling you to follow him. Together, you descended the steps and moved further away until you reached a spot that provided a clear shot at the makeshift targets.

You eyed him cautiously, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of your resolve as you waited for his next instruction. But when his gaze settled expectantly on the gun holstered at your hip, you knew what you were to do. With quick hands, you fumbled to unholster the weapon, your fingers closing around its familiar grip as you prepared to face the challenge that lay ahead.

Despite the sweltering heat and the sweat that trickled down your brow, you squared your shoulders and raised your weapon, determined to prove yourself to the Ghoul—to show him that you were capable of holding your own beside him. And as you took aim at the makeshift targets, a sense of determination surged through you. Today, you vowed, would be the day you proved yourself worthy of his respect.

Pulling back the hammer, you let out a shaky breath as you pinched the trigger. The shot rang out, reverberating through your body like a thunderclap as you felt the recoil jolt through your arms. Taking a step back to steady yourself, you lowered the gun and peered ahead at the targets, your heart sinking as you realized that all five bottles remained stubbornly intact, mocking you from their perch.

A sense of annoyance bubbled up inside you, mingling with the disappointment that weighed heavy in the pit of your stomach. You heard the Ghoul sigh from his spot to your right, where he leaned against a a utility pole with his arms crossed.

"Again," he said, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation. "And keep your eyes open this time."

His words jolted you out of your reverie, pulling you back to the present moment with a sharp clarity. Despite the simmering frustration within you, you nodded in acknowledgment, steeling yourself for another attempt with the gun raised.

"Feet further apart," he instructed, his tone firm and authoritative. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and adjusted your stance, grit crunching beneath your boot. You heard him tut, then suddenly felt him beside you. His heavy boot kicked at the inside of your own, widening your stance even further. His gloved hands pressed against your shoulder with a firm tap, guiding you into position before withdrawing just as quickly. "Again."

As the Ghoul moved back to his post, you steadied the gun out before you, pushing down the giddiness that surged through you like a current. It was an unexpected sensation, sparked by the lingering heat left behind by his brief touch—the first physical contact he had initiated since your embrace around the fire. You took aim at the first bottle, and with the memory of his guidance in your mind, you pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, its echo reverberating through the desolate wasteland. A split second later, the sharp noise of the bottle smashing reached your ears, the shattered pieces scattering across the ground like sparkling jewels.

"Yes!" you exclaimed triumphantly, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you raised your arms above your head in victory. Turning to your mentor with a wide grin, you hoped for words of praise, but you were instead met with a stoic nod of approval, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with a steady gaze. Disappointment panged in your chest, a fleeting moment of deflation amidst the rush of triumph.

"Four more, then you can celebrate," he gestured towards the remaining targets and you eyed him with defeat as your arms dropped to your side.

Eyebrows furrowed in determination, you rolled you neck as you prepared yourself. A brief glimmer of pride flickered in his eyes as he watched you turn back towards your targets with a raised weapon.

"Four more, then you cook dinner," you countered and he laughed quietly, a short huff of air out his nose that was barely perceptible.

As the afternoon wore on, you focused all your concentration on the task at hand, determined to prove yourself capable not just to the Ghoul but to yourself. With each bullet that flew past its target, the Ghoul's sighs of irritation echoed in the stifling air.

He had retreated to the scant shade offered by a nearby fence, his slumped posture a testament to the oppressive heat that hung heavy in the air. From his vantage point, he observed your progress with a stoic demeanour, offering little in the way of encouragement as you struggled to find your mark. Still, you refused to be deterred by his silence, channelling your frustration and determination into each shot. With each miss, you adjusted your stance, honing your focus. Finally, the satisfying sound of shattering glass filled the air as the last bottle exploded into a thousand pieces, scattering across the ground.

Pride swelled within you as you looked down at your gun, a tool that had once seemed so foreign and intimidating. In that moment, a sense of awe washed over you as you realized just how far you had come from the life you had once known. The image of yourself as a wife, a homemaker, seemed like a distant memory, a remnant of a time before the world had been plunged into chaos. 

As you stood there, gun in hand, dirt under your nails, and a sense of purpose burning within your soul, you couldn't help but wonder how absurd your former self would find this scene. The thought of her reaction brought a smile to your lips, a bittersweet reminder of the person you had once been, and the person you were becoming.

A slow clap from behind you drew your attention, and you turned to see your partner walking towards you, his lips pulled into a wry smile. "Well, as long as no one moves, you might just cut it."

Despite his teasing, you welcomed the familiar banter, a reminder of the rapport that had developed between you before it's abrupt end. With a smile, you looked him over, a wave of gratitude washing over you. "Thank you, for this," you said, gesturing with the gun towards the broken glass. "I feel like The Man From Deadhorse."

With a playful grin, you raised your gun towards the Ghoul, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "I hope you like the taste of lead, you commie son of a bitch."

The sudden shift in atmosphere caught you off guard, the playful jest dying on your lips as the Ghoul's demeanour transformed with alarming speed. Before you could react, he closed the distance between you with swift, purposeful strides, his grisly features contorted with rage.

In the blink of an eye, he knocked the gun from your hand, the dull thud as it buried into the sand was loud in the tense quiet. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched in stunned silence, your wide eyes snapping back to him when he seized your arms in a vice-like grip.

"You don't play like that, you hear?" he scolded, his voice low and harsh, the intensity of his gaze drilling into you like a laser. His leather-clad fingers dug into your flesh, leaving behind faint impressions as he held you firmly in place.

With a shaky nod, you swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you replied, "I hear you." The tension hung thick in the air between you. "It was from a movie, I didn't mean nothing by it."

As he regarded you, the intensity of his grip slowly eased, his features softening marginally as he released you from his grasp. Though his anger still simmered beneath the surface, there was a hint of remorse in his eyes, a silent apology for his outburst. "This ain't no movie, darlin'."

"I know that," you said wistfully.

"Then act like it," he grunted, a wheezing cough escaping him before turning away. "Let's get moving," he muttered, his voice tinged with resignation as he retrieved the gun from the sand and handed it back to you.

You holstered your gun, a sense of caution settling over you as you eyed him warily, your footsteps echoing softly against the gravel path as you followed him back to your shelter. He stopped abruptly a few steps ahead, his posture rigid as he doubled over, sputtering into his closed fist.

Instinctively, you moved toward him, concern etched into your features, but you halted in your tracks at the sight of his outstretched hand. "Get back," he rasped, his voice strained, a clear warning in his tone.

You watched with growing unease as he struggled to regain his composure, each laboured breath sounding like a heavy weight upon his chest. The deep, chest-rattling wheeze that emanated from him sent a shiver down your spine, but despite the urge to rush to his aid, you knew better than to defy his command. With a reluctant step backward, you maintained a cautious distance, your eyes never leaving him as you waited anxiously for the bout of coughing to pass.

The coughing had started a few days prior, coming sporadically but with increasing frequency, especially when the Ghoul worked himself up. At first, you had dismissed it as the inevitable toll of his years spent wandering through dust and dirt, but as the days passed and you witnessed the panic in his eyes one evening while he counted his stock of liquid-filled vials, you knew it was something more. The sight of his trembling hands, the frantic glint in his tired eyes, sent a chill down your spine,

You didn't fully understand the significance of the vials, only that they were his medicine—but for what ailment, you couldn't be certain. You had assumed it was for pain, a necessary relief for someone who had endured the relentless exposure to radiation for so long. You knew better than to ask him about it directly. Even in moments of calm, when the worry over his dwindling supply wasn't etched into his furrowed brow, you knew that prying into something so personal would be met with resistance.

The Ghoul staggered back to the shelter and you followed behind him with growing concern, your heart pounding in your chest. You watched in silence as he grasped the stair rails for support, his normally steady gait now faltering. It was a sight you had never witnessed before—him weakened and vulnerable—and fear shot through you like a bolt of lightning, unwelcome thoughts of what this could mean racing through your mind.

You quickly put the invasive thoughts aside, hurrying to join him inside where you found him hunched over his saddlebag. His movements were frenzied as he loaded a vial into the inhaler that distributed the medicine. With a deep, shaky breath, he puffed the inhaler, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space. Minutes stretched into eternity as he fought to regain control of his breathing, his chest heaving with each ragged inhale.

You held your breath in anticipation, watching as his chest heaved and then settled, but your frown deepened when a groan escaped him. He threw himself back against the wall, his movements laboured and unsteady. His arms hung limp at his sides, the inhaler discarded and forgotten on the ground beside him. His hat slipped from his head, tumbling to the dirtied tiles below, leaving his bald head glistening with perspiration, the droplets of sweat trickling down his tired face.

It was a sobering sight, one that filled you with a sense of helplessness as you stood before him, unsure of what to do to alleviate his suffering.

"Told you to stay away," he breathed, his voice weary as he met your gaze, exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I'm fine," he muttered, though the strain in his voice betrayed his words. "Just need to close my eyes."

As his eyes fluttered shut, you moved to his saddlebag with haste, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched desperately for another vial to bring him back to you. But as your trembling hands sifted through the contents, your heart sank like a stone—empty. He had been rationing his vials for days now, telling you there was a place up ahead to get more, but that you weren't to come with him. Another one of his solo trips.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you realized that he was going nowhere in this condition. His shallow breathing reduced you to panic as you fumbled at the inside of his heavy duster, your hands shaking with urgency. Ignoring the incessant clicking of the dosimeter, you pulled out a weathered map that he had drawn up at the beginning of your journey, showing you just how far you had to go until you'd find the haven and the stops that you'd make between.

Your gaze swept over the roughly sketched lines and symbols, tracing the route ahead with a growing sense of urgency. Finally, your eyes landed on a cluster of squares topped with triangles, situated close to the location you recognized as your shelter on the map. Beside them, a lone letter "V" was scrawled, signalling the area designated for his next collection of vials. The distance seemed manageable, just a half-day's journey at most—perhaps even less if you pushed yourself.

The prospect of venturing out alone was daunting, yet despite the risk of leaving him vulnerable, of being scolded for leaving upon your return, you knew there was no alternative. He relied on those vials, and you relied on him.

With a heavy heart, you removed his gun from its holster, carefully positioning his gloved hand around its grip before settling it on his lap. Adjusting his hat back on his head to shroud his closed eyes, you hoped that any passing traveller might be deterred by the implication of a formidable foe awaiting their approach.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at your companion one last time, the weight of your decision settling heavily upon you. With a silent prayer for his safety, you asked him to wish you luck before turning away and setting off towards your new destination, determined to retrieve the vials and save the Ghoul.

The two-story house stood large and imposing before you, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon casting long shadows across the grounds. Its faded white paint was peeling, revealing the weather-beaten wood beneath, and its roof sagged precariously as if it could collapse at any moment. The yard, overgrown with tall grass and weeds, was littered with the carcasses of rusty, broken-down vehicles and an assortment of discarded debris, each piece a story of neglect and abandonment.

Stepping onto the sprawling porch, the creak of the wooden boards seemed to echo through the still air as you steadied your nerves. You rapped your knuckles against the front door that hung slightly ajar. 

"Whaddya want?" a disgruntled voice hollered from inside, and you stepped back as the door was torn open to reveal a man, his greying hair unkempt and greasy, clinging to his weathered face that was etched with deep lines and one large, pink scar from eye to jaw. "Well, what is it?"

Clearing your throat to dispel the tension, you attempted a friendly smile as you greeted him. "Hello, I'm hoping you can help me," you began, holding the unfolded map up to show him. With a pointed finger, you indicated the spot marked by the Ghoul with a "V." "I'm looking for vials, is this where I can get them?"

He peered closer to the map, beady eyes squinting as he considered it. With a dirty hand, he rubbed at the white stubble of his chin as he hummed, his gaze flicking over you quickly before straightening. "Vials, you say? You're in luck," he gave you a toothy smile, displaying his blackened teeth.

Despite the turn in your stomach, you breathed a sigh of relief. Tucking the map away in the side of your bag, you smiled gratefully. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that," you laughed.

"Well, don't dilly-dally on my porch all night, girl," he said, ushering you inside.

Stepping into the dimly lit home, you were hit by the musty scent of decay and mould. The house was cluttered, filled with stacks of old newspapers, broken furniture, and various knickknacks. The man led you through a narrow hallway into a small room that served as both a living space and a workshop. A cluttered table sat against one wall, covered in tools, scraps of metal, and various mechanical parts.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to a rickety chair near the table. "I'll see what I got."

You sat down cautiously, the chair creaking under your weight. The man rummaged through a pile of junk on a nearby shelf, muttering to himself as he searched. After a few tense moments, he produced a small wooden box and placed it on the table in front of you.

"Here they are," he said, his tone gruff. "How many you need?"

You glanced at box, your heart pounding with a mix of relief and anxiety. "I need as many as you can spare. How much for all of them?"

The man scratched his head, considering your request. "Caps, or trade?" he asked, eyeing your bag.

"I have caps," you replied, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small pouch. You poured the caps onto the table, counting them quickly. "Is this enough?"

He scooped up the caps, weighing them in his hand before shaking his head. "Not hardly," he said, pocketing them as he stared down at you expectantly. You quickly fumbled in your bag, trying to find something to offer. "How about that there contraption?"

Your eyes followed his to the Pip-Boy on your wrist. What would the Ghoul say if you returned without it? He had insisted you keep it on, gifting it to you as a means of gaining some semblance of control that you desperately wanted. Granted it had recently become an unwanted reminder that loneliness would be your only companion until you met your baby, but he wouldn't want you to trade it. Yet he wasn't here, and you were in desperate need of those vials.

"Please, anything else," you pleaded, one last ditch attempt at negotiation as you rifled through the contents of your bag. "I have scrap, copper, toothpaste, you can even have my gun," you continued, listing your items in a desperate ramble before throwing your gun onto the table beside you. 

The man's narrow gaze swept over the array of items you had laid out, his expression a mask of disdain. Without hesitation, he seized your bag and upended its contents onto the worn tabletop. With a rough hand, he sifted through the items, emitting grunts of disapproval as he scrutinized each one.

"No, no good," he muttered, crossing his arms in a gesture of finality. "That thing's worth more than all that junk combined." His lip curled in distaste as he indicated the Pip-Boy resting on your wrist. "It's the gadget or no deal."

Desperation gnawed at you. You needed those vials; the Ghoul's life depended on it. Leaving empty-handed wasn't an option. Fighting back tears, you took a deep breath and looked up at the man, striving to keep your voice steady. "Fine, it's a deal," you conceded, fingers trembling as you unclasped the precious device from your wrist, placing it reluctantly into his filthy palms.

His cracked lips curled into a predatory grin as he regarded his newfound treasure. With a casual shove, he pushed the box of vials across the table towards you. Eagerly, you reached for it, anticipation tingling in your fingertips. But as you pried open the lid, hope turned to bitter disappointment at the sight within.

"There are only three vials here," you stated, disbelief colouring your voice. "We agreed on the Pip-Boy for everything you've got."

A mirthless chuckle escaped the man's throat as he he leaned back against the table, a smug gleam in his eyes. "There it is," he declared, gesturing towards the meagre contents of the box in your hands. "Lesson learned, darlin'. Always check the goods before sealing the deal."

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration, cursing yourself inwardly for falling prey to such a blatant deception. Anger surged within you, fuelled by both the injustice of the situation and the man's smug satisfaction.

"That's not fair!" Your voice rose, laced with indignation, drawing a startled expression from the man across the table.

"Now listen here, you little-"

"What's all this hoo-ha about?" a woman's voice interrupted him as she entered the room. She was about the same age as the man, greying and wrinkled, but whereas his face was stern, hers warmed when she saw you. Her hands went to the apron tied around her thin waist, wiping at the dirty fabric as she spoke. "Well, who do we have here?"

The man released an exasperated sigh, his patience wearing thin. "Just a fool not knowing when a deal is done," he muttered, flinging your empty bag in your direction. "Collect your shit and hit the road."

Before you could react, her hand shot out with startling speed, connecting with the back of his head with a resounding smack. He recoiled, irritation contorting his features as he rubbed the offended spot.

"Goddamn, woman!" he exclaimed, shooting her a venomous glare. "She got the chems, I held up my end of the bargain."

Her eyebrows arched inquisitively as she scrutinized you. "And what might someone like you want with those?"

"My friend, he's unwell," you explained, rising from your seat to begin to deposit your items back in the bag. 

"So, he sent you to fetch them," she deduced.

You nodded, choosing your words carefully as you gauged the situation. Despite her apparent kindness, you sensed it wise to withhold certain details of your predicament. "Something along those lines," you replied cautiously, then pointed to the three vials. "I just hoped there were more."

"There are more," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument as she delivered a swift reprimand to the man beside her. "Edwin, why are you lying to this poor girl?"

Edwin, still nursing a sore spot on his head from her earlier blow, shot her a disgruntled look. "Can't a man try and make a profit in this economy?"

Ignoring his protest, she turned her attention back to you, a friendly smile gracing her features. "My husband will whip up as many vials as you need, don't you fret," she assured, her reassurance a comforting balm to your frayed nerves. Casting a disapproving glance at Edwin as he started to object once more, she added, "And to make amends for his rudeness, I'll whip you up a plate."

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, but I really must hurry these back to my friend," you insisted.

"Of course you must," she affirmed, her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled again. "Edwin will go fetch you some from the cellar. We can't keep such valuable stock out in the open, you understand." Her explanation was delivered with a nod of assurance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Edwin grumbled, leaving the room presumably to fetch the vials.

"Why don't you and me wait for him in the dinin' room," she suggested, her voice carrying a hint of Southern charm from the old world. "You ain't tasted nothin' till you tried my brahmin roast." 

Your protests dissolved into silence as she gently guided you into the room from whence she appeared. A grand wooden dining table commanded the centre of the space, its unpolished surface bearing the scars of time and use. Two weathered candelabras sat empty upon the worn tabletop framing an intricately designed vase that stood proudly in the centre, its once-vibrant bouquet now reduced to a collection of decaying flowers, a red hue faded to a sombre brown. Despite its faded grandeur, there was a certain charm to the room, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times.

Memories of your past life flooded your mind. You remembered the stressful joy of hosting gatherings, the meticulous attention to detail as you fretted over the correct placement of place mats and whether the centrepiece was in keeping with the latest trends from the home magazines you avidly read. Glenn, ever the laid-back husband, would often be found nestled in his recliner, savouring a glass of whiskey as the radio drowned out your worries. He only intervened when you were on the verge of tears, calling for Patti to come and mend his frantic wife.

As you took in the scene before you, a pang of nostalgia tugged at your heartstrings, a bittersweet reminder of a life left behind in the wake of the bombs. In this dilapidated dining room, this family had somehow managed to create a semblance of normalcy amongst the disorder. You only hoped to do the same for your own child.

"I'll have Junior walk you back to your friend," she announced, her voice carrying a gentle authority as she guided you to a seat amidst the array of mismatched chairs. "He's a good boy, you won't come into any trouble out there with him by your side." 

With a tender smile, she disappeared through a swinging door, leaving you to ponder her offer in the dimly lit room. However, your contemplation was interrupted by an unpleasant odour that wafted through the doorway, assaulting your senses with its acrid essence. The stench caused your stomach to churn uneasily, and you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose in distaste.

As she returned with two steaming plates balanced delicately in her hands, the offensive smell accompanied her, its presence overwhelming. Recoiling slightly, you fought to suppress the urge to gag and wondered how the woman wasn't doing the same.

Setting one plate down before you with practiced grace, she deftly produced a worn napkin from her apron, gently draping it across your lap with an air of hospitality. Expressing your gratitude, you watched warily as she took her seat opposite you, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Since your escape from the vault, you hadn't consumed anything that hadn't been prepared by your own hands or originated from a tin can. While her gesture was undoubtedly kind, you couldn't shake the apprehension that gnawed at you, fuelled by the putrid scent emanating from the meat on your plate.

You hesitantly prodded at the dish, watching as the jellied fat quivered around the thick bone it encased. A wave of revulsion washed over you, and opting instead to sample a carrot, you found it had been thoroughly drenched in the juices and carried the same off-putting aroma as the dubious meat.

Swallowing heavily, you mustered an encouraging smile for the woman across from you as she observed your reaction, her gaze expectant. Despite the foul taste in your mouth, you smiled in appreciation, hoping that it was enough to mask your unease. 

"It's delicious," you fibbed, delicately patting the corners of your mouth with the napkin. You eyed the door you had entered through. "Will your husband be joining us soon?"

You didn't want to push, but the urgency of your situation weighed heavily on your mind. Every moment spent away from the Ghoul felt like an eternity, and the thought of his deteriorating condition filled you with a sense of dread. You could have left with those three vials, but what guarantee did you have that they would be enough?

You knew nothing about his condition, nor did you possess the knowledge to provide any meaningful assistance. All you could do was return with as many vials as you could carry, hoping that the sheer quantity would be enough to appease him and alleviate any resentment he might harbour towards you for leaving.

"It's a big cellar," she offered in explanation, her tone carrying a hint of apology for her husband's delay. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on you. "Gets a mite lonesome in this old house."

You offered her a sympathetic smile, sensing a shared understanding of loneliness in her words. "And Junior, is he your son?" you asked.

"One of 'em," she replied with a wistful smile, her gaze drifting momentarily into the distance. "The only one left. Tall as a redwood and about as sharp as one too, bless his heart." There was a fondness in her tone, a mother's unconditional love for her child evident in every word. "But us mothers, we love 'em all the same, don't we?" she added with a gentle chuckle, her eyes flicking to your pregnant belly before returning to meet yours with a glimmer of joy.

Your eyes widened in astonishment at her revelation, and a surge of vulnerability and protectiveness welled within you, prompting your hands to instinctively cradle your bump. You had grown noticeably, your pregnancy now too pronounced to conceal any longer, compelling you to discard your vault suit in favour of garments salvaged from an old dresser. Amidst the solitude of your journey with the Ghoul, encounters with others had been rare, limited to a handful of oblivious traders who had failed to notice your condition. This unexpected revelation felt like a breach of privacy, like divulging a secret that had been shared exclusively between you and your companion.

"Of course," you replied cautiously, sensing the weight of her words.

"I'd move mountains for my boy, just to ensure he's fed and breathing. In this world, that's about all a mother can aspire to," she murmured, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. "It's a pitiful state when a mother can't even provide that much for her own kin."

Your heart constricted with anguish, fears surging to the forefront as you contemplated the prospect of being unable to provide even the most basic necessities for your unborn child. The notion of welcoming a helpless infant into a world of scarcity and violence filled you with terror. You had been hesitant to confront the reality of impending motherhood, unsure of how you would navigate the responsibilities that lay ahead. Despite clinging to the hope that sanctuary awaited you at the haven, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that lingered in the recesses of your mind.

As you looked into her sad eyes, a pang of empathy tugged at your heartstrings. This poor woman had endured unimaginable loss, yet here she was, seemingly trying to cling to a semblance of normality by creating a home for her remaining family in the wasteland.  It was a fragile existence, one that could be snatched away at any moment, and as her resilience struck a chord within you, you wondered: Could this be your future as well? The thought lingered in the depths of your mind, weighing heavy on your chest. 

"Don't feel sorry for me, darlin', I got my time with my boys," she assured you, reaching across the table to rest her hand gently on yours. 

You smiled sadly as you regarded her. "I can't even imagine what you've been through," you admitted, your voice laced with genuine sympathy.

"No, I suppose you can't," she replied softly, her hand withdrawing from yours as she settled back in her chair. There was a moment of quiet contemplation before she spoke again, her words carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "I've come to realize in this world that it's not about what's been done to us, but what we are willing to do."

You nodded in agreement. You had been thrust into this harsh reality, subjected to the horrors of the vaults and the betrayal of those who promised salvation. Yet, despite the trials and tribulations you had faced, you had fought tooth and nail to survive, to carve out a place for yourself in this dangerous new world. And now, with the imminent arrival of your child, that determination burned even brighter within you.

"Are you willing to do anything for your baby?" she asked, her voice soft yet resolute. Without hesitation, you nodded, unwavering resolve in your eyes.

Her gaze dropped to the table momentarily, lost in thought, before lifting once more to meet yours. "So am I," she declared softly, an edge in her voice that belied her gentle demeanour.

With a swift motion, she brought her index and middle finger to her lips, emitting a sharp whistle that pierced through the stillness of the old house. Your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of her action before Edwin shuffled into the room, trailed by a looming figure whose long hair obscured the majority of his face. "Christ, Mag, I thought we'd be waiting all night," the older man grumbled. "Junior, grab the girl."

You turned your gaze back to Mag, the panic rising within you like a tidal wave, but as your eyes searched for reassurance in hers, you found only avoidance. Her gaze remained fixed on the table, refusing to meet yours, her expression inscrutable.

Junior closed the distance with two swift strides, his towering frame engulfing you as he efficiently yanked you from your seat, flinging you onto your back on the table with a brutal force that stole the air from your lungs. The table's decorations rattled to the ground, mingling with the scattered food in a cacophonous crash.

As Mag's now stern voice echoed through the room, a cold shiver ran down your spine. "Don't leave any marks, Junior," she scolded, authority in her tone. Her son nodded in obedience.

Your hands trembled as you instinctively reached for your holster, only to curse under your breath when you found it empty. The realization hit you like a sledgehammer— you had handed your gun to Edwin during the negotiations, a decision that now seemed foolish in hindsight. Defenceless, vulnerable, and at the mercy of forces beyond your control. Like a cruel nightmare, you were back where you had started. 

"Can't sell meat that's all bruised up," Mag's words lingered in the air as she left the room and your eyes widened in terror as the door swung to a shut. You scrambled to rise from the table, but Junior pushed you back down, though this time with less force. 

"Please, you don't have to do this," you begged, tears welling in your eyes.

"She's not for selling, she's for eating," Edwin interjected callously, disregarding your pleas as he seized your ankles. Junior seized your wrists in an iron grip and pinned them above your head, stretching you out before them. 

"Says who, you old coot?" Mag challenged, reappearing with a hefty butcher knife gripped firmly in her hand. The awful smell filled the room again, and you felt bile rise in your throat.

"Says me, the one who got her inside in the first place," he retorted, grunting as you struggled against his grip. "Besides, I'm sick of that rancid meat. He's been festering in there for weeks." He nodded toward the door where the putrid smell was emitting from.

His words sent a chill down your spine as you glanced at the mess of food scattered across the floor. Your eyes honed in on the repulsive meat that now lay splayed on the grubby carpet amongst the ceramic shards of the plates. Brahmin meat, she had told you, but now you realized it was another poor soul who had crossed this family's path.

Perhaps you were naïve to not consider the act of cannibalism in this dire new reality, but your mind reeled at the images of teeth ripping through bloody flesh.

"Please, why are you doing this?" you cried, tears hot on your cheeks as panic consumed you, each futile struggle met with unyielding strength from Edwin and Junior. Mag moved to your side.

"We've had this conversation, darlin', you know why," Mag whispered, her face looming mere inches from yours. The warmth that once suffused her features had now drained away, replaced by a chilling resolve as she gazed down at you. "Motherhood demands sacrifice, and this is the sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Her gaze shifted to your belly, assessing it before turning to address the old man. "We'll keep her for meat and sell the babe for a hefty sum," she declared, eliciting a triumphant whoop from him. As her hand tenderly caressed your sweat-dampened hair, a shiver ran down your spine at the realization of your fate. "I want you to know that I mean you no ill will," she murmured, her voice a soothing contrast to the horror of her words. "But my boy has to eat."

The gentle touch of her hand offered little comfort as you recoiled from her touch. When you shook your head in a futile attempt to rid yourself of her grasp, she stepped back, her voice hardening once more.

"I wish I could promise this won't hurt, but there's only one way this baby's comin' out," she stated matter-of-factly, her words ringing with finality as the weight of your impending ordeal settled like lead in the pit of your stomach.

As the blade hovered menacingly above you, your mind raced with desperate thoughts. You couldn't shake the image of the Ghoul alone, abandoned where you'd left him while you embarked on this ill-fated rescue mission. What if he awoke to find you gone, vanished without a trace? Would he think you'd left him, angry over what had transpired between you both? Or perhaps that you'd waited until his weakest moment to finally run from him. The mere notion tore at your heartstrings.

You needed him to know the truth, to understand that your departure was in aide to help him not abandon him. You couldn't die knowing that he may think so badly of you, even though you weren't sure why it mattered so much. He'd been difficult and stubborn, scolded you and made you cry, but there was a yearning that you felt for him beyond your own understanding. With every fibre of your being, you silently pleaded for a chance to return to his side, to make things right and ensure that he could never doubt your devotion.

But you were trapped, with nowhere to run and no escape from the horrors unfolding before you. The full stretch of your body left your bare stomach uncomfortably exposed to the imminent danger. The cold, unforgiving blade of the knife traced a path across the swell of your belly, its touch sending shivers of dread coursing through your veins. Though the first cut was not deep, the sting of pain accompanied by the trickle of blood down your side served as a grim reminder of the perilous situation you had walked yourself and your unborn child into.

Since escaping the clutches of the vault, you hadn't dared to picture your future, quickly learning that the dangers of the wasteland were capable of shattering your reality with ruthless brutality from one moment to the next. Yet, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing had remained constant: your unwavering determination to protect and nurture the life growing within you.

From the moment you heard the doctor confirm your pregnancy, a flicker of hope ignited within you. Despite the deceit of your husband, the looming threat of war, and every obstacle that stood in your path, you had clung to the unwavering belief that you were destined for motherhood. It was a truth that resonated deep within your heart, but you felt it slowly being swallowed by the hollow ache of despair and regret.

With a heavy heart weighing down every fibre of your being, you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for what was to come. In that harrowing moment, a chilling realization swept over you like a tidal wave: if you were to remain conscious through these next moments, you would meet your baby. You were so far from carrying to full-term, but why would Mag go to such lengths unless she was confident that your baby would survive. Afterall, a living baby must be worth a fortune in the wasteland. A commodity, as the Ghoul had described you. 

Then, the thought pierced your soul: your baby would enter the world alone, without you, unaware of what transpired or why you weren't there beside them. Growing up to think that their mother never loved them. You couldn't let it happen.

With your last shred of resolve shattered, a primal scream tore from your throat.

A distant crash from another room shattered the tense atmosphere, bringing the woman's relentless pursuit with the knife to an abrupt halt. All three members of the family turned their heads towards the doorway, their eyes widening in shock as it was obliterated before them. A deafening cacophony of splintering wood filled the air as a single bullet burst through, sending wooden fragments flying in all directions.

Instinctively, you turned your head away, seeking whatever meagre protection you could get. In the midst of the commotion, Edwin's agonized holler pierced the air, his body recoiling as the bullet sliced through his neck. With a forceful impact, he was thrown back against the kitchen doorway, his form crumpling to the ground with a heavy thud that reverberated throughout the room.

Junior's anguished wails pierced your eardrums. Despite his distress, his vice-like grip remained unyielding, keeping you firmly in place even as he grappled with the shock of his father's demise.

Meanwhile, Mag offered only a fleeting acknowledgment to the lifeless form of her husband before her attention snapped back to the now-open doorway. There, a figure emerged, a silhouette framed by the shattered remnants of the entrance. With each step, the sound of spurred boots rang out like a beacon of hope.

As the Ghoul's hulking frame filled the doorway, a wave of relief washed over you. He appeared worlds apart from the unconscious man you had left behind in search of aid, and as you took in his daunting appearance, you noticed the inhaler clutched in his hand, an almost empty vial inserted inside. 

Locking eyes with him across the room, you watched as his weary gaze swept over the scene before him: you, splayed out and held down on the table, a small cut marring your belly, tears streaking your face.

In that fleeting moment, his expression darkened with a silent fury. With swift and merciless precision, he raised his magnum, his aim unwavering as he first targeted Junior. In an instant, the sound of gunfire shot through the room, a single slug piercing through Junior's skull, extinguishing his cries in a heartbeat.

Mag's horrified gaze barely had time to register the terror before her own fate was sealed. She turned to the Ghoul with venom in her eyes. "Coop—"

With ruthless efficiency, another bullet tore through her chest, sending her crumpling to the floor beside her fallen son. In the span of mere seconds, the room fell almost silent, the only sound being the Ghoul's heavy breaths as he surveyed the aftermath of his swift justice.

A low groan echoed across the room, drawing the Ghoul's attention to the source of the sound. Without hesitation, he fired off two more shots into Edwin's chest, putting an end to his suffering. As the final ring of gunfire faded, the Ghoul lowered his gun, his gaze fixated on you once more. His eyes, dark and brooding, seemed to bore into your very soul, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in their intense scrutiny.

With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up to sit on the table, the weight of so many emotions swirling within you like a windstorm raging inside your chest. Fear, relief, guilt, and gratitude warred for dominance, each vying for your attention as you struggled to make sense of the harrowing ordeal that had unfolded before you. In that moment of uncertainty, you found yourself paralyzed by indecision, unsure of how to proceed as you watched the Ghoul, awaiting his instruction.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he holstered his gun and tucked the inhaler back inside his coat, the look of anguish etched upon his scarred face. With a silent understanding passing between you, he beckoned you to him with a curl of his fingers, a wordless invitation for comfort that you never thought possible from him. Your body moved on instinct, propelled forward by a force beyond conscious thought, as you leaped from the table and into the safety of his waiting arms. In that moment, all pretence of strength crumbled away, leaving you clinging to him with a desperation that bordered on frantic.

You held onto him so tightly that you could almost feel the air being squeezed from your lungs. As his muscular arms enveloped you and your unborn child, a floodgate of emotion burst open within you, unleashing an outburst of tears that wracked your body with their intensity.

"I never left you," you whispered through each sob, your voice hoarse from screaming, the words spilling out in a plea for understanding. "I swear, I was coming back."

His touch was tender as he stroked your hair, his breath warm against your ear as he comforted your trembling form. "Nobody would blame you if you hadn't," he murmured softly, then cleared his throat. "I told you, you weren't to come here."

"I had to save you," you insisted, your voice shaking but resolute.

"Sure did a fine job," he said, glancing around the room at the carnage. "Looked like you had everything under control."

His teasing stung, and you pulled away from him, hurt flashing in your eyes as you stood your ground. "You were unconscious. If I hadn't come, you would have—" your voice cracked, unable to finish the thought.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" he interrupted, irritation thick in his voice. "Good thing too, because I wasn't aware just how dumb you could be."

"I didn't know if you'd make it," you shot back, your voice a raw blend of frustration and fear. "I had to do something, I couldn't lose you."

For a brief moment, his eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. But it was quickly replaced by steely conviction. He pointed a gloved finger at your belly, his tone firm yet edged with concern. "I shouldn't be your concern right now."

You cradled your bump protectively, looking up at him with glistening eyes. "And yet here we are."

He was silent for a moment, his hand dropping back to his side as he regarded you with a mix of frustration and helplessness. "What am I going to do with you?" he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You didn't answer him. Instead, you moved back into his chest, seeking the comfort you'd felt moments before. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, the tension in his muscles softening as he held you close.

"This can't keep happening," he said after moments of silence passed between you, his words hammering at your heart. You couldn't tell if he was referring to the intimacy of your embrace or your reckless brush with death once again. Regardless, you tightened your grip on him.

"Just a little longer," you whispered, your voice barely audible. He sighed in resignation as he gently disentangled your arms from his waist, pushing you back to look into your eyes. His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat, and he retrieved the device that would sever any remaining physical connection between you.

You had barely had time to enjoy the unbridled freedom of those moments in his embrace, the silence broken only by the rhythmic beating of his heart against your cheek rather than the disturbing clicking. But now, as your eyes fell on the Pip-Boy, you realized you weren't ready to relinquish that freedom, despite the protection it promised.

"I told you not to take it off," he chided. When you started to explain yourself, he cut you off. "I don't care, just put it back on."

You shook your head, your eyes locking with his, defiance met with disappointment. "Don't make me do it," he pleaded earnestly, his voice softening, laden with a desperation you hadn't heard from him before.

"I have a choice, and so do you," you told him, your voice steady but your heart pounding.

He smiled sadly, a bittersweet expression that deepened the ache in your chest. "I wish that were true," he replied, pulling your hand gently and fastening the Pip-Boy around your wrist. The device closed with a sickening clink, severing the fragile connection between you. You held his gaze, chin high, though you wanted to curl into yourself.

"I wonder if it really is me you're protecting with this thing," you said, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow, your hand still enclosed in his as the clicking commenced. "I'm not so sure anymore."

His gaze dropped as he took a deep breath, bracing himself before looking back at you with a rueful smile. "Me neither, vaultie," he admitted, his voice a whisper of regret. He dropped your hand and turned to leave the room. "Maybe it's better that way."

He disappeared through the open doorway, leaving you alone with the heavy silence and the cold weight of the Pip-Boy on your wrist. The freedom of touch you had tasted moments ago now felt like a distant memory, replaced by the stark reality that, regardless of anything else, the Ghoul was determined to keep you at a distance. 

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @lothiriel9 @ancientbeing10 @sillysimping @maeplaysbass @moon-trash1507 @spookyoat @rebelmarylou @writtenbyhollywood

[octuscle]

Dear Chronivac Support

Is chronivac active or shut down? I'm a wealthy guy looking for some fun and adventure. There is a hot Latin poolboy in our neighborhood inspiring me to enjoy holidays as a latino. I searched the internet and found eric gustavo Oliveira as hot guy. A spring break as a latino like him would be great. I hope I can swap back later?

I recommend Chronivac Travel for this. I have a very cool offer for Cartagena. If you allow, I will put everything together for you. You don't even have to pack. You get your luggage with your boarding pass at the American counter in JFK.

The flight departs at 06:50. So, according to your habit, you will be at the airport at 05:50. But sorry, you fly low cost in economy. Fortunately for you, we have already checked you in and checked your luggage. Here are your boarding pass and your backpack. You can give me your Louis Vuitton laptop bag, you won't need it for the next two weeks.

The queue at the security check is annoying. You are used to the fast lane. But I want you to have the ultimate Latino experience. Of course, your backpack will be patted down. Grinning, the officer flips through the Spanish gay magazines. He asks you something in Spanish. You begin to regret the whole action.

Before boarding, you have just enough time to get a beer and a sandwich for the first leg to Miami. You look for your wallet. Actually, it should be in the inside pocket of your jacket. But you realize you're not wearing a jacket anymore. Shit, did you forget it at the security checkpoint? But why do you have the hip bag hanging in front of your chest? You look, there is a cheap nylon purse. With a cannabis leaf in front of the Colombian flag on it. And inside, next to your Colombian ID and driver's license, a few old dollar bills. And a credit card. Apparently your name is now Diego Gonzales. When you ask the flight attendant at boarding if you could get an upgrade, you can hardly remember the English words. The flight attendant does not understand your request, but smiles friendly and tells you in broken Spanish your row and your seat.

Fuck, the lad next to you is a real beauty. You find it hard not to look at him all the time. At some point he asks you in English, smiling, when you are already on approach, if Miami is your destination. You shake your head, show your chest and answer "I Cartagena home". He answers you "You follow me". You understood that. And you do that in Miami in the airport. With a little distance. But the splendid ass always in view. The man disappears in a toilet. You follow. The door to a stall is a little bit open. You open the door and behind it the stallion is already waiting with his pants down. You understand the command. You kneel on the dirty floor and blow the fellow. He moans a little too loud for this place. Someone rants something about gay perverts. Your seat neighbor blows his load in your face. But even that is not new for you. You lick the hard-on skillfully clean, suck off the last drop and stow the cock in his pants. Without giving you a glance, the fellow throws you a few dollar bills. And quickly leaves the toilet. Almost 50 dollars. Not bad. You would have done the blow job for free. But now you should hurry to get to your connecting flight.

On the flight to Cartagena, you'll finally get your upgrade. Crossing business class on the way to your seat, you make eye contact with a gentleman in row 2 for a little too long. And no sooner have you stowed your carry-on luggage than a flight attendant stands next to you and tells you with a wink that your uncle in row 2 invites you to spend the flight next to him. As soon as you reach cruising altitude, your newfound uncle invites you to become a member of the Mile High Club. He raises the privacy screen, activates the "do not disturb" sign. And unbuttons his pants. An upgrade to business class. And $600 in freshly printed bills. Your stock is soaring.

Home at last! Three weeks of vacation in your homeland, until you have to go back to the gringos. Where vacation means you'll be working at the Bomba Beach Club. In the service. And maybe there will be some extra income. Usually the three weeks are enough to pay your rent for half a year in New Jersey. Whereby it certainly won't be long before your mother will ask again if you wouldn't like to find yourself a nice young Colombian and be happy here.

You are already smiling at the thought. Your parents have picked you up from the airport, you have freshened up and are already wearing your work clothes. Your vacation begins with the evening shift. That is good. Then the tips are more generous. It's going to be a great three weeks! Thank you for traveling with Chronivac.

[runwayrunway]

No. 54 - Ryanair

You are watching a video on a popular video sharing service. It is a full episode of a popular and long-running show, generously uploaded for free. It is narrated by a calm man with a BBC accent of the sort which belongs exclusively in documentaries.

The narrator names a date between 1903 and the current year. It is accompanied by a location - an airport. An airplane is on approach. It has a certain number of people on board, and it flies for some airline. There are pilots, most likely two of them. They make some sort of mistake, and maybe there's an issue with the weather, or the ILS is down, or the instruments are giving misleading information, or some other thing has gone tailcone over teakettle in an alarmingly short timespan and now their approach is tremendously unstable. They aren't on the glideslope. They're too fast or too slow. They really need to declare a missed approach, but for whatever reason they don't.

The plane lands, or 'lands' - finds itself on the ground, regardless - either on or short of the runway. It bounces, or flips over, or just pancakes into the ground. The fuselage cracks, or splits, or peels open, or horribly catches fire. There is an evacuation. It's all very stressful at minimum, and an unmitigated tragedy at worst.

You scroll down to the comments for some reason. "Average Ryanair landing," says one near the top.

Ryanair (not to be confused with Ryan Air, a real but unrelated airline) is Europe's largest air carrier. It has over 550 airplanes and serves over 200 destinations. It is difficult to imagine an airline with a worse reputation - their CEO is a literal troll, their customer service is legendarily poor, and their ultra-low-cost model is one in which you inevitably get what you pay for. They are memetically despised, and their rough landings are the stuff of legend.

And yet their livery is understated, with a certain head-held-high gravitas. It is difficult to describe the legitimate cognitive dissonance which arises from Ryanair's aerosartorial choices, an effect that seems to touch more people than just me. On another airline, I wouldn't find this livery particularly thought-provoking. Enough substance to write a post about, but not something which lurks in my mind and draws my attention. But on Ryanair, it's downright fascinating.

I've said what I've said, but I'm actually a defender of Ryanair. Look, it's like getting a ticket on a bus or the metro. It's cheap (at least in theory - they seem to be getting pricier lately) and it gets you where you need to go and it's probably not going to be that long of a flight anyway so, I mean, whatever. I've flown some pretty long flights before in-flight entertainment was standard, Ryanair is fine. I never even noticed the hard landings until I saw people talking about them, and to be perfectly honest I didn't notice them afterward either. Maybe I'm just not bothered by hard landings, the same way I'm not bothered by turbulence. Who really knows? My point is that I'm something of a Ryanair apologist. I live in the US, where you just don't get dirt cheap flights like that and getting anywhere outside of your home metropolitan area by train (and even sometimes bus) costs even more than flying. Ryanair could make me board the plane by abseiling up it myself to save money on airstairs and I'd be fine with it if the price was right. I'm not a millionaire. I haven't got the money to go jetsetting around Europe on a real airline. So I mean this when I say it: thank goodness for Ryanair.

I mean, I'm not saying this because Ryanair is good, don't get me wrong. They are the Big Bill Hell's of airlines. They are the closest thing we have to John Mulaney's version of Delta. Ryanair is not just no-frills, it's hot-glued fabric scraps in the vague shape of a garment. They are legitimately comical in their commitment to service so Kafkaesquely bad that you almost wish you'd travelled by trebuchet instead! And all this for the low, low price of...well, I mean, they do get pretty low.

When I released my first questionnaire I added a question about Ryanair specifically because of its reputation and my own feelings about the airline. Multiple people did agree with me - well, it's definitely not comfortable at all, you won't enjoy yourself, but it's so obscenely cheap that this isn't really objectionable. You are getting exactly what you pay for. And, well, if you do want some semblance of the full-service experience you can pay an extra fee. Or a lot of extra fees. That's how they get you. The ULCC model relies on stripping out everything possible and then charging you extra for it. That does mean that if you need things like printed boarding passes or the ability to pay by credit card that come standard with literally any other airline you could end up paying a decent amount for your miserable cramped flight, but if you truly want the bare minimum they will charge you appropriately, and that is so important to me, because I have too little money to insist on being comfortable.

I do feel...particularly sorry for one respondent.

It isn't bad press they are legitimately a nightmare. A attendant once lied to me and told me that type of plane just didn't have toilets (it did. There was a working toilet on board) then proceeded to lecture me about 'not planning ahead and going in the airport'

This is kind of hilarious in a sad way and I'm very sorry that this happened to you. Ryanair is infamous for its bad customer service but it's rare you'll hear about cabin crew behaving this poorly at any airline. While this particular incident was a one-off, you probably will have a pretty miserable time if you need to call the airline about literally anything.

One person just answered 'bitches'.

Well, that answers the question "what is Ryanair", but why is Ryanair?

The world is full of low-cost carriers. Wizz Air, EasyJet, airasia, Allegiant, Jetstar, FlySafair, Volaris, T'Way, Azul, Nok Air, Frontier, Lion Air, jetBlue, and SpiceJet are just some of the dozens which fill the skies. They are often colourful, frequently grumbled about, and essential.

Low-cost carriers, and especially ULCCs, are a relatively recent phenomenon. They only sprung into being after aviation stopped being by necessity a luxury product. It's generally agreed that PSA (Pacific Southwest Airlines), an intrastate carrier from California colloquially known as the Poor Sailor's Airline, was the first low-cost carrier. While the large interstate carriers of the time had a sort of detached gravitas to both their services and their prices, and were often prevented from lowering said prices anyway due to federal taxes that didn't apply to intrastate carriers like PSA, a ticket on "The World's Friendliest Airline" was cheap and the service was casual and personable. The low-cost model is built on being an option for a normal person. If you don't have the money to fly TWA, you can fly on an airline which is made for normal people and charges you accordingly.

The model didn't really catch on immediately, though. I couldn't exactly say why - it might have to do with the lack of demand for air travel that wasn't either commuter flights or long-haul. There was some activity in the market, with Loftleiðir (a precursor to Icelandair) offering cheap-as-dirt transatlantic flights in the 60s and Laker Airways having a three-year tenure in the late 70s serving a similar market from a Western European base. Even today the long-haul low-cost market they served is notoriously difficult to make anything work in.

What is generally thought to be the next major player in low-cost airlines, Southwest, emerged in 1971. David Neeleman further refined the model, first with innovations in cost-cutting at Morris Air and later by raising the bar for customer experience at jetBlue. David Neeleman, though, was active right at the turn of the millennium. Low-cost carriers only really began to emerge in real numbers in the 80s and 90s, with examples that are long-gone, like the infamous ValuJet, existing alongside ones US residents have probably seen at their local airport, like Spirit.

Spirit is different from jetBlue and Southwest. Spirit Airlines is not just a low-cost carrier but an ultra low-cost carrier. As the name suggests, the difference is one of scale. A low-cost carrier provides less comprehensive and less ritzy service than a full-service airline, but they do so in the tradition of PSA, trying to provide a comfortable experience that makes people want to choose their airline. The ULCC model, on the other hand, guts out literally every possible feature and then dangles it in front of you on a string, telling you to pay extra if you want it. These airlines do not provide a good experience. There will be no baggage allowances, no extra legroom, and no priority boarding. The base fare, however, is almost absurdly low relative to even low-cost carriers, and as air travel becomes a fact of life more and more the humble ULCC becomes a necessary part of the ecosystem as the only way many people can afford to travel.

Ryanair is technically 38 years old, but it's only been a low-cost carrier since 1990. This pivot is the brainchild of then-CFO, now CEO (and ouster of the eponymous Ryan) Michael O'Leary, one of the wealthiest and most unpleasant men in Ireland.

image: Associated Press Yes, this is actually a real image of the CEO of Ryanair. I imagine this may clear up a thing or two.

Why is Ryanair? Because Michael O'Leary, is the simple answer. Michael O'Leary is - and there is genuinely no better way to describe the man - a troll. If you take David Neeleman's image during his tenure at jetBlue, a sweet everyman trying to improve the experience by sitting in on flights and giving up his salary to employee medical funds, Michael O'Leary is the literal exact opposite of him on every point. A self-described "gobshite" and "obnoxious little bollocks" who has admitted to "not liking" aeroplanes, Michael O'Leary is a cruel, selfish, belligerent, publicity-seeking freakazoid on a mission to piss off everyone in Europe which has so far been largely successful.

I don't want anything I say about the man to come off as positive. Michael O'Leary is a wealthy ghoul (and, yes, he was born wealthy, no rags in his tale) who publicly berates, mistreats, and underpays his staff. He has expressed prejudice against racial and religious minorities, fat and disabled passengers, women, and just about anyone who expects to be treated with some measure of dignity. He has committed legitimate crimes, like impersonating journalists. He denies climate change and has accumulated his massive wealth by abusing the pilots and cabin crew who keep Ryanair adequate. In 2010 Ryanair was named one of the least ethical companies in the world. The fact that he is so absurd as to be hilarious isn't an endorsement or a defense of him.

That said, here is a short, curated list of Michael O'Leary's, and Ryanair's broadly (as their public image is really an extension of his and vice versa) most Ryanair shenanigans:

O'Leary installed a taxicab license plate on his luxury car and driving it in the bus lane to avoid traffic.

Advertisements have taken open and somewhat sneering shots at other major European airlines, like Lufthansa ('bye by Late-hansa'), British Airways ('expensive BAstards'), and the now-defunct Sabena (using a reference to the famous Manneken Pis statue). These have not been simple comparisons but outright name-calling.

One time they advertised sales to 'sunny' vacation destinations, like Norway.

Generally, their advertisements push so many boundaries that they were once found to have committed seven violations of advertising law in just two years, and I'm shocked they didn't begin an ad campaign centring around this dubious achievement.

They frequently misbrand airports way outside of major cities as being in that major city, with the most insane example being "Vienna Bratislava" - yes, Bratislava, the one in Slovakia.

Pilots are forced to pay for simulator checks while cabin crew are forced to pay for uniforms and training. Employees are even forbidden from charging their phones from office sockets, apparently.

Sometimes passengers are forced to carry their own luggage to the planes! Not carryons, luggage.

O'Leary, in a bold move, outright denied that the 2010 eruption of Eyjafjallajökull had created a massive cloud of volcanic ash hazardous to airplanes (it very obviously had).

He also said he would like for there to be a recession, since it would let Ryanair keep costs low. He said this in 2008.

One time he said travel agents ("fuckers") should be shot .

O'Leary claimed that Ryanair would begin offering business class, featuring "beds and blowjobs". I'm personally not sure I would want a Ryanair blowjob. That sounds really horrible.

Also, bold coming from an airline with no seatback pockets.

Apparently they tried to get planes delivered with no window shades (though they weren't able to because of regulations).

They've floated the idea of standing seats. I don't believe this will or indeed could ever happen but it definitely is truly dystopian.

Ryanair keeps trying to buy Aer Lingus. They keep failing, and they keep trying. Obviously, everyone in Ireland has a vested interest in making sure this does not happen.

Fundamentally, Ryanair doesn't care. They can and will essentially throw tantrums to get airports to charge them lower operating fees and if they can't get an airport to do this they just won't operate there. It's like negotiating with a seven-year-old. Except that seven-year-old is Europe's largest airline.

They wanted to buy the C919. This isn't, like, a bad thing, it's just really strange for a hardcore Boeing loyalist airline and I can't imagine how it would save them money.

image: Robot8A This is the interior of a Ryanair plane. Note the safety cards attached to the seatbacks due to the lack of pockets, plus additional adverts on the seatbacks and overhead bins like this is a sports match in a massive stadium. It's also just quite ugly.

Fundamentally, Ryanair is just perpetually doing Ryanair things. Why is Ryanair? Because Ryanair is one giant publicity stunt. A couple of people answered my question by referencing the CEO saying he'd like to charge people to use the toilet, and that's sort of true in the sense that he's said he'd like to do this, but he's always been pretty clear that it's a publicity stunt:

Short of committing murder, negative publicity sells more seats than positive publicity.

Like, it's a bit. He's doing a bit. He's 100% in on the joke. For every one of the more particularly insane claims, like charging to use the toilets, he's outright denied it. Even some claims that are pretty borderline are ones he's contradicted at other points. He's a legitimate bigot who's created one of the most nightmarish work environments out there and just wants to suck money out of people by any means necessary, and he's indefensible, but that's not really what people talk about when they talk about Ryanair. They talk about charging for toilets.

Charging for toilets continues to be the number one story that resurfaces in the press and it’s the gift that keeps on giving. We’ve never done it, but it keeps coming up on social networks every three or four months, the media picks up on it and then someone writes a story on it.

Which I think is misplaced effort when he's also, for instance, a climate change denier who forces disabled passengers to pay for wheelchairs. And I don't believe for a second his climate change denial is based on legitimate convictions - he just doesn't want to have to spend more money. He would absolutely knowingly feed the world into an incinerator if it lowered costs.

Anyway, here is a picture of him having his face violently introduced to a pie.

image: Olivier Hoslet

All of this said, there's no such thing as an ethical airline - he's just playing it up to the extreme for essentially business clickbait.

I feel like the best example of Ryanair's general...Ryanairness is their Twitter account, which I have a sneaking suspicion Michael O'Leary runs himself to save money. It's mostly composed of firing back at complaining customers, Formula 1 opinions, and jabs at everyone from Boris Johnson to the British Museum. (Heartbreaking: the worst person you know just made a great point.) Their description, 'we sell seats, not windows', references the frequent complaints about seat 11A, which does not have a window. (To be fair, their website does warn you about this.) Their weird window situation actually generated my all-time favourite Ryanair tweet.

Here are some other winners.

No, seriously, I think Michael O'Leary might be writing these. I also really don't know how to feel about the fact that it appears someone at the airline - potentially O'Leary himself - has made an edit of a yassified Ryanair plane.

But at the end of the day, it's Ryanair. O'Leary himself has described aeroplanes as "a bus with wings on". As one individual tweeted,

THANK YOU to [Ryanair], for letting me see Europe for Feck All

and that's why I do think I genuinely have primarily positive feelings about Ryanair as a product rather than a company - you truly do see Europe for Feck All. (O'Leary has claimed both that he would introduce $10 transatlantic tickets to the US, and that he would make tickets literally free and make all profits from ancillary fees - while neither has yet happened, it takes one hell of an airline to claim that it's on the table.)

Ryanair isn't affordable, it's dime store. It's an airline you bought from Wish.com. It's the free pen you stole from a cup of identical pens at the bank which stops working within days. You're not just in steerage, you're on a tramp steamer. You get exactly the misery you pay for, and you go from one place to a different place.

And it's worth noting that Ryanair has at least one positive feature - safety.

When I ran my first questionnaire I asked respondents what type of airline they thought was most dangerous. Other than what's shown there was also an option for mainline full service carriers; unsurprisingly, nobody chose this. There were 50 respondents but 5 declined to answer this particular question, so the sample size isn't really significant enough to draw any conclusions from, but it's what I have. (I kind of wish I could stop to re-run this with my current follower count, but this post is actually a request. No, not for my wonderful beloved followers - for my dentist. Not joking. Thank you for making my teeth not have holes in them.)

20% of respondents indicated that low-cost or ultra-low-cost airlines probably had the worst safety records and practices. It's completely understandable why someone would think this, but without going into the actual statistics of plane crashes this simply isn't true, and in fact they're the safest category on here. While it obviously depends on the specific airline, low-cost carriers as a category are no less safe than mainline carriers. This is despite the fact that they tend to fly shorter flights and thus they operate more takeoffs and landings, which are the points in a flight where the majority of crashes occur.

How does that make sense? Well, part of it is that the airline industry has gotten very close to eliminating accidental crashes via innovations in technology and an incredible safety culture built on years of hard lessons. The world has paid in blood for crew resource management and GPWS, but it has paid, and now the sorts of crashes that would have been unremarkable just 20 years ago are completely unthinkable. Actually, in the 2010s it's quite possible more people were killed by planes brought down deliberately than accidents. But beyond that, the costs low-cost airlines cut tend to be ones that aren't safety-critical. They tend to operate shiny new fleets (better fuel efficiency, purchased in bulk) with large maintenance teams (shorter turnaround and less planes grounded for long periods of time) at less congested airports (lower operating fees) and indeed when I think about famous accidents that involve massive cutting of corners it's nearly always full-service airlines, save for egregious examples of low-cost industry pariahs out of business within a few years. Focusing on eliminating operating costs by making the passenger experience cramped and miserable allows for pouring all your budget into running a smooth and well-oiled operation.

The axiom "if you think safety is expensive, try a crash" is often attributed to EasyJet founder Stelios Haji-Ioannou. And it's true. Beyond the cost of writing off a plane, of financial compensation to survivors and families, of lawyers and PR, of having to update your operation to make sure it never happens again...as O'Leary himself said, all press is good press...short of murder. A heinous, clearly negligent crash, on the other hand, can kill an airline as easily as it can kill people. It has done in the past and that threat will never stop being there. Airlines go out of business all the time for any number of mundane financial reasons. In many cases margins simply do not allow for something like a crash. Crashes have even ended the lives of deeply historic, beloved, well-established nationalized flag carriers, so this particular sword of Damocles could cut Ryanair's control cables just as easily. And they've managed to avoid this fate, with zero passenger fatalities and only one written-off airplane - the 2008 crash of flight 4102, caused by a birdstrike during landing.

And I'll be honest, "miserable and safe but a tenth the price of a train ticket from Boston to New York" (I am unfortunately not exaggerating) is a pretty appealing package to my non-millionaire self.

...so why do their planes look like this? I'm dead serious, it vexes me. I don't know what to make of this. Hey, did you remember I'm an airline livery review blog? Look, I can't help myself. Low-cost carriers as a topic, and how they're viewed, is probably the most interesting facet of the aviation industry to me. I feel like if I had infinite time and resources I might genuinely sit down, hit the databases and archives, run a few studies, and write a book about it - it's fascinating, and low-cost carriers are something that only economists and businesspeople seem to want to talk about. I think it's about time someone approached them through a lens of history and social psychology. There's not really academic value to what I do here, on Runway Runway, my tumblr blog where I call Lufthansa planes ugly, but if something doesn't exist I will create it even if my sample size is 50.

So how about how they're literally viewed - like, what their planes look like? Well, here are some low cost carriers I've reviewed. Notice something? They're bright and eye-catching. They don't take themselves too seriously. They're fun. The original low-cost carrier literally painted big smiles on their bright pink and orange planes.

Okay, yes, they don't all look like this. WestJet and IndiGo, for example, are fairly normal-looking. And there are full-service carriers like TAP Air Portugal (and condor. Absolutely condor.) that I would say have a pretty low-costy look to them. There is nothing wrong with that. Low-cost liveries are frequently colourful and exciting, with much more thought put into distinctiveness and charm instead of a passionless appeal to dignity. Indeed a lot of my most highly esteemed liveries, including all the ones pictured above, are low-cost airlines. GOL, for example, is a snappy, eye-catchy design in bright colours that's clearly not meant to look expensive. The same goes for Breeze Airways. There's even more examples out there I've yet to touch on, like EasyJet; ValuJet; Scoot; Spirit Airlines; Frontier Airlines; PLAY (and the late WOW air); Volotea; airasia, so on - to be dignified or clean is not the goal here. Even the names of low-cost carriers frequently are very hastily stapled together and generic, like EasyJet or Super Air Jet or Wings Air; JetSmart; SkyUp; Smartwings; FastJet; Sky Airline (just one!); MYAirlines; the classic ValuJet; flyadeal; and the legendary jet2.com, making no attempt at all to seem as if they have a legacy to fall back on. And there's even more out-there specimens, like Mango or even Nok Air. Many of them have specific themes, like Batik Air, Tigerair, or Buzz, which isn't something you see on full-service carriers, which brand themselves on national identity and the promise of luxury and good service - which is boring. Low-cost airlines, if they want to succeed, have to do something to make people remember they exist.

This is the fundamental shape taken by the low-cost product, which operates with few laurels to rest on and a mission of getting people to remember their website at any cost. Much like a can of Arizona iced "tea" guaranteed to cost ninety-nine cents, literally cheaper than a bottle of water, the package it comes in makes no attempt to look classy. And I am a heavy tea drinker who considers myself fairly discerning, whose favourite type of tea is gyokuro yamashiro (which is absurdly expensive), but you literally can't beat Arizona! It's potable and it's ninety-nine cents and it sort of resembles tea if you don't think too much about it and Massachusetts summers are surprisingly hot and the can is pretty and colourful. Sure, I'd rather have Ito En, but that costs normal money and Arizona costs 99 cents, and sometimes that's all I really have, and it gets the job done even if my teeth aren't enjoying the experience. A Wizz Air plane is a can of Arizona iced tea. It is ninety-nine cents and potable.

This isn't Arizona, this is a box of Darjeeling from Harrods. Ryanair outfits their fleet in handsome navy blue and gold. Their logo, an outline of a woman with harp-like wings taking flight, is simple yet elegant, and that feels so very wrong. I actually asked in my questionnaire what the colours of the Ryanair livery were, because I had seen people expressing casually that they weren't sure they could recognize so much as a Ryanair logo, and the results aren't worth showing in a chart because they're basically as good as random. I do want to specifically appreciate the person who answered "I don't remember but it must be whatever the cheapest colour of airplane paint is", though.

But the truth is that they have such a rich palette, and I do mean that in the sense of 'wealthy'. A deep royal blue paired with a saturated gold used as a sparing trim, these are the colours of an overstuffed plush armchair, not a budget airline. Aside from the name on the winglets and the giant billboard wordmark there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that is typical for a low-cost airline. This is not garish advertising, this is stately.

The layout itself is what I call "Deltalike". Delta certainly did not invent this style of livery but they are the carrier I associate most with it, likely due to the fact that I live right by one of their hubs. The Deltalike is a white plane with a painted tail unconnected to the main fuselage body, painted winglets, painted engines, and a painted underbelly large enough still be visible when viewed directly from the side. While a 'true' Deltalike uses a consistent palette for the engines, tail, and underbelly, there is significant variation. The detached tail is, in my opinion, the harbinger of the Deltalike, and I call liveries with an incomplete presentation of Deltalike features Deltalites.

This scheme is not as common as the Lufthansa Line variants but it is still very common, with its popularity probably peaking in the 2010s. Some examples of the true Deltalike include Air Canada, 2006 Icelandair, Azul, the old GOL livery, and jetBlue. Some colour-varied Deltalikes are the old Flair livery, the SAS red engine livery, and British Airways. An example Deltalite is the old Croatia Airlines scheme, which has a painted tail and belly and engines that are sort of painted. Sure, the engines are just grey and a bit of the tail extends onto the body, but it's got the colour concentrated in the right place and it has the painted belly, it's a Deltalite. A lot of liveries have painted engines and detached tails but no painted bellies, and I do consider these to be on the far end of the Deltalike spectrum, but they aren't what I mean when I refer to a Deltalike. They're what brown dwarves are to actual stars - related but not really the same.

Ryanair is a true Deltalike, but I would even call it an elevated Deltalike. The gold trim, like the cord adorning the hems a of a thick brocade smoking jacket, has an effortlessly shallow curve as it trims the rich blue underbelly, larger than that of a typical Deltalike and with a very deliberate shape to it which at the rearmost point covers half the fuselage by height but fades away to a sort of goatee at the front. This is not a plane which sat in a puddle of blue but an intentional cloak impeccably positioned, visible not just from the side but from the front. The engines, instead of being plain or just one colour with a website printed on, large and garish, are the same white and blue with yellow trim, the last traces of the setting sun melting into a glassy deep blue ocean below a stark white sky with which it inexplicably coexists. Sure, the detached tail still looks bad, it always does, but you can ignore it at most angles.

From below the dark blue creates that distinct cetacean effect, a certain brightness-inverted countershading effect, similar to what you see on airlines like KLM and other blue-side-up liveries. The underside doesn't have a huge, legible logo, visible even from the ground on final approach. One of the defining features of the low-cost livery, in my mind, is a large, prominent website. It's tacky and a little pointless (I mean, surely they can Google your airline's name if your wordmark is large enough) but it is downright ubiquitous. Even full-service carriers frequently heavily feature their website, but it's nowhere on a Ryanair plane. That's so, so incredibly weird.

Just...think about it. Their entire identity is outrage marketing. They are the xQc of airlines - bigoted, constantly in the news, and obnoxious. And nobody remembers what their livery looks like because it doesn't look obnoxious. This is like if MrBeast's thumbnails were lovingly curated aesthetically pleasing shots of scenery that could pass for screenshots from an actual film. It's not tacky and cheap and it's not generic and cheap, it's elegant and cheap. And of all airlines to look like this...Ryanair? Seriously? Ryanair?

image: Associated Press

The CEO.

The airplanes.

Do you see what I mean? Do you see why I find this deeply strange? This is not a clickbait plane. This plane is downright unclickable. It has never been clicked. I bet if I covered the name up and showed it to people (again, I wish I'd had the time to do this) I could fool people into thinking this is like United. Hell, I've learned from my other survey that the average person clearly knows less about liveries than I, the Joker of liveries, do, and can't identify basically any from memory. I could probably fool at least one or two people into thinking this is Singapore Airlines. I may try this on a few co-workers and then get back to you.

How did we get here? I have no clue. While Ryanair did start out as a charter carrier rather than a low-cost airline, and they always had blue and yellow as their colours, their very early liveries were just white planes with wordmarks.

This livery seems to have appeared very early in the history of low-cost Ryanair. Unfortunately, I can't date it precisely - the only thing I can say is that the earliest photograph I could find in this livery was from 1994. Based on the fact that their planes were photographed in different liveries right up to then, including this very brief TAM-like BAC 1-11 livery, I think 1994 is most likely the point they committed to it.

Oh, Adam Rowden, what a different world you lived in.

Even for 1994 this is a pretty conservative livery. Sure, this was before the real boom of bright and venomous flying billboards, but it's still strange. And Ryanair is no stranger to literal flying billboards in the form of logojets for such companies as Vodafone and Hertz, often sort of hideous ones, though I imagine these days nobody would ever want to associate with them like that.

And they never changed it, except that they did - to the modern, softer curve. This I can pinpoint with much more accuracy. It was changed in mid-2003 as new aircraft were delivered, while the older livery was phased out together with the secondhand airframes which wore it. I do not understand this at all. If any airline were to just make the decision to go full circus tent and be as garish as possible it should be Ryanair, right? Ryanair is a brand incapable of cowardly behavior. But they look far more sober than even the average modern flag carrier livery. I guess they don't think they need an eye-catching livery, but I just don't buy that as a full explanation. Imagine the news they'd make for introducing something truly heinous. I think their genuine best move would just be to put a huge picture of Michael O'Leary's face, blown up massively and poorly aligned with visible JPEG artefacts, all over their fuselages. All of Europe would be furious. So why? Why is this the situation?

So what's the verdict? This may be the hardest decision I've made so far. The options here range widely. I'll lay them out.

If I were rating this based on pure visual appeal, I would give it a B-. I am dead serious - this is a visually pleasing, well-balanced livery, simple yet elegant. The detached tail is my only major complaint. But I think Saudia's planes are quite pretty and I graded them low because I think they fail at representing their airline or having a distinct identity, so this cannot be my sole criterion.

I almost want to give them an F because of just how un-Ryanair they are, like how Copa's livery is literally not the Copa livery, but that feels wrong because that's still the Ryanair livery, it's not just a refusal to design a livery at all.

Do I marry these two into a tepid union destined for either divorce or a dramatic act of arson after a seeming eternity of languishing in mutual dysfunction in Tallahassee? I really don't want to do that, because attempting to balance these factors betrays the fact of their contradiction, the mental strain I've been afflicted with over this simple, pointless choice with zero consequences except maybe one of my followers disagreeing with me, which is fine. Unlike certain individuals I will not call you swear words and say you're an idiot.

The final option is maybe my least favourite of them all, because it's capitulation. It's admitting Ryanair is special, just the most annoying golf-ball-sized hailstone in the blizzard of absurd and comical frustrations which is the airline industry. But I just don't know what to make of this miserable little pest, this plague on the patience and knees of the traveling public.

Z. FUCK YOU IT'S RYANAIR.

It defies categories by being good, but being Ryanair. I hate that. I hate it, I hate their beastly little CEO, and I dislike that their planes are sleek, elegant, and could easily pass for an airline that doesn't instruct stewardesses to kick their passengers' shins as they walk down the aisles. If I am buying a ten-euro plane ticket I do not think the plane should look like this, teleologically speaking. At the end of the day I just have no better way to quantify my feelings.

Prick.

[twothpaste]

thinking about how the hell porky managed to get a few hundred people to go along with being timetravel-relocated to a post-apocalyptic island, and why they just go about their daily lives as if nothing's horrifying or strange about that. writing it off as "he ran every single person through the mind control goo in the nice person hot springs" feels too easy to me, and less interesting, and kinda less meaningful too. i like considering all the forms of coercion that might've gone into it...

i think some of the ordinary civilians porky brought to populate the islands were brain-gooped, but others didn't necessarily have to be. they may be wholly in their right minds, just deeply misled about their displaced predicament. porky's probably got all kinds of stories he spins for them. kidnapping people who were traveling to a new place anyways, and convincing them they've arrived at their destination. coaxing people with promises of lucrative new careers or cheap real estate. some scientists might've been bribed with his wacky sci-fi technology, and promises they'd get to work on revolutionary futuristic projects. in dcmc's case, he scavenged a shitty indie band that couldn't find success, and promised them fame and fortune. etc. porky probably particularly targeted people who were down on their luck (and people who might not be missed...). those who're grateful for their newfound circumstances find little reason to question or protest.

i also imagine some pigmasks were more "brainwashed" than others. like? some of 'em were freaked out and/or rebellious when porky had them time warped to nowhere, and had to be dunked into the "hot springs" to be re-conditioned into serviceable soldiers. but others were easier to control via force, manipulation, and lies - no mind control goo necessary. and some (though perhaps a small few) were content to follow his orders without any coercion, for reasons of their own. happy just to feel important & powerful, and to push others around, unperturbed by the void of any coherent ideology or purpose.

i've got a hc that porky's most trusted soldiers & scientists were told a load of propaganda that goes like this: this really is the future, and humans really did destroy the world. porky's trying to rebuild society from the ground up, and he needs your help. all his efforts on nowhere are secretly a last-ditch effort to save humanity from itself. he pulled only the bravest and noblest souls from the timeline to help him with this task, so really, it's an honorable duty he's bestowed upon you. but y'gotta keep it a secret - if the riff-raff find out, it'll be anarchy in the streets 🫢

there's probably this awkward mish-mash where some folks can clearly remember their families & former lives, and wholly believe they'll return to them one day. or even that their loved ones remain alive and well, that they're still in the same time period, just halfway across the globe. while others have mysterious amnesia, or fabricated memories of serving master porky all their lives. everyone's got different levels of conditioning going on, different reasons for playing along, and different struggles in unlearning it later.

[shoutoutout]

I finally read The Bounty Hunter and the Tea Brewer ATLA comic. I generally avoid the comics but the June artwork looked fantastic and I was curious to see how they expanded on her character. I have to say her backstory... doesn't make much sense? Idk, I have A LOT more thoughts BUT... it inspired me to post some standalone scenes of my take on her backstory here from the longer fic I’m writing. It’s a June and Azula roadtrip story but because June is barely a character in the show, I've been rounding her out with flashbacks. The full fic is probably not everyone's cup of tea (hehe) so, for any June fans, here's a take on her and her father's relationship that's a little more pragmatic and complicated than the tidbit we got in the comics. For context, they've been working together for a few years. June is about 18. Enjoy!

--

The hot bottle of sake on the table was a border erected between them on the last day she saw her father.  The waitress, sensing the tension, placed the cups down like lit firecrackers and scurried back to the kitchen.  They both reached but June was quicker and although it was hot enough to burn her fingertips, she held the vessel steady and poured the man his drink.

He clinked his porcelain to hers and together they each drew a long sip.

“We knew it would come to this eventually.”  She grimaced at the cheap drink’s hollow taste.

“Of course,” he said curtly.  With his fingers at the rim, he twirled the cup against the table like a spinning top.  June counted the thick copper rings squeezed around each square knuckle.

She stilled his fidgeting and took the cup.  “Then why are you upset?”

“I’m not.”

He was impossible—an overgrown man-child.  She poured them another.  “Two shirshu are overkill.  With Nyla now… there’s enough work.”

The skittish waitress reappeared from the back and delivered a platter to the customer beside them and her father’s attention drifted towards the interaction.  They stopped at this restaurant whenever their travels brought them through the area; June loved the taste of the hand-pulled noodles as much as she loved her father huddled over them after a long ride.  His broad shoulders and square jaw grew larger in contrast to the cramped setting where too many rickety tables were jammed together and the hot steam and woodfire from the kitchen mingled with the scent of pipe smoke and rice wine of the dining room.  Their food should arrive shortly and June hoped it would raise his spirits.

His reticence to her proposal surprised her—not because he had ever been a particularly verbose man—but because she had never received sign of his dedication to their partnership beyond convenience and duty.  She tried their shared language: sarcasm.  “Then what is it?  Annoyed you won’t have someone to let you know when you’re acting like an out of touch old man?”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.  “You’ll do good business.  I’m proud of you,” he said, though she surmised he was anything but.

The sharp edge of her irritation cut through the slurping sounds of the couple enjoying their meal beside them. “Then act like it.”

He placed his tattooed forearms on the table the way he did when negotiating the terms of a deal.  Disappointment colored each line of his face and June instinctively drew back, uneasy with this new countenance.  “I’m just realizing you’re no different than the rest of us,” he said and softened into someone she didn’t recognize.  “This line of work takes you down only one path.  We can twist and shape it as we please but we always end at the same destination.”  His hand twitched as if it might reach for hers but then he was not someone new but the same hardened man that always arrived far too late and with far too little.  “It’s a path that always ends alone.”

So he was feeling sorry for her—what a laugh.  A hot blast consumed all the air from the room and the tucked away years of resentment unfurled simultaneously.  June flushed against the memories.  “You chose that for yourself.  Me and mom were always there and you knew that.  You could have… anytime… especially at the end…”  but it had nowhere left to go.  She shoved her chair back.  The scraping of wood against wood drew the room’s attention and because the restaurant was cramped, she knocked into the person behind her when she stood.  “You’re a joke—a sculptor that pities the clay after shaping it in his image.”

He stared upon her, mouth drawn and jaw clenched.  “I speak only out of love for my daughter.”

“The bounty hunter,” she added, and kicked the chair back under the table.  “Just as you’d always hoped.”

She weaved between the maze of seats and shoved past the waitress who balanced a plate of noodles in each hand.  Why she had thought that conversation would go differently was beyond her.  Whatever closeness they managed to foster in their working years together presented a false impression of the man that flitted to and from their lives like an autumn leaf blowing through the breeze.

Outside, the early winter chill settled at her neckline and she shivered, having not prepared herself for the abrupt departure from the balmy heat of the restaurant.  She would have to find a hot meal elsewhere.

She grabbed at Nyla’s reins, pulling her from the midday snooze she shared with her father’s shirshu, snuggled together beside the entrance.  “Say goodbye,” she said, the bitter undercurrent meant for herself and not Nyla—though it comforted her to indulge.

The door swung open and her father paced his measured steps towards them.  He reached into his breast pocket and threw the item to her so quickly that June didn’t have a moment to consider the action before her hands drew upwards to catch it.  “Whenever you want to find me,” he said, then turned and disappeared back inside.

She turned the compass over.  The burnished metal stoked the same wonder as when she was young and stole it from his bag—when he first caught her hiding with it behind the plum tree.

There was little use in reminiscing now.  She closed her fist around it and then shoved it away.

[clownhoodieguy]

A most villainous predator, who likes to hold the mayor hostage, and straps totally real bombs that are not props to his chest to lure out the hero. Once the hero makes themself known, they're captured in a comically simple trap, where they wrap their fingers around the cage's bars and threaten the villain with a life time of prison time.

To this, the villain shall cackle maniacally, and reveal the mayor was a fake all along, a mere henchman wearing a rubber mask! After much mocking, the villain soon waves his henchmen off to have some alone time with their new captive. Much cheesy banter ensues, until it reaches it's climax, and the villain reveals his super science-y shrink ray!

Blasting the hapless hero, they yelp in horror as they're reduced down to the size of a thumb, and swiftly scooped out from between the cage's bars. Hero writhing between the villain's fingers, the bad guy can't help but lurch their head back and billow a crazed laugh. Once they had finished their outburst, the villain reminds the hero of how insignificant, and weak they are in this state, all while twirling their mustache.

A deep, and long growl emanates from the bad guy's gut, a wicked smirk sprawls across their face; the hero shakes their head in a mix of disbelief and horror. The villain raises their arm above their head, pinches the hero's cape, and extends that wicked smirk into an open mouth smile. As the hero flails about in panic, their cape begins to stretch, and tear. Terror fills the hero's eyes before the cape rips, cursing the costume tailor for using such cheap materials as they fall.

Landing with a wet Plap!, the hero squirms around on the big bad's slick, squishy tongue. The intense heat with each breath made it hard to keep their eyes open, and each movement only seemed to slip them deeper into the jaws of evil. Legs dangling over the precipice, they make one last plea with the villain, begging them to release them. Their request is only met with a dismissive scoff.

But wait- here comes their side kick, just in time to- Glck! watch their... mentor... and role model... get sucked down the villain's throat, and travel down their neck.

They belch loudly and unapologetically, inviting their henchmen back into the room to deal with the sidekick for them. Retiring themselves to a hidden section of their headquarters, they lounge around in their most comfortable of arm chairs, slowly caressing the tiny bulge in their midsection.

For a moment, they break character, huffing deeply, and confessing the pleasure they receive from each of their interactions. The villain expresses their gratitude to the hero, for giving them purpose, and reminding them, that although they are mortal enemies, that the hero is ultimately safe within their stomach.

The hero is dumbstruck, taking a moment to reflect on their previous battles. Never once was anyone actually killed- let alone injured. The mayor, which they kidnap quite often, always escapes unharmed. Civilians they hold hostage are never mistreated. Building they explode are always evacuated prior to destination. It seems the only person who ends up bruised and battered by the end of it all is... the bad guy and his goons.

Guilt stricken, the hero can do nothing but lay back, and stare up at their new fleshy ceiling. They take in their surroundings, so slimy, cramped and hot, but something was sort of... comfortable about it. They'd known each other for so long, the hero couldn't fight it any longer, they did trust the villain.

Their confinements compress, slick, soft, wrinkled flesh hugs the hero firmly. A gentle, muffled whisper manages to reach the hero through the thick walls of tissue: "I forgive you".

Imma leave it at that for now...

[clearholidaysindia]

Parvati Kund is a serene and enchanting destination located in the Parvati Valley of Himachal Pradesh, India. Known for its natural hot springs, this spot offers a unique and relaxing experience for travelers. Surrounded by lush green landscapes and towering mountains, Parvati Kund is an ideal place to unwind and rejuvenate. For those seeking adventure and tranquility, the offbeat places near Parvati Kund add an extra layer of charm. Visitors can explore various nearby attractions that enhance the appeal of this hidden gem.

Among the places to visit near Parvati Kund is the stunning Tosh Village, just a short distance away. This quaint village offers beautiful views of the surrounding hills and is perfect for hiking and nature walks. Another popular spot is Kheerganga, located only a few kilometers from Parvati Kund. It is famous for its hot springs and scenic beauty, making it a must-visit for those traveling in the area. Additionally, Sar Pass, known for its trekking routes and breathtaking landscapes, is also within reach and offers an exciting adventure for travelers.

Exploring these places to visit near Parvati Kund will ensure a memorable trip filled with natural beauty and relaxation. Whether you are soaking in the soothing waters of Parvati Kund or venturing into the nearby villages and treks, there is something for everyone. This region provides a perfect blend of peaceful retreats and adventurous activities, making it an excellent choice for those looking to experience the charm of Himachal Pradesh.

[uttarakhandoffbeatplaces]

Rudraprayag, located in the Garhwal region of Uttarakhand, India, is a serene destination nestled amidst the majestic Himalayas. This quaint town is named after Lord Shiva (Rudra), and is renowned for its spiritual significance as the confluence of the Alaknanda and Mandakini rivers. While Rudraprayag is often visited by pilgrims en route to the Char Dham Yatra, it also offers an array of offbeat places in Rudraprayag that promise solitude, natural beauty, and a glimpse into the local culture.

One of the hidden gems among Rudraprayag offbeat places is the serene town of Gaurikund. Situated at an altitude of about 1,982 meters, Gaurikund is famous for its hot springs and the ancient Gauri Temple dedicated to Goddess Parvati. The trek to Gaurikund from Rudraprayag takes you through lush green forests and offers breathtaking views of the surrounding snow-capped peaks, making it a paradise for nature enthusiasts and adventure seekers alike.

For those interested in exploring the rich cultural heritage of Rudraprayag, a visit to Kartik Swami Temple is a must. Perched atop a hill at an altitude of 3,300 meters, this temple dedicated to Lord Kartikeya offers panoramic views of the Himalayas and the entire Rudraprayag valley. The trek to Kartik Swami Temple is an exhilarating experience, winding through forests and meadows dotted with rhododendron flowers, and is sure to leave a lasting impression on visitors.

Another lesser-known attraction in Rudraprayag offbeat places is Tilwara, a picturesque village known for its terraced fields and traditional Garhwali architecture. Located near the confluence of the Mandakini and Alaknanda rivers, Tilwara offers a tranquil environment ideal for relaxation and immersion in rural life. Visitors can engage with locals, explore the village trails, and savor traditional Garhwali cuisine, providing a glimpse into the authentic lifestyle of the region.

In conclusion, Rudraprayag offbeat places invite travelers to discover the hidden treasures of Uttarakhand beyond its famed pilgrimage sites. Whether you're drawn to the spiritual aura of ancient temples, the natural beauty of hot springs and scenic treks, or the charm of rural villages, Rudraprayag promises a memorable journey off the beaten path. Embrace the serenity, delve into the local culture, and create lasting memories in this enchanting corner of Incredible India.

[wanderlustphotosblog]

The Top 20 Must-Visit Places to See in Canada

From Banff National Park to Nova Scotia's stunning coastline, Canada is a traveler's paradise. Explore the 20 Must-Visit Places to See in Canada to be inspired for your next big adventure.

Canada is blessed with stunning natural landscapes, vibrant cities, and rich cultural heritage. From the majestic Rocky Mountains to the picturesque coastline of Nova Scotia, Canada offers a diverse range of experiences for travelers to enjoy. There are so many incredible places to see in Canada that it is hard to know where to begin. Be prepared to be captivated by the beauty of Banff National…

[etb-tours-egypt]

Best Activities to do in Egypt

Egypt, the land of pyramids, pharaohs, and ancient history, is a must-visit destination for any traveler with ETB Tours Egypt. With its rich culture, vibrant cities, and stunning landscapes, Egypt offers a plethora of activities for tourists to indulge in. From exploring ancient ruins to diving in the Red Sea, here are some of the best activities to do during Egypt tour packages.

1. Visit the Pyramids of Giza: No trip to Egypt is complete without a visit to the iconic Pyramids of Giza. These ancient wonders are a testament to the advanced engineering skills of the ancient Egyptians. Visitors in their Egypt short tour packages can explore the inside of the pyramids, walk around the complex, and even take a camel ride for a unique experience.

2. Cruise the Nile River: The Nile River is the lifeblood of Egypt, and Cheap Nile cruises are the perfect way to experience the country's culture and history. As you sail along the river with Lake Nasser cruises, you'll pass by ancient temples, traditional villages, and breathtaking landscapes. The Nile cruises from Aswan to Luxor also offer a glimpse into the daily lives of locals living along the river.

3. Explore Luxor and the Valley of the Kings with 5 days Egypt tour packages: Luxor is often referred to as the world's greatest open-air museum and for a good reason. This ancient city is home to some of Egypt's most impressive temples and monuments, including the Karnak Temple and the Valley of the Kings which you can explore from Egypt shore excursions. The valley is where the tombs of many pharaohs, including Tutankhamun, are located.

4. Dive in the Red Sea: Egypt is a paradise for scuba diving enthusiasts, thanks to the crystal-clear waters of the Red Sea that you can enjoy in your Egypt Christmas tours. The Red Sea is home to an abundance of marine life, including colorful coral reefs, tropical fish, and even sharks. Popular diving spots include Taba trips and excursions, Sharm El Sheikh, Dahab, and Hurghada, you can also relax on the Mediterranean Sea in Alexandria day tours.

5. Take a Hot Air Balloon Ride For a unique and unforgettable experience, take a hot air balloon ride over the Nile River and Luxor during Luxor day tours. As you float above the ancient temples and monuments, you'll be treated to breathtaking views of the city and the surrounding landscapes in your 14 days Egypt tours.

6. Sound and Light Shows Many of Egypt's ancient sites, such as the Pyramids of Giza and the Karnak Temple, offer evening sound and light shows with 9 days Egypt tour packages. These shows use lights and sounds to bring the ancient history and stories of these sites to life, making for a magical experience.

[ramyatours]

How to Plan a Vacation on a budget

In the digital age of today, travel has become an invaluable resource for tourists. These platforms are used by enthusiastic travelers to exchange     advice, observations, suggestions, and first-hand accounts of their travels. One of the most fulfilling experiences is exploring new places;  its advantages go beyond simple enjoyment.  We may fully immerse ourselves and have firsthand experience with new ideas, cultures, sights, languages, and cuisines when we travel. These uncommon encounters enhance our educational process, help us see the great diversity of our world, and dispel misconceptions and assumptions about other cultures.

The TopTravel Agency is now a priceless resource for anyone looking to travel in the digital age. Passionate travelers use these venues to exchange advice, perspectives, suggestions, and first-hand accounts of their travels.

Top travel Agency in Madurai -Travel cheaper,better, and longer

Whether it's purchasing tickets, making hotel reservations, or paying admission fees, traveling might seem like a costly endeavor. But you can learn how to travel on a budget and still take advantage of everything that travel has to offer by consulting with experienced  top travelers agencies.

The creator of Ramya Tours and Travels, a seasoned low-cost traveler with over ten years of experience visiting more than one hundred countries and territories, is Ramya Tours. If you want to travel but think you can't afford it, the Ramya tours and travel agency in madurai website is one of the greatest places to find travel blogs. 

From the best travel agency, we find out how his first international trip—which coincided with his first job—inspired him to travel frequently. Since then, The Best Tours and Travel Agency in Madurai has assisted millions of individuals by using his travel blog.

Through the use of his travel blog, the Agency has helped millions of people visit the world by offering insightful location guides, money-saving information, and helpful hints.

Set a budget for your travels.

The rest of your trip planning process will be impacted by this crucial stage. Establish your budget for all of your expenses, including lodging, transportation, meals, and souvenirs. A cheap trip or staycation doesn't have to cost a fortune—there are lots of ways to do it.

To plan out each category, utilize my free vacation budget worksheet. If, during the planning process, you determine that anything is excessively costly, reduce its scope or remove it from the list.

Begin accumulating funds

This is the point where the road becomes rough! You won't have to worry about payments or credit card interest rates when you get home if you work and save money now. When you're working double shifts or taking on freelance work, use your trip as motivation. To serve as a reminder of your goals, print out an image of your destination—such as a stunning beach or scene with snow-capped mountains—or save it to your phone's screen.

Make a strategy.

If you have extra time and money to spend, traveling on the spur of the moment is fantastic. However, making a plan is the first step if you're traveling on a tight budget. While you don't need to have a detailed, hour-by-hour schedule, you should at least know where you're going to be staying for how long and how your epic adventure will take you. Less chance equals less unforeseen expenses; last-minute travel and lodging are frequently far more costly.

Travel during off-season

Avoid taking vacations during the school holidays as the travel industry raises rates to exploit families who are only able to take vacations during these weeks. Travel shortly before or after these dates after researching the ideal times to visit your intended location. You'll still have an amazing trip during what is known as the "shoulder season," but there's a chance that the sun won't shine as brightly and it won't be as hot. During this period, hotels and airlines reduce their rates to draw in guests.

Make travel plans in advance

Particularly for return flights—it's never ideal to run out of money overseas without a confirmed way home. Up to a year in advance, airlines "release" their flight seats, and the closer your departure date is, the more expensive it gets, particularly in the final month.By checking the guidance of the best tours and travel agency to make a plan.

Make sure to pack appropriately.

Aside from a few mementos, make sure you pack everything you'll need so you don't have to go shopping while you're away. Bring at least one pair of long pants, a warm hoodie, and a waterproof jacket in case of unforeseen weather conditions, no matter where you're going. See our "Travel like a pro" packing guide for comprehensive tips on how to pack for any type of trip

                         Enjoy your journey and go!

There's nothing worse than having to pay for a vacation months after it ends. However, you can avoid that headache if you follow these steps to budget and plan ahead of time. Then, enjoy yourself to the fullest while traveling! Unwind and have fun. Holidays should be enjoyable, not stressful. Thus, create a plan and a budget. The Every Money budgeting app is my preferred method of creating a budget. For free, start creating a budget now, and you'll enjoy your next trip much more! With the best guidelines of  top tours and travels agency in madurai.

[nickgerlich]

Doing A 360.

A couple of years ago, we went to one of those traveling Van Gogh immersive experiences. It was a little pricey, but it was fun. I thoroughly enjoyed being surrounded by floor-to-ceiling video. It allowed me to enjoy Van Gogh’s works in a way that books and reproductions in art galleries could ever begin to accomplish.

But what if we could harness some of this presentation style and use it to sell things? A year ago, TIME Magazine said that such augmented reality (AR) is the future of online shopping. And this year, Target is doubling down on it, at least when it comes to toy shopping.

As a side note, Toys ‘R Us, take note. Target is doing something you cannot do in an airport or on a cruise ship, or even inside a Macy’s boutique shop. Their new 360-degree immersive online shopping experience is top-shelf, and stands head and shoulders above everything that Toys ‘R Us and all the other toy retailers can offer.

I took it for a test drive, and all I can say is this: If I were a kid, I’d be busy writing my Wish List right about now. Oh, and sharing the link with Mom and Dad. It’s that cool.

Target is also trying to make bank this holiday season with a slew of toys at $25 or less, in response to inflation concerns and a tight economy. Make it cool, make it cheap, and wait for the shopping carts—virtual and IRL—to fill up. All this comes at a time when analysts are predicting record online discounts this shopping season.

And the rationale for an online sales pitch is compelling, because only three-percent of children 18 and under do not have internet access, either via a computer (93%) or smartphone (4%). Mom and Dad don’t have to take them shopping these days, because they can do it all at home, and hopefully without a POS (Parent Over Shoulder) to monitor.

The timing is also just as expected, because Target announced not long ago it would be launching its Christmas campaign the first week of October. They did not disappoint.

Immersive shopping allows for maximum interactivity in a virtual space. “Hot spots” on the screen are clickable, which spawn a pop-up to the side with full product details. Users can easily spend significant amounts of time on the site, which, of course, is the whole idea. In the land where engagement is king, Target is poised to become royalty.

Target’s offerings once again feature collaborations with long-time toy seller FAO Schwarz. These items are available only at Target. Other exclusives include the Disney100 Retro Reimagined Collection. I’m betting these will all be hot items this season. Anything to make your site a destination is shrewd.

And including entertainment in the online arena is just smart marketing, especially at a time when all the big retailers have websites. For kids and anyone else stuck in Short Attention Span Theatre, this is golden. Heck, I bet there might even be parents who are toy collectors perusing the site.

Because there’s a kid locked up inside everyone of us adult folks. Shopping at Target online this year may not be quite as much fun as the Van Gogh event, but it’s a nice alternative to otherwise mundane online shopping. I’m ready to take the plunge.

Dr “Full Immersion” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[nemobeatrice]

@diadopweek

DiaDop Week 2023 Day 4 Nature - Hiking in Mürren, Switerland

Ao3

Quotev

Wattpad

Diavolo stood outside a Chinese restaurant in Mürren, Switzerland, waiting for Doppio, who was in the bathroom. They were surprised such a restaurant was there, but the food was delicious and cheap. After waiting a few minutes, Doppio met with him.

“Sorry, boss,” he apologized with a smile. “I guess I ate a lot.”

“No need to apologize. We’ll burn it off on our hike.” Diavolo grabbed his hand, taking him to the mountains.

“Wait, we’re not going to sit down and relax?” Doppio panicked. “I think that’ll be too much activity for me! I might throw up!”

“If you want, we could get on the funicular. We’d still need to walk there.”

Doppio sighed. “Why couldn’t they make this place bigger for cars?”

“I think this place is better without cars.”

The two walked to the funicular, which headed to Allmendubel. A few people accompanied them while the ride took them there.

“So, boss, where are we going in Allmendubel?”

“I want us to head to the Sprutz Waterfall using the Northface Trail.”

Doppio got excited for a few seconds but then died down, recalling something from before they planned their trip to Switzerland. If he remembered correctly, the hike takes about two hours and 30 minutes. “Um, are we even prepared for a hike this long?”

Diavolo took out his small Gucci backpack, bringing out two bottles of water and sunscreen since it was a lovely day for a hike. “Relax, we are well prepared. Besides, you didn’t want to go up the mountain, correct? We’ll be descending the mountain.”

He doubted this would be enough to survive the trip. “When was the last time you were on a hike?” He didn’t know why he asked that because they always spent time together.

“I was about to ask you that.”

“Neither of us hiked before.”

Before they continued their conversation, the funicular reached its destination. Diavolo, Doppio, and the other passengers got out.

“Boss, are you sure you don’t want to return down? I’m feeling much better to ascend the mountain.”

A twinkle was in Diavolo’s eye, and he seemed fired up. “Nonsense! We’re already up here. Let us make our way down to Mürren on foot!”

A spring breeze brushed against their skin. It felt refreshing to Doppio, but then he checked Diavolo’s reaction and saw him shivering. “Boss?”

“Doppio, aren’t you cold?”

“No, quite the opposite. It was hot in that funicular, and the breeze is refreshing. Um, should we head back down and buy you a shirt? I also want to buy some better shoes. These aren’t made for hiking.”

“No, Doppio! We’re hiking this trail and looking fabulous while doing so! Come! We head downwards!”

-

The hike down the mountain was beautiful and scenic, and the scent of the meadows and pine trees was pleasant. Doppio had never seen grass this green nor such beautiful wildflowers. People walked past the couple, but animals, such as cows, accompanied them on their travel.

“Wow, look at these cows!” Doppio got close to one and petted its head. “So soft!”

“Ah!” Diavolo screamed while a cow chewed on his hair.

“Oh my gosh!” Doppio came to his rescue and tried to save each strand of hair. Unfortunately, slop covered his long luscious hair.

“I think I want to go home. Are we almost there yet?”

“Nope, but we’re almost to the waterfall.”

“Oh.” He got quiet for a few seconds. “I need to poop.”

“What?” Doppio turned to face him, but Diavolo wasn’t there. “Boss? Where are you?”

“Doppio! Oh, Doppio!” he yelled. “I made a grave mistake!”

His voice sounded far away. “Boss!”

“Over here! Don’t come close!”

Doppio followed the sound of his voice, heading into the pine forest. He could see him squatting behind a tree, smelled something unpleasant, and attempted to get close to him but stepped on a branch, causing Diavolo to make a panicked noise.

“Stop! Doppio, I forgot to bring toilet paper. I thought there would be a restroom on the hike, but there wasn’t. I need you to take off your shirt.”

“What? Uh, boss, I have the map, and the nearest restaurant is a few walks away.”

Diavolo was silent for a few seconds. “Could you hand me the map?”

-

The pink-haired coupled continued their hike, making it to the trail that led to the waterfall. 

“Finally, we are here!” Diavolo was in much higher spirits and rushed down the steep hill.

“Wait!” Doppio covered his mouth and watched as his boss tripped and rolled down. “Oh my gosh, boss!” He carefully went down the trail as quickly as he could. Diavolo made a groaning sound, and dirt covered his clothes. Doppio knelt next to him, checking for any cuts or scraps. “Are you going to be alright? I don’t see any blood.”

Diavolo slowly got up, brushed the dirt off, and sighed. “Doppio, I’m sorry about this little hiking trip. I didn’t plan fully ahead.”

Doppio got up, standing on his tippy toes, and tenderly kissed his lips. “No, it’s my fault, boss. I was the one who overate at the restaurant and whined about walking around too much.”

He embraced and held him closer. “My sweet Doppio, you know how to cheer me up. I want another kiss.”

The two kissed again. Thankfully, they were alone and continued kissing for a while.

“Ugh, my shoes are dirty,” Diavolo complained.

“My feet hurt,” Doppio whined.

“Let’s walk back. I can carry you back to the hotel if you want.”

He giggled. “You would need to carry me up the slope. Don’t worry. I’ll keep walking until I’m tired, but could we hold hands on the way?”

Diavolo held his hand. “Of course. Did you enjoy the hike?”

“Of course! It’s not that hot or cold out, and the view was wonderful. I was worried that you weren’t enjoying it.”

“I had fun too. Should we return to the Chinese restaurant for dinner, or do you want to try something different?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see once we get there.”

[writteninverses]

hiya ! for the prompt game how about 12 and any pairing of yr choice go crazy <33

hi!! this prompt is so AAHHH i love this quote so so much im so glad you sent it!!

12. you were drinking sangria and i was throwing oranges at you.

The Spanish sun is shining bright over their heads. Raging sun rays heading directly to their backs, tanning them in the process. They are trying to find a bar at 4:45pm.

"I told you we should have stayed at the pool, or even the hotel. Now I am feeling how my balls are basically going to melt." Sirius says, using his hand to wipe off the sweat in his forehead.

"Stop being so dramatic, you are the one that is craving some tapas at this godforsaken hour." Remus keeps walking and he finds a free table in a terrace.

They are in a quick 3 day trip in the South of Spain, since Sirius found cheap tickets and he said that it was a total bargain and they had to go because Remus when was the last time we travelled together. Remus thinks that seeing Sirius getting burnt is rewarding for how much he pestered him to do this trip, so he takes comfort in that. Karma, that's what people say.

"Can't we just get some sangrías from the supermarket and sit down in a bench? It’s too fucking hot and I’m beyond tired and I can't keep walking around like a cock with no destination." Sirius rests his chin on Remus' shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist.

"Yeah, alright, we can do that." Remus pats the hands hanging on his belly.

Sirius gets some sangría in plastic bottles and Remus buys oranges because he wants something to snack. They are in a small town visiting for the day, so they find a little waterfall that exudes the cleanest water they have seen in a long time.

They sit down on the rocks, the water flow caressing their feet and Sirius takes a sip from his sangría.

"This is heavenly." And he looks at Remus.

Remus peels one of the oranges and eats one of the segments, "It feels like paradise." And he looks at Sirius.

"Aw, look at you getting all flushed because you love me soooo much and you are sooo glad we are in this trip." Sirius mocks and Remus throws oranges segments at him.

"Shut up, you wanker."

"I love you too, Remus."

Remus sighs, "I love you too."

"Did you just sigh?" Sirius gasps putting a hand on his own chest.

Remus laughs and he feels content, at peace. He's found what he was looking for.

[livingnotesfromnyc]

MUST-HAVE APPS TRAVEL! Save this, you’ll need it. . SKYSCANNER It’s a travel search engine that helps you find the cheapest flights to your destination. You can set up alerts to find cheapest destinations to travel to. I use it all the time to figure out the itineraries & travel schedules. . HOPPER An app that uses data and algorithms to predict when flight prices will be the lowest. You can set up alerts as well.. . HOSTELWORLD If you are single and/or have a very limited budget, try this one! This is a website that allows you to book hostels and budget accommodations around the world. You can read reviews from other travelers and compare prices to find the best deal. If you travel as a group, this is a GREAT solution if you need just something simple. . ROADTRIPPERS If you are a frequent road-tripper, download this! An app that helps you plan your trips by suggesting scenic routes, attractions and accommodations along the way. You can also use the app to estimate gas cost and find cheap hotels. Very handy! . GASBUDDY Helps you find the cheapest gas prices in your area. You can also use the app to plan your route based on gas prices along the way. And If you live in LA, just download this, period. Saves you at least 15 cents per gallon. . HOTELTONIGHT An app that offers last-minute deals at discounted prices. You can use the app to book a hot room for the same day and up to a week in advance. GREAT option for spontaneous travelers or if you need a last minute option. I used this one for years, domestically & abroad. Lifesaver! . SKIPLAGGED Travel world’s best kept secret! This is a website that helps you find “hidden city” flight deals. Basically, you book a ticket to a destination that has a layover in your desired location. And then you just don’t take the second leg of the flight. If checking bags, ask to pick them up at the layover point ( or just carry on!) This can help cut with some SIGNIFICANT savings on airfare!. Cool, right? . What else would you add? What do you use? . ПЕРЕВОД НИЖЕ . 📷: @theframed.photography . #travel #travelhacks #travelbug #livingnotes #traveltips #travellife #livingnotestravel #tahiti (at Tahiti, French Polynesia) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp3n54EvYJn/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=