#saining scoff

[parwatisingari]

First-Foot and the Great 30th.

These things I warmly wish you: Someone to love, some work to do Some bit of sun, a bit of cheer And a guardian angel near As a doctor and a healer this year there were some insights that popped up. One was the absolutely burst up sense of security. It turned up as lack of trust, whatever and then the reptilian brain took over and presto we have a flight/fight kicking in whatever. This is…

[blu3-ja3]

Doctor Maevis "Maeve" O'Connor is a tall well built woman. She has to be in order to keep up with those boys when out on ops, carrying around a pack full of medical supplies like it's nothing. Roach and Soap can attest it's not something to scoff at (Ghost thought running some laps while carrying it would be a good punishment, a story for later).

Her ginger hair has a smattering of white and silver throughout, it's almost always tied up into a tight bun. But on the rare occasion that Soap or Gaz miss playing with their sisters' hair, it's long and wavy. She has bushie eyebrows and long lashes but they're almost non-existent in the right light.

She has a broad nose and thin lips. Her skin is pale, slightly wrinkled, and easily sunburnt (Price jokes she could sit in a room with a too bright bulb and she's likely to burn) it's littered with millions of tiny freckles that are seemingly endless. She has a faint scar above her left eye that disappears into her hair line, another more obvious burn scar that creeps out of her turtle neck uniform and licks up her jaw, cheek, and ear. It peaks out from her long sleeve as well not nearly as dark and angry but still there on her right hand.

Her nails are short and painted whatever color the trio of Sargents pick out. She states that she's a mother first, a doctor second, and a captain third. She has told Price and Laswell that she was never interested in her rank, sometimes even hating it. But she's fine so long as she can help get everyone back in one piece.

They all notice when Doc is very tired she slips hard into her Irish accent and slips a few words of Gaelic when excited. MacTavish and her enjoy confusing the rest of the team by having full conversations in their native tongue. Soap likes fucking with Ghost in particular.

O'Connor is quick to give motherly advice and even a hug while needed. She surprised Ghost one night when he was having a rough time sleeping, she simply appeared holding a mug of tea and a cigarette. They just stood there in silence for a while. Once he'd finished his tea she walked him to his room, she still said nothing as she gently pulled him into a hug and lightly kissed his forehead over his balaclava. He slept well that night, never expecting such motherly affection to be directed at himself.

Gaz enjoyed baking with her and recounting stories about his family, mostly of his brother and sister. O'Connor enjoys hearing the brit recount childhood and see how he became such a big brother figure amongst the three Sargents.

O'Connor would often challenge Soap to a game of chess, knowing how bright the boy was. She knew if he wasn't doing something that required both his brain and his hands he'd end up in her office with new scrapes and scratches. He's taken up keeping track of how often he wins or loses. So far he's on a losing streak.

It took her a while to find something to keep Roach from doing something out of boredom that would land him in her office. But one rainy evening she found a box on the outside of the compound with a puppy inside. Bringing it back Roach was immediately enthralled, promising to take care of the puppy. If you're looking for Roach look for the barking and you'll find the Sargent.

She keeps Price sain by keeping his boys sain and alive. They seem to have a knack for getting into dangerous situations that aren't a part of their normal plans. But she's quick to react when time allows, going full mother hen and patching them up. She talks them down from stupid impulses also. O'Connor is a second pair of ears and eyes for Price to confirm with that yes they are seeing/hearing this it's not a hallucination.

O'Connor noticed rather quickly when certain people walked with limps and had created a little one stop drawer for them; lube, condoms, simple pain relief, and numbing cream. She doesn't ask when one of them slips into her office and goes straight to the drawer. She just files it away to check later and restocks.

She also notices the near constant smell of tobacco and after a long seminar on the dangers of tobacco she gave them alternatives. For oral fixes nicotine gum and herbal cigs, for the sometimes needed kick patches and candied ginger and licorice root. And on the rare occasion those don't work then a real smoke was fine. She does everything in her power to make sure that they are taken care of, even if it's nearly impossible at times. And when they come back hurting physically or mentally she tries her best to soothe that hurt.

She learns their favorite treats and makes them on their birthday or special occasions. She does what a mother can, what a doctor can when in the lines of fire and combat. Only pulling rank when one of the 141 doesn't listen, but eventually they trust her advice. They keep habits but exchange them for safer ones. And when the impulsive decisions are made she's there to scold and tend to their injuries.

Doc was an obvious nickname, same with Price calling her Maeve. The one that surprised her was when a new kid called her Hen. None of the Sargents tell her who started. She eventually finds out Ghost is the one who started it, referring to her being a "Bloody Mother Hen" she takes pride in that.

One night after the boys return from Las Almas and the rapid chaos after she finds Soap struggling. She is immediately at his side, soothing and comforting the man like he's a scared child. But never in a way to degrade him, only to comfort only in a way a mother can. Stroking his hair and humming. Once exhaustion finally took hold, O'Connor led Soap back to his barracks and got him into bed, she stood to leave when a hand grabbed her wrist stopping her, "Thanks Mom". For weeks she told herself he said ma'am, his accent thicker when tired. It bugs her but she keeps it to herself choosing not to dwell.

Another day she finds Roach pacing, a frantic look on his eyes, she takes him for a walk around base. Let him speak about surviving being shot and burned alive. She falls into her role, soothing and comforting. Eventually they move into the mess and separate ways "Thanks Mom". It shocks her and for a few days she convinced herself she's heard it wrong.

Gaz calls her the name after a particularly nasty head that keeps her up monitoring for nights on end. She chalks it up to just the injury and says nothing about it until he calls her the name again after tending to a slight burn on his hand. It throws her for days stirring millions of thoughts and emotions.

They start calling her Mom after she scolds them or comforts them, she tells them to stop but can't hide the smile on her face. It's only the Sargents for a bit calling her the name, Price calls her the name as a joke when a Sargents asks for something. "Go ask Mom, she'll tell you yes or no." It warms a part of her soul that had long been cold and tired.

When Ghost calls her mom it was after scolding him like a child, not because he disobeyed orders but because he got shot twice in the process nothing serious but enough for her to jump when he reappeared holding his shoulder. She got to him before Price and ran him through, the Sargents were hiding behind Price. It's not often they see the Doctor so angry while patching someone up. She kept her venom flowing as she finished her work. She stood up and leveled a lethal glare at Ghost before turning to go to the front of the boening "Sorry Mom." The tension was suffocating and no one said anything to Doc for the rest of the ride. Even Price stayed out of the way once they landed.

Price finds her in the training room beating the hanging sand bag until Price was certain her knuckles were bruised. When the Lieutenant walked in and over towards the pit, Price almost dragged the man out but he knew this was the closest thing Ghost has to an apology. So he steps back and lets the two figure things out. Price keeps the Sargents out. So when the two finally leave the room without anymore scraps or bruises, Price was pleased to say the least.

She cares for like they're her own because in a way they are her's. They're safety above everything if it can be helped and she tries damn hard about just that. Because Maevis O'Connor refuses to lose any more if she can help it.

[leosxrealm]

001 — ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ʙᴏʏ

★— pairing(s): Max Verstappen x Male! Leclerc! Reader

★— warning(s): mentions of Jos Verstappen, google translated French and Dutch, possible grammar mistakes

★— (a/n): idk a lot about karting so it's gonna have a lotttt of mistakes/misinformation. i'm making up a lot of things in this fic cause my dumbass decided to write childhood friends to eventual lovers story

★— character information | series masterlist

07–10

You jump up and down with joy as you watch your older brother on the podium. Sure, he hadn't won the race or the championship (yet). But, you didn't care. Your brother was still on the podium! Of course, you were happy!

You hug Arthur who was standing by your side. He was just as happy to see his older brother up there. Lorenzo smiled looking down at his baby brothers. They were growing up too quick, in his opinion; he still remembers when they were born. (Barely 11, and he was talking like an old man.)

Unlike others, Lorenzo loved his brothers with all his heart. Sure, they were annoying at times, and stole his stuff all the time, and disturbed him all the time, and got him in trouble all the time. But, they were his brothers. And he would always be proud of them, even if nobody else is.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels a tug at his hands. He looks down at you and Arthur trying to get his attention. Raising a brow, he patiently waits for you to continue.

"Toilettes s'il vous plaît (Restroom/toilet please)," you say, Arthur nodding from besides you.

"Uh...Est-ce que ça peut attendre? Charles va bientôt arriver ici (Can it wait? Charles is gonna be down here soon)," he says giving you an apologetic smile.

"Moi et Y/n pouvons y aller! Vous pouvez attendre Charlie ici! (Me and Y/n can go! You can wait for Charlie here!)" Arthur piped in from besides you, smiling up at the oldest brother.

Lorenzo looks up to the podium, to see Charles talking to a few of his, what he assumed to be, friends. "S'il te plaît (Please)," you chimed, trying your best to convince your brother.

"D'accord, vous feriez mieux de rentrer sains et saufs (Okay, you two better return safely)," he gives in, giving his classic older brother speech, before letting you two leave.

---

"Je t'attendrai dehors" (I’ll wait for you outside) is what you had told Arthur when exiting the restrooms. And you really were going to wait outside for him, until you saw a boy, around the same age as you (maybe a little older, but who cares), sitting alone in a pretty secluded area. Curiosity got the best of you and before you knew it you were approaching the boy.

---

"Why you crying?"

The young boy looked up from his position on the pavement to the one who had disturbed him.

He really didn't feel like socializing right now. His dad had given him an earful for a mistake he made on the track. Even though he won the race, his dad was still hung up on the small mistake.

His dad's words hurt him, more than he would ever admit. He couldn't have possibly cried in front of his dad, god knows what his dad would've thought of him then.

So, he hid from his family, telling them he was going to use the restroom. He hid at the only peaceful place he could find amid the busy venue.

All he wanted was a little peace and quiet. He certainly didn't appreciate getting disturbed like that.

He quickly wipes away his tears, trying to clear his face of anything that may give away that he had been crying. A few involuntarily sniffles leave him but he was quick to turn his head away so you wouldn't be able to see his face.

You just stand there quietly, blinking at him, almost owlishly. He puffs out an annoyed breath, getting irritated with you. Did you like staring at strangers crying? Raar kind, he scoffs at the thought. (Translation: Weird kid.)

He looks up at you, frowning. "What you want?" he stutters out in broken english. He did understand english, but wasn't the most fluent when it came to it.

"Why you crying?" you spoke again, slowly this time. You were probably just as bad at english, if not more, but having older brothers and parents who could (kind of) speak it definitely helped.

"Why you care?" he spits out already irritated with your presence, despite meeting a few moments ago. You give him a small awkward smile while he just continues to scowl at you.

"y/n" you say, jabbing a thumb at yourself. He just turns his head away, ignoring you like you weren't there.

"Je pensais que tu allais attendre dehors?" the both of you snap your heads at the new voice. New to him anyway, not you. "Arthur," you exclaim, smiling brightly at your brother. (Translation: I thought you were going to wait outside?)

Max looks at the newcomer's face. He looked the same age as yours. Never mind- he looked like you too, he deadpans. Tweelingen misschien? he thinks to himslef. (Translation: Twin brothers maybe?)

"Allons-y. Enzo et Charlie nous attendent," your older twin says as he tugs at your wrist, dragging you with him. (Translation: Let's go. Enzo and Charlie are waiting for us.)

Arthur looks back at the boy sitting on the pavement, before giving you a questioning look. You just shrug in response. There really wasn't anything to tell. It's not like you had made a friend, all the strange boy did was ignore you.

You turn back to look at the Dutch, before being dragged away by Arthur. Max is left to watch your back as you walk away from him, happily chatting with your brother.

(a/n): first chapter done✔ this was more like an intro / how they met kinda chapter <3 and the title of the chapter works both ways :]

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ (ᴏᴘᴇɴ): @miloformula123fan @its-ares @fangirl-dot-com @wolf-knights @zyonsay @1obsessedwithfictionalmen7 @fevndue @erinpiastri

[enarmor]

And now, he's falling.

Falling.

Falling..

Falling...

Falling....

...

Until finally, he hits the bottom of the spring. Or perhaps it's an ocean, or a riverbed--Sain can hardly tell, he's always preferred fighting on land. But what he can see is a gentle filtering of light through a glass pane, and the swirling of bubbles high above his head. He knows he is in a place where horses don't graze.

He feels his face. Fixed to it is some kind of device, which any man would reason is responsible for his ability to breathe down here. Mesmerized a moment, he does not pay heed to the encroaching threat up above; Idunn's voice has to snap him out of his trance.

And as he looks down, he notices his bow.

The Archer Without Equal. Thoughts of that knight come to mind, of his swift and deadly arrows--of the way his fingers found their grip onto fletching. At the dragon's remark, he scoffs, "You've no need to worry, my lady. I once knew an incredibly talented man. If I follow his footsteps, no harm shall come to me!"

Not that he had ever seen him fire a bow underwater, but he figures the basic concepts still apply. Emerald locks onto the slithering shade, tracking the movements of its head as it coils round the party. Ever the observant eye, the knight makes note of the pattern it swims in. A figure-eight followed by a straight loop, then back-and-forth a few circuits. It's a strange sort of dance, but he believes he can anticipate it the longer he watches.

Nocking an arrow against his cursed bow, Sain takes aim. He steadies his breathing (a difficult thing to do down there) and draws to his chin--energies coiling round his well-placed shot. And as he fires...

Sain 10/10HP hits Leviathan 16/16HP with Devil Bow (Deadeye) [Roll: 3 + 4 = 7; -2.5, Leviathan 13.5/16 HP]

He doesn't quite hit his mark. The arrow, even with demonic propulsion, proves too slow beneath the pressure of an abyss. Sain sucks in a breath as it lands somewhere down the beast's neck; he'll have to account for their terrain during his next attack.

But the leviathan's attention is already drawn. It lets loose an ear-piercing wail that reverberates beneath the waves, forcing the Lance (or rather, the Bow) further back lest he become a victim to its ire.

//SINK OR SWIM: @pirrhyc @rozyrne @ashenprofessor

And then there’s this FISH | team 2 - iron round

Closed starter for @rozyrne @pirrhyc @ashenprofessor @enarmor​

The winds picked up, licking at their skin with sharp gusts. Thick and heavy with aura, looming not unlike a dark cloud hanging above with the promise of a storm- though the thunder’s announcement struck the group rather differently. The air fizzled, crashing and sparking, before suddenly showing resistance. 

Idunn opened her eyes, having gotten lost in the winds and startled awake by the feeling of a punch down her lungs and her body feeling lighter yet her movements were sluggish. The feeling of waking up after a century-long sleep, where her body hasn’t yet caught up to her brain and everything feels numb and tingly, muscles not responding correctly as her consciousness slowly shaped itself. 

The first thing she noticed aside from the slowness of her movements- her breathing. She breathed, though not air. Rather, it was as if air and water walked a very, very thin line between one and the other, where the smallest loss of focus could cause that balance to fall apart and their lungs to suffer the consequence. Looking up, she saw the sky- though now distorted by the lens of the bottom of a lake. Her body floated gently in this fluid-thick ocean, but the way it restrained her movements was far too unsettling.

“Something is there.” A shadow, prowling around them. A signature similar to the apparitions, though this one was gargantuan in comparison- almost matching that of a water dragon of sorts. Black claws dug into her palms as she silently lamented the fact her dragonstone wouldn’t answer to her calls, until…

She didn’t have any weapons.

“Ah…” No swords or axes- not even the burn and chantings of offensive magic were found in her mind. Instead, the sign of two spells she had never come across before. 

One, offered healing.

The other, offered protection against the elements.

What an irony, that this odd magic experiment would shape her body into that of a protector considering what her life had been so far. But…Idunn wasn’t bothered by that, in reality. Instead, she faced the new signs of magic in her mind with wonder and curiosity. Heal and protect, that was her function now. Looking over to her teammates, a bud of confidence appeared deep in her core. Perhaps now she’d be able to help them more directly. Firstly…

That man with the bow. Though the air was dense with magic, she could still sense how the bow he was handling wasn’t a common weapon. There was…almost like an aura of gluttony coming from it. A sneaky, small yet hurtful bite of evil.

Idunn casts Ward on Sain!

With the chantings clear in her thoughts, she cast a protective ward over him- approaching the man quietly. “Your bow. It recoils and bites. It is greedy.” The pat she gave to his shoulder was almost phantom-like. “But it is okay now.”

The winds- now currents, rumbled once more, announcing the arrival of their newest enemy. Idunn looked back at the man then at the others before moving to the back.

[savedgames]

INCOMING MESSAGE — WIDOWMAKER

【 𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝙻𝙾𝙶: 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂 】 :// @agent-lacroix sent: goodbye (Widow)

goodbye : my  muse  kissing  and/or  hugging  your  muse  goodbye.

          ❝ You worry too much, mon amour, ❞ she assures him with a faint giggle as she straightens his tie for him. ❝ Telling me to be safe~. I’m only making a quick trip to the mall while you’re away at work. Nothing to worry about. ❞  It was she who should be worrying, Amélie thinks. As safe as his work kept him in comparison to the active field agents, she wasn’t stupid enough to think that spared him from danger entirely. ❝ Now . . .❞  she murmurs, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to his lips. ❝ Go on, Gérard. Or you’ll be late~. ❞ 

          She couldn’t have known she’d never make it back that day, that maybe his worries were well-founded. . . . (Who could have known that Overwatch’s enemies would resort to targeting their loved ones?)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

          She’d felt half numb for what felt like weeks, now — the brief moments she could recall with any clarity, anyhow. With what she’d managed to absorb from ambient conversation, it wasn’t so surprising anymore. Neither was the way he almost hovered over her in an almost perpetual state of worry. Snatched almost out from under his nose by their biggest enemy — unable to be found until she suddenly reappeared. Of course he would worry. 

          She didn’t mind it, really — she loved him dearly, it was the one feeling that wasn’t somehow dulled by whatever had happened to her. Which made it all the more surprising when her first thought upon waking in the dead of night was to kill the man sleeping beside her. She’s barely had time to register the thought before she finds herself padding down the darkened hallway, and it takes a moment to register that she’s headed towards the kitchen. A moment — little more than time to blink — and she’s seated beside him, a knife in hand and the faint dampness of a few tears slipping down her cheeks.

          Why is she doing this? More importantly, why couldn’t she stop herself? A single hand lifts, thumb gently brushing against his cheek. She leans down after a moment, her lips pressing to his. ❝ I’m sorry, my love, ❞ she whispers, voice cracking with tears, even as she feels the hand with the knife lift. ❝ Adieu. Veuillez me pardonner. . . ❞

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

          A sharp inhale accompanies a sudden snap back to reality. She feels oddly cold for a moment, but that passes as quickly as it had come. The sniper feels a sudden ache in her chest, even as he stares at her in evident confusion. Only to be expected, given she’d entirely zoned out for what she was sure was a minute or two. A soft scoff escapes her as her arms cross, amber eyes shifting away. ❝ Do not look at me like that . . . ❞ she mutters, fingers fidgeting against her arms. Why were they here again? Ah, yes, for some reason he’d come to bid her farewell before leaving for a mission. Laughable.

          But the normal thought felt strangely . . . out of place, suddenly. (Just as sudden as the fear for his well-being. . . .) For a moment, silence falls between them — somehow both awkward and comfortable. Then, he’s turning to leave, and before she can stop herself she’s grabbing his wrist, turning him to her. A beat, and then both hands shift to his cheeks, her lips press to his. She feels as tough her skin is on fire where it touches his — and not only from the difference in temperature. Then she’s forcing herself back — one step . . . then two — a flush of color warming her cheeks faintly. ❝ Forgive me. . . . I don’t know what came over me. ❞ If he listened as he finally left the room, he’d hear a faint whisper.

          ❝ Tu ferais mieux de me revenir sain et sauf, idiot. ❞

[alexllove-blog]

The long way home: Cycling from Kuala Lumpur to Penang

Bent over my bike’s handlebars, I pedal along a narrow countryside lane connecting clusters of small Malay villages. Tall, swaying coconut trees flank my path.

“Shall we make a stop?” My riding partner Dinesh Thangaveloo asks. A tall, sinewy Malaysian with a thick moustache, the 33-year-old Penangite moved to Kuala Lumpur for work eight years ago and, despite living in Malaysia’s most congested metropolis, fell in love with the great outdoors and long-distance cycle touring.

Dinesh cycles by a Malay home on the backroads of Sekinchan

An adventurous plan

I glance at my watch. It’s only 10.30am – the tropical sun is still bearable and, more importantly, we still have a long way to go: four days in the saddle and 320km, to be exact. “Keep moving,” I call to him. We left Kuala Lumpur yesterday and are headed to Penang, 400km from the capital to the north.

Are we crazy to make this journey on two wheels? Maybe.

Or maybe not. I’m taking the long route back to my home base in Penang, to both honour the promise I made to Dinesh – to accompany him on a long-distance cycling trip – and to test if doing this in Malaysia is as impossible as many of my local friends claim when they scoff at our adventurous plan. While I am moderately fit, I have no formal training and don’t cycle all that regularly.

The beautiful Lake Gardens justify Taiping’s recognition as the world’s third-most sustainable city according to the Sustainable Top 100 Destination Awards 2019

“I do see people doing inter-city cycling, but they are mostly foreigners and, I assume, tourists,” Nadhrah A Kadir, a Malay lecturer at Penang’s Universiti Sains Malaysia told us recently. Nadhrah fell in love with cycling as a foreign student at Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University in the US, convinced by her course mates that biking to campus was the best way to overcome the city’s limited public transportation system. Once back in Penang and appalled by its traffic, Nadhrah became a cycling and healthy lifestyle advocate, and is currently the spokeswoman for Bike on Friday. This Penang-based cycling community, which started in July 2015 as a governmental effort to make the island greener and cleaner, organises weekly Friday morning rides with the hope of raising awareness about the island’s comprehensive network of cycle lanes.

We discover what feels like a hidden, forgotten Malaysia

“But I’m not sure I’d consider long-distance cycling a trend among locals just yet,” Nadhrah continued. “I guess the main challenge is safety, as most roads in Malaysia are only designed to cater to motor vehicles.”

Traditional Malay houses with large courtyards dotted with flowers line the backroads to Kuala Selangor

I also spoke to Sin Tai Lim, a Malaysian-Chinese cyclist who works with Kuala Lumpur-based tour company Mike Bikes and loves to bring his folding bike to nearby towns like the Unesco-listed Melaka. He has a different opinion on inter-city cycling in Malaysia. “The country might not have proper cycle paths like South Korea or Taiwan,” he admitted. “But the web of smaller village and trunk roads are a joy to ride.”

Sin also believes that, given the increasing number of bicycles of all kinds being imported from as far as Japan and the UK and sold on the Malaysian market in recent years, long-distance cycling is certainly on the rise. “For instance, I was asked by some clients to consider doing a tour from Kuala Lumpur to Melaka and Singapore, returning by coach, but we haven’t started offering it as of yet.”

Pedalling under swaying coconut trees on the village road that flanks Malaysia’s highway 5 between Sekinchan and Sabak

Taking tips from Sin, we left Kuala Lumpur yesterday, a Saturday morning, at 7am. It was a bit of a nightmare as it’s not possible to bring regular-sized bikes on the local trains that travel from the city’s centre to the outskirts. We had to cycle across town in heavy traffic before following the two-lane expressway towards Kuala Selangor, our first stop. Some 25km later, we reached Sungai Buloh and the high-rises thinned out, replaced by flat, verdant fields. After a series of low hills, we took a long lunch break to stay out of the blistering midday sun. We reached Kuala Selangor by 4pm and spent the rest of our first day exploring the town, famous for the scenic Malawati Hill. At night, we slept extra soundly.

The slow back route

This morning, we’ve been on the road since 7am, enjoying the serene village back lanes that extend all the way along the Straits of Malacca to the town of Sabak. We discover what feels like a hidden, forgotten Malaysia: wooden houses on stilts stand cheek-by-jowl with colourful Chinese temples set along a coastal stretch of empty sand and sea. By pedalling, we have chosen to take a slow backroute that most travellers completely bypass as they speed between cities on the North-South Expressway. In contrast, we make frequent stops at the many coffee shops and simple streetside eateries that make the task of long-distance cycling that much more pleasant.

A Chinese temple along the Perak River in Sabak town

“Inter-city cycling doesn’t need to be challenging,” Joseph SK Tan said when I contacted him several weeks before to ask whether he thought a long-distance cycling trip in Malaysia was feasible. The sixtysomething blogger started cycling only seven years ago but in less than a decade, has travelled on two wheels in over 20 countries. Tan, who writes about his trips under the moniker Ah Pek Biker (“old man” in Hokkien), never rushes his own long-distance adventures, only covering between 50 to 80km per day. “Riding at a slower pace is best to enjoy each place and savour every moment,” he declared.

Dinesh and I couldn’t agree more. By mid-morning on our third day, we are crisscrossing through Perak state between Teluk Intan and Batu Gajah, completely sold on this more sedate mode of transport. Fresh headwinds caress us, carrying the smell of grass and trees with them. We pedal across a landscape dotted with lakes, coconut trees and paddy fields where water buffaloes graze. Mesmerised by the rural beauty, we wonder why more travellers don’t consider cycling as a means to explore Malaysia.

Mighty Menara Condong in Teluk Intan, Asia’s lesser-known leaning tower

“Many local cycling groups organise rides to other cities and states, which is proving to be increasingly popular,” Elena Shim has told me. A keen cyclist, Shim has explored the backroads of her native Kuala Lumpur and immediate surroundings, which led to the creation of tour service Bike with Elena, offering guided cycling and walking tours of the city’s less-known nooks and crannies. “Bike tourism has big potential in Malaysia, but we still need better infrastructure, such as proper cycle paths, more bike repair shops and bike-friendly cafés and accommodation.”

A forgotten history

Indeed, on our fourth morning, we set off at dawn on the quiet inner road to Taiping along interstate 73, a beautiful road that nevertheless has nothing to support cyclists in terms of dedicated lanes or convenient places to stop. The road skirts a bend of the Perak River for about 2km after Parit village, and then turns west, cutting through plantations to the small town of Beruas. Approaching it at mid-morning, we roll past the fenced enclosure of Beruas’ old village. It’s a vestige of the Malayan Emergency, a guerrilla war fought between 1948 and 1960, when the British controlled many of the Chinese villages in the interior of Perak, fencing them off to cut support to the communist rebels hiding in the surrounding jungles. Today’s Beruas town developed from that old protected enclosure.

This intriguing part of history, however, seems forgotten by most visitors, who often skip over the region, heading straight for Penang’s George Town. But even Penang has a 200km-long network of cycling lanes, and its residents think of it as Malaysia’s “first cycling state”. Bike on Fridays is just one of many local cycling groups to take advantage of this perk.

Sunset over the Selangor river in Kuala Selangor

“The local cycling groups are our main supporters,” said a representative of the City Council of Penang Island, which curated the cycling lanes. “But in June this year, the Bridge2Bridge Ride will kickstart a series of initiatives to promote Penang’s current commitment to boost cycling state-wide.”

On the fifth day, as we climb one last highway bridge to board the Penang Ferry in Butterworth, we are filled with a sense of accomplishment. Yet, there are no medals or recognition waiting for us – only bored commuters.

It’s a pity to be concluding our trip just when my body is starting to adjust to the long hours in the saddle. Ending it here, on a ferry to Penang, feels a bit too ironic. I wish we had another 10 days or so to keep cycling. Clearly, I’m not alone in my longing. Glancing over with a wry smile, Dinesh asks, “When are we doing this again?”

SEE ALSO: Neighbourhood Spotlight: Damansara Heights, Kuala Lumpur

This article was originally published in the June 2019 issue of Silkwinds magazine

The post The long way home: Cycling from Kuala Lumpur to Penang appeared first on SilverKris.

[laslow]

Mouth drops open in disbelief. Is this guy stalking him?

"'I'm a man of passion,''' Laslow imitates in a horrible mockery of Sain's voice. "I practically invented that one! That's my catchphrase! No unoriginal bone in your body my foot," he sneers, now crossing his arms.

Eyes drop to the finger poking his chest. Ugh, this jerk is worse than Owain, and that's saying a lot. An eyebrow raises. If it's war he wants, it's war he'll get. Laslow can dance circles around this fellow--literally and figuratively. He's never more at home than on a dancefloor.

He bites the inside of cheeks in an effort not to flinch. Yeah, he's without a partner, story of his life. But he's far too annoyed to care about his relationship status right now.

A scoff as he bats Sain's hand away. "The ladies would much rather not get knocked out while dancing with their partner. Seriously, have you no respect for them?" He tilts his head, making a show of looking around. "I don't see your partner either. Looks like they ran away after that shameful display you dared called dancing."

Naga freaking dragon. Why is he wasting his time arguing with someone who clearly doesn't care?

"Competition? For what? Who can be more pitiful? My friend, you're fighting a losing battle in that regard." Laslow sighs in disappointment.

✢⁎. dance and defeat them

[enarmor]

A Prescript... Right. Sain figured as much, accepting a job from an Index bigwig. But to hear it vocalized is to bring it into question--fate, that is. Where they're fated to go, what they're fated to do. Even the fate of their mission--the grand resolution at the end of the final act--is determined by that tiny slip of paper in their pocket. The Fixer almost laughs. For all the figures of authority he'd scoff at, he never once thought to blow raspberries at fate.

Maybe it's high time.

Nothing would upset him more than knowing his life's story was not written by his own hand. He spent years confiding in books--in stories of a world so far removed from his own. Growing up a ragged Backstreets kid, he had no choice but to don the mantle of justice, to pledge his spear to defending the weak. A tragedy that women are often cast into this role. Encounter an Arbiter and maybe he'd be set straight, but what matters is how he was his success to be his. Earned with blood, forged with sweat, held with tears. Nothing can have fallen into the lap of one who once could once not afford to sit down, not even for a moment.

So he turns to meet his Messenger, his brow half-cocked and ready for some witty remark. But what he sees surprises him: a smile from little old Denning. In an instant his woes are forgotten, destiny mattering less than the rubble beneath his feet. "Aha, so you can smile!" the Lance remarks, clapping an arm round the other's shoulder, "I almost thought you had a mouth prosthetic that wouldn't let you!"

But remembering their promised lunch, he dislodges and nods. Silence follows. A mental note is made and then shelved for later: he should invite Denning to join them. They would be more than welcome, should they contribute to the success of the excursion, and Sain can have his date later. He owes it to his old friend to do something nice for them; life in The Hand is luxurious, but he doubts his friend has helped himself to much of it.

Free time would be the only barrier, then. Again, shelved for later.

Walking some distance in front of him, he finds the gaping hole they are meant to undertake in their exploration. A derelict of the old L Corp, he remembers. A link to Lobotomy's past. Rife with all manner of useful loot, like Enkephalin or leftover E.G.O. equipment. And most importantly: information. Leads on anything still-lurking down below, traces of a Singularity left to whoever can scrap them up first. With the right kind of talent, and maybe just a bit of luck, they could harness the seeds that gave life to the White Nights and Dark Days.

Strange times, those were. Sain remembers being on the verge of scoring a date before she was scared off by the sudden burst of light.

As he peers down the entrance, having moved past all the wreckage blocking it, he speaks but one word to his trusted companion--already believing he knows the answer,

"Ready?"

✢⁎. snippy scissors