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gingerxarmy · 3 years

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Confessions - Reader x Driver

Here we are with another Reader x Driver. Hope you like it! It took a different ending than what I thought about from the start, hah.

If there's anything you would like me to write I take requests, and I will write it when I have time :D

***

Your a bartender at your own bar, doing your job when one off your regulars keep you company.

Words: 1686 - fluff

Warning: mention of alcohol

You had been serving drinks for the last three hours, one of the regulars had been standing at the end of the bar with a girl, chatting. You knew his name quite well, him being famous thanks to his brave job and good looks made it hard to not watch him whenever he was in the room. He had a habit of flirting with whoever came into his path. But if you where rich, famous and a fucking racing driver, you guessed they could do whatever they wanted.

But tonight wasn't a good night. You had been serving another regular for the past hour and sometimes it did hurt, to watch someone with a good soul, to destroy it with the alcohol you only did your job to serve. Today he was extra talkative of the events that led him to your bar today. And it only hurt you more to serve him his drinks.

While your regular guest talked about his failing relationship you let your eyes drift off to the driver who had his arms folded over his chest. He looked lost in his thoughts while the girl talked, gesticule with her arms. You couldn’t help but think about what made him so lost in thoughts, normally he was the one who liked to talk, his charming accent always made its way with the girls. And you hated to admit that it worked for you as well.

You greeted a customer who made his way to the bar, taking his order and you started to make it. Mixing the ingredients and chatting with the new person. One thing that you loved about your job was the opportunity to meet new people everyday. And after a couple of drinks people had no filter anymore. It isn’t unusual for people to open up to you, talking about all different things. But never did anyone confess to murder, and you where damn lucky about it.

But this day, when he had chosen to pay your bar a visit you couldn't care less of the things Newbie talked about. Jalousie made its way to you when you once again let your eyes travel to the girl he had chosen for tonight to have his fun with. He was a player, you knew it, but all bad kinds of guys are a look for shore eye. And no one can say anything less, then they would be lying.

When you lay your eyes on him this time, it almost gave you a heart attack. His eyes were already on you. A smirk made its way to his lips when you met his eyes, making you blush and turned your attention back to Newbie, who now tried very poorly to flirt with you. You're flattered, you’re not the most popular person around your friends, not the best looking if you said it yourself. But here, around men who almost only made their way to your bar for the alcohol, you could be blushing by a good looking man who drunkenly gave poor flirtattents, but most of the time it’s just an egoboost.

You were in the middle of pouring a new Whiskey Sour when you heard an all too familiar voice asking for one as well. You nod your head, not looking at him, as you put the glass in front of your regular guest. Humming with to the song playing through the speakers as you blend Whiskey and lemon juice together.

“I thought you would be the talkative person tonight,” he says when you put his drik at the spot in front of him. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

“I’m impressed you noticed, considering you almost had your tongue down that lady’s troute all night.” You give him a smirk before wetting the cloth and start to wipe off the disk.

“Nah, never even considering it. She was only a pretty face you know,” he shrugs his shoulders before taking a sip from his drink. “This!” he says and points at the drink you just made. “This is fantastic.”

“Thanks, it’s my job. Would be almost impossible if it wasn’t. you know.” You say and give him a genuine smile.

“There you are!” He says and laughs. “The talkative woman that I like!”

“Oh come on, say why you are here and not with the girl you tried so hard to chat up before. Did she realise that you actually were too much of a regular here to have a chance of more than a one night stand?” You were interested to actually know why he ditched his date and started to talk to you instead. You were almost pleased about the thought of him liking your company better than hers. But you would never say it out loud.

“I wasn’t that keen on finding a new woman. You know, I actually have found someone I would like to get to know better.” Ouch, that was all your chances out of the window with him, you sighed.

“I’m happy for you.” You tried to sound glad about the news. “So, why are you here, drinking, if this lovely girl is out there somewhere?”

He mumbled something that sounded a lot like; Because I’m too much of a coward to ask her out by being sober. “Nah, just thought about making a visit to my favorite bartender when I actually was in town. Making sure she gets customers, you know,” he gives you one of his signature smiles. “And I was kinda bored at the hotel.”

There it was, you were just a distraction, a someone to waste his time on. He had been at your bar since you opened it two years ago and you clicked. He had been bringing a couple of friends sometimes, but most of the time he was alone, company with a girl he chatted up for taking with him to his hotel room. You would be lying if you say you hadn’t been wishing for being that girl sometime. It wasn’t professional to think so about a customer, but it was him. He was just naturally charming and it was almost like he was a bit nicer to you than with the girls he took home.

“Tell me about her.” You said, as if you already weren't heartbroken by the thought of him finding someone else.

“Yeah, sure. She-, eh, I don’t know where to begin.” He starts, fiddling with the now empty glass in front of him. “Please give me a Vodka Redbull if I’m gonna do this.” You let out a laugh while doing what he told you to give him.

“Is she that fantastic so you need a drink to spill the tea about her?” He was nervous and mister Newbie in the chair beside him was really interested in your conversation. You would have been nervous for a couple of strangers as well if you would tell someone about your crush.

“She is, yeah.” You lost your smile at his words. “She is perfect. Her smile makes you want to take a picture and frame it. It makes your heart melt if you are the one who makes her laugh. But not only that, she is beautiful. She really is, she could be a model if she wanted to, but I think she’s too shy, she hasn't got the best self-confidence I believe. And that makes me want to tell her everytime that she is so much more than what she thinks she is.” His gaze has become increasingly unfocused as he continues to speak. Lost in his thoughts about the girl who really makes him look in love. “And she is kind to strangers, she always tries to listen to what everyone says and I just can’t help but fall for her.” He downs the reminders of his drink before meeting your eyes. He looks vulnerable in a way you have never seen him before.

“She sounds like a really nice person. And I think you should do whatever you can to make her yours.” You say with a broken smile.

“You really believe so?” He asks, looking helplessly at you.

“I think she sounds lovely and if you don’t ask this person out I would love to have her name and number so I can do it.” Newbie says and starles the both of you, Newbie was long forgotten about when he was talking about the girl he liked.

“I guess, but I don’t know how. And she is way out of my league.”

“Oh come on now! Just ask her out. Do it know! Call her!” You say and watch as he takes out his phone, searching through his contacts before stopping. Looking at you and shaking his head.

“I don’t have her number,” he laughs, both you and Newbie just gave each other a look before shaking your heads. “But, you. I really like you. And I’m not playing, this shit is strong. Wow. I think the vodka is kicking in now. And I can’t keep my mouth shut. Please go out with me! Let me make you a drink for once!” He rambles as he reaches forward for your hand. You look at him in shock. Did he just ask you out?

“Did you just ask me out?” You say dumbfounded.

“Yes I did. I’ve been coming here for way too long without asking you out. And if you are rejecting me now I don't have the guts to put a foot in her again.” With pleading eyes he grabs your other hand as well.

“I- yes. Of Course. I would be a foul if I was rejecting you.”

“Thanks fuck. I really thought I would have been losing an almost friend and like the love of my life in the same night,” he laughs and stands up from his seat. Making his way over to you on unsteady legs. In seconds he has you in his arms. Putting a hand on your check and giving you a kiss. You soon break the kiss, looking into his eyes and realice;

“Wait, love of your life?”

#reader x driver #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #lando norris #daniel ricciardo #charles leclerc #carlos sainz junior #f1 fanfic

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lovelybunny08 · 4 years

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A Blissful Moment (Revised)

♡ Pairing- Jimin and you

♡ Genre- Smut and One-Shot

♡Description- You finally convince your friend to go out to a club; on the last weekend your in Korea.

♡ This is my first story in a long time. For personal reasons I am scared of writing but thanks to some people I decided to try it. Please leave comments on what you honestly think. ♡

♡ Word Count- 3,644

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You monotonously check your Instagram one last time before putting your phone back in your clutch. You’re currently in the backseat of an uber with your best friend as you head to one of the hottest clubs in Gangnam. You had spent the last few days begging for her to go until she finally caved. You knew you had her when you argued that this was your last weekend in Korea, and that there was no better way to end the vacation than with several overpriced drinks, average to cringe-worthy dancing, and some extremely attractive strangers. Some of the mystique from the night fades, however, when you and she get out of the car and join the line that runs nearly a block away from the club entrance. This was your one of your last nights in Korean, though, and nothing was going to drag your mood.

“I can’t believe I finally convinced you to go to a club” you announce as you beam at your friend.

“You’re lucky I love you, because there’s no other way I would stand in these heels for this long if I didn’t cause honestly my feet are going to be fuc—” her words are cut off when you abruptly squeeze her into a hug.

“C’mon don’t think so much let’s just have fun” you muffle in response as you shove your cheek against hers and tighten your hold on her shoulders. If you only knew then how utterly dumb your words would sound after the events that would follow.

After shuffling forward for almost an hour, you finally reach the velvet ropes. You and your friend eagerly flash your passports to the bouncer and pay the hefty entrance fee. As he removes the ropes to allow your passage, you can already feel the bass from the music thrumming through the floor. As you emerge from the long black hallway into the main part of the club, your draw nearly hits the floor from what you see. This place was utterly massive with several bars lining every wall space, a dance floor larger than any you’d ever been on, and a balcony above stretching around the whole joint. You easily identify the balcony as the VIP lounge when you spot the security at the stair entrances on either side of the club. That didn’t stop your eyes from peering through the glass railing to catch anything interesting. Without a soul in sight you figure they must all hang away from the railings for privacy. You shrug and grab your equally amazed friend’s hand and drag her to the nearest bar. You lean across the bar to order (shout is more accurate) two vodka’s in RedBull with two shots of green tea shots. Waiting for your order, you and your friend lean with your backs against the bar, taking in the scenery once more. The DJ is losing his mind on stage at the opposite end of the club as his audience screams every time he twists the track.

“This club is the definition of high-end insanity!” your friend shouts into your ear. You quickly yell back,

“Yea, I know! I read somewhere online that it’s supposed to be one of the best clubs in Gangnam!”

“I can see why! This night club looks like it’s straight out of a movie!” She answers, and you nod your head in agreement. You feel her turn to face the bar before her arm is outstretched, handing you your drink as she begins to chug hers.

“Come on and drink up so we can dance!” She smiles when she comes up for air. With new enthusiasm, you both down your drinks in record time before dragging each other deep into the mass of hot, sweaty bodies. You begin to roll your hips in the tight space as your ears catch onto the familiar tune. You’re surprised to hear reggaeton pulsing through the speakers

Several tracks and quite a few drinks later, you and your friend are still dancing the night away as the alcohol in your veins takes away any inhibitions. A thin sheen of sweat covers you skin, making you shine with a worn out, dewy look matched with a large dopey grin as you scream as the next song begins to play. You begin dancing once more when a tall, burly man in a dark suit approaches from behind your friend. You recognize him as one of the security personnel and begin to wonder what you or your friend could have done wrong when he interrupts your thoughts.

“Excuse me, ladies, but there are a few VIPs who request they meet with you,” he explains.

With a sigh of relief, you playfully roll your eyes at your friend. Of course, she had caught the eye of some rich or famous man. Your friend was naturally stunning. Her slim frame was accentuated perfectly in her black shorts and white halter top tonight. To top it off, her long, sleek black hair draped down her back, effortlessly catching the eyes of several men throughout the night; now including some high-end suitors as well. Meanwhile, your eyes travel down your figure in a simple, green sleeveless dress that stopped mid-thigh. You look back up to meet your friends pleading eyes. You chuckle as you lightly shove her shoulder,

“Go on” you laugh. Her brow furrows slightly in concern.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Heavens, yes! I’ll be perfectly fine dancing here with strangers as we have been all night. Now go and meet whoever, but you have to tell me all the juicy details later!” You exclaim with a wink.

“But—” your friend tries to respond but is cut off by the security guard.

“Actually, they requested both of you.” He corrects.

You stand there dumbfounded, trying to process that there were high-end men up there who for some reason not only wanted your friend but also you. Before you could ponder up various explanations, you feel your friend’s grasp around your wrist as she chirps,

“Great! Lead the way!”

You both follow the security guard closely as to not get lost in the crowd. When you arrive at the bottom of one of the staircases to the balcony, you meet four other guards who quickly step aside for the guard you are following. As you climb the stairs, your eyes glance across the club to the other staircase to see how many guards there were. Damn, who was so important that there were nearly 10 guards blocking the entrances to the VIP lounge? You all eventually arrive at the balcony entrance, blocked by a swing glass half-door. When the guard swings the door open, you and your friend step onto the fine red carpet and continue to follow the guard to the back of the lounge. You stare at your feet as you all amble over because the nervousness in your stomach begins to eat away at you. What did they want? Why you and your friend? Why were there so many guards? Before you walk face-first into the back of the guard, your friend grabs your shoulder. You spare her a thankful glance before turning to take in what, or rather who, sit before you. There is a low-set square table, only a couple feet above the ground, supporting a wide variety of drinks. Surrounding the table on three sides, is a jet-black leather couch, providing a striking contrast against the red carpet. While this screams prestige, you are so distracted by your audience that your brain no longer registers—well, anything else. Not the music. Not at how the guard is no longer there. Not even at your friend whose grip tightens on your shoulder. You suck in a breath as you finally admit to yourself that you’re not dreaming. There before you, sitting casually with their arms draped across the back of the couch, are Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin.

You vaguely take in a few other guys and girls sitting on other parts of the couch, but you could care less. To ease yourself in, you scan Jungkook first. He is the embodiment of sin in tight black dress attire and designer leather boots. Your mouth waters at the way the muscles in his thighs pull tightly on his pants. After adjusting to Jungkook, you breathe in sharp breath and comb over every inch of the man that is Park Jimin. His pristine white dress shirt hugs his arms and stretches across his chest and abdomen before it dips underneath the band of his black skinny jeans finished with black leather boots as well. At this point, you are biting on your tongue so hard that you aren’t entirely sure if you would be able to talk due to swelling. Content with staying silent, you continue to stare, well honestly gawk, and the way Jimin’s smooth skin peeks out at the top of his shirt where the buttons were—

“You both are pretty impressive on the floor, dancing well enough to capture the attention of these two pros” says one of the other guys on the couch as he nods his head in Jimin and Jungkook’s direction. Your friend throws a soft smile and a “thanks” before turning to squarely face you. She leans in and whispers in your ear,

“Aren’t those two guys from that group you like?” All you can do is nod your head in affirmation; your eyes not breaking from Jimin’s form once as his scan you from head to toe.

“Hey, why don’t you both come take a break beside us?” Jungkook smirks as he pats the couch between the two of them. You freeze and of course your brain decides to leave you in your most dire moment. To save you from staring blankly, your friend nudges you forward enough to stumble next to where Jimin is seated. You throw a glare at your friend as she snugly takes her place next to Jungkook. She did this on purpose. She knew your bias was Jimin, and although her intentions were pure your thoughts at the moment were anything but.

“Where are you both from?’ Jungkook breaks the silence first.

“ Oh, well I’m from the states, but my family is Hispanic.” Wow, maybe your brain returned enough for you to answer a question.

“Ah,” Jimin’s breath is hot on your ear as he leans in. “and where is your family from?”

You manage to force out a coherent string of words about your ethnicity, but the husky yet sweet smell of Jimin’s cologne left you incapable of focusing.

“That explains why you looked so sexy dancing then…” You suck in a breath as he places his hands on your thighs while admitting this. Wow. Okay. Park Jimin. His hands. His hands on you. This is happening, right now. Okay, This. Is. Happening. Now. You don’t respond to him because this has to be a dream. Nonetheless, it’s a dream you don’t want to end. Jimin inches closer to you and whispers in a low even tone,

“You don’t have to seem so shy. You know who I am. You know exactly who I am don’t you?” Jimin’s hands wander further up your thighs, the coldness of them making you shiver slightly. “I recognize your tattoo. You’re an ARMY.”

Your eyes fly down to your wrist where you had a tattoo of the cover of the Love Yourself album inked onto you as a permanent reminder. You had been a little concerned that he would view fans as off limits, but the whole time Jimin continues to run his hands up and down your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you want to feel him most

“I—” You cleared your throat to prevent squeaking. “I—won’t tell anyone I saw you and Jungkook here, I swear.” Your promise radiates in your eyes as you lock gazes with him. His eyes pull into a smile.

“I trust you…and you haven’t even glanced at your phone the whole time you’ve been here.” Both pairs of eyes stare at the object of conversation. You remember you had placed your phone on the table when you were sitting down. As if on cue (and the universe working against you), your phone buzzes with a notification. That part is fine. It’s just a random email. However, it is behind the notification that turns your face scarlet. Staring back at you and Jimin, lit up in all of its LED glory, is your lockscreen of Park Jimin’s abs. Oh, yes. The universe does indeed want you to hide away forever. Your face falls into your hands, and you don’t even try to explain it. Although, you can’t resist the curiosity of seeing his reaction, so you spread your fingers to peak through them… and you’re met with the darkest gaze you’ve ever seen grace his angelic features.

“Aha, I see what type of ARMY you are…” he grips your chin to make you look directly into his eyes. “You’ll do what I say, won’t you dear?” Surprisingly, your motor functions haven’t short-circuited, and you manage to nod your head. “Good. Now be a good girl and sit on my thighs, legs open, facing me” he demands.

He doesn’t need to ask twice as you’re quick to follow orders. As soon as you’ve placed yourself over his lap, you feel his hands cup your jaw as you’re drawn forward into him. The kiss is hard and deep, contrasting with the soft, pillowy feel of his lips. You let out a small groan and an instinctual roll of your hips before you abruptly still on top of him. He is hard, very hard. This lets you know two things: 1) Holy hell you got THE Park Jimin hard? Your ego has never been more inflated, and 2) his size was well above what you have dreamed and that speaks volumes. Feeling more courageous after this discovery, you experimentally roll your hips harder across his erection. When you pull a deep growl from his throat, you know it’s over. He drags you in by your hips and begins kissing you even harder, tongue encircling yours and fighting for dominance. Small moans from both sides only spur you both on further until you’re positive your dripping. As you continue to encourage his wandering hands, he bites on your bottom lip and drags it through his teeth, pulling away to flash a devilish grin.

“You want me little bunny?” Fuck. You’re already soaked and now the nickname? Hell, if agreeing to him makes him put his mouth on you again then you’ve forgotten how to say no. You bite your lip as your hands trace up his chest, your eyes following your motion until they lock with his.

“Yes,” you half moan, half whisper to him. You feel one his hands sprawl across your upper back and suddenly you’re falling forward, chests pressed tightly against each other.

“Then un-zip my pants and ride me,” he deadpans.

“W-What? B-But—people are going to see us Jimin!”

“Shh darling, they won’t. It’s too dark, they’ll just assume you’re giving me a lap dance of sorts.”

Although in your mind you know his logic is flawed, the pull in your lower abdomen is writing his new philosophy across your decisions for the next half hour. You want to say you’re smarter—at least be able to say that you give yourself a few moments to consider.

Nope.

Nada.

Not at all.

You don’t even hesitate. You slide backwards slightly on his thighs, creating just enough space to unzip his pants and pull out his swelling erection. Stifling a moan at the sight, you ready yourself by reaching to move your panties to the side when Jimin’s grip closes around your wrist.

“Take them off and give them to me.”

You look at his expression to see if it’s a joke, but his eyes are void of humor and filled with lust. You quickly, and without shame you must add, stand up to slide off the lavender lace panties and curl the soaked material into Jimin’s outstretched palm. He immediately pockets them and drags you by your hips to resume where you both were headed previously. His fingers dig harshly into your hips as he guides your wet center down onto his dick. You both let out quiet moans at the indescribable sensation.

His size stretches you out so well, leaving a pleasurable sting as he bottoms out. You both sit there completely still giving each other time to adjust to the feeling and you the sheer size of him. Seeing your face relax, he mutters, “move” and begins to pull at your hips. You’re dying for relief, so you set a fast pace sliding up and down his length. You bite your lip in order to hold back the salacious noises you want to be screaming right now, but there are too many eyes that might suspect more than a lap dance if you do. To make up for this deficit, you pick up the pace and roll your hips even more, small beads of sweat beginning to form on your hairline and roll down your neck. Your thighs burn from the vigorous motion, and he catches the way you begin to falter. Without missing a beat, his hands dig into your flesh and guide you up only to slam you back down onto him. The pace combined with the sudden force is bringing you closer to your release.

“Please, Jimin I-I’m so close,” you whisper heavily.

“Good. Now, relax my little bunny and cum on my dick. Let go—”

“Agh! Jimin!”

You can’t help but cry out his name when those sweet words fall breathily from his lips and push you over the edge. In response to your outburst, you feel a heavy hand land on your ass, and you let out a small yelp. Your eyes flick to Jimin’s which tell you that the slap is a silent warning to stay quiet. As you continue to ride your high, Jimin gives a few hard thrusts and releases inside of you. You roll your hips lazily a few more times to help him before the oversensitivity becomes too much. You weakly slide yourself off of him and turn to collapse down next to him on the couch, your legs still dangling across his thighs. As he tucks himself back into his pants, your eyes lazily scan your surroundings. To your surprise, everyone is still preoccupied with their own business, not a single eye cast in you and Jimin’s direction. The wetness in between your thighs is growing sticky and uncomfortable, so you decide to go clean yourself before it dries completely.

“I think I’m going to head to the restroom and clean myself.”

“Yea, the bathroom is on the left down that hallway in the back.”

You flash him a nod in confirmation and rise to your feet, pulling your dress down as you do so. Jimin sends you a wink as you walk away and leans towards the table to fix himself a drink. Once you finish cleaning yourself, you stare dead at your reflection in the mirror. This is the first time tonight your mind is catching up with your actions. You can’t believe it. You just fucked Park Jimin. THE Park Jimin. In public no less! You’re equally stunned and amazed with yourself as you head out of the bathroom and back down the hallway. Once you return to the opening of the lounge, your friend is leaning on the wall waiting for you.

“Hey, y/n. I’m glad I gave you time to uh, finish up, but I’m really really exhausted, and these heels are digging into my soul now.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s go say goodbye and then we can go back to the hotel.”

As you stroll back to the couch, Jimin and Jungkook rise to their feet to give their farewells. You and Jungkook exchange a laugh as you say that you’re happy to meet him. Then your friend leans in close to wish her best to Jungkook, and you roll your eyes and turn to Jimin. When you spin towards him, his face is mere inches from yours again. He leans in even closer as he slides something into your palm.

“I thought you might want to keep my number for the next time you’re in Korea, by the way thank you for the present.”

With a wink and small peck on the cheek, he sends you off. You and your friend quickly descend back to the floor of the club and make a beeline for the exit, eager to get to the hotel and flop into bed. After climbing into the back of a taxi, your mind wanders off about the fluffly sheets you would soon get to pass out on. Your friend, however, has different intentions for the ride back.

“So, uh- that was one hell of a lap dance you were giving Mr. Park, huh?”

Your head whips to her side of the car as you witness the most brilliant know-it-all grin she could muster plastered across her face.

“W-wha- h-how, b-but I-we were so care—”

“Please, y/n, Jungkook and I were on the other side of the couch, not the universe.” You stare dumbly in complete disbelief and utter embarrassment. “Hey, hey it’s okay. You had a good night, and an even greater time in Korean now, right?”

Your face slowly morphs into a large grin. “Yeah, and I can’t wait to come back for more…memories?”

“Also what present was he talking about” your friend asked.

That when you realize that son of a bitch had your panties still. You turned to your friend

“Maybe he meant the lap dance” you told her with a smile.

You both fall apart into giggles at your weak attempt to disguise your favorite part about Korea. With a few more laughs and excessive eye rolls, the taxi continues to drive into the night, closing the most ~memorable~ vacation you’ve ever had.

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transheadcannon · 6 years

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In Honor of the end of pride month (darn) Everyone is trans and everyone is at Pride

Hunk

Trans boy (he/him)

Pan and ace

Is there with Shay his (trans) girlfriend

Total mom of pride

Is prepared for everything all the time no matter what

Has granola bars and water on him at ALL TIMES

Is constantly making sure that everyone is together and okay

Is especially worried about Lance and Pidge

Especially when they’re both together

Help Lance sew their pride capes

Definitely brought a frying pan

For the Pun

Has a shirt that says “trans boys do it better”

Or “Frying PANS who knew right?”

I love Tangled I’m sorry

Definitely is wearing at least on form of floral print

Is terrified of losing Keith in the crowd

Really wants to get those leash backpacks for kids but for his friends

Hunk is the main supplier of glitter

You can bet your boots this boy painted his face

Will not stop throwing Pancakes at people

His pancakes are Holier than thou

So people eat them no matter what

Everyone, and I mean E V E R Y O N E loves Hunk and will die for Hunk

Once, at pride, Hunk got knocked down by anti-lgbtq+ protestors

Everyone was there to make sure he was okay

A group of Drag Queens fought off the protesters

Those protesters never came back

Hunk will, without hesitation, punch any terfs he sees at pride

No exceptions

Probably brought a ukulele to play “Rainbow Connection” nonstop

Taking names, breaking hearts, Hunk Garrett

All the ladies are swooning

Shay once had to fight someone to get them off of Hunk

Hunk may be a bit less vocal about it but he his the happiest person there

Keith

Trans Demiboy (he/they)

Gay

VERY GAY

(would date Nonbinary people too though)

Wears Croc Heelys to pride

Has a tendency to wander off which is really not good for Shiro or Hunk

Was roped into letting Lance, Allura and Coran do their makeup

One eye is demiboy colors

The other is Rainbow

Flannel and a black tank top

Lipstick (any color it changes year by year) to complete the look

Everyone thinks he’s gorgeous

Gets asked out by at least three (3) people at pride each year

First time they go to pride they cry

Everyone was so nice and kind and accepting

All his friends were so flustered because none of them had ever seen Keith cry

Keith probably got his wolf a rainbow bandana

Keith’s mom ( a well seasoned gay) is definitely part of the “Where the Hell is Keith Now?” Squad

Keith is normally the one that eats most of Hunk’s Granola bars

He and Lance usually fight over the last one

Keith, Pidge, Lance and Matt are in a “Who can get more glitter on who” war

Keith usually wins because this kid has reflexes like no one’s buisness

The one year Keith didn’t win was because someone Matt accidentally hit Allura

No one stood a chance

Pride Month is what Keith lives for

Catch him at 3 in the morning June 1 vibrating after watching every episode of Queer Eye and drinking Shiro’s secret stash of Rebull

Keith, surprisingly, gets in absolutely no arguments (other than Lance) or fights during Pride

They don’t want to take away the safe environment young queers have

Definitely wears a beanie no matter what

He rotates his demiboy hat, rainbow hat, and trans hat

“Bro it’s like 100 degrees out aren’t you hot?”

“I’m dying on the inside.”

“Dude, just take off the hat”

“pain is beauty”

“Dude, you’re going to pass out”

“PAIN IS BEAUTY”

Lance once stole a beanie

It did not end well

Shiro

Trans man (he/him)

Bi (or pan whichever suites your fancy)

poly

Definitely has a baseball cap with Bi and Trans flags on top

The dad of pride

Definitely wears a fanny pack but only because they’re practical

He keeps cookies and tums in there

Makes a point to dress like a dad

One year, The Squad convinced him to do drag

The results were actually amazing and Shiro can really work heels

Shiro was very flustered but very attractive

That day was Lance and Allura’s field day

Shiro does his own makeup for pride

Once got in a muscle flexing contest and won

Matt buys him a “I flexed and the Sleeves fell off” tank top to wear the next year

Has a shirt that says “Hi Gay I’m Dad”

Has one of those beer hats with the straws but he fills them with redbull

Despite Hunk yelling at him not to

Drinks more juiceboxes than water

Gets proposed to nearly every year

Hissed at someone when they wouldn’t leave Pidge alone

Once brought his teacup Chihuahua Tito

The ladies were S W O O N I N G

Shiro and Krolia co-parent Keith in shifts

Shiro is Lance’s wingman

Or he tries to be at least

Most people are too focused on him

People always assume that he and Allura are together

They’re just wrestle buddies

Allura wins always and no matter what because Allura is a goddess

Matt and Shiro aren’t allowed to go anywhere together alone after The Indident

Basically, they both got wasted, ate a shit ton of sugar, and got lost

They also somehow ended up almost joining a cult

So yeah those two need to be monitored.

People have definitely bowed before Shiro

Everyone wants to be adopted by Shiro

Allura

Trans woman (she/her)

Lesbian

Is famous within the LGBTQ+ communtity

A true icon

Definite beauty guru and a GODDESS

Goes every year with her (trans) girlfriend Romelle

Refers to everyone as “my lovelies”

No one dares to flirt with her because she’s out of everyone’s league

Every time Allura breathes a terf gets punched

Every time Allura breathes a small trans girl gets her wings

Has her own float in the parade

Allura was Born on The First Day Of Pride

Allura also got in a muscle flexing contest and W O N

She hands out flower crowns in all pride colors

And she does it all IN 9 INCH HEELS

She and Romelle are a power couple

Taking names and Breaking hearts

Allura and Romelle

Dyes her hair pastel pink every year

Lance and Allura are unstoppable together

People always come up to her and ask her questions

She loves answering people

Haley Kiyoko is her anthem

Gets actual gifts from people

Coran is her gay uncle

Eats a crap ton of raisins

One year, a group of terfs came up to her to yell at her

They all walked away in love

Transphobes don’t stand a chance against Allura

No one stands a chance against Allura

She is a Very Powerful Woman

Allura, although regal and a goddess is actually is the most excited for Pride

It’s a cool fun environment for cool fun people

Allura loves meeting people

Even to this day she’s afraid she’ll somehow mess up accidentally

Everyone knows that’s bull though

She and Pidge are the loudest at pride

Kills it every year in a crop top

Helps every years queer prom happen

She’s so powerful

Matt

Trans man (he/him)

Wears Shrek merch nearly every year

No shirt

Has a speaker that plays nothing but Bo Burnahm’s “Everyone thinks I’m Gay”

And occasionally “All Star”

Was the biggest factor in why Shiro and Matt can’t hang out together

If he sees a bug, he WILL NOT let you stomp on it

No matter what age

At the end of pirde he’s always covered head to toe in insects and glitter

One year he ditched the Shrek merch in favor of dressing up as spider man

All of the kids swarmed him it was adorable

Another year he wore his fursuit and nearly started a revolution

Helps Pidge choose an outfit each year

Is also the one who buys all of Pidge’s pride things including glitter, flags, shirts

Other than Lance, is Allura’s biggest fan

Allura likes (platonic) him, but Matt is too thick to realize that

He got rainbow Shrek merch and cried

Is actually like the older queer brother

Like the nerdy one that’s too afraid to go outside

Every year never gets less exciting for him

He’s Lance’s slightly more successful wingman

Gets sunburn every year

Even in the Spiderman costume which covers him from head to toe

Socks and sandals

Specifically to bug people

Obviously those are Shrek socks

What are we animals?

Matt keeps at least 3 cookies with him at pride

For emegincies

Steals most of Shiro’s juice

On the first day of Pride month plays “The most wonderful time of the year” on repeat until Pidge tries to kill him

“It is NOT the time for Christmas music”

“IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE CHRISTMAS TO BE THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR”

Matt at 3 in the morning June first “IT’s the first day of gay lads”

He and Pidge always host a party after the Pride Parade

It mostly involves more glitter fights, except they get Shrio in on it too

Shiro, surprisingly always looses

When he hit Allura in the face with glitter he saw his life flash before his eyes

It was kind of pathetic

Definitely sneaks in Vodka in a water bottle

Pidge

Nonbinary (They/them)

Aro/ace

Before the Parade they roll in glitter to properly prepare

Once Matt had a “genius” idea

Let’s just say it ended with Pidge covered in cling wrap and glitter

Pidge wears sarcastic pride shirts and their floofy golf M.C. hammer pants

Pidge and Allura are devious little Shits

Allura taught Pidge how to walk in heels

Pidge taught Allura how to steal 50 candy bars without getting caught

They do both together

Pidge and Lance are mostly the reason why there are so many glitter fights

Pidge comes out again every year during pride month

Calls it their “Gender birthday”

Comes up with a new extravagant idea each year

Last year it was hot air balloons

This year they’re hoping to hack into NASA so they can rearrange the stars

Pidge pays for it out of pocket too though no one is sure how

Pidge drinks more juice than Shiro

Pidge will only refer to Shiro as “Papa Gay” during pride month

Lance is “ You Absolute Asshole Give Me My Rebull Back”

Tries to eat nothing but Skittles for the month but Hunk always catches them

Colors absolutely everything they can get their hands on rainbow

“Rainbow. The best color. The only color if you ask me.”

Has a shrine for Miles Mckenna

Marshmallows

That is all I must say

“Hey Pidge,I’m a lesbian”

“I thought you were American”

Hates getting Misgendered at pride

Because I guess people gender people at pride

Will punch a terf

Has a T-shirt that says so

One year Lance did their make up

Or tried to at least

It did not end well

Pidge wouldn’t stop moving

Pidge once did Lance’s makeup

It did not last well

Mostly because Pidge has no idea how to do makeup

Pidge also protects the bugs at pride from feet

Lance

Trans boy (he/him)

Lance uses the glitter the best

Very decorative

(until the glitter wars)

Sometimes steals Keith’s lipstick to use

Allura and Lance always have to go out for coffee before the parade

That’s were they gossip

Lance is Hunk’s impulse control

Namely, if Lance doesn’t do something stupid Hunk will

“It’s a heavy burden”

“Lance, no one made you eat that many granola bars”

Lance is Shiro’s source of Redbull

Lance usually wears a pair of booty shorts and no shirt to pride

Allura lets him borrow a pair of heels each year

Lance owns a pair of platform crocs for pride

Is always a close second in the glitter wars

Owns a shirt with the words “Papa Gay” and Shiro’s face

Is probably the most vocal at pride

Makes his own flags for pride

Always paints at least 50% of his body pride colors

Once brought powdered chalk

That did not end well

Even though Pidge messed up his makeup while doing it he still wore it out

Every year the children flock to him and every year he brings markers for the kids to doodle on his arms

Definitely makes signs each year

He saves them and hangs them up on his wall

His entire family came to his first pride

He was sooooo happy

Lance’s family was mildly concerned but happy

Lance almost got roofied one year

He smelt it though

He got that scumbag arrested

After getting top surgery and not needing his binders he did a huuuuge give away

He was pretty much chucking binders at people

Definitely the kind of guy to have the really extravagant patterned binders

People were crying and swooning

Has asked many times for Shiro and Matt to stop being his wing man

Everyone knew that wing man was Hunk’s job

Everyone knew that except Hunk

One year Shiro did his wings and he cried

I was going to do Coran but I ran out of space. I promise he’ll get his own post

#trans voltron #trans matt holt #trans vld #trans lance #trans pidge #lance mcclain #trans keith #keith kogane #pidge gunderson #hunk garrett #trans hunk #Willy’s thcs

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hallsp · 5 years

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Jordan Diary

What follows is a somewhat lacklustre chronicle of my trip to Jordan, taking in Amman, Aqaba, Petra, and Wadi Rum:

Wednesday, 26th December, 2018

Jordan has a strange, haunting beauty, and a sense of timelessness. Dotted with the ruins of empires once great, it is the last resort of yesterday in the world of tomorrow. – King Hussein bin Talal

I’ve just been woken by a God-awful thud. “Jesus, what fresh hell is this?” I remember thinking. I had a stone-splitting headache but came to my senses quickly enough. The airport, I suddenly remembered! We must have landed at Queen Alia, in Amman. That was where I was supposed to be, after all. I just couldn’t remember how I got here. I didn’t remember the flight. I didn’t really remember boarding. How on God’s green Earth did I get to the airport?

The last thing I can properly recall was ordering a doo-doo shot in a bar on Armenia Street, after my fourth or fifth vodka-redbull. This, on top of a bottle or two of red wine and some beers earlier in the day.

Christmas Day had started out nice and quiet, just like normal: a gathering of friends, lots of cooking and eating food, some pleasant conversation over a few glasses of dinner wine. I hadn’t planned on going out. I hadn’t actually banked on the bars being open. At home, in Ireland, everything is closed for the holiday. It was all Shadi’s fault. And Maryam’s. And Jodey’s.

Now I was hopelessly hungover, possibly still drunk, and I had to navigate a new country through the colourful medium of Arabic, but it didn’t matter, I was here: the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan.

It was really cold, something close to freezing, far colder than Beirut. I hadn’t anticipated this, and I’d packed in a stupour at 2 in the morning. Clothes-wise, I was woefully unprepared.

I left the airport and tried walking, but it turned out to be a seven hour walk from the airport to Amman city centre. I managed to gauge this almost immediately and turned back in search of shelter. I eventually found a taxi into the city. It cost 20 JD, but I paid him 30 out of sheer gratitude. I had no sense of the conversion rate. I would later discover that a 10 JD tip is outrageous, something like $15. It was like some terrible inversion of Wilde: I knew the value of everything, but the price of nothing.

The hostel, Nomads, on Jabal Amman, is amazing. The staff are friendly, the rooms are nice, the location is central, and the WiFi is excellent. It’s got a good vibe, too, lots of wall paintings and the like:

I joined a free walking tour — recommended price: 5 JD — almost straight away, which left a lot to be desired in the end. The guy walked us around a bunch of shops and souks, for which I’m sure he received some kind of commission. It did give me a sense of the city, though, so I found my bearings fairly easily afterward.

I decided to go for some food. The falafel served at Al-Quds is supposed to be the best, an old Palestinian place named for the city of Jerusalem, and it certainly was. I still have dreams about that falafel sandwich in a crispy sesame bun. It might be the nicest falafel I’ve ever had. I then went for the equally famous kanafeh dessert at Habibah, also a solid recommendation.

Since I hadn’t slept for very long last night, I decided to call it quits early, around about 7ish, but not before buying a wrist watch I had seen earlier in the day — one with Arabic numerals. I’ve been looking for one of these for months.

Thursday, 27th December, 2018

I was up early, about 7 am, to beat the crowds and the impending storm, so off I went to the citadel high above the city. Jabal al-Qala’a it’s called. Somehow, I managed to follow a road up towards the citadel from the wrong side, but I was able to clamber up some rocks and over the wall, accidentally bypassing the ticket office. I had a Jordan Pass, so it didn’t really matter.

Occupied since the early Bronze Age, the citadel has been re-fortified countless times, most recently by the Romans, the Byzantines, and the Umayyads.

Two pillars remain from the Temple of Hercules, built by wise old Emperor Marcus Aurelius in the 2nd century. Also remaining is the entrance hall of the Umayyad Palace, a once-spectacular complex of royal buildings from the 8th century.

Unfortunately, the storm arrived sooner than expected and it started pouring so I went for shelter. When the weather improved a bit, I made my way down to the Roman theatre, a short distance away.

Constructed by the Romans in the 2nd century under Antonius Pius, the theatre can hold up to 6,000 people, and is an iconic building in Amman. Amazingly, it’s still used for concerts and performances.

On my way out of the theatre, some local kids started joking with me in Arabic. I hadn’t a clue what they were saying but they were stunned when I replied in kind, also in Arabic. This was when I met Qusai, a Palestinian-Jordanian who saw the whole thing and came over to talk. He was eager to explain that things were bleak for Palestinians in Jordan. The majority of the 2 million Palestinians in Jordan — including Qusai — have citizenship, but this doesn’t mean much when it comes to prospects for employment. There’s rampant discrimination. This is true for Qusai also, in spite of his qualification in accounting. He’s been attending the recent protests outside the King Hussein Mosque.

At this stage, I desperately needed some food, so I headed to Hashami restaurant, famous in Amman for their hummus and falafel. Pictures of the royal family and other dignitaries adorn the walls, but it’s not a well-to-do place. It’s simple, wholesome food.

It started raining heavily at about midday, and never stopped. I spent the remainder of the day at the Jordan Museum (a steal at 5 JD, no Jordan Pass accepted) to explore the depth of history in this country and, frankly, to get out of the rain.

The museum is impressive. The whole top floor is given over to an expensive exhibition of inventions and discoveries from the Islamic Golden Age, called 1001 Inventions, and featuring a video with Ben Kingsley as the polymath Ismail al-Jazari. The most interesting part, for me at least, was the exhibit on al-Jahiz, who is credited in his Book of Animals with evolutionary ideas which pre-date Darwin. Evolution, as a concept, is generally opposed in the Islamic world, so I was happy to see some accommodation being made on official levels.

I had dinner at Shahrazad, named for the storyteller in One Thousand and One Nights, and recommended by the guide yesterday, where I tried ara’yes, meaning bride, a kind of pita bread filled with minced lamb, onions, parsley, and allspice. It’s then brushed with olive oil, and grilled over hot charcoals. It was tasty, but very filling!

Friday, 28th December, 2018

The desert route to Akaba was so long and so difficult that we could take neither guns nor machine-guns, nor stores, nor regular soldiers. – T. E. Lawrence

Amman is smothered in cloud, raining heavily. The roads have become rivers, torrents of water flowing to God-knows-where.

I decided to catch the 7 am JETT bus from Amman to Aqaba, with my roommate Ryan. It’s a four hour drive, and costs 8.60 JD. They showed an Egyptian movie, which I could follow in parts, and played some Arabic music, featuring my old favourites: Mohamed Mounir and Fairouz.

Jordan is serviced by a highway which runs north-south, known as the Desert Highway, al-Thari2 as-Sahara. The cloud began lifting the further we traveled south, green farmland soon gave way to desert, and flat land became mountainous. You enter the world of the Bedouin.

It’s truly amazing what happens to the weather as you descend into Aqaba, though. As we moved south and descended towards the Red Sea, the temperature rose dramatically, from 8 to 18 degrees. It has its own little micro-climate here.

I like Aqaba. It’s small, but full of history. The British and the Arabs, along with Lawrence of Arabia, famously took Aqaba from the Ottomans in July, 1917. Instead of coming by the sea, as was expected, the Arabs came across the open desert and won a decisive battle.

It’s a frontier city. It’s from here that you can see four countries: Jordan, of course, Israel, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt:

Ryan, my English roommate, wanted to buy some souvenirs so we shopped around for a little while. He eventually bought a few things at one place owned and operated by Mohammad, an Egyptian guy, who gave us a good price. I love Egyptians, and there are loads of them in Aqaba; we bonded over our shared love for Mohamed Mounir.

Ryan and I decided to go for a pint — there’s a Jordanian beer called Petra I wanted to sample — in the Rover’s Return, an English pub near the city centre. It’s beside an Irish pub, but this was closed. We had to cross into a tourist-only area, and show our passports. While passing, I said jokingly: Ana ajnaby. I’m a foreigner. Surprised at my Arabic, the bowab, or doorman, apologised for not speaking English and asked me to go over to the duty-free shop and buy cigarettes for him. I wouldn’t have to pay tax, you see. I agreed. I glided in and asked for his brand. The uniformed customs official just laughed and called over his two colleagues. This wasn’t the first time he’d had this specific request, clearly. He asked for my passport and asked who it was for. “Me,” I said. More laughs. This obviously wasn’t going to work. One of the other men asked if it was for the bowab outside. “Tab3an,” I replied, caving under the pressure of the interrogation, “of course.” There were laughs all around this time. The official denied my request, but after much pleading in my best (or worst) Arabic, he finally agreed and stamped my passport.

The beer was really nice, and the weather was gorgeous, so it was nice to sit outside. Just as we were sipping our drinks, an air show started in the skies over Aqaba, right over the border with Israel. Four planes performed synchronized displays, and then each would perform its own crazy manoeuvre.

I had a good look around the old ruins of Ayla, the ancient city known to the Hebrews as Elath, and to the Romans as Aela, before boarding the bus back to Amman.

Saturday, 29th December, 2018

The hues of youth upon a brow of woe, which Man deemed old two thousand years ago, match me such marvel save in Eastern clime, a rose-red city half as old as time. – John William Burgon

I woke early again, this time to get the JETT bus to Petra at 6.30 am, which cost me 11 JD. There were loads of people vying for a seat so I was glad I had reserved the night before, though a second bus was quick to arrive.

We arrived at Petra about 11.30 am, after some delays. I left my backpack in one of the souvenir shops in the car park, and went straight inside. I had come to Jordan especially to see Petra, one of the modern Seven Wonders of the World, so I wasn’t going to waste any time.

Petra was the capital city of Nabataea, one of the so-called “incense-states,” wealthy kingdoms which prospered in the Red Sea region, largely because of trade between Arabia and the Mediterranean. In 100 BC, when the kingdom was at its height, about 30,000 people lived in Petra. The city was eventually captured by the Romans in AD 106.

I trekked all the way down to the canyon, and began the long walk through the narrow gorge known in Arabic as: al-Siq, the Shaft. It’s a gorgeous sandstone chasm with huge rock-faces either side of the passageway.

After some time, you reach the famous Treasury, al-Khazneh in Arabic, the most beautiful and elaborate building in all of Petra. Its name derives from folktales about treasure hidden at the site. Constructed by the Nabataeans as a royal mausoleum in the first century of the common era, it’s an astonishing achievement. It’s simply breathtaking to behold.

I walked the entire complex, following the route from the entrance all the way to the Monastery, past the Treasury, the Royal Tombs, the Theatre, and the Colonnaded Street. It takes about three hours, all in all, walking at a leisurely pace. The path up to the Monastery, the final hour of the walk, is all up hill and very steep, so it takes some doing. The view at the end is worth it, though:

The Monastery, larger but less ornate than the Treasury, also gets its name from an Arabic nickname, al-Deir. In reality, it was probably a temple dedicated to the Nabataean King Obodas I.

The poet John William Burgon referred to Petra as: “a rose-red city half as old as time.” It does feel timeless, but it’s the colour of the stone city which really grabs you. There are so many shades of red: rose, crimson, garnet, but also purples. The sun works magic with the rock in this place.

Eventually, I made it up to my hostel, Rafiki, just up the hill in the nearby town of Wadi Musa, getting there for about 5 pm. This place was a bit of a dive, I thought, but soon realised how much of a gem it really was. The staff were a bunch of legends, for a start.

Later that evening, I overheard a guy speaking with an Eastern European accent but with Irish overtones, so I quizzed him. It turned out that he was Slovakian but he’s been living in Ireland for fifteen years, in Dalkey no less, just down the road from me. We drink in the same bars. “That’s funny, what a small world,” I thought.

A little while later, I bumped into a Japanese girl, Kurumi, who I had seen on the bus and at Petra that morning. We got chatting. “I’m living in Dublin,” she said at one point. “Sorry,” I said in shock, “is that somewhere near Tokyo?” “No,” she laughed, “I’m learning English in Ireland.” Well, jumping Jesus. It certainly is a small world, and getting smaller.

I opted to stay at the hostel for dinner, and I was glad I did. I’ve never seen such a good spread: a chicken dish with rice, alongside vegetable curry, bread, hummus, falafel, salads, and pasta, with dessert to follow. It was a feast for 5 JD. I went to bed early again, as Kurumi and I have agreed to go to Petra first thing in the morning, as soon as it opens at 6 am.

Sunday, 30th December, 2018

Wow! Getting to Petra early has really paid off. There’s almost nobody here. It’s a much more imposing site in the quiet of the morning without all the hustle and bustle of tourists coming and going. It’s really peaceful, more majestic even.

Today, I have one goal: walking the trail known in Arabic as al-Kubtha. It’s a long walk up through the mountains, but it promises breathtaking views of the Treasury. It took us about an hour, with Kurumi and I arriving around 7 am. The early wake-up and the steep climb together turned out to be a very small price to pay:

We had the view over the Treasury almost to ourselves, though people started arriving very soon afterward. What a view, though!

We spent about an hour overlooking everything and watching the world go by, before descending down the mountain for lunch at a Bedouin restaurant near to the entrance. I had chicken galayet, a local favourite, which was chicken with tomato and onion, stewed until soft, and seasoned with garlic, olive oil, and salt. I noticed some David Roberts lithographs on the walls. You see these all over the Levant.

Finally, we went back to Petra for one last look around. I opted for some horsepower in making the journey from the site entrance to the canyon, which helped after all the walking. We walked up to take a look at an old 6th century Byzantine church near the Royal Tombs, almost opposite the Theatre.

I bought a couple of fake antique coins from an old Bedouin man who pointed at one set of coins and announced: “Made in Taiwan.” He had a good sense of humour, and I wanted cheap fakes rather than real coins, which were available but came at a price.

It was about 4 pm when we decided to say goodbye to Petra. I thought that was it, until we got back to the hostel. I had a shower and opted for dinner in the hostel again, which was even better than yesterday. After dinner, there was a big commotion. Emil, the Slovakian guy, had met an Italian girl named Rosa, who had it on good authority that Petra By Night, which is exactly what you think it is, was running tonight. I had read somewhere that it ran only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and had resigned myself to missing it. However, the New Year had altered the schedule.

Suddenly, a guy came through the door with tickets (17 JD), and we were all immediately climbing into a taxi. We had to rush so not to miss it, but we arrived just in time, and got decent seats. It was cold, and dark, but the whole path up to the Treasury was lined with candles. It was really beautiful. We were given Arabic tea, which is to say sugary tea, on arrival and then it began. There was music, beautiful, haunting Arabic music, and then some storytelling, and then — it was over! Just as soon as it started, or so it seemed, it was finished. It was worth it, though, to see the place one last time and in the stillness of the night.

When we returned to the hostel, I told the others of my plan to visit Wadi Rum the next day, and to spend New Year’s Eve in the desert with the Bedouin. I sent a flurry of emails to my contact and arranged for all of us to go together: Myself, Kurumi, Emil, and Rosa. It would be another early night.

Monday, 31st December, 2018

Fly to the desert, fly with me, Our Arab’s tents are rude for thee; But oh! the choice what heart can doubt, Of tents with love or thrones without? Our rocks are rough, but smiling there The acacia waves her yellow hair, Lonely and sweet nor loved the less For flowering in a wilderness – Thomas Moore

We got the 6.15 minibus — all four of us — from Petra to Wadi Rum for 8 JD each, and it collected us from the hostel, so that made things much easier.

We arrived about 8.30, and found Salem, our Bedouin guide. We threw all of our luggage into a 4X4 and started our tour of Wadi Rum. This place is stunning:

It was used to film much of Lawrence of Arabia, and, unsurprisingly, it’s often used as a stand-in for the surface of Mars, most recently in the movie The Martian, with Matt Damon.

We got to see lots of different locations, including the Seven Pillars, so-named after Lawrence of Arabia’s book of the same name, and Lawrence’s Spring, which is still used to water the camels. A type of wild sage grows around the water, which gives a lovely smell.

One of the most glorious locations was the Khaz’ali Canyon, which contained ancient inscriptions, some from pre-history, some in Nabataean, and still others in old Arabic. There was a fig tree at the entrance to the canyon which caught the light so splendidly:

We made it back to our camp to watch the last sunset of 2018 from high up on a mountain. When we climbed down, and made it back to camp, tea was served around a fire in the main tent. Salem’s uncle played the oud. Now, in the darkness, around the camp fire, I really got a sense for what it must be like to live with the elements here. It was an amazing experience.

The family cooked a huge amount of food, chicken and vegetables, in a pit in the sand, not unlike a fualacht fiadh at home in Ireland, though here the food is predominantly steamed. They also served various salads, along with staple dishes like hummus, and their speciality, moutabal.

We all went star-gazing for the last couple of hours. I’ve never seen so many stars in my life, the sky was ablaze with distant suns. You could clearly see the band of the Milky Way. It was astounding. What stories must have been told of these wandering lights! We returned to camp for the countdown, and afterwards, in the far-flung distance, we could see fireworks exploding in the dark.

Tuesday, 1st January, 2019

We returned to Wadi Rum village for about 8.30 am, to go our separate ways. My flight home to Beirut was at 3 pm, so I had to get a bit of a move on. There are no buses to Amman from Wadi Rum, so my only options were a bus to Petra, then another bus, or a taxi to Aqaba, and a bus from there, but both options left me with little time. I had no real option but to get a taxi straight to the airport. Luckily, with some cajoling, Salem arranged for a taxi all the way from Wadi Rum to Queen Alia, with a detour to see the ancient mosaics in Madaba, for the low price of 100 JD. It was a four hour drive all the way north. It would be tight.

My driver turned out to be the greatest human being on Earth. Ali, the man, the legend. We spoke only Arabic for the entire trip, which occasionally (often, actually) strained my meagre abilities almost to breaking point, but I loved him. He was enthusiastic about everything. First, he tried to tell me all about Islam, but gave up that venture pretty quickly. Next, we moved on to music. He introduced me to Mehad Hamad from the UAE, Mashael from Saudi Arabia, Shaima Al Shayeb, and Sabah. I had the good fortune of introducing him to — who else? — Mohamed Mounir. We sang the whole way from Wadi Rum to Queen Alia International.

We parted as true friends, with promises to see each other again.

#jordan #petra #wadi rum

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