#also pardon any mistakes I wrote this last night half asleep

[pretentiouswreckingball]

✯my entry for the @croptopjames fest✯

jegulus | 1.3k | non-canon/magical au

summary:

It was revenge, they say, for a prank they played on the other houses. So if Lupin and Pettigrew got their trousers turn into shorts, and Black got his shirt turn into a crop top, then that means Potter—

“Did you hear what happened?”

“They say it was revenge for a prank on the other houses,”

“Seems like a weird way to take revenge,”

“Someone said it was a new statement for the dress code,”

“Of course those Gryffindors would come up with something like that,”

“Mila from my transfiguration class says someone charmed their clothes to transform into something else whenever they wear it. You know, trousers turn into shorts and—”

“Oh, so that’s why Lupin and Pettigrew were wearing shorts! But why was Black’s shirt cropped? Not that I mind the view but—”

“Maybe the spell worked in pairs? If Lupin and Pettigrew got shorts, and Black’s shirt was cropped, then maybe Potter got—”

But Regulus had heard enough.

He should’ve known something was off the moment he crossed Lupin and Pettigrew earlier that day wearing shorts of all things, but if he was completely honest with himself, his mind was somewhere else and didn’t even think twice about it. But now, after eavesdropping on a conversation of some sixth years, maybe he shouldn’t have been so dismissive.

Entering the Great Hall for lunch, Regulus makes a b-line for his seat at the end of the Slytherin table and starts filling his plate absentmindedly, trying to ignore the sight of his brother at the Gryffindor table, talking animatedly to Lupin and Pettigrew, still in those ridiculous clothes. His mind inevitably going to the person who’s conveniently, not among them.

The thing is, Regulus isn’t capable of thinking of a piece of clothing that would look bad on James Potter.

He has seen the guy practising on the Quidditch pitch for Salazar’s sake. He has had a front row of what James’ body looks like when he leans on his broom, quaffle in hand, gaining some speed over his fellow teammates. He has seen how his forearms look when he grips the handle hard and how his thighs squeeze the rear of the broom when he’s doing a particularly hard move so he doesn’t fall.

So no, he doesn't think there’s a piece of clothing that would look bad on him, he could pull any look, especially a crop top, and that is the problem, isn’t it?

Regulus could feel his cheeks warming at the thought. Oh no this is bad, what he’s going to do if he sees him wearing that? He’s going to make a fool of himself and he can’t afford that. No, Regulus needs to get the fuck out of there if he wants to make it with his dignity intact.

Practically stuffing his face, Regulus tries to be as quick as possible, cursing in his mind at the idiot who hexed James Potter to be stuck with that particular piece of clothing, or lack thereof, more like.

“Let it not be said that we don’t do anything nice for you, Regulus,” a voice comes from behind and Regulus freezes and then groans.

Looking up from his plate, he eyes the pair who has taken the seats in front of him, both looking smug as fuck, “You guys are unbelievable,”

Evan hums in agreement, “Aren’t we just?”

“Wasn’t a compliment,”

Barty tuts disapprovingly, stealing a piece of food from Regulus' plate and popping it in his mouth, “Why Regulus, we thought you would be thrilled by this, can’t believe you’re this ungrateful.”

“Crop tops, really?” He huffs, stabbing whatever is left of his chicken, “And don’t get me started on the shorts.”

“Those were my idea,” Evan mentions.

Regulus doesn’t get it, “Why though?”

“We couldn’t be so obvious and only hex Potter, we had to cover our traces,” Barty says, turning his head slightly to look at the Gryffindor table. “Besides, the others look ridiculous, minus your brother of course, the bastard is fit as fuck.”

“Why though?” Regulus repeats, this time even more aggravated at the notion of Barty ogling his brother.

Evan gives him a pointed look, “You know why,”

Regulus drop his gaze, sniffing lightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

Barty smirks at him, “You will,”

There’s a sudden ruckus at the entrance. The voices grow loud and you could hear some whistles here and there but what actually catches Regulus’ eyes when he looks up, is the man at the doors.

Something inside him is pleased to notice he was right about James looking good in any piece of clothing, especially something that would show his really fit body. James is looking a little dishevelled, but that only makes him look even prettier. Still enthralled by the sight of James Potter wearing something this sinful, Regulus notices a little too late a voice shouting really close to him, efficiently taking him out of his rivery.

“Looking good, Potter!”

“Barty!” Regulus hisses in embarrassment as James looks in his direction. And oh, the way he smiles at Regulus as soon as their eyes connect.

Regulus is incapable of doing much else under the intensity of that look, he wants to run like he had planned before. He wants to hide, not only from James but from the way he feels when he’s near. Pathetic as it is, the only thing Regulus is capable of doing is following James as he makes his way to the Slytherin table.

Regulus blinks hard at that. Wait, Slytherin table?

Before Regulus can process that, James is already standing right in front of him.

“Rosier, Crouch,” he greets them, still not taking his eyes off Regulus.

“Potter,” Barty nods in his direction. “Nice shirt, does it come in men’s?”

James grin turns sharp, “You don’t want me to answer that, Crouch,”

“Okay, time to go, have a great one!” Evan practically drags Barty aways as the latter cackles like a madman all the way out of the Great Hall.

When his laugh fades, James is still in front of Regulus and Regulus is purposefully looking at anything but his face, so his gaze inevitably fall at the only thing at his eye-level, James’ stomach.

There are beads of sweet running down over that beautiful golden skin and all Regulus wants, is to touch it to see if it’s as soft as it looks. Wondering how it would feel under his teeth.

James clears his throat to catch Regulus' attention. Unnecessary, since he hasn’t lost it the moment he entered the Great Hall.

“So, Regulus,” he starts.

“Yes?” He can see the trail of hair disappearing under the navy trousers. He’s having a hard time not to reach out and touch it.

He’s being so brave about this whole thing, someone should notified his mind-healer.

A beat of silence and then a hand, reaching for his chin and turning his face up, callous fingers against his soft skin. The sight of James’ playful smile makes something inside him melt.

“My eyes are up here, love.”

His cheeks get warmer out of the embarrassment of being caught. Not that he was subtle in the least but still, embarrassing.

James doesn’t seem to mind in the least.

“You’re blushing,” he notices.

Regulus' face is practically red at this point.

“Shut up,” he grumbles and James chuckles.

“No, no, I like it,” he says, voice soft. “Red looks good on you,” and then he proceed to fucking caressing his cheek.

It’s settled then, Regulus is living inside a romantic novel where making a fool out of yourself in front of someone you fancy is necessary and crop tops are a thing.

“What do you want?”

“Just wanting to say hello,” James says, eyes softening. “Hello,”

“Hi,” Regulus says, like an idiot.

“Fancy a Quidditch game with me?”

Regulus frowns. “Right now?”

“Why not?”

“You’re not wearing the proper gear,”

James smirks, “I think I will manage,”

This is a bad idea, a terrible one and Regulus knows it, everyone knows it and yet— “Lead the way then,”

James lets his hand drop from his face, and it takes all of Regulus not to chase the touch, but the feeling of loss is quickly replaced with excitement when he sees James holding his hand up for Regulus to take.

Regulus does, of course he does.

Hand in hand, they make it to the Quidditch pitch.

Together.

#well. let it not be said I never do anything nice for you guys #happy birthday James!!! #pathetic Reggie my fave Reggie #wait for the slutty shorts James later today!! #and just fyi Sirius looks amazing in that crop top too #also pardon any mistakes I wrote this last night half asleep #anyways enjoy!!! #james potter #James Potter birthday #croptopjames #jegulus #jegulus fic #jegulus microfic #(?) idk

[currentbalochistan]

Akbar Bugti: A man who lived and died as he wished

Sajid Hussain

It’s the first-ever comprehensive profile of prominent Baloch leader, Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti, written by Sajid Hussain. We appreciate if his family members and supporters point out factual mistakes or provide us with additional information.

 

Despite his scandalous politics, Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti is the most talked-about person in Baloch society. With his twirling moustache, keenly trimmed beard, over six-feet-tall stature, candor, bravery, unbending backbone and uncompromising pride, he epitomized a model Baloch character. Ask anyone in Balochistan, they tell you he was the truest Baloch ever, even if they are ignorant of his 60-year-long politics.

Born on July 12, 1927 in Barkhan, he was assassinated on August 26, 2006 in a military raid on the orders of the then military dictator General Pervez Musharraf, who termed it a great military achievement.

His death was followed by days of violent protests and he became the undisputed hero for the Baloch people.

He was the eldest son of Nawab Mehrab Khan Bugti and grandson of Sir Shahbaz Khan Bugti. His father named him Akbar, but, after the incorporation of his grandfather’s name, he was called Nawab Akbar Shahbaz Khan Bugti.

His father died in 1939, and he became the chief of his tribe when he was only 12. Due to his young age, the British Political Agent assigned his half-uncle, who Bugti believed poisoned his father, as the regent and sent him as a ward to famous educationists Allama I.I. Qazi and his German wife Elsa Qazi.

He studied at the Karachi Grammar School and then at the Aitchison College Lahore. He was not allowed to visit Dera Bugti, his hometown, for his safety. He spent his holidays with Qazis.

But he seemed to have enjoyed his time at Aitchison. He excelled in sports: he was the captain of the polo and swimming teams and was good at cricket. He was one of the first CSP officers of Pakistan, but he rather preferred leading his tribesmen than serving as a government official.

At nine or perhaps ten, he was “betrothed to a second cousin, an incident of which he has no memory,” as he told Najma Sadiq, 35 years back in an interview with the Herald magazine.

“Soon after his 15th birthday, the respective mothers and other relatives suddenly turned up in Lahore and Akbar was informed that he was going to be married. It was a quiet affair and in 1943, when only 16, his first child was born. For two consecutive summers he and his brother Ahmed along with the Kazis and their wards, vacationed at a hill-station thirty miles near Simla, his family accompanying too, staying at an adjoining separate house.”

Later he married two more times: once with a Pakhtun woman and then with an Iranian.

Akbar Bugti’s first trip abroad was to attend the crowning ceremony of England’s Queen in 1953. He described the event to Najma Sadiq as: “It was a fine ceremony and I was struck especially by Queen Salote of Tonga; she was seven feet tall and with her huge bulk, she was an impressive figure indeed.”

Despite his modern education, he was a traditional tribal chief. He was five when he shot his first shotgun. “It was a small bore shotgun – not 12 or 16 but 28 bore – one of the smallest. I sat on my haunches and fired. Immediately I was thrown back and the gun fell from my hands,” he told Najma.

But he was not deterred. At the age of 12, he killed his first man.

“Well, the man annoyed me. I’ve forgotten what it was about now, but I shot him dead. I’ve rather a hasty temper you know, but under tribal law of course it wasn’t a capital offence, and, in any case, as the eldest son of the Chieftain I was perfectly entitled to do as I pleased in our own territory. We enjoy absolute sovereignty over our people and they accept this as part of their tradition,” a 21-year-old Bugti told Sylvia Matheson, a British traveler and writer who spent several years in Dera Bugti to research the lifestyle of the Bugti tribesmen. She wrote her experiences in a book, The Tigers of Baluchistan, first published in 1967.

When she asked Bugti about how many men he had killed, he responded he had lost the count.

His long-time friend and the late writer Ardeshir Cowasjee called him “arrogant and handsome”. In September, 2006, Cowasjee wrote for Dawn that when they first met in 1960s in Karachi, Bugti asked him why Cowasjee spelt his name wrongly.

“That I did not react did not please him. He went on to tell me that we silly Parsis did not even know the correct name of their own prophet. He was Zardost and not Zarathustra as many of us ignoramuses were wont to refer to him. He knew all about how the Zoroastrians had fled Iran after the Muslim invasion, fearing for their lives…” Cowasjee wrote.

His knowledge of history was impeccable. An insomniac, who couldn’t sleep at all, he read book after book all night, when everyone else was asleep. He read extensively about English literature, Balochi classical poetry, politics and history. He owned one of the largest private libraries in Pakistan which was destroyed in a 2005 bombing by the military at his Dera Bugti palace, also killing over 60 women and children. A large number of the victims were from the Hindu community who he had allotted lands around his house.

After the videoed aerial bombing that almost killed Bugti, he decided to go to hiding in the mountains. Musharraf blamed him and his tribesmen for bombing military and government installations and launched a full-fledged military operation against him.

Although Bugti never accepted any role in the Baloch armed insurgency that started after 2001, he expressed his support for the Baloch insurgents, saying they were fighting for their due rights.

He was particularly close to Balach Marri, the then head of the Baloch Liberation Army. He said in a televised interview that the military wanted to wipe out him and Balach.

Initially, he claimed he wanted greater autonomy for Balochistan, but as the military operations escalated he said, at least on one occasion, this fight is now for an independent Balochistan.

Despite being among the first few Baloch chieftains to support Balochistan’s amalgamation with Pakistan and supporting Pakistan Muslim League, he had a tumultuous rapport with successive Pakistani governments.

In 1947, he voted in Pakistan’s favour in a Shahi Jirga, which was boycotted by most Baloch politicians, in Quetta.

In 1950, he contested elections for Pakistan’s Constituent Assembly but lost against Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan’s brother.

In 1958, he was elected as a member of the Assembly in a by-election. He served as Interior Minister of State but his tenure was short-lived as President Iskandar Mirza declared martial law in October the same year and dismissed the cabinet.

Due to his opposition to Ayub Khan, he was arrested for allegedly murdering Haybat Khan, his own uncle. He was sentenced to death by a military court but later Ayub Khan ordered his release, commuting the death sentence.

He told journalist Sohail Waraich in a television programme, aik din Geo ke saath, that he spent eight years in jail.

Bugti mocked Cowasjee for writing an apology letter to the then Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto in 1976 for the latter’s release. Bhutto had shown that letter to Bugti. Cowasjee’s letter to Bhutto read:

“Dear Mr Prime Minister, I believe I have caused you annoyance and if I have, I sincerely apologise. I have been your sincere friend and remain so.”

Bugti went on teasing Cowasjee that he was jailed too but he never sought pardon.

Seasoned Baloch politician Ghaus Bakhsh Bizenjo managed to unite Bugti, Ataullah Mengal and Khair Bakhsh Marri on National Awami Party’s platform in the political battle against the infamous one-unit, which had merged the four provinces of West Pakistan as a single polity to undermine the majority of East Pakistan (now Bangladesh).

The one-unit programme, established on November 22, 1954, was eventually dismantled in 1970 and Balochistan got provincial status. Elections were held the same year.

Bugti had been banned from holding political office by the military court since 1960, thus he could not contest the elections. But he campaigned on behalf of the NAP, which formed a coalition government in Balochistan.

Bugti’s younger brother, Ahmed Nawaz Bugti, was elected as a member of the first Balochistan Assembly. Ataullah Mengal became the chief minister and Bezenjo the governor. However, their success was short-lived.

Bugti soon developed serious differences with the NAP government. According to him, he was once attending a NAP meeting, and as the meeting was about to start someone shouted “those who are not formal members of the party should leave”. As Bugti was not a formal member, he realized it was him being referred to. He said he tried to ignore the situation. But the man repeated himself, and Bizenjo, who was present, remained silent. It offended Bugti and he left.

When Bhutto dismantled the Balochistan government in 1973, Bugti supported his move to avenge the “disrespect” shown to him by NAP leaders.

Mengal, Marri and Bizenjo were jailed and a military operation was initiated in Balochistan which lasted till 1977.

Bhutto also took advantage of the sore relationship of Bugti with other Baloch leaders. He appointed him as the governor of Balochistan on Feb 15, 1973. But Bugti said he realized he was being used and he developed serious issues with Bhutto, and eventually resigned, nine months after his appointment.

He remained silent during most of Ziaul Haq’s dictatorship. He did not contest the non-party elections in 1985.

He formed the Balochistan National Alliance in 1988 and contested general elections the same year. He was elected as a member of the Balochistan Assembly and eventually the chief minister. He served as the provincial chief till 1990 when the assemblies were dissolved by the federal government.

In August, 1990, he set up the Jamhoori Watan Party. In the elections the same year, he was again elected as a member of the Balochistan Assembly.

In 1993, he supported Benazir Bhutto and was elected as the member of the National Assembly. Their alliance didn’t last long either, and he initiated an opposition campaign against her.

The last time he held an office was in 1997 when he was elected as a Member of the National Assembly.

He confined himself in Dera Bugti after the murder of his son, Nawabzada Salal Bugti, whom he considered his heir, in June 1992.

On January 2, 2005, Dr Shazia Khalid, a female doctor at the Pakistan Petroleum Limited, was raped by an army captain.

Bugti demanded punishment for the rapist as the incident had happened in his area and he considered it a dishonor to Baloch society. However, the then dictator General Musharraf straightaway spoke in support of his officer and declared the captain innocent without any investigations. It was the beginning of a cold-war between Musharraf and Bugti which eventually turned into a full-fledged battle.

Musharraf’s political advisers — Chaudhry Shujaat Hussain and Mushahid Hussain – tried to resolve the issue through talks.

Sherbbaz Mazari, a seasoned politician and Bugti’s brother-in-law, told this author Shujaat and Mushahid came to his Karachi residence urging him to persuade Bugti for talks.

He said Bugti was initially reluctant because he knew the military leadership was not serious and that they want to get rid of him.

After much persuasion from Mazari, he agreed for talks. The government’s negotiators met him in Dera Bugti. But the talks failed, and Bugti claimed the negotiators had not been given any authority to resolve the issues.

After the 2005 bombing at his residence by the military, he went into hiding in the mountains. He was 86 and couldn’t walk properly because of a tumour. He seemed certain he will be assassinated.

According to Sherbaz, he called him a few days ahead of his assassination to say good-bye to him.

“It’s better to die with your spurs on, Instead of a slow death in bed, I’d rather death come to me while I’m fighting for a purpose,” he told Time Magazine in his last interview.

On August 26, 2006, his hideout was bombed, killing Bugti and dozens of his supporters. Twenty-one army soldiers were also killed in the ensuing battle.

Violent protests erupted throughout Balochistan. Government offices and machinery were burnt into ashes by angry protesters. His body, sealed in a coffin, was buried in Dera Bugti without the presence of his family.

Bugti’s murdered changed Balochistan’s politics forever. It not only gave a new impetus to the Baloch insurgency for a separate homeland, it also made Bugti the undisputed hero of the contemporary Baloch politics.

He is no longer remembered as the young man who voted for Pakistan. For the Baloch separatists, his image is that of an old but strong man on a camel leading the Baloch fighters.