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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

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timeless - prelude

PAIRING: medieval!james “bucky” barnes x reader

WARNINGS: sexual content (18+)

A/N: hello! sorry for my inactivity later with tags and fanfics, i recently moved out of my home into a new one and it took quite a while to set everything up but finally everything is a bit calmer. i hope you enjoy this new work, i’m extremely proud of it xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Time.

Time is an odd concept. The dictionary describes time as the indefinite continued progress of existence and events that occur in an apparently irreversible succession from the past, through the present, into the future. Yet, would it be fair to describe time in such technical words when the movement itself is so ... controversial. For some, time runs fast, like a drop falling from a leaf onto the river, its consequences reverberating in several rings. For others, the ticking of the clock seems like a painful reminder that every single second lasts forever. However, for some, time is just paused almost as if they’re living in their own life repetition and therefore time has lost all meaning and no definition would apply to it. Time after all is of the earth, it’s not a human concept, it’s not something humanity discovered and coined as their own as they would wish. It is merely a thing of innocence of the Earth seen in the blooming flowers and the falling leaves, the growing of flora and the birthing of fauna. Yet, for some time is seen on their faces, the wrinkles and lines that accentuate their skins, scars that never faded, ages rising and the loss of opportunities. For those, if it were possible to freeze time, to reverse it or extend it, they would do it in a blink of an eye and so is the pure innocence of longing defiled.

Lady Y/N of Arendelle had no particular affinity towards time. In all honesty, she barely thought about it yet for some reason the forces of nature had bestowed, unbeknownst to her, with the particular gift of giving people time. Why had it been given to her out of all people was a mystery. She was an ordinary girl born in the last second of the last day of the year when the snow covered the ground white, mostly surrounded in mystery. While her mother, Lady Catherine Bouvaire was one who made her way into the most prestigious circles of society in Arendelle from peasant to the Queen’s lady in waiting, Lady Y/N seemed to be locked away from society in their little cottage. “The outside world is cruel, too cruel for someone like you” is what she would constantly say to Y/N. However, no matter how harshly you try to grip onto time it eventually caught up to her. As the Queen’s eldest daughter caught the attention of the future King of Genoa, quickly enough was this locked environment broken. The Queen of Arendelle believed her daughter should take someone trustworthy, someone to remind her of home and no better person fitted that description than the naively protected daughter of her lady in waiting.

Catherine had protested, arguing that her daughter was much to innocent to join the court of such a prolific kingdom. However, she was merely a lady and what the Queen wants goes. Nevertheless, Catherine would not let her precious daughter go, no, she needed more time and if that meant moving with her to another kingdom, then she would gladly do so. And so, Y/N was thrown inside a carriage with princess Odette which took both women away from what they had known for ages.

They rode the road for a full month, enduring the harsh rains of mid September until, on a late afternoon, the carriage came to a halt in front of the place she would have to call home from now on. The castle grounds were protected by a great wall, tall enough you’d have to strain your eye muscles to find its end, tall enough to look like another prison to keep Y/N. Her mother, whose home arrangements were different to hers, had warned her to be careful with Genoa’s court, not to trust any of the men that paraded the parties. “They are never going to marry you, all they want is a break from their contracted marriages and would use her and leave” is what she said before being separated into a different carriage and Y/N believed her. She remembered the stories her mother had told her, women thrown into the street, into reckless lives and poverty. No, Y/N was there for Odette and no other motive. Yet, she couldn’t deny it was exciting to be somewhere else, to see other things and other people.

The castle itself was old and small dust seemed to be falling from the walls, exposing the building’s foundation that used to look like a second world wonder, she thought. The windows, however, were crystal clear and glistening in the dark cloudy afternoon which was already setting on the opposite side of the building, casting a great shadow.

Her shoes touched the perfectly cropped grass and she was ushered into the palace and straight into her living quarters. It was huge, bigger than her old home and while the outside of the palace looked rather somber, the inside was ostentatious, decorated in dark burgundies, whites and shades of gold enough to make anyone gasp at first sight. Y/N felt like she was dreaming wide awake as she explored every nook of her new bedroom, observing the art, the books and the instruments placed for her own enjoyment.

She couldn’t help but throw herself into the comfortable bed, a small child like giggle escaping her rose painted lips. Yet, she had little to no time to enjoy her new bedroom as the Queen and King of Genoa wanted to welcome the Princess of Arendelle and her entourage with a banquet and Y/N couldn’t be any more excited. With a white ivory dress loosely falling from her shoulders, she joined her princess who was looking at the wall as if it held away the biggest monsters ever created.

- You’ll be fine. - Y/N spoke out, placing a hand on top of her shoulder. - Prince William absolutely loves you, you have nothing to worry about.

- It’s not Prince William, it’s his parents.

- I’ve heard they’re fair rulers.

- Yes but we come from a small kingdom what if they decide it’s an alliance they don’t want? - Y/N merely gave her a soft smile, almost like a promise that she would be fine. The big white and gold engraved doors were opened to a crowd of a thousand faces all in awe of the beautiful foreign princess. Y/N, on the other hand, was in awe of the sheer beauty and light of the room. It was so much different from the walls of the little cottage her mother kept her in, it was light, breezy, bashed in oranges and yellows coming from the flickering flames of various white candles held by the chandeliers and walls. It was almost like a scene straight out a painting and suddenly the crowd of a thousand faces seemed to melt as she was on cloud 9. The scents were of wild fruits and sweetness which possibly came from the beautifully decorated decadent desserts standing on the long table.

She was much too distracted with the sheer delicateness of the world outside her cottage walls to even notice she had been sat quite far from the only person she knew. Instead, she was sat by some of the other court ladies, her dress majorly overshadowed by the precious stones sewn onto the silks and velvet of the Queen’s ladies. Nevertheless, she found something else to be fascinated by, that being the golden cutlery meticulously placed by the sides of the porcelain engraved plates. In that moment, despite her mind telling her it would be bad to be glad about it, she felt like being away from her mother was a blessing.

This dazed dream was broken as she felt a gaze burn on her figure, almost as if she was being watched. Gently and slowly, she raised her eyes from the plate, the atmosphere of the dinner being of joy and hope for the new soon to be rulers too lost for someone to notice her, at least she thought so but was wrong as standing a bit left from her front was a very well dressed man, in shades of burgundy and black with a gold heavy medal weighting from his breast pocket looking at her. He looked almost curious, lines creasing on his forehead as his ocean eyes were glued that left her feeling almost naked to his sight.

- Are you alright? - one of the ladies sat next to her, the one in a ruffled lavender dress asked, noticing how quickly Y/N had resorted to looking back to her food, barely touched.

- Who’s that man? - she slightly moved her head in his direction.

- That’s Grand Duke Barnes of Addia. He’s one of the King’s advisors, people say he killed his wife.

- Not too loud, Eliza. - another lady dressed in baby pink scolded.

- That’s surely just gossip. - Y/N commented.

- Gossip or not, everyone in Addia could hear screaming during the Great Fire. Yet again, royals can get away with anything and everything.

Y/N nodded, looking back to her plate but not before looking up to the grand Duke one last time. It wasn’t exactly shocking news to her what men of court could do. Her mother had told her they were either adulterers, power hungry or untrustworthy men, however, she thought there would be some sort of justice. The dinner continued to go smoothly with Odette spending more and more time sharing romantic looks with her husband to be. Soon enough, she was on the dance floor with him, laughing and telling each other sweet nothings that made anyone and everyone watching smile.

Y/N wasn’t immune to that smile either, standing a bit further removed from the dance floor with her hands on top of her dress fabric. The sweet lullabies played by the orchestra had her head moving slowly from side to side until an overflow of the scent of freshly picked roses made itself quite pronounceable. She looked around looking from here the scent could be coming from as all the flowers scattered around the room were that of Genoa’s flag, lilies. No roses.

- How come you’re not dancing, milady?

- Oh, I’m not one for dan ... - she stopped mid sentence as she rustled through the fabric of her dress to notice who was speaking to her. There he was again, making her take a step back out of fright of what she had heard from Eliza at the dinning table.

He looked somewhat surrounded in an air of mysteriousness costumed by the formal clothing such as his perfectly tailored burgundy jacket whose colour matching the ribbon keeping his long hair away from his face in a low ponytail. There was no denying he was a handsome man but Y/N couldn’t help but keep her guard up. There was always some underlying truth to rumours.

- I’m afraid I’ve never learned how to dance, Grand Duke.

- Please do join me in the floors, milady.

- No, my lord you really don’t understand, I can’t dance ... at all. I would embarrass my princess.

- I’m a good lead. - he extended his gloved hand towards her. She guessed he couldn’t harm her while surrounded by several people including guards. - Please, milady, do me the honour of accompanying me.

She looked at his black matte glove covered his hand which was extended towards her chest and then back to his face and the guards stood in front of every single exit. “You’ll be fine” a voice said inside of her and shakingly she placed her delicate and polished hand on top of the leather, shivering once she felt its texture. Before Y/N could change her mind, he had already led her slightly off centre in the dance grounds, a free hand gently setting itself on her waist.

The young girl could feel her heart beat against her thoracic cage as the violins and flutes led the dance along with him. It was an odd feeling, it felt peaceful and yet she was rather scared to dance with the man rumoured to have murdered his wife. The Grand Duke seemed to notice her unwillingness as the lines of his forehead and eyes creased even more and his grip on her softened.

- You shouldn’t believe in everything you hear. - he whispered against her ear, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms. Her eyes gazed his, lips slightly parted as she wondered if he had heard Eliza back at the dinner table, something she would’ve questioned him about had it not been for the ceasing music. As the music came to an end, he took a step back, bowing to her before disappearing between the crowds leaving her in the middle of the dance floor as another song begun.

- There you are. - a familiar voice broke through her haze of confusion. - I think we should retire for tonight. What do you think?

- I think it’s a great idea.

In all honesty, Y/N was glad Odette wanted to retire from the ball and return to her chambers but it wasn’t without peaking curiosity that she left the room, eyes lingering on the crowds looking yet failing to find the Grand Duke. The orange and yellow lights dimmed as the doors were closed behind the two women and with a sigh, she followed Odette to her chambers, starting the routine taught to her back in Arendelle to get the princess ready for bed. Once she was settled in her silk bedding, Y/N left the room to reach hers, a small golden candelabra held by her hands as she made her way through the halls.

The walls are hollow inside and it is as if they are whispering at her when the wind howls inside them and the rain hits the foot long glass windows, the image strengthened by the portraits of the several monarchs of Genoa. She climbed the staircase slowly, each step creaking at the slighest weight her feet put on the old wood and then creaking some more when the weight on it is loosened and disappear. Slowly but surely, with her heart beating like a drum, the lady in waiting reached the top of the stairs. Suddenly, her heart beat seemed to intensify its beating in her ears for no reason and, once she held her dainty fingers against them, they are hot to the touch and the saying of the Arendelle people echoed like a curse in her brain: “If your ears are red and warm, it means someone must be talking about you”. She shuddered at the thought, specially considering she stood alone atop the stairs.

Once she was back inside the safety of her chambers, she closed the door behind her and enter the soft cold and unknown bed quickly, throwing her clothes to the side, stretching her legs under the covers and pulling the white sheets up to her chest. Her eyes flutter slowly, staring up at the ceiling and the small chandelier hanging from it and, suddenly, she drifts off to sleep lulled by the falling rain: she felt airy, as if her limbs are being held up in the air and she fluttered her eyes open to the dream land that awaited her.

And at the end of the bed is the Grand Duke. He is naked and he crawls to the bed, hands slowly sliding down her sides as he towers over her and, she too, is naked. She sweated and stared at the man’s face and at the medallion hanging from his neck that rocks back and forth as he moves closer and pulls her knees up and apart.

He’s hard and slick with cum already and she’s not entirely not sure what took over her good morality, but she pulled her legs apart willingly and let him move closer and closer to her and her aching heat.

tag list: @lookiamtrying @kmuir1 @anxiousdreamersworld @tinymalscoffee

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sirestoffels97 · 4 years

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shewholovestoread · 7 years

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Game of Thrones Season 7 Episode 6 - Beyond the Wall

So, i finally caved.. I thought I would wait for the episode to air but the temptation was too great. This season feels more and more like it’s devolving and that’s not a good thing. The writing seems to have gone from bad to worse with characters being dumbed-down and some straight-up being ruined.

Now, I will discuss the episode here so all my thoughts are under the cut.

Let’s start with the world’s dumbest idea ever, get a wight south of the wall. I’m stunned that Tyrion thought this was a good idea and that Jon decided to go on the hunt. He’s a king for crying out loud, his people need him alive, not frozen to death somewhere or worse, undead, under the Night King’s thrall. The sheer amount of things that could have gone wrong were through of the roof. I’m sorry Davos, but you need to be doing a better job when it comes to advising your king, the one you’re supposed to help survive.

And then hooray! they got one wight and lost good men and a dragon in the process, I’m not sure I would call that a fair trade. That Dragon is now under the Night King’s control and is about to become a royal pain in the ass! Ugh!! The stupidity is astounding!

I did like Dany in this episode. I don’t much care for the Jon x Dany relationship that’s being shoved down our throats but it’s okay, I’ll live. I did like that she doesn’t completely rely on Tyrion’s advice. I love Tyrion but not doing anything was not sound advice. As Dany stated, her inaction already cost her Dorne and Highgarden, she wasn’t about to lose a potential alliance with the King in the North.

On a side note, there seems to some space-time issues with this season. How did Dany and her dragons get to Jon and his men so quickly? Can dragons also teleport? It made no sense.

We have the boatbang! to look forward to next episode an honestly, I don’t care either way. First off, how and why is Dany suddenly in love with Jon? They’ve hardly spent any time together and when they were, they always viewed each other with wariness. Besides, I thought she was too busy on her mission to get together with yet another guy.

And need I remind you that they are both Targs and Dany’s primary goal is to sit on the Iron Throne, she will tolerate no competition. Also Jon’s Targ status puts his kinghsip in serious jeopardy. The Northern Lords DO NOT like the Targs, they don’t trust them. They will not be happy that he bent his knee and worse, expects them to do the same. Even Sansa will have a tough time accepting this. This is Jon’s shortcoming, his inability to see that the people he claims to lead might be unhappy and dissatisfied with his decisions. What’s his plan should they refuse to bend their knee? He can’t very well force them to, he doesn’t have a personal army to get them to threaten them into agreeing with him. They don’t like Dany, a foreign invader and they will trust Jon even less when his true lineage is revealed.

The whole Sansa vs Arya plot is so annoying and exceptionally badly written. It makes no sense for the sisters to be fighting. Neither one of them is who they were all those years ago. They’ve both changed and in ways that neither of them foresaw. Arya, at least, knew she wanted to be an assassin and trained for it. But Sansa? Humiliated, raped and tortured. The ONLY reason she survived was because she was smart. She wasn’t wrong when she said that Arya would not have survived KL as she did just as it is true that Sansa could not survived the training that Arya underwent. They both went through horrible things but where Arya chose her path, Sansa didn’t get the same luxury.

We, the audience know that LF is playing the two sisters against each other. He wants to isolate Sansa and for a second I thought it worked when she went to him to ask him about the letter. But I still think that Sansa hasn’t fallen for his games even though Arya seems to have. He mentions Brienne and that in a conflict between the two sisters, Brienne would be honour-bound to intercede. One would think that with the intensity of the conflict between the two sisters, it would make sense to have her there. Instead, Sansa sends her away. Why do that unless she wanted her far away so she wouldn’t get sucked into LF’s schemes. Think about it, having Brienne by her side makes her stronger because so long as Brienne is with her, it would give Arya pause because she too likes her.

I think the scene where Sansa and LF are talking, Sansa is trying to gauge LF’s true motives. She’s also trying to gather where Arya might have gotten the letter from and she confirmed her suspicions about him. Why would LF keep that particular letter when it serves no purpose, except it puts Sansa in a precarious position.

The second scene with Arya and Sansa was especially painful to watch. You could see the horror on Sansa’s face and the fear. She honestly thought that Arya was going to kill her and wear her face. UGH! Both Sophie Turner and Maisie Williams are so good in that scene. Also when did Arya turn into a certifiable psychopath that she would threaten her own sister. Come on D & D!! This is some shitty writing and conflict for the sake of conflict. Seeing these two women who have gone through so much and are finally together and instead of banding together and supporting each other, they are at each others’ throats.

*Also, Bran, feel free to jump in anytime what with you being the all-seeing Three-Eyed Raven and what not. How can he not see what’s happening right under his nose. LF is playing his sisters against each other while he continues to brood in his chair.*

But the bit that threw me off was when Arya gave the Valerian steel dagger to Sansa. One way of looking at it was Arya telling her that she could have the dagger but it wouldn’t help her, Sansa would never see her coming. But that’s not how the scene was played. The handing over suddenly breaks the tension and you can see the confusion on Sansa’s face. She doesn’t see it as a tool of defense against Arya. She has no idea why Arya handed it over.

Which leads me think that it will be Sansa who will kill LF with the Valerian steel dagger. LF tried to give it to Bran who in turn gave it to Arya and who finally handed it over to Sansa. We also have her dialogue from the trailer, “The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.” Of course, I could be wrong, but in that case, it makes no sense for Sansa to have the dagger. She’s not one to wield a weapon, her weapons of choice are her wits. But for LF, she’s going to make an exception. She was the one who ordered Ramsay's death and even stood and watched as his own dogs ate him alive. But with LF, things will get even more personal, he was instrumental in Ned’s death and got the whole thing rolling. He is personally responsible for Sansa’s rape at Ramsay’s hands. It would be poetic justice for her to kill him. All the while looking into his eyes and seeing as he finally realises that he’s been outplayed with Arya standing behind her, a smug smile on her face. I need this to happen. I need Arya and Sansa to be a unified front and fuck anyone who tries to fuck with the Starks.

P.S. - I love that little head tilt that Sansa does when she’s trying to be brave. It gets me every time.

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jennycalendar · 7 years

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on heroes

“History and prophecy are not written rules unless we let them be. Slayers shouldn’t fight alone.”

An alternate take on Prophecy Girl, set in s1.

ao3

for @sih bc their headcanony conversations w me inspired this and i love them!!!!!!!! so much!!!!!!

Jenny wants to say something, when Rupert looks up at her with those cold, determined green eyes, but she’s seen that look on so many faces too many times. She’s spent enough time trying to change hearts and change minds to know when there’s nothing to be done.

Don’t, she wants to say, and it feels wildly inadequate, because—shouldn’t she be telling him how brave he is, how heroic? Shouldn’t someone? Maybe that’s not what heroes need, though. Maybe they don’t even realize how good they are.

“Don’t,” says Jenny anyway. Her voice comes out smaller and more vulnerable than she’s ever let it be in front of him.

The fact of the matter is that she’s selfish. She’s not like him. She’s felt so isolated in this small suburban town, on a mission of vengeance that her heart was never really in. When she looks at Rupert, she feels like there’s someone she can at least be mostly honest with, if not all the way. All the way honest is a little too honest for Jenny. Always has been.

She sees Rupert falter at the look on her face. She wonders how afraid she must be, to make him look like that. “Are you quite all right?” he asks, sounding honestly surprised.

Jenny has never been good with emotions, and she doesn’t know what to tell Rupert. I don’t want you to die seems too clingy for two people who only sort of know each other, but she’s been so lonely for so long, and some part of her still hopes that she and Rupert can form some sort of friendship from this alliance. He trusts her, clearly, enough to tell her that he’s a Watcher—why can’t she be honest with him about this?

“He’s a centuries-old vampire.” Jenny has to force out every word. “You can’t just—charge in and kill him like some kind of conquering hero. It’s stupid.” God, this is not what she wants to get across, but maybe if she gets him angry enough, he’ll forget about being heroic. “Stupid, and—and elitist—”

“Elitist,” Rupert repeats. He sounds dryly amused. It unnerves Jenny that he’s this calm about going in on a suicide mission. “Ms. Calendar, I’m well aware that you think little of my values—”

“Shut up, okay?” Jenny moves forward, skirting the table to stand in front of him. “Just—shut up. I don’t want to hear about it. This vampire is going to kill you, and Buffy will not be happy about her Watcher being killed, and, and what am I supposed to do when the Vampire Slayer finds out that I just let her Watcher go down and get killed?”

Rupert’s face softens. Jenny feels uncomfortably understood and has to take a step away. “I really am sorry,” he says. “I—I can understand how this sort of thing can be distressing to hear.”

“And you’re going to miss finals,” Jenny finishes loudly. She doesn’t like the thought of Rupert recognizing her as distressed. She’s not distressed, anyway. She’s just—shaken. Because of the deaths. And the earthquake. Earthquakes do tend to shake people up.

“I trust that you’ll tell Buffy—” Rupert begins.

Jenny looks at him, and—oh, god, she’s not brave, she’s not special, she’s not a Slayer or a Watcher or a vampire trapped under the ground. But she imagines becoming the kind of person who lets someone go charging off to their death alone, imagines Rupert becoming another name on the list of Sunnydale High casualties, imagines living with the knowledge that she could have done something—

“I’m coming with you,” she says.

A series of emotions flicker across Rupert’s face. First bemusement, then wide-eyed shock, then a soft, surprised kind of appreciation, but he seems to settle on indignance long enough to say sharply, “Absolutely not.”

Jenny feels a rush of fury at the fact that he thinks he can just stop her from doing things, and decides to focus on that instead of the sheer terror that comes with the thought of her facing the Master. “Oh, you are not serious,” she retorts, taking a step forward and stabbing Rupert’s chest with her finger. “You don’t get to play the—the Watcher card or whatever the hell this is right now. I helped you with Moloch, so I’m helping you with this.”

“This is an entirely different area of expertise,” Rupert says. To Jenny’s surprise, he’s beginning to look frightened, much more so than when he was talking about going down to face the Master by himself.

“Wow, you really can’t work with a team, can you?” Jenny crosses her arms and begins to stalk over to the weapons cabinet.

Rupert grabs her shoulder, pulling her back to face him. “I will not be responsible for any deaths tonight,” he says fiercely, “be it through action or inaction. You are staying here.”

“Oh, of course,” says Jenny very sarcastically, “because orders work so well on impressionable, fragile women like me.” She looks up at him, almost comforted by their argument. It feels so much easier to be angry at Rupert than to be scared for him. “You know I’m just going to follow you,” she says. “Why don’t you at least make sure I’m properly armed?”

Rupert hasn’t let go of her shoulder. “He is a centuries-old vampire,” he says quietly. “Chances are that he will kill us both without hesitation.”

“I’m not letting you die by yourself in some weird underground chamber,” says Jenny angrily, and realizes too late the genuine honesty behind the statement. The anger is gone very abruptly when she sees the change in the way Rupert’s looking at her, and she tries to fumble for something else to say. “Snob,” she manages, but her voice breaks.

Rupert gives her a wobbly smile. Quietly, his hand lets go of her shoulder, grazing her arm before moving to tangle her fingers with his. “Annoyance,” he murmurs, and it almost feels like he’s trying to comfort her.

“Luddite,” Jenny forces out. It doesn’t make the situation feel any less frightening or any more normal.

“Thank you,” says Rupert quietly without letting go of Jenny’s hand. It’s very clear that he’s not talking about being called a Luddite. “I would never have expected this of you. Nor asked it.”

“Yeah, well,” says Jenny awkwardly. She doesn’t know what to do with herself.

This is when Buffy comes in, slow and deliberate. She looks slightly startled upon seeing Jenny, but doesn’t comment, just looks to Rupert and says, “I’m going.”

“You are most certainly not,” says Rupert, and his hand tightens around Jenny’s.

“What, and you and Ms. Calendar are?” Buffy’s got that same determined look on her face that Jenny had seen on Rupert just a few moments ago.

Jenny’s had enough time to work through her dumb-struck hesitation to know that she can’t stand by and let a sixteen-year-old girl go down by herself. She thinks, casting around desperately for something that will give Buffy pause— “Prophecy,” she says, tugging her hand free of Rupert’s, “is a stupid thing to live your life by. You let yourself be ruled by what some guys and their books have decided, you end your life just because you’re so determined to be the Slayer—”

“What do you know?” Buffy’s voice is hard and angry all of a sudden, no longer detached and resigned. Jenny knows enough from arguments with Rupert to know that this in itself is a small victory. “You can’t possibly know anything from a five-minute briefing session Giles gave you. Being the Slayer is my life. It’s who I am. It’s not something I can discard at will just because I think my life is more important then the people the Master’s gonna kill if he walks free.” Her eyes are glimmering with tears. “I want to live,” she says, and it’s both fierce and small.

Jenny breathes out. She doesn’t know what to say.

“Prophecy is what I’ve lived my life by ever since they told me what I was,” says Buffy, and sniffles. “I’ve already made my decision on this. Please don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

Maybe things would have turned out differently if Jenny hadn’t looked over at Rupert. But when she does, she understands exactly why he was ready to fight the Master for this girl. He’s looking at Buffy like his whole world has condensed to the tears in her eyes, and Jenny knows just like that—Buffy is Rupert’s world.

“Buffy,” he says, very softly. Almost a plea.

“Prophecy says you have to fight the Master.” Jenny steps up, and now she’s crossing her arms to keep them from shaking. “P-prophecy doesn’t say that you have to do it alone.”

Rupert looks over at Jenny. So does Buffy. She’s expecting them both to launch into another argument, each trying to get the other to stay behind, but then Rupert says, “I agree.”

“Giles—” Buffy begins.

“I was wrong. I’ll readily admit it.” Rupert looks back up at Buffy. “History and prophecy are not written rules unless we let them be. Slayers shouldn’t fight alone.”

“One girl in all the world—”

“And Rupert,” says Jenny. “And me.”

“And us.”

All eyes turn to the two figures standing by the counter. Willow’s gripping one of the swords from the book cage, and Xander’s fumbling with a mace.

“No,” says Buffy sharply. “Guys, Giles and Ms. Calendar are adults. I can’t stop them on this one.”

“And you can’t stop us, either,” Willow replies with that tender stubbornness that usually makes Jenny smile. Right now, it’s making her feel nauseous.

“Yeah,” Xander agrees, and nearly drops the mace on his own foot.

“Actually, I agree with Buffy on this one.” Rupert moves forward, trying to tug the mace away from Xander. “Xander, Willow—you two are hardly prepared, I couldn’t let you—listen, just, just stay with Ms. Calendar—”

“Oh, you are not sidelining me,” says Jenny sharply.

“Ms. Calendar’s going?” Willow sounds horrified. “Giles, she’s never fought anything before!”

“Willow, you’re fifteen, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go down and fight a vampire,” Jenny retorts.

“Give me the mace!” Rupert’s snapping at Xander.

“No way, Giles!” Xander bursts out.

“Look, you’re not being reasonable—” Jenny persists.

“Just because I’m fifteen—” Willow begins angrily.

“WOULD EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP?” Buffy shouts.

Rupert lets go of the mace, eyes wide. Jenny turns to look up at Buffy, and Xander and Willow seem to do the same.

“No one is getting anywhere,” says Buffy fiercely, “if all we do is yell at each other about who’s going and who’s not. There are two things that are very clear right now: no one wants the Master to get out, and no one wants anyone else in this room to go down and fight him and possibly die.” She looks over at Giles, and her expression softens. “Which means a lot,” she says, “but I don’t think now’s the time for anyone to try and play the lone hero.”

Rupert nods, trying to smile.

“If we do this,” says Buffy, “we do this together.”

This is not at all the way Jenny saw prom night going. “I’m in,” she says, and steps forward, bumping her shoulder lightly against Rupert’s. As an afterthought, she turns to him and informs him, “You owe me a dance at prom when we get back.”

“Most certainly,” says Rupert, who’s giving her that shy, appreciating look again. Jenny’s not sure what to make of it. He looks back up at Buffy, and says, “I-I agree. I’ll join you.”

“And us too, Buffy, it goes without saying,” says Willow, giving Buffy a shaky, frightened grin. Jenny tries to imagine how brave Willow must be, and can’t. At fifteen, she would have run from the room at the thought of fighting a master vampire. “We’re gonna take him down.”

“Sure are,” Xander agrees. “Now, let me put back this mace. There’s no way I can figure out how to use it.”

The kids head towards the weapons cage, and Jenny heads toward Rupert. She wants to say something—she’s not sure what—but he beats her to it with a, “There’s still time for you to back down, you know.”

A few months back, this would have made Jenny furious. But she sees the fear and worry in Rupert’s gaze when he looks at her, and she knows that his reminder doesn’t come from a place of condescension. He wants her safe, she realizes. It’s the first time in a long while that someone’s thought to want that. “I’m going,” she says with conviction. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t die.”

She waits for Rupert to laugh quietly, or sigh dramatically, but he just looks at her and says shyly, “I-I believe I’ll rather like dancing with you, when we get back.”

God, he’s so genuine. It makes Jenny feel weirdly happy, looking at him, especially considering that they’re probably going to die in like five minutes. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that’ll be nice.”

There’s a little kid waiting outside the school, pale and expressionless. “Help me,” he says, walking straight up to Buffy without any regard for the rest of them.

“And the Slayer will not know him,” says Rupert quietly, “and he will lead her into hell.”

Jenny wishes she was brave enough to kill the little demon, but all she can think about is how sad his mom must be. Wherever she is. Maybe his mom’s dead too.

Buffy looks over at Giles, then takes the kid’s hand. “All right, guys,” she says.

“Only you,” says the Anointed One.

Buffy smiles, then, the first real smile Jenny’s seen from her since she entered the library. Her hand tightens on the Anointed One’s. “Sorry,” she says. “My friends are a package deal.”

Xander loads his crossbow in what seems to be an attempt to look threatening and nearly stabs himself in the hand with one of the bolts. Next to them, Willow readies her sword.

“I won’t take you to him if you aren’t alone,” the Anointed One informs Buffy. “Prophecy says—”

“We defy prophecy,” says Rupert, and it’s the first time that Jenny’s felt all warm and happy to hear him sounding his austere, snobby self. Not that he’s actually a snob—that’s become remarkably clear tonight. But still. “We are going. And there’s nothing you can do to change our minds.”

The Anointed One looks at them, looks at Buffy, seems to decide that it isn’t worth a fight, and says, “It’s your funeral.” Turning, he begins to walk, heading towards…the sewers.

Gross.

“Do vampires just…habitually live in disgusting places?” Jenny asks Rupert quietly as they walk. “Is that just a thing with them? Like, you know, they drink blood, they kill humans, they live in awful little holes in the ground?”

“You are quite exasperatingly yourself in every scenario,” says Rupert, but he’s smiling a little. “Are you—holding a baseball bat?”

“I’m not using a giant broadsword or a knife or whatever,” Jenny informs him seriously. “I have the keys to the PE locker, and I utilized them.” She smiles back. “Plus, I played softball in college. I’ve got a killer swing.”

The Anointed One gives Jenny a weird look over his shoulder, as though he doesn’t get why she’s talking about softball when she’s walking to her doom. Jenny gives him a look back, partially because she doesn’t get it either and partially because she doesn’t appreciate getting weird looks from their pint-sized vampire tour guide.

It’s eerie in the sewers, half-lit by torches that don’t do that great a job of illuminating their path. Jenny finds herself holding onto the sleeve of Rupert’s tweed jacket, just to make sure she knows where she’s going and doesn’t stumble and fall and get murdered by the Master, who maybe decided to sneak up on them. Maybe this whole thing with the Anointed One is a ruse. Maybe he’s lying in wait. Maybe—

Rupert’s jacket slips out of Jenny’s grasp, and there’s a jolt of panic until she feels his hand move to take hers. “You’ll be all right,” he says very quietly. “I promise.”

There’s nothing even remotely reassuring about that, no matter how much Jenny wants to find comfort in his words. She’s starting to wish that she’d just let Rupert and the kids go off into these sewers and—and gone home. Had some tea.

Found out the next day that everyone she cared about in this town was dead.

Yeah, no. Much as Jenny hates this oppressive, awful fear, she knows she’s made the right decision. She holds tightly to Rupert’s hand as they enter a more well-lit area—an entrance, she realizes.

The Anointed One stops, letting go of Buffy’s hand, and points down towards the stone steps. He pushes past them all, not seeming all that interested in drinking anyone’s blood. Small mercies, Jenny thinks. Imagine having that be the way she died—kindergarten vampire food.

Buffy steps forward first, then Willow and Xander, then Jenny and Rupert. Jenny wants to be brave enough to let go of Rupert’s hand. She isn’t. Surprising, that Rupert doesn’t seem to think less of her for holding on so tightly. If we don’t die, she thinks, I’m going to tell him how wrong I was about him. Somehow.

“Fascinating,” says a low, old voice.

Jenny can’t let go of Rupert’s hand. She really needs to, but she can’t let go of Rupert’s hand.

“The Slayer isn’t usually foolish enough to bring along a little posse,” says the Master, moving forward and out of the shadows. His gaze flits from Buffy to Willow to Xander to Rupert to Jenny. He doesn’t pause on her, which is a little bit of a relief.

Jenny can’t imagine being as brave as Buffy is now, staring down the Master with nothing but contempt in her eyes. “Some people call it foolish,” Buffy says, taking a step forward. There’s no fear in her. “I call it strength.”

“Strength,” the Master repeats with amusement. “You call it strength, that you need so many weak mortals around to believe you will defeat me? I call it a security blanket.”

“Then you’re stupider than I thought,” says Willow, her voice high and angry. “A-and there’s no shame in having security blankets!”

“Being afraid is only a weakness to weak people,” says Rupert, in a cold, reserved sort of way. His thumb strokes Jenny’s hand comfortingly. “I expect you wouldn’t understand that sort of thing.”

Buffy takes another step forward, studying the Master. “I’ve spent a lot of time being told that it’s a Chosen One who has to slay the vampires,” she tells him, her voice bouncy-conversational in the same way Jenny’s heard her speak to teachers and friends and parents alike. “I’ve heard that in the end, it’s a final showdown between you and me.” She looks over her shoulder, smiling at them all with tender appreciation, and Jenny starts to understand why it’s this girl that Rupert would have given his life trying to keep from a prophesized death. “But I have people who care too much about me to believe that,” she says, “and what that tells me is that there’s no reason I should be scared of you.”

The Master scoffs. “How comforted will you be when I paint the walls red with the blood of your friends?” he demands, and raises a hand towards Willow.

Jenny sees the look in his eyes, the way his hands reach with those claws. She’s read enough about vampiric thralls to know what the Master’s about to do, and—and she’s seen too many deaths in this town to let a girl like Willow fall. “You’re stalling,” she says loudly, determined to distract him, make him angry.

The Master turns to her. “How so?” he inquires, indifferent yet inquiring, kind of the way a cat plays with a mouse.

Jenny hates that metaphor. She wishes she had time to think of something a little less cliché. “You don’t need to hurt any of us,” she says, and tries to think of all the stupid things Rupert’s done so that she can be angry enough to be brave. But all she can think of is his sweet little half-smile, the kind that makes her want to stay in one place instead of run, and the way it feels when she knows she’s surprised him.

She thinks about that, and—she’s okay. She’s good with what happens. Well, not really, because she’s not that much of a hero, but she figures that she’s lived enough of a life to go out making fun of a master vampire. Way more impressive than getting eaten by the Anointed One. Jenny’s getting off topic.

“Fear’s what controls the weak,” says Jenny, looking straight at the Master. She’s kind of borrowing Rupert’s words, but whatever distracts the Master works well enough for her. “Love is what motivates the strong.”

“And you think that because I attack you, I am afraid?” The Master sounds cruelly amused by this. “Foolish woman. For one so well-spoken—”

“I think you’re too afraid to attack the Slayer directly,” says Rupert, who seems to understand what Jenny’s trying to do.

“I think what they’re getting at is that you’re a big old chicken,” Xander puts in.

“I think you could do with a nose job!” Willow puts in, looking exhilarated by her own bravery.

Buffy looks behind her, and there’s a sparkle in her eye. “My friends,” she says, and there’s a beautiful, bright smile on her face. “They’ve always got my back. Who’s got your back when we kick your ass?”

And that’s when Rupert rushes the Master.

Rupert is the one who picked up the mace, which catches the Master straight in the knees. This is a pretty smooth move, because when Willow comes in swinging with a broadsword, she leaves a deep gash in the Master’s arm as he doubles over. Buffy’s throwing punches left and right, Xander seems to still not understand how to use a crossbow properly, and Jenny finds herself bringing a baseball bat down on a centuries-old vampire’s head.

“You know, I never was the violent type,” she yells to Rupert over the chaos. The Master’s putting up quite a fight, and it’s all she can do to dodge his return blows. “I was voted Bookworm in my high school yearbook.”

“Oh, you read books?” Rupert shouts back. “Glad to hear you didn’t always undervalue the written word.”

“Could you guys stop bickering for two seconds,” Buffy demands as she hits the Master across the face, but there’s a laugh in her voice.

That’s when a blow from the Master happens to catch Willow in the stomach. Everyone else seems much too busy trying to divert the Master with various weapons to actually reach Willow, so Jenny drops her baseball bat (gratefully, Xander stops awkwardly hitting the Master with his crossbow and picks the bat up instead) and leans down, winding an arm around Willow’s waist to pull her up and away from the fight.

“I’m—fine,” Willow wheezes.

“No, I got that,” Jenny agrees, moving Willow over to lean against a wall. “Let’s take a breather, okay?”

“Buffy—needs—me—”

“Buffy’s a pretty kickass chick,” Jenny reminds Willow, smoothing down her hair. “And so are you. You’re the reason he’s bleeding all over his nice stone floor.”

Willow coughs and laughs, smiling a little dazedly up at Jenny.

“Stay here,” Jenny directs her, making sure that Willow’s holding tightly to her sword. She looks like a little warrior, dusty and bloody and pigtailed. Jenny turns back to the battle—

The Master throws a hand up, knocking Rupert and Xander both back against the wall. Willow manages to catch Xander as he flies at her, but Rupert’s head hits the wall with a painful-sounding crack.

Jenny runs.

Rupert’s breathing. He’s breathing. Jenny pulls him into his lap, and—and there’s a lot of blood, but she read somewhere that scalp wounds bleed a lot, and he is so not dying on her before she gets that dance. “You got your chance to be a hero,” she says fiercely, “and you were great, okay, just—don’t die on me, Snobby.”

“Don’t call me that,” says Rupert blearily. “Also, ow.”

Jenny sniffles (was she crying?), smiles, and looks up at Buffy and the Master.

“Look at your friends!” There’s a triumphant laugh in the Master’s voice. “Huddled, wounded, sobbing—it takes so little to frighten humans. You call love strength? I call it weakness.”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” says Buffy, and breaks Jenny’s baseball bat in half, thrusting the broken-off end through the Master’s heart.

“Thank you for bringing that,” Rupert mumbles. “Quite—quite convenient, really.”

Jenny looks up at Buffy. She’s shaking a little, now, but when she turns back to them, she’s smiling too. “We did it,” she says, and then she just straight-up starts crying.

“Oh—” Rupert tries to pull himself up to Buffy, but he falls dizzily back into Jenny’s arms, head against her shoulder. “Oh, I—”

Willow and Xander stumble to Buffy, encircling her in a tight hug as she sobs. They’re whispering proud, bright words of reassurance, and it seems like they’re both crying a little too.

Jenny leans against the wall and holds Rupert in her arms, letting herself look at him. His eyes are half-shut, his cheek on her shoulder, and there’s blood all over her sweater. He’s holding her just as much as she’s holding him. There’s something profoundly comforting about that. “You okay?” she murmurs.

Rupert raises his head, wincing. “I’ve had worse,” he says. “Given—my line of work, this is really just another day at the, um, office. So to speak.”

“Your office sure is a heck of a place,” says Jenny, and they both laugh, more out of nerves and adrenaline than anything.

Turns out, it is a flesh wound. At least, according to Rupert, who stubbornly refuses to go to the hospital. “It’s too late,” he keeps saying, “and I am not missing prom.”

“God, you sound like Cordelia,” Buffy teases him gently, pressing the wet cloth to the back of Rupert’s head before beginning to bandage the injury. It’s difficult for Jenny to make out what Buffy’s doing in the dim lights of the Bronze, but it seems secure.

“I’m going to look like an idiot,” Rupert mutters.

“Oh, come on.” Jenny knocks his shoulder. “Who are you trying to impress?”

Rupert colors, and gives her a furtive look through his eyelashes that makes Jenny’s breath catch a little. The playful smile freezes on her face.

“Hey, I love this song!” Buffy starts bouncing her head to the beat. “Ms. Calendar, can you finish him up? I have got to get back out there—Willow says she’s gonna buy me a cookie. You know, for saving the world and everything.”

“I think you deserve more than just a cookie, Buffy,” Jenny comments, smiling slightly.

Buffy smiles back before handing Jenny the bandages. “Hey,” she says quietly to Rupert, and places a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Rupert looks up at Buffy with those soft, proud eyes. “Of course,” he says, and rests his hand over Buffy’s very briefly, watching her as she hurries happily off to dance with Willow.

Jenny steps over to stand behind Rupert, working on the bandages. The bleeding seems to have stopped, which makes the whole bandaging thing somewhat easier. “You feeling better?” she asks, letting her hand brush his forehead in what could be considered a caress.

Rupert leans back into her touch, very slightly. “Thank you,” he says. “You were—incredibly brave tonight.”

This gives Jenny pause. All she can remember about the sewers and taking down the Master is a haze of fear. “I was very afraid tonight,” she says carefully, finishing with the last of the bandaging.

“And yet you hit the Master over the head with a baseball bat,” Rupert comments, and gets up out of his chair to face Jenny, looking at her with an admiring smile. “Ms. Calendar—”

“Jenny,” Jenny corrects him.

Rupert’s eyes get all soft, like melted chocolate—or, no, his eyes are green, but Jenny can’t think of anything green that’s quite that warm and welcoming. “Jenny, then,” he says. “It’s—impossible to be brave without being afraid. It’s quite possible to back down when one is as afraid as you were.”

“You noticed that, huh?” Jenny tries to smile, but feels something hard and sad in her chest. She can’t look at him.

“You misunderstand me.” Rupert reaches out, placing a tentative hand on Jenny’s arm. “It takes a special kind of bravery to do the right thing at great personal risk to one’s own safety, and—given your relative inexperience with fighting vampires, I had never expected you to make the choices that you did tonight.”

The conversation’s becoming too raw and real for Jenny. The way Rupert’s looking at her makes her want to move away from his touch and onto the dance floor. She’s not ready to let anyone in, let alone some guy who’s probably going to end up dead in the next few months. “Are all your nights like this?” she says, trying to smile.

“Generally, I go home after the vampire throws me against a wall,” Rupert quips, letting his hand drop from Jenny’s arm as he adjusts his glasses.

Jenny feels—she’s not sure how to describe it. Acutely aware of the fact that she’s alive, maybe, but that doesn’t explain the almost-dizzying adrenaline rush every time she looks at Rupert. Like she wants to say something, or do something, but she doesn’t know what just yet. A slow song starts playing, and she makes her decision, taking Rupert’s hand and holding it up between them. “Dance with me,” she says. Rupert begins to stammer something, but she reminds him, “You said you would, England. Don’t you dare back down on me now.”

Rupert fumbles, then smiles. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer,” he confesses.

Jenny considers this, then leads him off the dance floor, off into a quieter, more secluded corner of the Bronze. She glances over her shoulder to see if anyone’s noticed, but everyone in the vicinity is either dancing or drinking some of the possibly-spiked punch. “Here,” she says, smiling slightly. “No one can see our bad dancing, and we can still hear the music.”

Tentatively, Rupert moves forward, taking Jenny awkwardly in his arms. At first, it’s just haphazard swaying, no real dancing to it, and they seem almost painfully out of sync. But then Rupert’s hand finds a place on Jenny’s waist, and his other hand takes hers, and he’s leading her in a quiet little waltz, the kind that belongs in a romantic movie with soft lighting and low music.

Jenny is close enough to Rupert that, were she a bit taller, they could be dancing cheek to cheek. She can pretend that it’s just because she misses being close to someone, if she wants, but she doesn’t like that; what she does like is pulling back and seeing that it’s Rupert holding her.

There are some things you go through together and it’s just—you can’t not be close after that. Jenny can’t stop thinking about Rupert’s hand in hers in the sewers. He didn’t have to be as kind as he was, but he cared enough to try. “You’re a bona fide hero, you know that?” she says softly as they sway to the beat.

“Hardly.” There’s a rueful laugh in Rupert’s voice.

“Do you always have to argue with me?” Jenny pulls her head back, smiling at him. This is a strange, new kind of argument, one without quite as much angry heat behind it. Still some heat there, though. Definitely. “Would it kill you to just let me say that you’re a hero and keep dancing?”

“Much as I do appreciate the sentiment,” says Rupert in a half-sad matter-of-fact kind of way, “one moment of impulsive heroics does not a hero make.”

“Heroes don’t get to decide whether or not they’re heroes, Rupert,” Jenny tells him. “Other people decide it for them.”

“Yes, well, that seems a bit…” Rupert trails off, eyes drifting to Jenny’s mouth. “Foolish,” he says finally. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of calling someone a hero, though?” Jenny tries to sound light and playful, but she means what she’s saying and she gets the sense that Rupert can tell. “Pointless, naïve idealization? You call me brave without a second thought,” her voice is getting softer, slower, and Rupert’s face is getting closer, “you tell me I’m admirable, I’m special…”

And then they’re falling together, holding each other, kissing softly in the back of the Bronze.

It feels—Jenny doesn’t want to think about how it feels, because it feels like she’s not lonely anymore, and that in itself could be pretty damn terrifying it she lets it. But Rupert is so tender, arms encircling her, cupping her face in his hands like he wants to drink her in. She wonders how long it’s been since he’s been this close to someone. He kisses her like it’s been a very long time.

The song changes, the music blaring, and Jenny pulls slowly away to look at Rupert. She doesn’t know what to say; nothing seems quite enough after a moment like that.

Rupert doesn’t fumble, doesn’t falter, just looks at her with those beautiful eyes, and Jenny realizes how much she wants to kiss him again—not hard and bruising, but softly, slowly, letting him hold her. She traces his cheek with her fingers, and Rupert closes his eyes at her touch. “Do you want to get back to dancing, or do you want to head someplace more, um, private?” she asks quietly.

Rupert hesitates, glancing towards the dancing students. “I suppose I should check in with Buffy before I leave,” he says finally, stepping slowly away from Jenny. “I’ll—” He wavers, then leans in, giving Jenny a brief, sweet kiss. His hand lingers at her waist, pulling her fleetingly against him before he steps away. “I’ll be back,” he tells her with a small, wonderfully happy grin.

“Okay,” Jenny agrees, dazed and delighted. “Yeah.”

She lets herself fall back against the wall as soon as he’s gone. Her heart is pounding as she presses her fingers to her mouth, trying to suppress her open-mouthed smile.

So many things have happened tonight—they’ve saved the world, defied an ancient prophecy, killed a vengeful vampire with half a baseball bat—but somehow, the kiss she’s just shared with Rupert is the most remarkable happening of all. It’s not that he’s gentle, because she’s always kind of figured him to be that type, and it’s not that she’s attracted to him, because she figured that out a while before now. It’s that Rupert Giles is someone special, brave and kind, more than Jenny had ever imagined.

He’s someone who trusts her. Someone she wants to learn how to trust.

Rupert returns, smiling a little nervously, as though he thinks she might have changed her mind about him in the few seconds he was gone. Jenny gives him a reassuring smile in return and takes his hand, tugging him wordlessly out of the Bronze.

There are still so many things she doesn’t know about him, and even more that he doesn’t know about her. But the way Jenny feels now, when she looks at Rupert—it’s the first time in a very long time that she isn’t afraid of being all the way honest with someone, or at least trying to learn how.

She likes the way that realization feels.

#fic #calendiles #committed to job meets commitment issues #buffy and giles #rupert giles #jenny calendar #buffy summers #i am so sleepy #i go to school tomorrow & i am so so stressed #*today lmao it's 1am now #so like......please give this fic some love?

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beenasarwar · 6 years

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Iranian anthropologist Shahla Haeri pays tribute to her Pakistani behen Asma. Photo: Ibrahim Rashid.

Days after Asma Jahangir passed away in Lahore, some of us, members of Asma’s tribe as I think of it, got together at Harvard to commemorate her life, impact and achievements. We had lots of flowers, and music, and chai and samosas – she loved these things and loved hosting people. The languages spoken — English, Urdu, Punjabi, Bengali and Farsi — are a testament to Asma’s reach. Below, a short report about the event by a student at Emerson College, Boston, and a longer one by a Wellesley College student. Video clips of some speakers’ comments below; all video clips online on Vimeo, courtesy Rick Brotman. Cambridge Community Television will run a full video of the event next Saturday.

People influenced by Asma Jahangir gather in Cambridge to celebrate her life, by Maysoon Khan

Celebrating Asma Jahangir – by Aliza Amin

People influenced by Asma Jahangir gather in Cambridge to celebrate her life

By Maysoon Khan

On a chilly Saturday afternoon in February, students, professionals and community members crowded into an over 100-seater auditorium at the Harvard Kennedy School to celebrate the life of Asma Jahangir, a Pakistani human rights lawyer and social activist who passed away at her hometown in Lahore the previous Sunday, February 11, 2018.

Celebrating Asma Jahangir-Amartya Sen from Rick Brotman on Vimeo.

An assortment of people who worked with and knew Jahangir personally paid tribute by sharing stories and reading poetry at an event organized by Jahangir’s friends and admirers including students.

What Asma means to me – a whiteboard series. Photos: Ibrahim Rashid

Introducing the event, Beena Sarwar, a Pakistani journalist who worked with Jahangir, said, “We were originally going to call this a memorial service, then we called it a remembrance, and then we decided to call it a celebration. We want this to be an uplifting celebration of Asma.” Sarwar first met Jahangir when she started voluntary work reporting and writing for the Human Rights Commission in Lahore in the late 1980s.

Speakers ranged from cardiologist Kashif Choudhry who flew in from Baltimore to pay his respects, to entrepreneur Mahmud Jafari, historians Ayesha Jalal and Sugata Bose, writers Sara Suleri and Homi Bhabha, to Nobel Laureate economist Amartya Sen, to a chaplain, lawyers, professors and newspaper editors.

Asma Jahangir was more than just a lawyer and activist. She was a fearless leader and mentor who fought for justice and democracy in a society that is heavily conservative and marred by corruption. She remained undeterred in the face of imprisonment, beatings, and death threats.

She co-founded Pakistan’s first all-women law firm in 1980, the Women’s Action Forum in 1981, Human Rights Commission of Pakistan in 1987 and was also the first woman president of Pakistan’s Supreme Court Bar Association. She took up cudgels on behalf of women, laborers and other marginalized communities in Pakistan. In her role setting up institutions as well as being an activist, she was revolutionary.

Additionally, she was a long serving UN Special Rapporteur who held several portfolios: 1998 to 2004 on extrajudicial, summary or arbitrary executions, 2004 to 2010 on freedom of religion or belief, and mostly recently on the situation of human rights in Iran, a position she assumed on 1 November 2016 and held until her death.

Celebrating Asma Jahangir-Shahla Haeri from Rick Brotman on Vimeo.

Tufts professor Ayesha Jalal, a close friend of Jahangir, said, “You could find her at 7:30 in the morning at the bazaar buying fish. And at 10 am protesting outside the Lahore High Courts, and going to courts to fight her case, and then attending a funeral for a human rights activist, and then going home and making dinner and entertaining friends till 3 a.m.” Laughter resounded through the hall.

The auditorium reverberated with emotion, as speakers remembered Asma Jahangir through both laughter and tears. She was remembered as a ‘mentor of mentors’, as ‘Pakistan’s conscience’, and as a national icon whose courage was needed today more than ever to stand up to the tyranny in Pakistan.

“No country produces only heroes. But no country should do without heroes who can give us examples of integrity, courage, and honesty,” said Thomas W. Simons, former United States ambassador to Pakistan.

At the end, the organizers called for the young people present to continue Jahangir’s legacy, to be the next voice of optimism, and to “overcome sounds of war drums with courage.”

(ends)

Celebrating Asma Jahangir: “We will not stop. We will take her work forward”

By Aliza Amin

A memorial titled “Celebrating Asma Jahangir” at Harvard Kennedy School on 17 February 2018 was held to honor to the late lawyer and human rights activist, who passed away on 11 February 2018 in Lahore from a cardiac arrest at age 66. She will be remembered for championing the rights of marginalized communities including women and children, workers, low-income and religious minorities, and ethnic minorities for almost four decades. She is survived by her husband, two daughters, and a son. Her funeral prayers at Lahore’s Gaddafi Stadium in Pakistan were attended by over 3,000 people, around half of them women.

In Cambridge MA, students, community members, writers and professionals, including many who came in from out of town, gathered to pay their last respects at the well-attended event, organized by friends and admirers of Asma Jahangir.

The event began with an introduction by Beena Sarwar, who first learnt of Asma Jahangir through the Woman’s Action Forum launched in 1981, and subsequently worked with her at the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan that Jahangir started in 1987. Sarwar praised Jahangir and her ability to change and inspire the lives of so many.

“We lost someone who meant a lot to people who knew her as well as those who did not know her because she took on issues such as rule of law, due process, and the democratic political process,” said Sarwar. “We will not stop. We will take her work forward.”

Lawyer Yasser Kureshi, a doctoral candidate from Brandeis University, gave a brief summary of Jahangir’s achievements before introducing each speaker to the podium.

Entrepreneur and philanthropist Mahmud Jafari described Jahangir as “a small person with an indomitable will.” He shared the text of a Facebook post that had been widely shared, written by Zahra Hayat, recounting her experience attending the activist’s funeral in Lahore and how moving it was to see men and women gathered in congregation. He also recited a poem by Urdu poet Kishwar Naheed, written specifically for Jahangir.

“She had no fear of speaking truth to power,” said Shahla Haeri, an associate professor of anthropology at Boston University who had met Jahangir while conducting research in Pakistan. “A person with a good name never dies,” she stated, alluding to a couplet written by the Persian poet Sa’adi.

Celebrating Asma Jahangir-Yasser Latif Hamdani from Rick Brotman on Vimeo.

Yasser Latif Hamdani, an advocate of the Lahore High Court and Visiting Fellow at Harvard Law School, said Jahangir was one of his inspirations when he entered the field of law. He considered her to be a mother figure.

Martha Chen, who teaches Public Policy at Harvard University, recalled the time she and Jahangir first met at a conference in Sweden. They discovered that they had much in common, Chen said. Both had attended Christian schools, had a deep admiration of the Urdu language, and been active in protesting the atrocities in then East Pakistan, 1971, and had fought for the recognition of Bangladesh.

Celebrating Asma Jahangir-Marty Chen from Rick Brotman on Vimeo.

Editor of Daily Times Pakistan Raza Rumi had worked with Jahangir while he was an intern at the Center for Advocacy and Rights and witnessed her courage firsthand when she confronted the inspector general of a police station for their inaction over a gang rape case. She continued to display such bravery, he said, as she stood against arrays of killings, missing persons, and brick kiln workers. Rumi talked about AGHS Legal Aid Cell that Jahangir founded with other young women lawyers, which continues to remain a valuable resource for minorities, women, and children.

Celebrating Asma Jahangir-Raza Rumi from Rick Brotman on Vimeo.

“In her home country, she was a firebrand activist and a fearless lawyer. Through her work she ensured that a military dictator, however powerful, would always be regarded as a usurper. In India, she was a messenger of peace and goodwill,” said Sugata Bose, a historian at Harvard University. His mother in India had once nominated Jahangir for a Gandhi Peace Prize, which later received backlash and was disregarded.

Chanta Bhan, an interfaith chaplain originally from Lahore, talked about Dastak, the women’s shelter in Lahore set up through AGHS Legal Aid Centre that Asma Jahangir ran along with her sister Hina Jillani. Dastak remains an exemplary interfaith sanctuary, where Christian and Muslim women live together when they have nowhere else to go.

Celebrating Asma Jahangir-Chanta Bhan from Rick Brotman on Vimeo.

“The sheer integrity of Asma’s voice as a feminist activist is more resonant and relevant today than ever,” said Homi Bhabha, an English professor at Harvard University. “Her struggle must never end because we must interiorize the struggle and make it part of our internal ethical vigilance. We struggle not only against tyranny but for truth that we cannot live without.”

Kashif Chaudhry, a cardiologist at the University of Maryland who had flown in for the event from Baltimore, praised Jahangir’s unrelenting support for religious minorities such as Ahmadi Muslims. “No words can suffice to pay tribute to Asma Jahangir,” said Chaudhry.

“One of my favorite authors, the Viennese writer Karl Kraus, was called a faithful hater of his fatherland,” said former US ambassador to Pakistan Thomas W. Simons, Jr. “And there was something of that in the way Asma felt about her country.”

He went on to speak of her heroism and integrity, concluding, “I must also share with you my first reaction to the news of her death: Pakistan, you’re on your own.”

Author Sara Suleri, Professor Emeritus of English at Yale University, paid tribute to Jahangir’s authenticity of spirit and courage by sharing anecdotes of their decades-long friendship. “She did not have to speak for women. She personified what the travails were to women around and also provided some solutions for our predicament.”

“I would hope that the sense of immediate loneliness is mitigated by this occasion,” said Suleri. “We are all learning a language that is post-Asma Jahangir, and I encourage all of us to keep practicing it.”

Historian Ayesha Jalal, another old friend of Jahangir’s, talked about how remarkable it was that she could manage politics and be a friend and a mother all at once. She reminded the audience that Jahangir was a fallible human being with worries and concerns, and that we all must do even better than her.

Celebrating Asma Jahangir-Ayesha Jalal from Rick Brotman on Vimeo.

“When the canons of Pakistani democracy are put together, this small-framed friend of mine will stand amongst the tallest of giants,” said Jalal.

Nobel Prize-winning economist Amartya Sen recounted some of Jahangir’s numerous achievements while she was alive, such as how she won her first case at a mere age of 18 and went on to become a leading defender of human rights in Pakistan. The two had been close friends for over two decades, and Sen described how awestruck he was by Jahangir’s clarity of mind and boundless humanity.

“The angel of humanity may have gone, but the education and training we got from her is here to stay,” Sen said. “We can have pride in having known so perfect of a human being.”

The event concluded with a poetry reading by Sughra Raza, an associate professor at Harvard Medical Center. She recited passages “Shorish-e-Barbat-o-Nai” by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, a dialogue on hope by two different voices. The first voice speaks of the pain of destiny and annihilation, to which the second voice responds with hope and commitment to truth and to overthrow the sound of war drums with music.

(ends)

Asma’s tribe: a remembrance at Harvard Days after Asma Jahangir passed away in Lahore, some of us, members of Asma's tribe as I think of it, got together at Harvard to commemorate her life, impact and achievements.

#Amartya Sen #Asma Jahangir #Ayesha Jalal #Homi Bhabha

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investmart007 · 6 years

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Heartbroken by gun violence: Rallies across US demand change

New Post has been published on https://goo.gl/GdzUqA

Heartbroken by gun violence: Rallies across US demand change

WASHINGTON /March 24, 2018 (AP)(STL.News) — They came from a place of heartbreak to claim their spot in history: Hundreds of thousands of teenagers and supporters, rallying across the United States for tougher laws to fight gun violence.

The “March for Our Lives” events on Saturday drew massive crowds in cities across the country, marking the largest youth-led protests since the Vietnam War era.

In Washington, D.C., New York City, Denver, Los Angeles and other cities, demonstrators heard from student survivors of last month’s school shooting in Parkland, Florida.

“If you listen real close, you can hear the people in power shaking,” Parkland survivor David Hogg said to roars from protesters packing Pennsylvania Avenue from a stage near the Capitol to a spot many blocks away toward the White House. “We’re going to take this to every election, to every state and every city. We’re going to make sure the best people get in our elections to run, not as politicians but as Americans.

“Because this,” he said, pointing behind him to the Capitol dome, “this is not cutting it.”

The message at the different rallies was consistent, with demonstrators vowing to vote out lawmakers who refuse to take a stand now on gun control. Many rallies had tables where volunteers helped those 18 or older register to vote while speakers detailed the policies they wanted and the impact gun violence has had on their lives.

The fire alarm at Trenton High School is scary, said 17-year-old Gabrielle James at a march in suburban Detroit.

“We don’t know if it’s an actual drill or if someone’s actually inside the school, going to take your life,” James said at a march in Detroit.

She said government has “extremely failed” to protect students from gun violence and she wants restrictions on automatic weapons.

“I work extremely hard at my studies. Sometimes I just sit in my car before going to school, wondering if I’m going to be home to see my mother after school,” James said.

Some of the young voices were very young. Yolanda Renee King, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.’s 9-year-old granddaughter, drew from the civil rights leader’s most famous words in declaring from the Washington, D.C., stage: “I have a dream that enough is enough. That this should be a gun-free world. Period.”

By all appearances — there were no official numbers — Washington’s March for Our Lives rally rivaled the women’s march last year that drew far more than the predicted 300,000.

The National Rifle Association went silent on Twitter as the protests unfolded, in contrast to its reaction to the nationwide school walkouts against gun violence March 14, when it tweeted a photo of an assault rifle and the message “I’ll control my own guns, thank you.”

President Donald Trump was in Florida for the weekend and did not weigh in on Twitter either.

White House spokesman Zach Parkinson said: “We applaud the many courageous young Americans exercising their First Amendment rights today.” He also pointed to Trump’s efforts to ban bump stocks and his support for school-safety measures and extended background checks for gun purchases.

Since the bloodshed in Florida, students have tapped into a current of gun control sentiment that has been building for years — yet still faces a powerful foe in the NRA, its millions of supporters and lawmakers who have resisted any encroachment on gun rights.

Organizers are hoping the electricity of the crowds, their sheer numbers and the under-18 roster of speakers will create a tipping point, starting with the midterm congressional elections this fall. To that end, chants of “Vote them out!” rang through the Washington crowd.

Emma Gonzalez, one of the first students from Florida’s Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School to speak out after the tragedy there, implored those of voting age to cast ballots.

In her speech, she recited the names of the Parkland dead, then held the crowd in rapt, tearful silence for more than six minutes, the time it took the gunman to kill them.

“We will continue to fight for our dead friends,” Delaney Tarr, another Parkland survivor, declared from the stage. The crowd roared with approval as she laid down the students’ central demand: a ban on “weapons of war” for all but warriors.

Student protesters called for a ban on high-capacity magazines and assault-type weapons like the one used by the killer in Parkland, comprehensive background checks, and a higher minimum age to buy guns.

Gun violence was fresh for some who watched the speakers in Washington. Ayanne Johnson of Great Mills High School in Maryland held a sign declaring, “I March for Jaelynn,” honoring Jaelynn Willey, who died Thursday, two days after being shot by a classmate at the school. The gunman also died.

About 30 gun-rights supporters staged a counter-demonstration in front of FBI headquarters, standing quietly with signs such as “Armed Victims Live Longer” and “Stop Violating Civil Rights.” Other gun-control protests around the country were also met with small counter-demonstrations.

The president’s call to arm certain teachers fell flat at the protest, and among critics as young as Zoe Tate, 11, from Gaithersburg, Maryland.

“I think guns are dumb. It’s scary enough with the security guards we have in school,” she said. “We don’t need teachers carrying guns now. I find it amazing that I have to explain that idea to adults.”

Parkland itself was home to a rally as more than 20,000 people filled a park near the Florida school, chanting slogans such as “Enough is enough” and carrying signs that read “Why do your guns matter more than our lives?” and “Our ballots will stop bullets.”

Around the country, protesters complained that they are scared of getting shot in school and tired of inaction by grown-ups after a series of mass shootings.

“People have been dying since 1999 in Columbine and nothing has changed. People are still dying,” said Ben Stewart, a 17-year-old senior at Shiloh Hills Christian School in Kennesaw, Georgia, who took part in a march in Atlanta.

Callie Cavanaugh, a 14-year-old at a march in Omaha, Nebraska, said: “This just needs to stop. It’s been going on my entire life.”

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By Associated Press – published on STL.News by St. Louis Media, LLC (A.S)

___

#Heartbroken by gun violence #Rallies across US demand change #Vietnam War era

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sirestoffels97 · 4 years

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#Bacterial Vaginosis Bootsy Incredible Unique Ideas #Bacterial Vaginosis With Hydrogen Peroxide

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