#also they met when she broke into a professor's office to get blackmail on him and soo won was like

[lunarrolls]

37. feeblemind with ashton and orym?

this prompt then proceeded to haunt me for an entire twenty four hours. i wanted to write some good ol’ mindfuckery, but my instinctual need to make the scenarios of these prompts make sense simply could not fucking justify a feeblemind being thrown at either of these guys. if you REEEALLY want that mindfuckery, masterqwertster wrote an ashton feeblemind/greater restoration ficlet on this same prompt list! HOWEVER. i did write something. i’m stretching the list a bit here, but i had the idea after hours of puzzling and i HAD to get it down. SO. hopefully this is a suitable replacement!

•

Feeblemind is an eighth-level enchantment spell on the bard, druid, warlock, and wizard spell lists.

You blast the mind of a creature that you can see within range, attempting to shatter its intellect and personality. The target takes 4d6 psychic damage and must make an Intelligence saving throw.

On a failed save, the creature’s Intelligence and Charisma scores become 1. The creature can’t cast spells, activate magic items, understand language, or communicate in any intelligible way. The creature can, however, identify its friends, follow them, and even protect them.

At the end of every 30 days, the creature can repeat its saving throw against this spell. If it succeeds on its saving throw, the spell ends. The spell can also be ended by Greater Restoration, Heal, or Wish.

•

“Do you ever think about that professor?”

Orym starts a little at the question. It’s been a quiet watch, nothing much going on tonight, and for the most part him and Ashton have been content to simply sit in comfortable silence while the rest of their friends sleep. The sudden inquiry comes out of nowhere, and Orym has to think for a second to answer it.

“Yeah, I do,” Orym says. “The lady in Yios?”

Ashton nods. Orym notices that they won’t meet his eyes—their gemstone gaze stares off intently into the distance. “Kadija. Kadija Sumal, that was her name.”

He trails off into silence, obviously working at whatever he really wants to say. Ashton’s jaw always tightens when he’s got something to say but isn’t sure whether to say it. Orym’s noticed that he usually errs on the side of silence if interrupted, deeming the sentiment pointless after a moment, so he waits quietly for his friend to chase the threads that tangle behind the glass encasing his opalescent mind.

“She—she was ruined, Orym,” Ashton says.

Orym is caught slightly off-guard by the tightness of their words, mirroring their jaw—it’s uncharacteristic of them to be openly bothered by someone they’d only met once.

“Ludinus just—“

They make a grandiose hand gesture.

“I dunno. He just—he just waltzed in there and—and broke her like it was fucking nothing, Orym. She didn’t do anything.” They blow out a breath and roll their shoulders, staring down at the ground with a familiar angry expression. “I’m not making any goddamn sense. Whatever. She just—she’s just on my mind, is all. Random thought.”

Orym sits for a moment, tilting his head and trying to recall exactly what had happened at the Seminary. Ashton had vanished for a while, off on some random mission with an acquaintance from a million years ago (which, honestly, Orym was surprised that hadn’t happened more often given the sheer amount of random and strange people Ashton seemed to know all across Exandria), and then reappeared on the steps. Together with Chetney, they’d blackmailed the lady at the front desk and threatened her with a ladle (which was very funny, honestly, Orym had been a little sad that the Crown Keepers hadn’t seen how he’d handled that, he had a feeling they’d approve), and then ventured up to the classrooms only to find Imogen, Laudna, F.C.G., and Fearne crowded into a small office room, surrounded by a chaotic mess of fluttering papers. Orym had immediately thrown himself into searching for clues, making sure Ludinus wasn’t coming back (though, at the time, none of them had any goddamn idea who that asshole was).

But he remembered Ashton’s impromptu interview of the professor. The blankness of her stare. The childlike placidness she displayed, sitting alone and small in that room.

Ashton had offered her water, asked her what her name was, been gentle and even kind to her. Orym’d almost never seen them like that—even when they were at their softest, admitting affection for Chetney and F.C.G. on the deck of the Silver Sun, he’d never seen them act that way any other time. Even though the professor’s name hadn’t stuck in his mind the way it clearly had Ashton’s, he remembered the moment very clearly.

“Are you worried about her?” Orym asks, attempting to mirror Ashton’s distant stare into the middle distance. “Or… something else?”

“No, no, not worried about her,” Ashton says. “That fuckin’ place was absolutely crawling with mages. She’s probably fine now. Just—I hate Ludinus for that.”

Orym swallows his own white-hot rage at the mention of the name. He feels his expression harden.

“She was just a teacher,” Ashton says. Orym sees their fists clench out of the corner of his eye. “And he shattered her. Completely robbed her. She didn’t even have a way of fighting back, didn’t fucking threaten him or anything. She was just briefly in his way.”

Another pause. Orym hears Ashton shift across from him, curling in on themself, a hand on their hammer.

“We only got away from the Key at all because of Keyleth,” Ashton says bluntly, “because of that asshole buff lady and the fucking wizard guy who knew about my head. If they hadn’t been attracting his eye, who the fuck knows where we’d be now. You saw how he broke them too.”

And, oh, did Orym see it. He sees it every time he closes his eyelids, every time he gets too comfortable.

“We can’t ignore this,” Ashton continues. “But I—ugh. Fuck. I don’t know.”

“You don’t want to be broken again,” Orym says softly.

“No,” Ashton replies, finally glancing down at him, “I don’t want you all to be broken. And he can just fucking shatter us like fucking eggshells.”

Orym considers this. Lets it wash over his skin like an ice bath. Breathes deeply. Ashton’s right on some level. Some rational, horribly pragmatic level. Ashton is often right on that horrible, annoying level. It’s one of their strong suits.

Orym can’t fish up the right words to comfort his friend because, well, for all he pretends to just be the muscle of the group, Ash is surprisingly insightful. He doesn’t like to be lied to. So Orym won’t try. He would hate being lied to, in Ashton’s place.

“You’re right,” Orym says simply, almost absently, “we’re fucked.”

Ashton nods bitterly. “Fucked.”

“But,” Orym continues, gesturing out to their sleeping friends, “they’re strong. They’re stronger than us. If we’re shattered, like Sumal, I think they’ll pick up the pieces. I know they will. Who knows what happens after that, but they’re strong, at least.”

Ashton sighs and shifts again, curling tighter, his glassy eye poking just above the ridge of his kneecap. “…right. Right. They’re the best of us. I’m just—worried, I guess.”

“Too much time to think, huh?” Orym teases, his gaze sliding over to them directly.

“It’s a dangerous fucking pastime,” Ashton quips. “Nothing good comes of it. No idea how you or Chetney stand it.”

“Did you just imply that Chetney thinks? As a pastime?”

“Oh, fuck off. If you tell him any of this, I swear—“

[kirayaykimura]

Soo-Won was hiding from a party. His housemates didn’t really need a reason to throw one, but this one was a celebration for the end of fall midterms, which meant more people going harder than an average weekend party, which meant Soo-Won was reading a book in the basement den that was strictly off-limits to anyone not living in the house.

Lili, who had never met a rule she didn’t immediately want to break, was an exception by virtue of being so annoying no one wanted to continue enforcing the rule with her. 

As such, Soo-Won did not try to stop her when she burst through the basement door at - he checked his watch - a quarter to one wearing a clearly borrowed shirt that was about four sizes too big for her. Nothing about anything was of his concern, so he simply continued reading about the history of the King Hiryuu mythology in the Fire Tribe. 

“Midterms are over,” Lili said, making her way over to where he sat perched on the end of the ugliest yellow couch anyone had ever laid eyes on. It had been around longer than anyone in the house could remember and had seen more things than Soo-Won would care to think about while sitting on it. 

“This isn’t for class.” 

“That makes it worse. You know that, right?” She took a seat next to him and asked, “What are we reading?” 

“We?” 

Lili did not dignify his question with an answer. Instead, she draped herself over his shoulder to peek at the page, boneless in the way only alcohol (or really good muscle relaxants) could make one. There was no way she was going to be able to focus on a fairly dry sociological account of one particular subset of the population as wasted as she was. 

“Historical non-fiction,” Soo-Won said, fighting off a smile. If he smiled, she would get ideas, which was bad because Lili was the type of person to move forward without any ideas at all. He absolutely could not let her know that her slight weight slumped into his side was warm and comforting because then she might think it was okay to do it again. Which, of course, it was not. 

“Fine,” Lili sighed. After a quiet moment, she said, “We don’t really believe in King Hiryuu back home. It’s weird that it’s such a big deal in the Fire Tribe.” 

He stood corrected. Even smashed, Lili could keep up with a fairly dry sociological account of one particular subset of the population.

Soo-Won moved to turn the page, but Lili clumsily batted his hand away.

“I‘m not done with the page yet,” she said, impatient and just slightly slurred. 

“Alright,” Soo-Won said. “You tell me when you’re done.” 

“Don’t patronize me.” 

“Are you this demanding with everyone or do you just think I’m a pushover?” 

“Everyone,” she said on a yawn. “You’re not special.” 

No, he knew that very well. Cursed, maybe. Doomed, almost certainly. But he was nothing special. 

“You can turn the page now,” she said. Then, “You smell nice.” 

“And you smell like you bathed in stale beer,” he said as he dutifully turned the page for them both. 

Her normal scent of jasmine and oranges was heavily masked by whatever keg the guys had gotten their hands on this weekend. It was unfortunate. He quite liked oranges. 

“Some doofus spilled all over me. Straight down the front of my shirt. This is Ramaru’s.” Lili plucked at the hem half-way down her thighs. Her jeans underneath appeared to have avoided the spill zone, though there was a stain near her knee that looked like mustard. Soo-Won was pretty sure that was all her own doing, though.

“Ah,” he said. 

They lapsed into silence as they read. Predictably, Soo-Won was done before Lili, and his mind wandered while he waited for her to catch up. He began idly planning the clean-up process in the morning, how warm Lili was, his essay for Politics in the Middle East, how soft Lili’s hair felt against his neck. He bet it would feel like silk if he ran his fingers through it. Also he had stat’s homework that was due on Monday and was only half-completed. 

Yeah, she was definitely asleep, wasn’t she.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and found her eyes closed and mouth fully agape. 

Of course.

What am I going to do with you? he wondered as he gently set his book aside, careful movements designed not to disturb her. He could disturb her if he wanted to, though. They didn’t have the sort of relationship where casual touches were, well, ever present. That was how he preferred to live his life: at a healthy distance from everyone else. It would be totally normal for him to wake her up and push her away. 

He couldn’t, however, bring himself to do it. Midterms had been stressful for her, and she looked more peaceful than he’d seen her in weeks. She did not look good - her cheeks were splotchy from alcohol, some mascara was smudged beneath her right eye, and a strand of hair had attached itself to the gloss on her bottom lip - but she looked relaxed. 

He didn’t want to be the one to take that from her, which was why he held a finger up to his lips when Ramaru opened the basement door moments later. 

Ramaru froze, took in the scene, and whispered, “I was looking for her. Is she okay?” 

“Just asleep,” Soo-Won answered softly. 

“Cool. Party’s dying down. You want me to-” he mimed picking Lili up and carrying her out. 

“It’s alright,” Soo-Won said, almost without thinking. “I’ll take care of it.” 

Ramaru gave him a thumbs up and left as quietly as he’d come. As the door slipped shut behind him, Lili sighed, stirring. That was all the warning he got before her head tipped off his shoulder. She caught herself instinctively mid-fall with a hand slapped against his knee. Her manicured nails dug in as she sat up with a sharp intake of breath, clearly panicked from almost toppling over into Soo-Won’s lap, forcing Soo-Won to lean back as far as he could to avoid being smacked in the nose by the back of Lili’s head. 

“What happened?” Lili asked, looking around, words now horribly slurred from a combination of alcohol and sleep. Waahap’n. 

“Uh,” was all Soo-Won could manage for a moment. Everything had happened very quickly. “You fell asleep.” 

Lili leaned her forehead against his shoulder again and groaned. 

“Room’s spinning,” she said. 

Soo-Won tentatively gave her a pat on the head and said, “There there.” 

The thing was, he used to be so good at comforting people. He knew people, which made them easy to handle. Lili was just…weird, which made him weird in return. He had absolutely no idea how to deal with her most of the time. 

“Gimme five minutes,” Lili said as she lowered herself, this time on purpose, into Soo-Won’s lap, using his thigh as a pillow. Her legs curled up on the other end of the couch, feet tucked up snug against the back cushions. “I’ll go upstairs. Five.” Then, as if it was his fault, she said, “You should be softer.” 

And she was borderline incoherent. Great. 

Looked like he would be there for a while. At least he had a book to entertain him. Before he picked it back up, though, he tucked the strands of hair that were still firmly attached to her lipgloss behind her ear. The thanks he got was a nose twitch. He discovered her hair was, in fact, just as soft as he imagined it would be. 

Well, he thought. This is inconvenient.

[another-snape-story]

Firewhiskey

Chapter XVII

“Alcohol is not a solution,” Snape reminded you as you both entered his office.

“I know,” you sighed, placing a large bottle on his desk. “I’m just so tired, Severus…” You took your regular place in the armchair, where a wool plaid blanket was folded a little sloppily – the way you left it here the last time. So he didn’t even bother putting it away anymore? Although Snape just lit the fireplace and its heat didn’t yet reach you, you felt so warm like never before.

“Yes. You are,” he agreed, focused on uncorking the bottle. “Why would you have firewhiskey in your possession?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled apologetically. “Bought it the day you refused to go to Hogsmeade with us.”

“Is it a vivid example why I should’ve agreed?” he smirked now pouring the spirit into two glasses and you laughed.

There hardly was a place in the whole world which offered you this kind of comfort and consolation, but this cold room with the dark figure of a man smoothly pacing around. Wrapped yourself into the blanket, you relaxed in the softness of the cushions.

“Quidditch Through the Ages,” you leisurely read the title as you noticed the book on a side table. “So now everything comes together!”

“What exactly?” Snape handed you the glass and sat across from you.

“You were to be heard in the Entrance Hall,” you giggled. “Why did you take it from Potter?”

“Well, I wasn’t in a mood,” he said apathetically, wobbling his glass and watching the liquid rotating inside. You couldn’t discern if he was joking or not – it was so likely of him to consider it a fair reason to do so – anyway, his answer amused you, same as his serious look.

“Have you ever been?” you teased, and he answered with a displeased curve of his lips.

“So?” Snape leaned a little forward.

“I’m drinking for you,” you declared, not a trace of your former gaiety remained. “I’m so happy I met you, Severus. You can’t even imagine…”

“Slow down,” he smiled softly. “Too early for confessions.”

“You know I mean it!” you insisted. “I’m telling it before I take the first sip, and I will tell it after taking the last!”

“I know,” his voice so quiet yet so deep. “And you do know I feel the same, don’t you?” The words being extremely alien to Snape’s enclosed character, the words he never dared to say aloud, struggled their way out. He’d prefer to keep them to himself, but he couldn’t leave your sudden ingenuous impulse without an answer.

Your heart skipped a beat each time he acknowledged his reciprocity towards you, although he never said it directly. You nodded, blissful to be ascertained of his fellow feeling again, and reached out for the man.

Mild sonorous clinking broke the silence once your glasses struck against each other.

“How did you get here?” you asked randomly, intending to divert depressive thoughts by some neutral topic, but Snape – unlike what you’ve expected – now looked gloomier than before.

“Dumbledore offered me a job,” he answered with a sigh after emptying his glass.

“Is that what you wanted to be at the age of…”

“Twenty-one,” he finished, filling his glass anew. You tossed yours closer to him to be refreshed with a drink. “All I wanted at the age of twenty-one was being dead.”

“Not much has changed since then, huh?” you smiled sympathetically, and he snickered. Yet again you managed to liven him up.

Another shot followed. Having no crumb in your stomach since lunch, you felt alcohol quickly take over your body, spreading fatigue through your limbs, while your mind still strained to preserve the clarity of thought.

“Did you know each other before?”

“I was studying here. So, apparently, we did.”

“You should’ve really loved it here to return inside the walls of your alma mater?” Recalling your time at school you dreaded the thought of stepping on its threshold ever again.

Snape lowered his head, peering at the brownish fluid in his hand. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah. I’ve guessed there’s a mystery behind all this.” You felt so terribly sorry for him all at once. There clearly was something he couldn’t tell you, but he did his best to be as honest with you as the circumstances allowed, or his obligations, or whatever else it might be. What the hell it might be?! The thing gave him no peace, torturing his heart, it was evident – judging by his rare bitter remarks; and you felt so helpless not knowing how to ease his mental torments. “Don’t worry, mysterious Professor Snape,” you reassured him in barely a whisper. “I won’t ask questions.”

“I wish I could tell you...” he hopelessly shook his head, afraid you might turn away from him sooner or later – no one would tolerate reticence for long.

“We don’t have that much firewhiskey, do we?” you smiled kindly slowly draining your glass.

“You should be prepared better for the next time,” thankful for your patience and understanding, he gave a short, half-suppressed snigger, and you laughed loving the idea.

“Oh, I will! You know me!”

“I don’t even doubt that!”

“Wanna know what I wanted to be after school?” guilt-driven for involuntary making him feel uncomfortable, you changed the subject, hoping to put some spirit into the man, yet your glance gained a spacey glint. “Hats designer!”

“Hats designer?” Snape chuckled, a slight haze enveloping his head.

“Yep. But somehow ended up being a scientist.”

“What a loss for the fashion world,” he said deliberately unimpressed, but a sly narrow of his eyes betrayed he was ribbing you.  

“Heey, don’t you dare question my artistic talents!”

“Or what?” he provoked you further.

“Or I’ll tell Minerva you assumed no one would notice if she replaced the hat she usually wears with an old Hagrid’s shoe!”

“You can’t blackmail me with a commonly known fact,” he replied in a bored tone, which made you burst into laughter.

“Aw, Snape, you’re such a bastard!”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” with a smug grin, he raised his glass and polished it off.

Snape rested beside you. All of his troubles seemed to step aside when you came around. He wasn’t expecting any kind of cunning, deceitful tricks from your side and could fully relax in the solace your presence comprised. Alcohol helped him loosen up even more, but he still had things under control. You, on the other hand, let frivolity take the lead.

“I was young and naive,” you tilted your head on the backrest, reflecting on a girl you used to be. “Ah, where are those days?”

“You’re still very young,” Snape smiled softly, admiring your features, which he found so alluringly attractive. But it wasn’t appearance that captivated him – something much deeper than physical perception forcefully drew him to you.

“It’s not the point,” you sighed. “Our bodies are aging, but we never actually grow old.” You gulped the rest of firewhiskey left in your glass and looked closely on its empty bottom. “Somewhere deep inside there sticks a child inside each of us. A child with a flaming hope, still believing all of the most fantastic dreams will jolly well come true... Add me some?” you stretched out your hand to receive a new portion of drink.

Snape unhurriedly provided you with another shot.

“Do you regret becoming what you are?” he let the question slip off his tongue.

“And you?” you gave him a pitiful glance, already knowing what he would say.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“But it’s not too late for changes, is it?” you asked uncertainly, mainly, not to cheer him up – which, nevertheless, was also your intention – but hoping he would agree, so that you too could regain confidence there still was a chance, but Snape silently finished his glass instead.

“The Dark Lord might return any time soon. This is currently my main concern.”

“You’re right. Forgive me, I’m just saying whatever comes to my mind,” you smiled weakly. “My tongue works faster than my brain.” The setting of the room started slowly swaying around, causing a sick feeling in your stomach. You seemed to run out of the last bits of energy – another few minutes, and you’d find yourself balancing on the edge of oblivion.

“Do not apologize,” Snape leaned forward, took the glass out of your hand and put it aside. “What is it you were dreaming of? Will you be willing to tell me?” he asked quietly, his voice so pleasant to your ears.

“I’m dreaming of a small house on the mountain side,” you closed your eyes, “surrounded by a forest…”

“And a lake somewhere nearby,” Snape continued pensively, “its waters clear as crystal…”

“Yes. There will be flowers everywhere…”

“Grown all by yourself?” he smiled, taking in your every breath.

“I have seeds of some rare species,” you agreed serenely.

Each word you said found response in Snape’s heart. For a moment he seemed to be carried away – far from his cruel reality – right in the middle of your little paradise.

“We’ll set off for lengthy strolls along nature paths early in the morning with a basket of sandwiches,” you mumbled sleepily, “to gather herbs and berries…”

“…and return home right before the sun falls…” he whispered, “…tired, but so happy…” Snape’s words faded into silence, as he watched you drift off in a peaceful slumber, leaving him with a feeling of a vague regretful longing.

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[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

AO3

Previous

Thanks for reading so far. This is the penultimate chapter in the story.

Thanks for @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and support.

Wee bit of angst... at first

Chapter 31: A Legal Precedent

Professor Callahan : Would you rather have a client who committed a crime malum in se or malum prohibitum?

Elle: Neither.

Professor Callahan: And why’s that?

Elle: I would rather have a client who’s innocent.

Legally Blonde

Jamie said nothing as Isobel drove them across the city to Geneva’s house. He sat still, his jaw clenched in tension, hands splayed on his knees. Isobel did not try to start any conversations. She wasn’t really sure what she could say anyway… nor what she should say to her mother and Geneva, especially if they expected her to ‘choose a side’.

Contemplating the situation, she felt that her best role would be to try to provide a calming and objective influence, much as she did with her students when dealing with hormone-fuelled teenage arguments.

Jamie was also contemplating the situation, but was not as clear as Isobel on his best role. His instinct was to go in all guns blazing, ready to shout and swear at Geneva and her mother, demanding that he be legally recognised as William’s father. He knew, however, that threats and demands would not help here, and could potentially harm his case, should it end up in court.

But there was also a sadness. He had believed that Geneva and her mother would stop the game-playing once William had arrived, that they would understand there were no winners or losers, just everyone wanting the best for the baby. And now, realising that his trust that they would  ‘do the right thing’ had been totally misplaced, he was hurt and, being honest, was annoyed with himself and his naïveté. He had assumed everybody possessed a vein of decency, no matter how deeply hidden. John had tried to counsel him, to get him to seek advice, but he had been sure it would all work out, that there was no need to involve lawyers. And now he was paying the price.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as Isobel pulled up outside Geneva’s house. Unfolding himself from the confines of Isobel’s Fiat 500, he quickly strode up to the door and pressed the bell. A murmur of voices floated out from the other side of the door before it was opened by Louisa. Geneva was nowhere in sight.

“Jamie.” Louisa acknowledged his presence sternly.

“Louisa, can I come in? I dinna think we want tae be havin’ this conversation in the street.”

Reluctantly, she stepped aside to allow entry into the hallway, but no further.

“I think I made our… that is, Geneva’s position clear over the phone...” Louisa began, before noticing Isobel standing behind Jamie. “Isobel, what are you doing here?”

“I went round to see how Jamie was doing after your, er, news this morning. You can’t expect him not to be affected by it, so I wanted to check he was ok.”

“He was ok? Ok?” Louisa’s voice began to climb in pitch. “It’s not him you should be worried about. He had his chances, plenty of them. Both before and after William’s birth. A father should support his child and the mother. If he can’t, or won’t do that, then he’s no right to be called a father. It’s about honour and decency.”

Jamie had remained silent throughout Louisa’s diatribe, but could no longer hold his tongue.

“God, how can ye talk about decency tae me? I have been nothin’ but decent throughout these months. I’ve treated Geneva with respect, even wi’ the games she’s been playin’. She told me and ma friends that the bairn is mine. So now, what is she sayin’? I’m no’ the father? And that makes her, what? A liar and a fr...” Jamie quickly stopped himself from telling Louisa what he really thought of her daughter. This was not the time or the place.

“That’s right, Mummy. She said that to me too. She can’t just change her mind because it’s not gone the way she hoped!”

Louisa turned angrily to her daughter. “How dare you stick up for him? Where’s your support for your sister? Do you not want her to be happy?”

Isobel opened her mouth to respond as a baby’s cry cut through the air.  

Jamie reached his hands out to Louisa, tears filling his eyes. “Please, Louisa, that’s ma babe, let me see him. Ye canna keep me from him. Let me through.”

Louisa remained motionless, her face like stone.

“Geneva!” Jamie yelled. “Come out here. Let me talk tae ye. Let’s clear this up. Geneva… Geneva!”

Gradually, William’s cries died away. Geneva remained out of sight. Jamie slumped against the wall, not knowing what to say.

Louisa broke the silence. “I think you should go.”

Isobel took his arm. “Come on, Jamie, I’ll see you home.”

Jamie passively let Isobel lead him away. Just outside the house, he paused and turned back to Louisa, framed in the doorway.

He spoke quietly, his eyes blazing, his voice cold with fury. “William is ma son. We all ken that. Geneva has been tryin’ to play me fer months but tae resort tae this… blackmail is what it is. Well, I hope ye’re proud of yer daughter. Ye talk about honour and decency, but the two of ye dinna even ken what the words mean. If ye did ye wouldna even think about depriving that bairn of his father jes’ out of spite. And this isna the end of it, Louisa, I mean it. Get a lawyer. I’ll go tae court if I have tae. What lies will the pair of ye tell under oath, eh?”

*************

Once Isobel and Jamie had left, Claire drifted aimlessly from room to room unable to settle, her mind whirring with all the possible scenarios that could be playing out over at Geneva’s. She was thankful that Isobel was with Jamie, providing a calming influence and hopefully preventing him from doing, or saying, something he would regret.

She opened the door to the recently decorated nursery. It was all there, just waiting for an occupant. The pale wood cot, the matching changing station and wardrobe, and the rocking chair in the corner all stood barren and unused. The set of twinkling fairy lights she had bought that week were still unopened in their packaging. Who knew when that would change now? She sat down on the floor, leaning against the cot’s bars and wept.

The tears were not for herself, as she had not had the opportunity to meet William, to form any bond with him. No, the tears were for Jamie and for William. Jamie had had several months of anticipation, readying himself to be a father, only to have that snatched away from him. And William, unaware though he was, was losing a parent.

Drying her eyes, Claire switched into her practical mode. If they had to go to court, they would. John would give them details of a suitable lawyer and they would win. Surely no Sheriff court would decide in favour of that bitch and her mother.

But until Jamie returned, she needed something to occupy her mind. She suddenly remembered the half stripped bed, and then planned to clean the bathroom.

********

Finally, after thoroughly cleaning the bathroom followed by a much-needed shower, Claire heard Jamie’s key in the front door. She rushed downstairs to meet him. Jamie sat on the bottom step, his face tired and drawn.

“I couldna see him, Claire. I heard him greetin’ but Louisa wouldna let me near him. Geneva didna show herself either. I hope that's due tae shame, but I am no’ holdin’ ma breath on that.”

Claire sat on the step above him. He leant back between her legs and looked up into her eyes, searching for comfort. She stroked his face, her hands gently trying to sooth.

“I’m goin’ tae ring John. He’ll ken what tae do, won’t he, Claire? It’s goin’ tae be alright, isn’t it? It has tae be.”

She brought her face close to his, her curls, still damp from the shower, falling onto his cheeks.

“Of course,” she replied, forcing a bright smile. “It will all work out, you’ll see.”

************

The floor to ceiling windows of the ultra-modern city centre office block afforded magnificent views across the city. However, the spectacle usually went unnoticed by those waiting in the chrome and glass reception area - they tended to be more preoccupied with the legal issues that were about to be discussed (and also the bill that would no doubt swiftly follow).

Jamie and Claire were no exceptions to this, and John took no interest either, having looked upon that view many times before. The three sat together, Jamie in the middle. Claire’s hand rested reassuringly on Jamie’s constantly jiggling knee. Only the chewing of her lower lip gave an indication of her nervousness.

John broke the silence. “You know I’m here as your friend, Jamie. The only lawyer charging his usual hourly rate will be Ned. Don’t be misled by the way he looks, by the way. He’s one of the best in family law. He can be an absolute arse when he needs to be, scares the shit out of other lawyers too.”

“Mr. Fraser? Mr. Gowan will see you now.”

John led the way into a large office dominated by a wall of floor to ceiling windows. The furniture was a light wood throughout. One corner of the office housed a black leather sofa next to a bookshelf full of children’s games. The whole room was bright, airy, and modern.

John warmly greeted the human anachronism seated behind the desk. “Ned, good to see you again. How are you?”

“John, man, I’m champion.” Ned moved from behind his desk to shake Jamie and Claire’s hands.  

A small man, he was dressed in a three piece tweed suit in earthy greens and browns, with a green paisley bow tie. A pocket watch chain dangled across the waistcoat. He in no way resembled a serious lawyer commanding an eye-watering hourly fee, but appeared more of an Edwardian gentleman ready for a spot of shooting or deer stalking across the Scottish moors.

“Mr. Fraser, I’m Ned Gowan, and ye are…?” He addressed Claire.

“I’m Claire Beauchamp, Mr. Gowan”. Claire held out her hand to him.

“Claire is ma girlfriend,” Jamie interjected. “She’s here fer a wee bit o’ moral support, as is John.”

He thought for a moment, then hurriedly carried on talking. “But she wasna ma girlfriend when all this started. That was afore I met her, ye ken.”

Ned smiled politely. “Och, Mr. Fraser, I’m no’ here tae pass judgement on ye or yer choices. Jes’ to sort out any, er, inconveniences from the choices ye may have made.”

Ned returned to his chair and motioned for the others to sit. Ignoring the large computer screen perched on his desk, he rifled through a stack of folders before selecting one and opening it.

“Now, John here has given me, wi’ yer permission, the background tae this, er, situation, but I do have a few questions I need tae ask ye before we agree the next steps. It may become a wee bit personal. I dinna ken if Miss Beauchamp will wish tae hear the details.”

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Gowan, but I am fully aware of the details. I’ll stay if that’s ok.”

Ned nodded his assent and, unscrewing the cap of his fountain pen, began to make notes.  “Right so, a few questions, Mr. Fraser. Were you in a relationship with Miss Dunsany at the time of the child’s conception?”

“No’ at that time. We had been in a relationship the year before, but I… we… had finished a few months before the, er, conception.” Jamie was unsure how to answer the lawyer’s questions, but decided on a formal response.

“Mm hmm. But you did have sexual relations with Miss Dunsany around the time of the child’s conception?”

“Aye, we went out for a drink and I… slept wi’ her. But I decided it wouldna work between us and told her so. Then I had nae contact wi’ her until she told me about the bairn two months later.”

“So, at that time, you only had sexual relations once?”

Jamie blushed and studied his hands.

“I shall rephrase that question, Mr. Fraser. You had sexual relations with Miss Dunsany on only one occasion?”

“Aye.”

“And did you use any form of contraception?”

“Geneva, that is Miss Dunsany, told me that she was on the pill. I had nae reason tae doubt her as she’d been on the pill previously.”

“When she informed ye that she was pregnant, did she explicitly state that ye were the father?”

“Aye, she did. She told me straight that the bairn was mine. And she told our friends and her sister that same thing. I can gi’e ye names. I visited the hospital wi’ her.”

Ned finished writing and leant back in his chair. “Why do ye think she has no’ included ye on the birth certificate?”

“Geneva made it clear that she expected us tae become a couple again. When I told her that wouldna happen, she spent the next few months trying tae get us together and fer me and Claire tae break up. As ye can see, we are still together, so I think Geneva has done this tae spite me. She couldna get her own way, and, like a child, she is lashin’ out. Trying tae hurt me.”

“And what do ye want, Mr. Fraser? What are we workin’ towards here? Full custody o’ the child? Shared custody?”

“I want tae be on the birth certificate, I want parental responsibility. I’m no’ looking for full custody, jes’ a fair access tae ma son, wi’ agreed times fer him tae stay wi’ me.”

“A fair ask, Mr. Fraser. I will write tae Miss Dunsany’s lawyer and ask fer a meeting tae agree to a settling o’ this wi’out goin’ tae Sheriff’s court. If that meeting does no’ resolve this issue, we will make it clear that we are prepared tae go tae court, and that there are people willin’ tae testify that she acknowledged ye as the father. And we can remind her that denying this in court could lead tae a separate case against her fer perjury. The court can also demand a DNA test be carried out. But we hope it willna get that far.”

Claire sensed Jamie relax in his seat. She felt a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. There was light at the end of this tunnel.

Ned carried on talking. “Now, if ye are looking tae share the child’s upbringing, her lawyer will no doubt be askin’ for assurance about yer personal life and stability. Which is where ye come in, Miss Beauchamp.” He turned and spoke to Claire directly. “They will be askin’ questions about ye and yer relationship wi’ Mr. Fraser. Are ye currently co-habiting wi’ Mr. Fraser?”

“No…” Claire started to answer.

E“Aye,” Jamie interrupted. “Ye are. I mean it’s not official and ye still have yer flat, but we’re together more than we’re apart. We’ve spent months tiptoeing around Geneva, trying no’ tae upset her, but nae more. I want it tae be official. I ken this is no’ the most romantic place, but ye canna get more reliable witnesses, so what do ye say? I love ye, Sassenach and I ken ye love me. I’ve not planned this like this, but it’s been on ma mind fer months now. I have nae ring...”

Jamie took Claire’s hands in his and knelt beside her chair. “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, I love ye, I ken I always will. Ye’ve been with me when it’s not always been easy for ye. Ye are the only one fer me and I want tae spend ma life wi’ ye. Truly, ye are more than I could have hoped for and I count ma blessings every day that ye are with me still. Sassenach… will ye marry me?”

Claire stared into Jamie’s deep blue eyes, so hopeful and focused only on her. She tried to speak, but somehow the words wouldn’t come.

“Come now, ma dear,” Ned said encouragingly. “Remember, ye’re still on ma time and I’m chargin’ by the hour.”

She felt the tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over onto her cheeks. “Oh, Jamie, yes. Yes I will.”

Jamie reached up and pulled her head down to him, laughing and kissed her tenderly, tasting the salty tears on her cheeks. She held him close, oblivious to Ned and John watching with some amusement, pleasure and perhaps just a hint of jealousy. Breathing in the scent of Jamie’s hair, a new sensation crept over her, a feeling of unbounded happiness and… home.

[thenewsguru]

Facebook data scandal is corruption and destroys democracy

YOU will have heard the name Cambridge Analytica everywhere in the past week. Working for over a year, The Guardian and the Observer; the New York Times and Channel 4 News broke the story of how Cambridge Analytica worked with the stolen data of over 50 million Facebook profiles to sway people’s opinions towards Donald Trump in the 2016 US presidential election. The story has everything that makes for fascinating news: a whistleblower, entrapment, sex, money and politics. Whistleblower Christopher Wylie worked at Cambridge Analytica (backed by right-wing American billionaire Robert Mercer) and shared details of how Steve Bannon, the alt-right former chief strategist for Donald Trump, believed that to change people’s politics, first you have to change culture. Changing culture and thus getting more people to vote for Donald Trump, was the goal and Cambridge Analytica were the firm to achieve it. To follow through though, they would need a lot of data and information about a lot of people. To get this data Cambridge Analytica worked with someone named Aleksandr Kogan who worked for a company named Global Science Research. He also happens to be an associate professor at St Petersburg State University in Russia … Aleksandr created a Facebook app which would test someone’s personality. We have all seen these apps in our news feed and you have probably, like me, received annoying notifications when a friend uses one of these apps. Whenever you start using a Facebook app you are met with a page asking you to give the app permission to access your information, or to send a message to your friends or post on your wall. What you might not have known, as I certainly didn’t, is that these apps can be used, not just to access all of your information, but to access all of the information on every person on your friends list. This workaround allowed Aleksandr and Cambridge Analytica access to over 50 million Facebook users’ data without seeking their permission. In turn, Cambridge Analytica then used this information to target key voters in areas that Trump needed to win to secure his spot in the Oval Office. Initially, I wondered how much information a Facebook profile can actually hold about any individual. Clearly wondering the same thing, Twitter user Dylan McKay (@dylanmckaynz) downloaded all the data Facebook holds on him and started digging. He found phone records, contact lists and data on texts sent and received, and even contacts he had deleted from his phone. It’s not hard to imagine then, that with this level of data held on 50 million people – never mind adding in views shared in posts, private messages, page likes, article likes and websites you’ve signed into via Facebook – that Cambridge Analytica was able to tailor propaganda and fake news to appeal to you and sway your opinion. And that is exactly what they did. Cambridge Analytica don’t just work in political data and advertising, however. In secret recordings by Channel 4 News, the now suspended chief executive of Cambridge Analytica is seen admitting that they can send women (referred to as, “girls” in the video) to have sex with a political candidate to make them susceptible to blackmail; or, they could even send someone pretending to be a property developer to meet with a political candidate to offer them a bribe which they will film using secret cameras and then release online. You have to enjoy the irony of this discussion all being caught on a secret camera. As the Channel 4 News story was airing Facebook staff were entering the Cambridge Analytica offices. The Information Commissioner stated she was filing for a warrant to search Cambridge Analytica, but at the time of writing this she still has not received it, five days later. This story is shocking, interesting and fascinating, but most of all it is utterly terrifying. Since these stories initially broke, we have seen a flood of further reporting showing that Cambridge Analytica have worked for the UK Government, have very suspicious ties to the Tory party, and have meddled in elections all over the world. As well as previous reporting which showed Cambridge Analytica’s ties to the Leave campaign in the EU referendum. The use of social media to directly advertise to people is not new. Initially popularised by the Obama campaign in 2008, it has been used by political campaigns ever since. What Cambridge Analytica does is different, however. Where in the past campaigns would use Facebook advertising to deliver key policy messages in areas where they were polling badly, Cambridge Analytica and the Trump campaign stole people’s data and used it against them by spreading propaganda, lies and fake news. We must, from now on, be more wary and diligent when getting news from social media sources, and everyone must consider the information they are sharing with huge corporations who sell you as a commodity. But most of all, we must recognise that this is corruption at the highest level. This completely undermines and destroys quality democracy. Now more than ever, we need to demand better from both our politicians and media. Where social media was initially a ground-breaking tool we used to get to the heart of a story and bypass editorial bias, it has now been hijacked to spread disinformation and we should all be extremely worried. Read the full article

[thenewsguru]

Facebook data scandal is corruption and destroys democracy

YOU will have heard the name Cambridge Analytica everywhere in the past week. Working for over a year, The Guardian and the Observer; the New York Times and Channel 4 News broke the story of how Cambridge Analytica worked with the stolen data of over 50 million Facebook profiles to sway people’s opinions towards Donald Trump in the 2016 US presidential election. The story has everything that makes for fascinating news: a whistleblower, entrapment, sex, money and politics. Whistleblower Christopher Wylie worked at Cambridge Analytica (backed by right-wing American billionaire Robert Mercer) and shared details of how Steve Bannon, the alt-right former chief strategist for Donald Trump, believed that to change people’s politics, first you have to change culture. Changing culture and thus getting more people to vote for Donald Trump, was the goal and Cambridge Analytica were the firm to achieve it. To follow through though, they would need a lot of data and information about a lot of people. To get this data Cambridge Analytica worked with someone named Aleksandr Kogan who worked for a company named Global Science Research. He also happens to be an associate professor at St Petersburg State University in Russia … Aleksandr created a Facebook app which would test someone’s personality. We have all seen these apps in our news feed and you have probably, like me, received annoying notifications when a friend uses one of these apps. Whenever you start using a Facebook app you are met with a page asking you to give the app permission to access your information, or to send a message to your friends or post on your wall. What you might not have known, as I certainly didn’t, is that these apps can be used, not just to access all of your information, but to access all of the information on every person on your friends list. This workaround allowed Aleksandr and Cambridge Analytica access to over 50 million Facebook users’ data without seeking their permission. In turn, Cambridge Analytica then used this information to target key voters in areas that Trump needed to win to secure his spot in the Oval Office. Initially, I wondered how much information a Facebook profile can actually hold about any individual. Clearly wondering the same thing, Twitter user Dylan McKay (@dylanmckaynz) downloaded all the data Facebook holds on him and started digging. He found phone records, contact lists and data on texts sent and received, and even contacts he had deleted from his phone. It’s not hard to imagine then, that with this level of data held on 50 million people – never mind adding in views shared in posts, private messages, page likes, article likes and websites you’ve signed into via Facebook – that Cambridge Analytica was able to tailor propaganda and fake news to appeal to you and sway your opinion. And that is exactly what they did. Cambridge Analytica don’t just work in political data and advertising, however. In secret recordings by Channel 4 News, the now suspended chief executive of Cambridge Analytica is seen admitting that they can send women (referred to as, “girls” in the video) to have sex with a political candidate to make them susceptible to blackmail; or, they could even send someone pretending to be a property developer to meet with a political candidate to offer them a bribe which they will film using secret cameras and then release online. You have to enjoy the irony of this discussion all being caught on a secret camera. As the Channel 4 News story was airing Facebook staff were entering the Cambridge Analytica offices. The Information Commissioner stated she was filing for a warrant to search Cambridge Analytica, but at the time of writing this she still has not received it, five days later. This story is shocking, interesting and fascinating, but most of all it is utterly terrifying. Since these stories initially broke, we have seen a flood of further reporting showing that Cambridge Analytica have worked for the UK Government, have very suspicious ties to the Tory party, and have meddled in elections all over the world. As well as previous reporting which showed Cambridge Analytica’s ties to the Leave campaign in the EU referendum. The use of social media to directly advertise to people is not new. Initially popularised by the Obama campaign in 2008, it has been used by political campaigns ever since. What Cambridge Analytica does is different, however. Where in the past campaigns would use Facebook advertising to deliver key policy messages in areas where they were polling badly, Cambridge Analytica and the Trump campaign stole people’s data and used it against them by spreading propaganda, lies and fake news. We must, from now on, be more wary and diligent when getting news from social media sources, and everyone must consider the information they are sharing with huge corporations who sell you as a commodity. But most of all, we must recognise that this is corruption at the highest level. This completely undermines and destroys quality democracy. Now more than ever, we need to demand better from both our politicians and media. Where social media was initially a ground-breaking tool we used to get to the heart of a story and bypass editorial bias, it has now been hijacked to spread disinformation and we should all be extremely worried. Read the full article