#apple magistrate

[keyn-jender-bite]

The Evening has Truly Become The Night in this Big Dark City

part one part two part three

The education district was suspiciously quiet when I ascended from the subway platform. I myself never attended higher education, but it was my understanding that university kids liked to party, and party hard. There was nobody visibly or audibly partying anywhere in the vicinity this particular dark and foggy evening.

Did I fail to mention it had become quite foggy? Well, it had. It was the kind of ambient fog a rock-solid private dick like me just craves. We're creatures of the fog, private detectives. It's not just an aesthetic thing either. There's something casually magical about a nice, thick, pea-soup fog that gives us gumshoes strength.

I breathed it deep into my nostrils, pulled my collar up around my neck and began to slink towards campus.

The large brick buildings of the City University loomed darkly in the night, lit scarcely by lampposts, themselves haloed in the fog and surrounded by fluttering moths. My footsteps echoed on the cobbled sidewalks, splishing a little in the shallow puddles gathered between the bricks.

I didn't know exactly where I was going, but I figured I would know it when I saw it, and thankfully I didn't have to wander too long before saw it I did.

The sign in front of the building was slightly obscured by clinging ivy, but clearly enough I could read "Marvin Chestermarvin Laboratory for Applied Theoretical Electrics and Mysterious Plumbing." This must be the place. I circled the exterior, looking for a less obvious entrance than the front door, which might be a bit too conspicuous for the purposes of snooping around.

There are different kinds of snooping. The snooping I partake in is functionally and physically different from the type of snooping that a cat burglar might employ, for example. Their form of snooping usually involves more creeping, skulking and especially sneaking.

I don't skulk. I've never skulked in my adult life and you're not likely to ever find my skulking unless I've fallen on hard times and it's required of me for work. There but for the grace of God and paying clients go any of us.

Around the rear of the building I found the perfect entrance into which I might snoop appropriately. The Lab had a small loading dock with a corrugated lift gate through which I'm sure various pieces of equipment and pallets of raw materials were loaded in. These cheap style of gates were notorious for locking insufficiently, a weakness that I intended to exploit, and did.

Using a nearby crowbar I was able to lever the bottom of the gate up until I could spot the poorly-designed hook latch. Employing a nearby tire iron, I manipulated the hook out of its housing and raised the gate just enough for me to wriggle underneath it like a hag fish in a trench-coat.

I was in.

Fishing the small flashlight out of my coat pocket, I clicked it on with a flick of the button and slowly padded up the stairs of the loading dock, through a heavy steel door into the hallways proper.

The wide, tall halls were constructed of marble, with columns supporting the vaulted ceiling above. The classrooms and offices were clearly labeled with small copper plaques, announcing their room number and the typical use-case for the space within.

An eerie quiet permeated the dark halls. Ghostly light seeped in through the windows to cast wiggly reflections on the imperfect floor. I could nearly hear my own beating heart in the silence.

A placard informed me the theoretical electrician offices were up a floor, with an arrow pointing to a broad staircase. I crept up slowly, keeping my feet precise and muted.

At the top of the stairs was a T-junction. To the right was a large lab filled with esoteric equipment, the purposes of which completely eluded me. To the right was an office door, shut and mercifully labeled: "Dr. Morose, office hours M-W 9-3."

A quick try at the doorknob confirmed my suspicions, the office was locked. Surely it would pose no challenge for me and my little lock picking kit.

Kneeling in front of the door I slid my favorite pick into the key-way, employing a 2 thousandths thick turning tool and a slightly hooked wave rake. A bit of fiddling solved the problem with a gratifying "click", allowing the door to swing freely open with a slight creak.

The air inside Klevin's office was musty and stale, with a hint of something I couldn't yet place. The soft circle emanating from my flashlight prowled the walls and furniture, seeking out items of interest. It was all pretty stock stuff—a desk with a comfortable-looking chair, filing cabinets, book cases, etc.

"Where did you go, professor?" I asked under my breath, scrutinising the books and papers which littered the space. Exploring their desk, I thumbed through the notebooks and folders thereupon, seeing nothing of particular import.

Sliding the primary drawer open, a small black notebook caught my eye. I fished it out and flipped it open. it appeared to be a diary or journal of sorts.

Most of the entries were pretty banal stuff, notes about classes, students and faculty. Petty inter-departmental drama and the like. An entry towards the end of the book jumped out at me for the speed with which it looked to have been scrawled.

"September - I know I'm being followed now. I suspected as much but now I have proof. I don't know to whom I might confess this. I can't be sure who else is in on it. It might have to do with the grant? No. Don't be stupid Klevin, it's the work. It's the EMF Drive. He wants it. I should have known it was him. A and L mustn't know, they would spiral with worry. I have to find more proof before accusing him or I could be disbarred. Talk to JD, they might be able to help."

That was the last journal entry. I closed the book and sat in Klevin's chair, my brow crinkled. Maybe they had been kidnapped by a rival in the college? Were A and L Aurora and their other partner? Who is JD? What on Earth was the EMF Drive and why would somebody want it? And what was that smell?

It was strongest here, at their desk, especially in their chair.

"We warned you, Magistrate!" a harsh voice suddenly screamed from the open doorway.

My reaction time was just quick enough to save my life. I flipped backwards in the chair just as the pistol fired, clipping Klevin's desk and sending a stack of papers flying into shreds.

I ducked behind the large desk, keeping my head down and kneeling. I couldn't see who was in the door, but I could hear them pull the trigger of their gun and the unmistakable sound of a misfire.

"Cribbage!" they hissed, followed by the metallic sliding sounds of a revolver chamber ejecting for hasty inspection.

Now was my chance. I wasted no time, vaulting over the desk head first. In one swift motion, I grabbed a dusty apple sitting on the table top and threw it at the would-be assassin's head, just winging their shoulder.

It was just enough to distract them. "Erk!" they croaked, grabbing their arm and twisting.

I attempted to jump off the desk and punch them, but a small pile of ungraded essays slipped beneath my shoes, sending me forwards ungracefully directly into the bookshelf beside my attacker.

I crashed through three shelves, sending tomes, treatises and various novels spilling onto the floor and at the shadowy figure, who was still stunned.

I managed to kick one leg out from under the pile of books, knocking the gun from their hand. "Hey!" they complained.

"Come here you!" I commanded, trying once more to heave myself into their stomach, only to trip on the same apple I had thrown at them moments before and careen face first past them and down the flight of stairs outside of the office.

My body tumbled head over buttocks down the first flight of stairs where I gracefully collapsed into a heap of books and papers. Struggling to my feet, I was just able to look up to see the figure jumping at me from the top of the stairs, brandishing a large, serpentine dagger.

"Hoooo!" they yelled.

My self defense instincts kicked in and I executed an imperfect round-house kick, tripping on the slick marble floor and falling backwards to perfectly hit my head on the windowsill behind me before blacking out just in time.

When I came to, I was alive. I raised myself up on my elbows, to survey my surroundings. I was still in the stairwell, books and papers were still strewn everywhere. The attacker was suspiciously absent.

Clambering stiffly to my feet, the situation became abundantly clear as I spotted the vaguely person-shaped hole in the nearby window. I peered out the shattered pane to the pavement below. Absent from the pile of glass was a body of any kind, or any other trace of the shadowy figure.

I sat down and rubbed the back of my head where a sizeable goose egg was already growing. Now I had a sliver of an inkling as to what was going on. Some puzzle pieces were falling into place. The shadowy figure had been wearing a long, dark robe, obscuring their features and body. I finally recognized the mysterious smell in Klevin's office as tarragon. The curved knife the assassin wielded was all too familiar in form and function.

I thought he was long dead, but these were the calling cards of my oldest nemesis and his weirdo cultists.

It seemed Warlock Geoff was back in town.

[nikidontsurf]

GEORGE HARRISON and PATTIE BOYD leave Kinfauns to go to the Walton and Esher Magistrates Court, March 18, 1969.

  She was at Kinfauns, their bungalow home in Esher, Surrey, playing genial hostess to a group of visitors from Scotland Yard’s drug squad. She recalled the events in her memoir Wonderful Tonight: ‘Suddenly I heard a lot of cars on the gravel in the drive – far too many for it to be just George. My first thought was that maybe Paul and Linda wanted to party after the wedding. Then the bell rang. I opened the door to find a policewoman and a dog standing outside. At that moment the back-doorbell rang and I thought, Oh, my God, this is so scary! I’m surrounded by police.

The man in charge introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Pilcher, from Scotland Yard, and handed me a piece of paper. I knew why he was there: he thought we had drugs, and he said he was going to search the house. In they came, about eight policemen through the front, another five or six through the back and there were more in the greenhouse. The policewoman said she would follow me while the others searched and didn’t let me out of her sight. I said, ‘Why are you doing this? We don’t have any drugs. I’m going to phone my husband.’ I rang George at Apple. ‘George, it’s your worst nightmare. Come home.’

The officers clearly thought the Harrisons would be at Paul’s wedding. The timing was not a coincidence. (...) Pilcher had already busted Mick Jagger, Brian Jones and Donovan, as well as Lennon and Yoko the previous year. National treasures or not, The Beatles were no longer protected from the law. - ‘And in the End: The Last Days of The Beatles’ Ken McNab

  I was with George in the office when that call came through. It was the end of a long day at Apple. Pattie rang and said, ‘They’re here – the law is here,’ and we knew what to do by then. We phoned Release’s lawyer, Martin Polden. We had a routine: he came round to Apple, and we all went down by limousine to Esher, where the police were well ensconced by then – and I stood bail for George and Pattie. They went off to the police station. We were all extremely indignant because it was the day of Paul’s wedding, a poor way to celebrate it. The police can be so nice.

George was calm about it. George is always calm – he sometimes gets a grump, but he’s always calm – and he was extremely calm that night, and very, very indignant. He went into the house and looked around at all these men and one woman, and said something like. ‘Birds have nests and animals have holes, but man has nowhere to lay his head.’ – ‘Oh, really, sir? Sorry to tell you we have to…’ and then into the police routine.

That’s how calm and how cross he was, because, as he said, he kept his dope in the box where dope went, and his joss sticks went in the joss stick box. He was a man who ran an orderly late-Sixties household, with beautiful things and some nice stuff to smoke.

 In my opinion he didn’t have to be busted because he was doing nobody any harm. I still believe what they did was an intrusion into personal life. - Derek Taylor in ‘The Beatles Anthology’

[brabblesblog]

Louder.

Centuries before the circumstances of his ascension, Astarion watches the sunrise. Inspired by this artwork by pickled0ctopus For @glorious-void

TW: Torture, implied SA, Non-con elements, Suicidal Ideation Read on AO3.

Louder.

He tries, gods, he really tries. But he doesn’t have much voice left; today’s session with Godey had all but scratched his larynx raw.

He feels the chafe of the manacles on his wrists. He knows better than to fight against them, knows there’s no winning that, but Cazador liked having him do it anyway - for the theatrics of it, he had said.

That voice in his head, incontestable. 

So he had fought, tugging and pulling and yanking with a desperation that was not his, no, if it were up to him he’d just hold his hands slack but he has to fight, has to pull until his wrists are broken bloody weeping everywhere -

A loud crack behind him, and he screams as the whip lands, as requested. However the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a broken, hoarse groan. He despairs, knowing he’s failed his master yet again.

“The master said louder.” Godey cracks the whip again, and Astarion manages a louder sound this time, halfway between a shout and a moan. 

Please, he thinks, let that be enough.

He knows it is anything but.

He’s on a bed, the sheets white and clean in one of the guestrooms; a small comfort, one that he knows won’t last.

He eyes the window warily. The curtains are peeled back just far enough for a sliver of moonlight to land across him; Astarion arches his neck. The moonlight falls across his Adam’s apple, his hair falling back in silvery waves. 

Whatever new thing Cazador has thought up, Astarion thinks, might be preferable to the horrors Godey does. He had run out of sounds to make, of screams to titillate his master’s ears. 

And so Cazador had instructed him to clean up, boy, and lay down on the guest bed. 

Open the windows a fraction. Let the moonlight touch you. 

Do not move a muscle and watch the dawn arrive. 

Astarion had done just so. He wonders if the master intended to kill him this way, hopes for that to be the case. Likelier than not, however, he knows that this is yet another sort of cruel punishment that he just can’t see yet. 

The question of being able to die… well, he supposes not die die, as he’s dead - 

Of not existing, then, is something that has been plaguing him ever since he dug his way out of his grave. 

His master’s rules have so far prevented it. Not that Astarion hasn’t tried to find a loophole; years of his training as a magistrate have been put into exhausting, terrible use, trying to find some way he could circumvent Cazador’s words, twist them, and allow himself peace. 

No matter what type of logic he’d use in his head it never worked; he’d always find his own body betraying him, seeking safety when push came to shove. He’d scream at himself, to just please, please, stay put and die, but his body acted of its own accord, in accordance with his master’s will.

His body. Not his anymore. 

Astarion’s eyes, the only thing he feels allowed to move, keeps staring at the window. He watches the moonlight slowly wane. The hope is still there: perhaps this time with Cazador asking him to stay put he can last long enough to end; he could twist his interpretation enough to finally free himself.

Highly unlikely, he knows, but the embers of hope in his heart cannot be so easily tamped down.

All too soon the sun begins to rise. Astarion has not seen it in what seems like forever; his eyes widen to take it all in. Beautiful, the way those gentle rays illuminate everything; the small glimpse of color in a world so full of darkness makes his breath catch.

There are worse ways to end, he figures. This is positively divine.

The thought is unfortunately cut short by the sound of footsteps approaching him. His footsteps.

Cazador stares down at him, hidden in the safety of the shadows.

“Not exactly how I imagined you would execute this, but satisfactory,” he says. “A rare accomplishment, boy.” Despite himself, despite the gnawing hatred for his master, Astarion feels the swelling of pride at these words and immediately curses himself. Was he so wretched now that he craved even praise from him?

“Thank you, master,” he croaks out automatically.

Fuck.

Cazador smiles, as if hearing the thought. “One more thing.”

Astarion sees that gleam in Cazador’s eyes; in an instant what little hope he has dissolves and his undead heart begins to speed up. 

Of course there was to be no freedom. His master knew better, wanted him by his side forever, of course he did, who else brought the most beautiful victims, who else had the most exquisite screams -

“You want… to live,” Cazador says, eyes glowing a faint crimson as he taps into his power over him. “You’ll want to beg me to spare you from the sun.” Long, thin fingers, fingers that have touched him in so many ways and in so many places, all of them horrible, rest against his thigh. 

He feels the magic slowly take, the calm resignation and expectation of finally being allowed repose slowly morphing into panic that wasn’t his own, an alien feeling taking over him, ruling his heart and his mind.

His heart races, breathing quickens, whimpers, even as he tries to tell himself this isn’t what he wants. Betrayed yet again by his body and mind, trapped within the confines of Cazador’s will. He should be used to this by now; it’s been years of this, of endless waking nightmares of neverending bodies of dead-end hallways and pure shit -

The stream of sunlight begins to creep towards him, and Astarion struggles. He needs to keep still as commanded, but cannot stop his mouth.

“Master, please, I - I don’t want to die here,” he begins to say, his voice a wreck still. Cazador, still above him, watches with wry amusement, the hand on his thigh moving higher.

Astarion cannot help the whine that escapes him. “Please. Please.”

I’ll do anything say anything be anything just please don’t let me die here.

Never mind that those words, those thoughts, are not his; that he will never mean them in his deepest heart. He says them anyway, feels them anyway. 

“I think I’d rather you be quiet, child,” Cazador replies. 

Immediately his mouth snaps shut. His eyes shift over to look at Cazador, the defiance in them slowly ebbing away as the sunlight finally touches him.

Blistering, sizzling pain erupts from that line on his throat. He can hear his skin begin to burn, the crackling sound loud in the near-silent room. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t speak. Instead he watches his master, gaze conveying those traitorous feelings Cazador forces him to possess.

The pain increases, incrementally at first, and then worse as time passes. However it isn’t worse than any other pain he’s felt before, especially in Godey’s sessions.

He stares at Cazador and then at the sunlight, feeling freedom slip away from his fingers. So close to escape, to peace, and he is reminded that he can never have that. That this is it for eternity, to be Cazador’s, to spend day after day reliving the same waking nightmare without end.

A single tear falls. A different kind of pain.

If he could scream, he thinks, he could have been louder now. 

  

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind@pursuitseternal@youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann

[pursuitseternal]

“Feeling:” angst, romance, flashbacks, comfort… update to “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x Tav (Cordehlia) | E | 4.5K of angsty flashbacks and romantic comfort

Cover art by @marimosalad 💞

Summary: Baldur’s Gate looms before them, where so much awaits them: Cazador, the Absolute, and the source and secret of Cordehlia’s long-lasting hatred of him. Where her love turned to grief, and grief turned to rage.

CW: cuddling, flashbacks, angst angst and more angst, grief, tragic revelations, hurt comfort, two lovesick idiots finally getting closer… while they still can.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 15: Feeling…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

She could see the heat rising from it, the City. Baldur’s Gate, a sight she had sworn never to see. Not since she had last ventured this way, heavy with broken heart and the weight of lost souls in her heart.

But fates change, fortunes rise and fall. Now Cordehlia sat on this watchtower wall, the very reason for her anger and hatred and vow to never set foot here again had his arm wrapped snug around her waist. Astarion pulled her into his lap, face turned towards the sun as his crimson eyes watched it set over the sea.

Her heart rapt hard in her chest. There was so much ahead of them, so many battles to fight and enemies to slay. But for now, he just held her as the light faded into sparkles on the waves. His eyes were wide with wonder, and she realized in that moment, he hadn’t seen a sunset near the city for almost two-hundred years. Not since….

“Not since those days of Magistrate have I seen the sun, let alone allowed myself to watch it settle into the Sea…” he sighed, snuggling her closer into his chest, tucking her fiery red head under the dip of his chin. “This is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it… the allure of the city, the chance to be together at long last….”

His voice, usually purring in seduction or acerbic in sarcasm just flowed over her in warm tender words, just as he used to back… back home.

“We are a might bit different now than we would have been,” she replied, a bit sharper, a bit more bitter than he was.

He turned slowly, thick lips smirking as he caught her chin in his gentle hold. “We both have a little more bite now, don’t we, my love?”

Cordehlia ran her thumb over his lips, slipping inside to brush his fang gently. “There is so much ahead of us here. Challenges… danger… blood.” Her voice was distant, so many thoughts swirling behind the shining silver of her eyes.

Astarion smirked against her palm, trying for flirtatious, for a hint of playful seduction to soothe her. “But darling, we like blood,” he teased.

A half-hearted laugh, she pressed closer against his body. Wishing he was warm.

“Cazador will be seeking you back even harder now, my love…” she whispered, worried about even mentioning the monster’s name.

“Let him,” he shrugged, every muscle in his hardened body tightening. Ready to spring. “I am more than powerful enough to take him. With our tadpole, he can’t compel me, can’t force me to…” Astarion swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the top of her head, “to do anything.” He finished, so many things unsaid in that silence. “I’ll be free,” he purred, lifting her sweet face up for him to lose himself in. “We’ll be free, Cordehlia.”

She pressed her lips against his, a soft kiss, more affirming and loving that words could say.

He sighed, letting his fingers fall from under her chin. “You really are perfect, every time, my love.” That raking smile twisted his face, more of his taunting, jeering nature coming out to play. “And besides, I can’t wait to hear Cazador’s screams and smell his blood once we finally kill him. All we need to do now is find where this… Rite… is taking place, and,” he arched that left brow, cunning and mischievous, “if we can take a bit of that power and immortality for ourselves.”

“Astarion, always the ambitious,” she shook her head. “Magistrate, High Lord… no those titles are beneath you,” Cordehlia needled back, mocking and whining as if he were a child. “No, no… Lord Astarion, Vampire Ascendant…”

“You must admit,” he let out a heavily dramatic sigh, “it does sound so nice.”

“Hmm,” she patted him on the cheek, “one thing at a time, love. Devilish pacts and profane rites are not like bargaining for a better deal at the fish market.”

Astarion snickered, “That’s your elvish wisdom, is it? I’d prefer power over a nice cut of cod any day. Why don’t more people talk about the wisdom of the vampire?” He faked a pout, like the petulant child she sometimes still caught glimmers of beneath the man she loved.

“Because the extent of your wisdom, Astarion is ‘See a problem, stab the problem, get rewarded for solving the problem.’ That’s not wisdom,” Cordehlia placed a hand on his chest as he started to lean into her, his body winding tight as if he were about to throw her on her back and have his way. But she shoved hard enough to keep him at bay. “It’s the ambition of the vampire, my love. And you’ve always had an ambitious streak in you.”

She gazes at him a little pointedly, a little bitter, just a spark of that anger in her face that he remembered from first finding her once more. “I take it you worry about my ambitions, darling.”

“I have the right to worry.” She kept that hand on his chest. “You’ve hurt me before,” she quirked a brow, taunting, “remember?”

“A low blow, but a valid one,” he sighed, exasperated. “I do remember, and yet…” he forced his face into hers, looking closely. “Why do you look like you hate me… like that day you found me on the beach?”

A shaking, chest rattling breath made her quake in his arms. “Because I vowed never to come back to this city, to never step foot in Baldur’s Gate again after what I went through…. Over you.”

Dexterous, roguish fingers caressed the back of her neck. “Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to show me?”

She could feel the wriggling of his tadpole, calling to hers, begging to let him enter. She looked into his eyes, forcing them open before she allowed him in her memories. “Perhaps it’s better you know… but remember, I’ve since learned the truth, since learned about your own darkness and suffering. And now, you’ll see why I became all I did. Why I hated you….”

“So long as it’s past tense, your hatred, my love, then hide nothing from me….”

Minds crashed, faced whirred in his vision as he saw her memories from centuries before….

———————————————————————-

It hurt. Unbearable. His parents already gone… disappeared probably from their own griefs. Left and never came back. Swallowed by their loss or to the violence of the City—a cautionary tale for her people to keep to themselves, to quit the alliances and deals their High Lord and Lady had insisted on forging with the powerful Patriars and Council Members of Baldur’s Gate. And now they were gone too. Their line with them.

Of course Father was worried the same would befall her, a constant niggling dread inside her mind as she crossed into the gates of the Lower City.

She kept her eyes down the whole way here… ignoring every vendor along the Southspan, every prostitute and pleasure seeker that stumbled out of the Flophouses and brothels, and every Flaming Fist that didn’t ask for her papers as she made it through Wyrm���s Rock.

Her booted feet hurried all the more at those sultry voices that called to her from those pleasure houses. Every grunt or sigh or ‘darling’ was a slice across her heart.

The reminder she would never hear him again. Never see him again. Never hold him, or kiss him, or taste him, or…

Gods, it was too much to bear. She collapsed against the alley wall. Her world spun, the ground falling out from under her as she shuddered and sobbed.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name into the palm of her hand as she tried in vain to force it back inside. The Magistrates offices were ahead, just around the corner. So close, and yet so far. Their letter, perfunctory and businesslike, detailed the facts of his murder, requesting someone to finish the matters associated with Astarion Ancunín’s death. Someone needed to collect his things, to pay his fines and check his burial.

His grave.

A responsibility falling to her in the aftermath of his parents’ disappearance.

On her, his betrothed.

Well, not betrothed anymore.

It had already been months, nearly a year. Matters had to be closed, fines paid for services rendered.

She shuddered, the sun beginning to fade behind the tall structures of the City. Night would fall soon, and yet somehow it wouldn’t be as deep as her grief, as dark as heart grew now that she was here.

One hand steadied on the wall, willing her body to rise, her feet to walk. She needed silence, someplace quiet and… drawing up short, she realized where she stood, the open maw of the cemetery to her right. It was like her own heart stopped beating the second she stepped foot on the buried dead. It would have to be here… the letter had said.

She forced her stinging, tear-blinded eyes to scan every name.

A chill set in the air as the sun sank lower, as she turned down a row of headstones, her heart aching with each new name. Aching more and more. Until she found it in the back corner of the garden, the grass already grown over the dirt of his grave, little vines already creeping up that carved stone.

His beautiful name above where his beautiful body was laid to rest. She just… wanted to touch him again. To hear his inane giggle. To press her lips against his. To taste the salty tang of his cock one more time….

She didn’t know when she had laid on the ground, or when the sun had set. Didn’t know when the moon had risen or the grass beneath her body had grown cold.

Shivering, she needed to find a warm meal and a warm bed for the night. The Elfsong wasn’t far, she could stumble her way there before she passed out.

But that would mean leaving him.

Saying… goodbye.

She pressed her cold fingers to her lips, squeezing her eyes shut. Imagining they were his elegant fingers, one last time. Reaching for the stone, she pressed her kiss against his name carved for the ages and eternities. “Goodbye, my love,” she managed to say.

Rising to her feet, somehow she made it to the firelight and music of the Elfsong… packed to tightly with bodies, she struggled to make her way inside to the keeper behind the bar. “Saer, I require a room for the night.”

“Full up for another hour yet,” he huffed, wiping out the inside of a tankard. He gave her a salacious wink. “Rooms are in high demand this time of night. But one of my regulars will be done soon, he never stays long before draggin’em off back to his place…”

Her stomach flip flopped. She could have wretched up her guts right then and there.

“No,” she breathed deep and pulled her shoulders back as her father had taught her. “I’ll not sleep in someone else’s mess. I can find other accommodations.”

The barkeep shrugged. “Suit yerself. I doubt it. But I’ll save your place for next, once he’s done. One room in an hour for the pretty, red-head she-elf…” Cordehlia stamped away in a disgusted huff.

A fire in her belly, she bought herself a pie from a vendor, letting it settle uneasily in her stomach as she tried for another room.

Nothing. Not a single spare place to hire out for the night that wasn’t already bought and paid for or used for prostitution.

This miserable city… she cursed it in her heart. Hating every cobblestone, loathing every drunk stranger that scattered before her. This cesspit that took her love. The corruption that sank him into the earth itself.

She would be gone tomorrow, never to return. Take the cold comfort of his possessions and pay his fines and begin to bury the memory of him. As if she ever could.

But at least back with her people, with her Father, she could remember him as he was to her, not as one lost soul trying to find his way in this filth. That was the curse of the elves of course, their memory. That every night she could relive their youth, their love… all their firsts. As if he never left her. Turning back to the Elfsong, she resigned herself to that disgusting fate. At least she could demand clean bedclothes, losing herself in trance to the memories and to her love for Astarion. It was bittersweet relief.

Already she could feel the strength of her memory almost conjuring him. She could almost hear his voice in the streets, almost see his pale face and pretty eyes and wicked smile in the faces of strangers. By the time she had to face the Elfsong barkeep again, she merely passed him her coin.

“I knew you would return, what’s another Elf’s money after all…” he waved her to a stack of laundered sheets by the stairs. First door on the right… it was easy to find.

But then she froze the second she shut the door to the little bedroom.

Was her memory so strong… what her grief so fraught… her heart so broken?

The room smelled like him.

————————————————————————

She could sense his… disgust. His self-loathing and pain and confusion. As if he witnessed his own memories through another’s eyes.

She pulled him back deeper into her thoughts, a new, darker, more jaded feeling overwhelmed Astarion now. Grief piled upon grief.

————————————————————————

“I fucking hate it here,” Cordehlia growled under her breath. It was only to herself, but she liked the sound of vitriol in her voice all the same. She sat in a booth at the Elfsong as she had all day. Waiting. Watching. That human spy was supposed to be here… was supposed to come and give the information needed to fight off those Orcs on the southern border of her people’s lands. Where their camp was… how many their forces made… weapons, spells, war machines… that sort of thing.

All the things she had learned to take stock in, to measure before battle, just as her Father once had.

Once had, until he had fallen to Ketheric Thorm and his Dark Justiciars. But that pain was too fresh. Less than a year ago, now. Not that the Elfsong was filled with happy memories, not this City. Not the one that still made the scars on her heart sore from the last time she entered these sin-slick walls.

Astarion, she kept herself from saying his name out loud.

She would clear off his grave later tonight, once the matter was closed and the deed was done. Never again would she mention him. Her long, elven memory grew heavy under the weight of her sorrows. Orphan and widow.

Orphan—mother dead almost at birth, father, unburied on some cursed lands not far from here.

And widow, well almost a widow. No vows had been made other than the ones they forged wordlessly that night. Her body once touched, her virginity taken long ago. No one had even come close to that once more. Nor would they again.

It would have to be enough. Her heart would never love again.

Not when she was so needed by her people.

Her people had lost a High Lord and Lady, lost their promising young Lord to be next in line. With her Father’s death, they lost their steadfast, valiant hero of a General.

But Cordehlia was neither, neither Lady nor General; she was all that remained to lead in these matters.

No hero, but an assassin. No lady, a weapon. All her silken gowns had been long traded for armor at her Father’s side since Astarion’s death. And now… sharp, cold things were all that remained.

It was all she was now too.

Shaking her head, she scanned the room, piercing eyes peering into every table, looking for her contact. He would be here soon, and she needed to keep her head, slowing her sips of Ithbank. No matter how badly she wanted to drink into a stupor and pass out on his grave.

Maybe she would be with him again then…

“Fuck,” she cursed, slamming the glass down. And then she reached right for the green glass necked bottle of the vintage to take a swig.

It might be a long night of just waiting and watching. If she had to watch one more couple meander up those stairs, groping each other, to return moments later disheveled, she might throw her most precious dagger between their shoulder blades and be done with it.

What good was it, giving that to someone without meaning… closing her eyes, she swallowed again another bursting, dripping mouthful.

But it didn’t matter. Not even laying with him when it mattered most, not even that mattered any longer. These idiots would only live to regret their proclivities. Fools.

Better to have loved and lost than never…

Wait.

Her ears piqued in the din. A giggle. A man’s giggle.

It was familiar. Painful. She gazed across the dim tavern shaking her head to dismiss the thought. No, no. Just her bedraggled mind playing tricks on her. Just the wine resurrecting ghosts.

“Lady Corvus,” a voice whispered, the cloaked mortal sitting himself opposite her. Cordehlia nodded, careful not to smile too broadly at the use of her new title. “Here,” he whispered. Passing a scroll across the table. “Battle plans, maps, estimations of their forces, it’s all there, my lady.”

“You have been of great service,” she chimed in silken tones. Her hand set a small purse within the man’s reach.

“Thank you, my lady,” he nodded under his hood. “This place ain’t for the likes of you. You best be going, best be careful. There are rumors that the Pale Elf is around here tonight.”

She quirked a brow. “And?” She scoffed, “Is he some traitor? Some assassin come to kill me?”

“Not with blade, but he’s known for taking pretty things like you to play with… giving them a little death. Not the kind you deal, my lady.”

Cordehlia jolted at that, flinching as if smacked in the face.

“Don’t worry, my lady, I doubt he would be to your liking. You’re too fearsome, too intimidating to fall for his easy seduction.” The human’s mouth smiled under the hem of his hood before he stood, leaving as quickly as he came, one coin purse heavier than he arrived.

Cordehlia pocketed the scroll, taking a moment to first break open its seal and memorize it. Just in case.

It’s what her father would have done.

But as she prepared herself to leave, taking that wine bottle with her, she heard it again.

That fucking giggle.

And this time, it was no trick of the wine or memory. She paused, turning to search the opposite side of the tavern. Instantly, she froze. One shadowed booth, its occupants obviously intertwined. One man’s head being pressed lower and lower… the other, though he laid deeper in the shadows, was giggling at the nipping caresses.

His pale face was tilted away, but she knew that frame… that tousle of silver hair thrown back in ecstacy. His sharp chin, well cut jaw… his long, lithe fingers pushing that man’s head deep into his lap.

Glass shattered at her feet. Her wine bottle decimated as it slipped from her grip.

All she saw was red. Bloodied crimson at the sight of him.

Not dead.

Not alone. Not grieving and pining and lost adrift.

No. Being pleasured, Astarion the Pale Elf. “Fuck,” she growled, grinding the glass under her heel, pretending that the red wine at her feet was blood.

So blind, so lost to her sadness, she failed to see truth. So eager to give away her heart and soul and body. Little did she know all she gave him was a taste for more.

And not more of her. Not more to serve their… her people.

A fake death, an endless parade of lovers in her wake.

He might as well be as good as dead.

Her hand twitched on the hilt of her blade. Her head cocked to the side as she… considered. It would be quick to draw her knife out. To dampen these floorboards with more that ran red than wine.

But something stayed her fist, something kept that silver blade etched with her insignia of a crow buried inside its scabbard.

The ghost of her love for him couldn’t let that dagger sate its taste for blood. Not his.

“Fuck,” she growled again, striding away for the stables. She would not rest tonight. Ride until dawn. Push herself until that blade did taste blood.

Blood of Orcs and enemies. Flesh separated from bones until they were picked clean in the battlefield.

Enough blood until her body could finally go numb and her ears deafen to the sound of his giggle.

Of his pleasure. With many others.

Astarion’s mind swirled through more visions, half aware of his own feelings, own memories of that dark time.

She hated me… he hissed to himself, a bit in shock. Taken so far aback at the feelings that surfaced in her memories. He pushed harder, searching them, seeing how far that hatred went.

He saw… himself. The wreckage of the Nautiloid burning in the distance. Cocky, threatening on the beach, arms wrapped around that body he no longer knew.

A body he once knew carnally each and every night.

Her memories could have been tinted in red, the wave of anger, of shock and betrayal poured into his heart at the sight of… himself.

He was so cold, calculating. Aloof and mean. He felt it in her body, that longing to put herself out of misery by snatching his own dagger and slitting that beautiful pale throat she once nuzzled against.

How many lips had kissed him there… how many other faces pressed against that beat of his heart in his artery.

But no. Even when her hand did reach her own weapon, those fingers softened as she looked into his now crimson eyes.

“Fuck,” she had thought. Agreeing to let him be her companion. Unable to kill him or turn him away.

So she suffered.

Day. And night. Drawn like a moth to his flame to be so close again. Hating the fact that she couldn’t just be done with his presence. Hating the fact he couldn’t remember her…

But those little changes in him had softened the hatred, drawing question after question to her mind instead.

Why… why crimson eyes… why would an elf lose all his memory, the blessing and curse to his elven kindred… why those scars on his neck and his cold touch…?

She had pieced it out so early on. Vampire. But not so powerful… a spawn then. She had slept with a stake in her bed since that first night. Just in case.

Her love may have still been an ember, fighting for air to burn again in her heart, but her trust had long been extinguished.

He felt that hatred sink deeper again, watching how he had flirted with Shadowheart, playing on this confession of their past. Manipulating her, crafting the perfect tension to make her give him what he wanted.

He was so good at it. Save for the fact he underestimated that burning hate.

But Cordehlia had underestimated that ember of love. The moment he woke her in her bedroll, fangs at the ready, a stake pressed at his side, she had never hated him more. Not since that first night in the tavern when she saw him again… thinking him worse than a traitor.

She had been so close. So close to shoving that stake in his undead heart, putting herself out of that misery, misery she couldn’t endure much longer. It would have been the just thing after what he had done to her to take his life, undead or not.

But her heart won. That voice in her memory, his voice, made her recall his violet eyes and easy smile. His voice had stayed her hand again. It was a voice that long ago had hummed softly as her head rested in his lap, body warmed by the sun and the last throes of her pleasure at his fingers.

It was his voice that whispered to her that these weren’t his sins, that something here was more at fault than unbridled lust and a penchant for manipulation.

He wasn’t to blame.

But he would need to stay alive for her to learn why not.

So she let him disarm her, let him bite her flesh, let his body crush hers as it once had with bone-deep recognition.

And he felt that ember fan alive with love brighter in the memory of that night.

————————————————————————

A deep breath in his lungs, like one drowned breaking through the surface, he awoke. His eyes opened to the real world around them. She clung to him tighter than ever, as if she could knit her flesh to his, make her blood run as his own.

Her eyes stared back, every emotion racing behind her gaze, dripping wet with tears. Relief, anxiety, love and regret, they darkened her face as the sun sank below the waves of the Sea. Astarion kept one arm around her back, the other he moved, cradling her face so gently. His own eyes stung from unshed tears. “You know…” he whispers, voice shaking still from the intensity of those memories, “for all the ways Cazador tormented me, tortured me, stole everything from me… the worst thing he ever stole from me was my memory of you…”

“Cazador can rot in the hells for what he took from me, for what he forced you to do,” Cordehlia scowled. “I… I lost my love for you for so long, I buried it under grief and hatred and blood. And when I saw you on the beach…. When you had no idea who I was to you….” Her voice snagged in her throat the more she talked, until she couldn’t swallow.

He just held her, shushing her softly, still holding her face. His palm collected the warm tears as they silently began to fall. “My love, you never gave up on me. Even when you walked away, even then, you did what you had to, just as I did. I could feel it from then too, even when you found me in that wreckage of the Mindflayer ship, your heart never gave up on me…” he paused, making certain her wet, silver eyes looked right into his. “And I’m so very grateful you didn’t.”

Cordehlia sniffled, a feeble smile on her lips, embarrassed as he brought her very wet face against his own for a kiss.

“Besides, I’m rather looking forward to damning that bastard to the hells at your side. It’ll be so much more fun together,” he crooned. That playful tone made her give tear-streaked laughs as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Together, he’s going to pay,” she added. “In blood…” she couldn’t help but grin again.

“And then we will find a way to be together forever,” Astarion smiled, just a bit more twistedly, a bit more darkly. “I can promise you that.”

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Thank you for everyone who loves these two lovesick idiots. I love hearing your reactions and your predictions.

This really is almost an Alternate Universe for the Pale Elf Quest, and I’m just thankful there are readers along for the ride 💞

[xplainthexmen]

Jay & Miles X-Plain the X-Men, Episode 452 - Hot Nothing

In which Magneto is not full of mirth; nobody real or fictional likes Fabian Cortez; when you’re a speedster, every problem is a metaphorical nail; The Zealot makes some valid points; and when Quicksilver declares himself your conscience, it’s time to examine your life.

X-PLAINED:

How Magneto got his powers back

Morally ambiguous hair

Genosha (more) (again)

Magneto Rex #1-3

Magneto vs. Conan

Trish Tilby

Omniscient narrative condemnation

Magneto’s true archfoe

Magistrates (more) (again)

Mutates (more) (again)

Dr. Alda Huxley

Phillip Moreau (more) (again)

Jenny Ransome (more) (again)

Pipeline (Cormac Grimshaw)

Teleportational nudity

The Zealot

Fabian Cortez (more) (again)

Amelia Voght (more) (again)

Several of Magneto’s on-again-off-again children

The Bastille (but not that one)

Mutant numbering

When to use full frontal nudity in your comic

The X-books we’re not covering

The Amulet of Right vs the Sword of Might

NEXT EPISODE: X-Men ’97!

Check out the visual companion to this episode on our blog!

Find us on Apple Podcasts or Spotify!

Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men is 100% ad-free and listener supported. If you want to help support the podcast–and unlock more cool stuff–you can do that right here!

Buy rad swag at our TeePublic shop!

[cursedhaglette]

mia's masterlist

Dragon Age:

Letters We Should've Sent: [ao3] / [tumblr] / Eight years pass and they both keep track of it, words they didn't share but should have. Words that might have made all the difference.

[Morinnne Lavellan] / [Solavellan] / [DAI]

BG3:

longfics:

The Broken Chosen: [ao3] / [tumblr] / or: what if the Dark Urge was a noble woman, perfect and popular, and her father's favorite fox in the henhouse. and of course, what if our dear vampire knew of her before the crash? *** Hold Me Like A Knife: [ao3] / [tumblr] / or: a twisted, terrible love story without the tadpoles, mindflayers, and endless hiking through the sword coast (pre-tadpole AU) [UNFINISHED/PAUSED]***

one-shots:

Thrice Before Dawn: [ao3] / [tumblr] / or: she thought he was having a nightmare, so naturally, she thought she was helping. *** Apples to Apples: [ao3] / [tumblr] / or: the party decides to share some devilweed around the campfire, and Astarion is surprised to find the effects can be felt after drinking the blood of one who's indulged. *** Birdsong: [ao3] / [tumblr] / or: the first time you let Astarion bite your neck, and you're surprised to find just how badly it makes you want him. Colleagues: [ao3] / [tumblr] / or: you've been nothing but helpful to Magistrate Ancunin, working to advance your career by supporting his cases. Your crush on him has lasted almost as long as your time spent working together.

*** - Halia/Astarion

[Halia] / [Astarion]

Other

All writing: [hagfics]

[hagbabbles] / [my fic recs] / [my art]

[mariacallous]

About three years ago, some of Google’s security engineers came to company attorneys with a gigantic mess.

The security team had discovered that Google unwittingly was enabling the spread of malicious software known as Glupteba. The malware had corrupted more than 1 million Windows computers, turning them into vehicles to mine cryptocurrency and spy on users. By hijacking Google accounts, purchasing Google ads to lure in users, and misusing Google cloud tools, the hackers behind the operation were on their way to infecting even more computers.

Tech giants such as Google long have had a playbook for destroying botnets like Glupteba. They call up fellow companies and US authorities and together coordinate a massive takedown operation. Sometimes, the cops file criminal charges. But this time around, Google’s legal team recommended an approach that the company hadn’t pursued in years: Sue the hackers for money.

The eventual lawsuit against two Russian men and a dozen unnamed individuals allegedly behind Glupteba would be the first of a run of at least eight cases that Google has filed against various hackers and scammers, adding to a sporadic few filings in the past. The tactic, which Google calls affirmative litigation, is meant to scare off would-be fraudsters and generate public awareness about scams. Now, for the first time, Google is opening up about this strategy.

Leaders of Google’s security and legal teams tell WIRED they believe going after people in court has paid off. Google hasn’t yet lost a case; it has collected almost all of the more than $2 million that it has won through the legal process, and forced hundreds of companies or websites to shut down. The awards are trivial to Google and its parent Alphabet, a $2 trillion company, but can be devastating for the defendants.

“We’re disrupting bad actors and deterring future activity, because it’s clear that the consequences and the costs are high,” says Chester Day, lead of the three-person “litigation advance” team at Google that’s focused on taking people to court. Google, he adds, is “making it clear that we’re willing to invest our resources into taking action to protect our users.”

Google blog posts and similar content about the lawsuits and the underlying scams have drawn more than 1 billion views, according to the company. Google representatives say that the awareness increases vigilance among consumers and shrinks the pool of vulnerable targets. “Educating people about how these crimes work may be the best thing we can do to stop the crime,” says Harold Chun, director of Google’s security legal team.

Several Big Tech companies have pursued affirmative litigation, though not necessarily under that name and with varying strategies. Microsoft has filed more than two dozen lawsuits since 2008 with a focus on securing court permission to dismantle botnets and other hacking tools. Amazon has been a prolific complainant since 2018, filing at least 42 cases over counterfeit products, 38 for reviews fraud, three for copyright abuse, and, recently, two for bogus product returns. Amazon has been filing so many counterfeit cases, in fact, that the federal court in western Washington assigned three magistrate judges to focus on them.

Since 2019, Meta has filed at least seven counterfeiting or data theft cases, with settlements or default judgments in four so far, including one in which it won nearly $300,000 in damages. Like Meta, Apple has sued Israeli spyware developer NSO Group for alleged hacking. (NSO is fighting the lawsuits. Trials are scheduled for next year.)

Some attorneys who’ve studied how the private sector uses litigation to enforce the law are skeptical about the payoff for the plaintiffs. David Noll, a Rutgers University law professor and author of a forthcoming book on state-supported private enforcement, Vigilante Nation, says it’s difficult to imagine that companies could bring the volume of cases needed to significantly stop abuse. “The fact that there is a small chance you might be named in a suit isn’t really going to deter you,” he says.

Noll believes the big risk is that Google and other tech companies could be burdening the court system with cases that ultimately secure some favorable headlines but do less to make the internet safer than the companies could achieve through investing in better antifraud measures.

Still, of the six outside legal experts who spoke to WIRED, all of them say that overall Google deserves credit for complementing the work of underfunded government agencies that are struggling to rein in online abuse. At an estimated hundreds of thousands of dollars per case, it’s a low-risk endeavor for the tech giant, former prosecutors say.

“Reliable and regular enforcement when folks step outside the law brings us closer to a society where less of us are harmed,” says Kathleen Morris, resident scholar of law at UC Berkeley’s Institute of Governmental Studies. “This is healthy and robust collaboration on law enforcement by the public and private sectors.”

Google’s general counsel, Halimah DeLaine Prado, tells WIRED she wants to send a message to other companies that the corporate legal department can do more than be the team that says “no” to wild ideas. “Legal can be a proactive protector,” she says.

Marketing Scams

DeLaine Prado says that from its earliest days, Google has considered pursuing litigation against people abusing its platforms and intellectual property. But the first case she and other leaders within Google recall filing was in 2015. Google accused Local Lighthouse, a California marketing company, of placing robocalls to dupe small businesses into paying to improve their ranking in search results. Google alleged trademark infringement, unfair competition, and false advertising. As part of a settlement, Lighthouse stopped the problematic calls.

Since then, Google has filed complaints against five similar allegedly scammy marketers, with three of them ending in settlements so far. A Florida business and its owners agreed to pay Google $850,000, and a Los Angeles man who allegedly posted 14,000 fake reviews on Google Maps agreed to stop. Terms of the third deal, with an Illinois company, were not disclosed in court files, but Google spokesperson José Castañeda says it involved a seven-figure payment to Google.

Castañeda says Google has donated all the money it has collected to recipients such as the Better Business Bureau Institute, the National Consumers League, Partnership to End Addiction, Cybercrime Support Network, and various US chambers of commerce.

Another genre of cases has targeted individuals submitting false copyright complaints to Google to get content removed from the company’s services. A man in Omaha, Nebraska, whom Google accused of falsely claiming ownership of YouTube videos to extort money from their real owners, agreed to pay $25,000 to Google. Two individuals in Vietnam sued by Google never responded—a common issue.

In 2022, Google won default judgment against an individual in Cameroon who never responded to charges that he was using Gmail to scam people into paying for fake puppies, including a $700 basset hound. After the lawsuit, complaints about the scammer dried up, according to Google.

But legal experts say the most fascinating cases of Google’s affirmative litigation are four that it filed against alleged computer hackers. The suits emerged after months of investigation into Glupteba.

Security engineers at Google realized that eradicating Glupteba through the typical approach of taking down associated servers would be difficult. The hackers behind it had designed a backup system involving a blockchain that enabled Glupteba to resurrect itself and keep pilfering away.

That’s in part why Google’s attorneys suggested suing. Chun, the security legal director, had pursued cases against botnets as a federal prosecutor. “I thought this would be something good to do from a civil angle for a company as well,” he says. “Law enforcement agencies have limits on what they can do. And Google has a large voice and the litigation capacity.”

Chun and other attorneys cautioned their bosses that the hackers might use the lawsuit to reverse engineer Google’s investigation methods and make Glupteba more evasive and resilient. But ultimately, DeLaine Prado, who has final say over lawsuits, signed off. Chun says his former colleagues from the government applauded the complaint.

Google sued Dmitry Starovikov and Alexander Filippov, alleging that they were the Russia-based masterminds behind Glupteba after linking websites associated with the virus to Google accounts in their name. The search giant accused the duo (and unknown co-conspirators) of violating the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act (RICO), the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, and the Electronic Communications Privacy Act. The lawsuit also alleged a trademark law violation for hiding Glupteba in a tool that claimed to download videos from YouTube.

Google argued that it had suffered substantial harm, having never received payment for ads it had sold to the hackers, who allegedly were using fraudulent credit cards. Users also had their experiences with Google services degraded, putting them at risk and impairing the value of the company’s brand, according to the lawsuit.

In court papers, Starovikov and Filippov stated they learned of the lawsuit only through friends and then decided to hire a New York attorney, Igor Litvak, to fight on their behalf. The defendants initially offered innocent explanations for their software related to Glupteba and said that their projects had not targeted the US market. At one point, they countersued Google for $10 million, and at another, they allegedly demanded $1 million each to hand over the keys to shut down the botnet. They eventually denied the allegations against them.

Following an ordeal over whether the defendants could obtain Russian passports, sit for depositions in Europe, and turn over work files, Google’s attorneys and Litvak traded accusations of lying. In 2022, US district judge Denise Cote sided with Google. She found in a 48-page ruling that the defendants “intentionally withheld information” and “misrepresented their willingness and ability” to disclose it to “avoid liability and further profit” from Glupteba. “The record here is sufficient to find a willful attempt to defraud the Court,” Cote wrote.

Cote sanctioned Litvak, and he agreed to pay Google $250,000 in total through 2027 to settle. The jurist also ordered Starovikov and Filippov to pay nearly $526,000 combined to cover Google’s attorneys fees. Castañeda says Google has received payment from all three.

Litvak tells WIRED that he still disagrees with the judge's findings and that Russia’s strained relationship with the US may have weighed on whom the judge trusted. “It’s telling that after I filed a motion to reconsider, pointing out serious issues with the court’s decision, the court went back on its original decision and referred [the] case to mediation, which ended with … me not having to admit to doing anything wrong,” he says in an email.

Google’s Castañeda says the case achieved the intended effect: The Russian hackers stopped misusing Google services and shut down their marketplace for stolen logins, while the number of Glupteba-infected computers fell 78 percent.

Not every case delivers measurable results. Defendants in Google’s other three hacking cases haven’t responded to the accusations. That led to Google last year winning default judgment against three individuals in Pakistan accused of infecting more than 672,000 computers by masquerading malware as downloads of Google’s Chrome browser. Unopposed victories are also expected in the remaining cases, including one in which overseas app developers allegedly stole money through bogus investment apps and are being sued for violating YouTube Community Guidelines.

Royal Hansen, Google’s vice president for privacy, safety, and security engineering, says lawsuits that don’t result in defendants paying up or agreeing to stop the alleged misuse still can make alleged perpetrators’ lives more difficult. Google uses the rulings as evidence to persuade businesses such as banks and cloud providers to cut off the defendants. Other hackers might not want to work with them knowing they have been outed. Defendants also could be more cautious about crossing international borders and becoming newly subject to scrutiny from local authorities. “That’s a win as well,” Hansen says.

More to Come

These days, Google’s small litigation advance team meets about twice a week with other units across the company to discuss potential lawsuits. They weigh whether a case could set a helpful precedent to give extra teeth to Google’s policies or draw awareness to an emerging threat.

Team leader Day says that as Google has honed its process, filing cases has become more affordable. That should lead to more lawsuits each year, including some for the first time potentially filed outside the US or representing specific users who have been harmed, he says.

The tech giants' ever-sprawling empires leave no shortage of novel cases to pursue. Google’s sibling company Waymo recently adopted the affirmative litigation approach and sued two people who allegedly smashed and slashed its self-driving taxis. Microsoft, meanwhile, is weighing cases against people using generative AI technology for malicious or fraudulent purposes, says Steven Masada, assistant general counsel of the company’s Digital Crimes Unit.

The questions remain whether the increasing cadence of litigation has left cybercriminals any bit deterred and whether a broader range of internet companies will go on the legal offense.

Erin Bernstein, who runs the California office of Bradley Bernstein Sands, a law firm that helps governments pursue civil lawsuits, says she recently pitched a handful of companies across industries on doing their own affirmative litigation. Though none have accepted her offer, she’s optimistic. “It will be a growing area,” Bernstein says.

But Google’s DeLaine Prado hopes affirmative litigation eventually slows. “In a perfect world, this work would disappear over time if it’s successful,” she says. “I actually want to make sure that our success kind of makes us almost obsolete, at least as it relates to this type of work.”

[corellianhounds]

I don’t want to have to write all the context and justification for the idea I have right now so I’ll just put this on the WIP stack (story of my life), but consider a Temporal Chalice storyline à la TAZ Balance. An artifact so powerful it holds command over time itself, confronting the cupbearer with their deepest fears, desires, flaws, and mistakes, and the ability to act on a crucial moment in the trajectory of their life, whether they realized it was crucial or not.

The chalice lies before them on a raised pedestal. The offer can only be accepted by one of them, and it comes with two caveats: All of time, from the moment they choose to change and after, will be altered.

And secondly: After they change fate, all of their present memories will be gone. History will be rewritten, and they will never be able to tell in which ways it changes or stays the same.

The Mandalorian is shown a fork in the road. A young family in red is suspended in time: to their right is the city street leading to an underground cellar, for the moment empty. To the left, the street continues, and beyond it he spies a previously unseen underground shelter reinforced with cinder blocks and steel. He is being offered the chance to save his parents’ lives.

“… If my own parents don’t die, somebody else will,” Din says quietly. “I know what it’s like to lose them. I can’t wish that on the loved ones of somebody else.”

Boba Fett is shown the back of a Jedi approaching his father from behind in the arena stands. He is ten years old, and he has a gun in his hands.

“… My father was not a perfect man,” Boba said, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. “My path to this point in life would have been harsh either way. I don’t need a second lifetime of hardship to remember.”

“Disgraced magistrate Greef Karga” echoes at the back of his mind as he watches the scene unfold from a third person point of view. He is given the chance to exonerate himself of what he did before being stripped of his title and run offworld before arriving on Nevarro. He has time to escape and absolve himself of any wrongdoing.

There’s a long moment of consideration before Karga speaks, the veteran showman smile nowhere to be found. “I wouldn’t have become a better man if I hadn’t been caught,” he says grimly. “I would have continued doing what I did because I got away with it. The only reason I changed is because I was held accountable.”

Luke sees Dagobah, and an X-Wing. There are two figures outlined in the gloom, one corporeal and small, the other ethereal and old. If he chooses not to go to Cloud City and stays to finish his training, he will have the strength and knowledge needed to end the war sooner, potentially saving untold thousands of lives at the cost of those dear to him.

“… I don’t think I could make the choice any differently, even knowing what I do now,” Luke says softly. “My masters were training me to have the strength to kill my father. I don’t think I would have had the mercy to spare him long enough for him to redeem himself, and I would have lost what little time I did have with him.”

But what about those who may not be able to accept the present as it is? The ones who would have the knowledge and opportunity to right the wrongs of the galaxy and save innocent lives? To undo past mistakes?

Cobb Vanth is fifteen and has just arrived in the next settlement to pick up supplies. If he immediately returns to the orphanage his mother runs instead of staying the night, as he once did, he’ll be able to put out the fire and save a dozen young lives, and his mother won’t be forced to live with the survivor’s guilt for the following week before she ultimately makes the choice that will leave him an orphan too.

There’s a long arena with targets lined up at one end. Her sister, laughing, stands tall and confident in front of the back wall, hands on her hips with an apple balanced on her head. She is alive, and the girl not yet called Fennec Shand stands at the opposite end, her crossbow still pointed low as she squares her feet. She isn’t yet the marksman she’ll become, and she has the chance to avoid the biggest mistake of her life.

Cara Dune sees an office she’s never been in before, a high-rise view of Coruscant from the windows. There is a covey of New Republic officers poring over data showing the plot to frame and kill her entire crew for the crime they didn’t commit, and the evidence to frame her for it when she runs.

Ahsoka sees herself as a child, looking up at a young Jedi Knight with a scar bisecting one eyebrow. She knows this scene, has had it etched upon her memory for decades. She could decline his offer and divert her life’s course entirely.

Leia is shown the first time she ever met Vader at age fourteen. She is standing beside the man who raised her as his own, the two of them across from the figure in black. Captain Antilles is next to her and he has a gun in his holster.

Grogu, a child, is given perhaps the most difficult choice of all: The ability to prove Palpatine’s treachery to his masters and prevent Order 66 from happening at all, perhaps preventing the entire war. The tradeoff is that he will grow up in the temple, and he will never meet the man who would become the Mandalorian.

Han Solo is shown the future. His hand is on the door. Leia and Ben are behind him.

[pedros-immaculate-vibes]

A Peaceful Elf

Part IV

Halsin/Tav fanfic (slow burn, fluff, angst)

I bet he could pop my head like a grape with those, no question.

The thought floated through your hazy mind as you took in his frame, particularly his arms. By now, the party’s energy took a more languid turn with most standing or lounging and more than a few pairs had shuffled into the nearby dark.

How does he get like that, you continued to muse as he still somehow had the stamina to talk with an unsteady Zevlor. There’s just, so much of him. How. 

The wine in your goblet swirled like the thoughts in your mind. All circular. The gods outdid themselves when they sculpted that.

“And he’s so NICE,” you sighed out loud, startling yourself right as he noticed you. Thankfully, you sat on the other side of camp, still, so it was unlikely he’d heard. A passive smile at you, again. A passive one returned. Gods, how many times had you looked at him tonight and been noticed? And how many drinks had you finished?

“Oh, is he, now? My dear, you’re beginning to make even me uncomfortable. You’ve no finesse at all,” the former magistrate clicked his tongue as he filled another glass of wine, “how unfortunate for you.”

“I had plenty of finesse on—in that goblin camp, I’ll have you know,” you stammered. 

“Ha, oh, yes, I was there, remember? Well, good for you, but if you haven’t noticed, there isn’t a single goblin here and you’ve barely moved from this seat.” He placed the bottle on the table covered in remnants of fare, back turned to the rest of the camp. He angled himself to face you, elbow propping him up against the table. “What you have done,” he continued in an amused, sultry tone, “is stare at that overgrown stuffed bear and try to pretend you don’t care if words fail to pass between you tonight. It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic,” he finished, turning back to the table.

Your eyes narrowed at him and you held out your goblet, wordlessly commanding him to refill it. A sideways glance at the cup, then you, then at a wedge of cheese.  “I think not,” he stated, examining the wedge closer. “At least, not until you speak to that brick wall with eyes.” He scrunched his nose in disgust and put the wedge back. “You need to earn this next glass,” grabbing a somewhat stale baguette end with a sneer.

You scoffed, bewildered at his investment in this. “Why do you care? Have you gotten tired of our ‘arrangement’?” Cocking your head, “I don’t know if you were aware, but you could have told me as much instead of nudging me towards the next elf we came across.” There was humor in your tone, but less than you had planned.

Astarion turned to you slowly, with intention and a shadow of reservation in his eyes and lowered voice, “My dear, I have every intention of continuing our little pact if you do.” He held your gaze a moment longer, as if he meant to say more; then, gracefully snapped back to his usual laissez-faire demeanor, hand on one hip and leaning against the table once more. “I just think you deserve a bit of fun. And I love to see where a plot leads,” he said, trading the baguette for an apple with a demure smile.

You blinked. “Ah, I see. Um, did I—did I misunderstand…something? I thought you wanted to introduce me to your concept of ‘fun’ after the party…” you trailed, your attention suddenly taken by movement across the camp. 

Astarion smiled wistfully down at you for a beat while you noticed a few celebrants begin to pack up. He leaned in as you turned back to him, held your tired eyes in his, then dobbed you on the nose. “I think I like you better when you smell less like ale and longing. It’s not you, it’s me,” he said, slowly straightening up with a gleam in his eyes. “I have standards.” Turning gracefully, he swept the remaining two bottles in his arms, strolled back to his tent, and remarked, “DO let me know how it goes!”

There were too many thoughts swirling in your mind to fill a sentence, but something close to I should have left him at the wreckage seemed to collect them well.

Alright, you swung the rest of the warm, bitter wine back, piece of cake.

—

The night had grown long and his bones yearned to walk among trees and moss. He could excuse himself from the adventurers’ camp, and find a trail back to the grove easily. He just needed to feel the forest again, after that cell. Zevlor could find his way back with the more sober-minded tieflings, like Ikaron. The druid stretched his legs lightly, easing his stiff joints. Let a few more leave, and then I can—

…Was that Tav headed over to him? Now? 

Oakfather preserve her, how is she still standing? he mused, a smirk lingering on his lips as she made her way to him. A noticeable warmth crept up his back, reaching the tips of his ears, again. He ignored it as best he could.

She seems quite determined. Probably has a dozen concerns regarding Moonrise.

“Arch Druid,” Tav stated, with an uncharacteristic bow.

Such an odd one.

“Tav,” a toothy grin. “Don’t waste a night like this talking to me. We’ll discuss our problems tomorrow.”

“I thought, you might care to have a drink with me,” she ended on a perceptibly high note.

Puzzled. He hadn’t expected this response at all. Surely, she had plenty of companions to share a livelier drink with than him.

“Uh, well, in truth, I rarely imbibe; the stuff goes straight to my head. Before you know it, I’d be breaking into song or declaring love to the first person I laid eyes on,” he chuckled, awkwardly.

She seemed to perceive how off-balance the question had put him. “I fail to see the problem,” Tav quipped.

“Then you have never heard me singing, which makes you very fortunate.”

Halsin noticed a shift in her gaze.

“Perhaps, there’s something else you’d rather do, then…” almost a whisper. She peered at him through her lashes.

She’s toying with me, Halsin realized.

A small flame ignited somewhere in his wide frame, and this time, it couldn’t be tamped down. 

He huffed, trying to subtly clear his throat. “I’m sure there are.” The elf paused, taking her in briefly, “You strike me as extremely…resourceful.” That was the most delicate way an Arch Druid could phrase it in front of the remnants of his grove that still remained. More colorful descriptions had presented themselves.

His mind lingered a beat longer on the thought.

No, he needed to collect himself. This was not exactly the behavior a leader should show to those he was about to lead through peril. It was unbecoming. 

Halsin cleared his throat. “But there are many grateful people here who want to spend time with you. I must not keep you all to myself.” He paused, then leaned an inch toward her and admitted with a shy smile, “As enjoyable as that may be.” 

The level of their acquaintance altered the slightest bit by the smile they shared. Almost imperceptible, but impossible to ignore.

Halsin straightened back to his full height and surveyed the camp once more. “Go on, enjoy yourself! Seek out some wine before it runs dry—there are a lot of thirsty people around here.” He nodded ever so slightly to Tav, who made her way back toward the center of camp—

Back toward—

The pale one’s tent.

It seems she has plans of her own, Halsin smirked, suddenly feeling less responsible for her merriment. The spark in his chest had yet to abate.

—

A lot of thirsty people indeed.

“Astarion, where’s that Ithbank?”

Heavens above, it will be a VERY cold night, you frowned as the lean elf poured with a toothy grin.

[knightcallie]

Baldur's Bounties: Ah, the Ex-Husband

Holy shit, friend spotted! Weichei couldn't believe someone he recognized was here! They always had a funny bit whenever in relatively unknown company. And this was no exception

The pure excitement that bubbled in his chest threatened to show on his face. He had to redirect it, and it came rather easy funnily enough. When those glassy eyes met his periwinkle ones, that mischievous grin had him turning away with a curse. Somehow he managed to not have his lips look like they were forcing down a smile. 

Shadowheart’s face pinched suspiciously at his reaction, tilting her head curiously. “Is something wrong Weichei?”

He made a show of ‘sneakily’ looking over where Dame was, who was discussing some of the produce with the seller. “Don’t look,” he whispered, making a frog face. “But somehow my ex is here.”

“Your ex? Why, little mouse!” Astarion drew close, a hand on his farthest shoulder. “I didn’t take you for a heartbreaker.”

He pulled a face, sucking in a breath. “Well, I’d really rather not do that.” A rather heaping handful of cherries are stuffed into the basket. No, he does not have a cherry problem, no siree. “But uh.” His eyes glanced away before saying, “Divorce is always messy some way or another.”

Karlach forcefully exhaled. “Mate, how many spouses do you have?” It’s a marvel really, but then again, there was something magnetic about this bounty hunter. “Are there even more we should be worried about?” 

Gale then piped, “Is this an ex you pissed off? Because I would not want to be here if it becomes messy.” He should know, being Mystra’s ex was… an entire thing.

The drow tried to wave it off like it was nothing, blowing a brief raspberry. “No, no—” A pause, pursing his lips as he ducked his head. “Maybe? I hope to gods I didn’t,” he murmured, curving a finger over his lips. “We, tried to part on amicable terms.”

Astarion scoffed. “I didn’t stand over divorce trials back when I was a magistrate, but even I know it’s not entirely possible to part purely on amicable terms darling.”

Wyll had picked out a few apples when he whispered, “Well act like it, because they’re coming over.”

He did his best to empty his mind, let his face fall as he said, “What.” He knew really, the fae had a certain presence to them. He could feel that overly confident, somewhat snide aura drip over; and he’s desperately trying not to break character early. He shoved the basket towards the Blade, hurriedly telling him to go and pay.

“Oh this is going to be fun~,” the pale elf grinned as he slid next to Shadowheart.

Lae’zel chk’s, folding her arms. “Or bloody, do not let your ex-mate dominate you,” she noted.

He lets his ears raise in alarm when that baritonish tenor dripped his name. “Why Cheri~” It reminded him of Temerity, when he was up to no good. (Sometimes he wished he still had his spray bottle.) He turned a tad too quick, eyes slightly wide. 

Dirty blonde hair loosely waved around their face, brows beautifully arching above those glassy eyes. The eyeliner was decidedly graphic and bright indigo to give an illusion of steel blue in those irises. The mustache was still well-trimmed, an illusion of nobility or a guard. Sharply coquettish, he continued, “Didn’t think I would be seeing you around here.”

Gale swore under his breath. “Fae!? He divorced a fae!?” he whisper-yelled, appalled. Who was dumb enough to divorce one of the fair folk!? 

Lae’zel scowled. “I do not like this man one bit.” The vibes were feeling rather rancid. “Perhaps it would be easier to rid of him.” Her hand twitched towards her sword. Surely a fae was no match against a githyanki blade.

Dame reached for him, sidling up close. It read all flirty as he squeezed a shoulder. “It was getting rather drab in Vetle mauschen,” he drawled, scoffing at the end. “Usually you’re there to warm me up, but y'know.” Those glassy eyes scanned him up and down, a personal telepathic connection wriggling in their brains. He hoped the Emperor was somehow blocked, maybe he could brainstorm solutions with his old colleague without being found out. “But how’d you end up here? Needed some space from the big ol’ oak tree?” they teased, grin widening.

Weichei must’ve looked uncomfortable with the way he was trying to not laugh, because something prickled in the air. Karlach pushed Dame off, a displeased look on her face. “Hey man, hands off,” she glowered, taking his right side.

Astarion took the left, brandishing a dagger. “And keep your distance, why don’t you. We wouldn’t want to lose any fingers now do we?”

Somehow Dame was really selling it, looking all offended that they wouldn’t let him torment the drow further. But it was too hard to keep up the performance at this point, so Weichei just broke. Laughter blurted out of him, catching himself on his knees. “Oh GODS, I’m sorry Dame. Couldn’t hold it,” he wheezed in between.

His companions were flabbergastedly confused as the fae’s entire demeanor changed. Friendlier posture, he laughed along with Weichei, drawing him into a hug. He hasn’t been crushed in a hug in a while, his arms scooping around those unseen wings. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Lasted longer than I thought!” they smiled, waving them side to side. “Fuck, it’s good to see you.”

After some explaining, he rightfully earned a punch to the arm for that from an unimpressed Shadowheart. “Really Weichei? We were considering adding him to the pile of corpses.”

He rubbed his sore upper arm, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry, we couldn’t help.” Dame was leaning against his back, snickering. “Kinda a whole thing.”

“We love accidentally marrying your coworker and being stuck for a year until you get a cryptic message from the lawyer that the divorce was done,” the fae grinned, raking a hand through the drow’s locs. 

[keyn-jender-bite]

The Darkness is Darkening Further and Now There's Risks Involved in the City

part one part two

Still brushing flecks of broken glass and leaves off my coat and out of my pockets, I descended the crooked and trashy entrance to the city subway—a convoluted and circuitous maze of stops, stations, tunnels and hallways where the denizens of the night thrived.

Somewhere out there, Aurora Hildebrandt's fiancee, Klevin Morose was missing. Whether they left of their own volition or were abducted, I couldn't be sure. What I did know, was somebody was willing to take shots at me to hinder my investigation. Even a chiseled, dyed-in-the-wool private dick like me could be shaken by attempted murder, and shaken I was.

My destination was one professor Klevin's laboratory at the University of The Big City, in the central education district. I would do some snooping around to see what there was to see, and maybe discover what is truly every detective's bread and butter: clues.

I jumped the turnstile because paying for public transportation is bunk, and casually entered the nearest subway car—a heavily graffitied hulk of filthy metal that once was shiny and new. Taking a seat in the largely empty car, I spent the trip re-reading the article Thyme had published about the professor's electrical work.

"What are you reading, cutey?" a deep voice vibrated at me from across the car. Accustomed as I was to come-ons, I kept reading unfazed.

"What color eyes you hiding beneath that fedora?" the voice asked, coming closer.

Despite my obvious disinterest, a dark-blue gloved hand reached in front of me and pushed down the magazine. Looking up, I took in the sight before me.

The person wasn't very tall, but they were wide. Dark and handsome, they were dressed head to toe in a deep blue three-piece suit, complete with gloves, spats and a wide-brimmed hat. Their eyes were obscured behind dark blue sunglasses. A lit cigarillo dangled precipitously from their lips.

"What are your pronouns, cutey?" they asked, taking the seat beside me.

"You're clucking up the wrong hen-house." I quipped, raising one hand and extending my pointer finger to tap gently on the pin decorating my lapel with shades of green, white, grey and black.

The person leaned back, sighing slightly. "Cracks! An aro." they lamented, snapping their gloved fingers.

"And ace to boot." I added.

Of a sudden, their posture settled. Their chest deflated slightly and their mouth lost its grin.

"My apologies. I feel embarrassed. I should have noticed your pin. Now I feel awkward." they said, leaning back.

"Apology accepted. My pronouns are they, them. Yours?" I felt a little bad for the person, but I also don't cotton to unsolicited advances typically, especially in the dark of the night, alone on the subway in this cramped and dangerous city.

"He him, I'm just a boring old he him." he sighed again, looking at the ceiling of the car, hands dead in his lap.

"Hey now, it doesn't work that way." I assured him, closing the magazine and turning a bit. "You're being your authentic self. There's nothing less boring than authenticity in a world of actors walking around like phonies and lying to themselves. What's your name?"

"Dillinger Radiator. Friends call me Dill. I don't know, being a fat, cis guy and lugging around these he him pronouns just feels so, trite? Cliche? There's a lot of baggage involved, you know what I mean?"

I nodded. "I know what you mean. We've all got luggage to carry. If it's any consolation, and I'm not saying this to be nice, but as an aesthetist, you're very good looking, and you have quite the personal fashion sense."

"You'll forgive me if I say that doesn't mean a heck of a lot coming from an aro-ace." Dill chuckled.

"No offense taken." I smiled.

"What's your name?" he asked, extinguishing his cigarillo on the bench beside him and gently folding it inside a dark blue handkerchief before sliding it into his breast pocket.

"Apple Magistrate, P.I."

"What?"

"Apple Magist—"

"No, I heard you. It's just. It's bad."

"Sorry, what? Bad? Bad meaning, like, cool?"

"No. Bad meaning not good. That is not a good name."

I shrugged. "It's my name. Does the P.I at the end get me any points?"

"I mean—it's a little on the nose with your whole getup." he motioned up and down with his broad hand. "I honestly thought you were cosplaying when I saw you get on the car."

"That's fair, I'll take that."

"Do you have a card?"

I nodded, reaching into my pocket and handing him one of my well-worn business cards.

"The kerning on this is terrible!" he gasped. "How—did you go out of your way to do that? It's, it's just so bad."

"What can I say? I'm a hard-as-nails private dick, not a type-setter.

"No, of course, but—I mean look at it, Jesus. It's just so obviously almost illegibly bad. Do you rely on these to like, get business? Are you okay? Do you need money?" he began to reach into his pocket to take out some chips when I reached out my hand to stop him.

"This is my stop. I enjoyed talking with you, even with your casually offensive honesty. I appreciate your candor. Give me a call at that number if you want to get coffee sometime as friends. I don't have an answering machine, so you'll have to catch me when I'm in." I said with a tip of my fedora before sidling out of the subway onto the education district platform.

"How are you still in business?!" I could hear him yell as the doors slid shut and the train rolled away down the tracks.

Every night was an adventure all its own in this great big city. You never knew who you were going to meet next.

[spookylittletownhq]

NOVEMBER 20, 1923, 9:15am SIX PACES OUTSIDE THE GREEN VALLEY LIBRARY

“Fates, it’s cold.” Thomas Andersson’s voice is tinged with a slight brogue, the way most of the Anderssons are affected. Something about the river valley brings it out in them. Red-nosed, the magistrate looked at Mrs. Bowen, the trio of sparrow feathers in her hat flittering in the wind. She said nothing, simply adjusting her clipboard in sound agreement.

They had a strong partnership, Mr. Andersson and Mrs. Bowen. He was kind and dedicated, a lifelong civil servant to the way of the valley. Mrs. Bowen -- Amberly, in her earlier years -- was a cousin by way of marriage, and an affable woman, besides. Where Thomas guided the magistrate’s office with a firm hand, Mrs. Bowen remembered the details. Like paperwork.

The queue had begun just as the sun began to peek over the horizon. For those still in their homes, it illuminated the frost trails on the windowpanes. The first crack into the water pail set voices aloft that had been stymied under the frozen ice -- missed messages from overnight, a chatter or two from Mr. Taft or Jenny Reed, two doors down. For those not so lucky, the queue formed.

“Good morn!” Called Mr. Andersson, stepping to the edge of the brick steps leading up to the library. “We’ll begin the lottery at the top! As each number is called, step forward and claim your lodgings. You must show proof of stable funds to Mrs. Bowen, and pay a deposit by oath or token, before receiving the keys. Occupancy begins immediately. And--”

Blue eyes, clear as the sky above, darted midway down the line to two men beginning to jostle.

“--No scuffling.”

---

Welcome welcome to the housing lottery! We’ll begin with the lowest number and work our way upward. To claim your residence, please reply to this post (or start a thread of your own!) indicating which lodging you would like, and paying the deposit. This can be done via coin or promise to Mrs. Bowen, our lovely NPC. Cheers!

Our queue order is: @tabithateivel @jimmie-leo @devilallthethyme @ruthiesalenger @hattie-dreamt-of-apples

[beardedmrbean]

MILAN (Reuters) -Facebook parent company Meta faces a potential tax bill of around 870 million euros ($925 million) in Italy after prosecutors launched an investigation into the company, two sources with direct knowledge of the matter said on Wednesday.

The investigation was opened by Milan magistrates at the request of the European Public Prosecutor's Office (EPPO), which asked the Guardia di Finanza police and the Italian Revenue Agency to checks if there is a case for user registrations to be subject to tax.

"We strongly disagree with the idea that providing access to online platforms to users should be charged with VAT," a Meta spokesperson said in an emailed statement to Reuters.

The spokesperson added that the company takes its tax obligations seriously, pays all tax required in the countries where it operates and will fully cooperate with the authorities.

The EPPO, which is based in Luxembourg, said it did not comment on ongoing investigations nor would it publicly confirm which cases it was working on.

News of an administrative tax audit into Meta was first published on Wednesday by Italian daily Il Fatto Quotidiano.

The two sources said that investigators believe that free membership on Meta platforms comes in return for access to user data and should be classified as an exchange of services, therefore subject to VAT sales tax.

ROLE OF FREE ACCESS

Italy's tax police and revenue agency calculated a model under which Meta would have had to pay around 220 million euros of sales tax in Italy in 2021, according to the sources.

The figure for the period back to 2015 was calculated at 870 million euros.

One of the sources explained that the most relevant point was the establishment of a link between free access and data transfer as a taxable transaction, which could have repercussions for other multinationals and other countries in Europe.

A third source told Reuters that Meta believes there is no direct connection between the data provided by users and the access given to the platform, and without this link, there would be no VAT due.

The assessment by the Italian authorities has been brought to Meta's attention and a dialogue was under way between the company and the revenue agency, according to the sources.

The company may decide either to accept the results of the investigation and pay the requested amount, or contest it and open an administrative dispute.

In recent years, the Milan Prosecutor's Office has opened several tax investigations against multinational tech companies such as Google and Apple.

Usually, once an agreement for payment has been reached, the criminal investigation is closed. ($1 = 0.9401 euros)

[thenetsight]

Apple Legal Document Deadline Approaches in Epic Lawsuit

Apple, the world’s most precious company, finds itself facing a pivotal Apple legal document deadline this Monday. Despite efforts to delay, the tech mammoth must submit over 1.3 million documents related to changes in the App Store, as ordered by the court in an ongoing legal battle with Epic Games. Magistrate Judge Thomas S. Hixson, who oversees document product in the case, forcefully denied…

[cursedhaglette]

writing patterns tag game!

i was gonna do this on the beach but realized how tedious the linking would be and promptly stopped. I was tagged by @aevallare who is not only so incredibly talented but also has incredible tits

we're going in order of what's been opened in my google docs if that's okay with everyone. also all links are ao3. i also only have 5 since the first two consume so much of my brain power. is there a pattern? i don't think so, but happy to leave it up to your interpretation.

The Broken Chosen (f!durgestarion): He can’t let himself focus on who she is or at the number of times Cazador had sent him to fetch the Golden Daughter of the Upper City to add to his exquisite, broken collection. That he’d never been able to catch the socialite, always flitting from party to party, lover to lover.

Hold Me Like a Knife (f!durgestarion): In the name of the dread father - She holds the chalice, carved of polished bone, above her head - raising the fresh offering of spilt blood before her father’s carved icon. In the name of his spawn - The movements are easy, all too familiar. The ashes are mixed in next, fireroot and warg fangs burned til their alchemical properties are all that remains, bubbling and hissing as they combine.  In the name of his unholy spirit -

Colleagues (f!reader x astarion): “Madam, I have Magistrate Ancunin here to see you,” the voice of the office assistant reaches your ears before the door opens and the heavy hinges creak in that way you hate. The older human woman who assists with your paperwork and appointments allows in the familiar, handsome face. You nod your thanks and Vilna closes the door promptly, as she always does.

Thrice Before Dawn (f!durgestarion): Halia’s takes last watch, preparing to guard over the camp until dawn breaks over the horizon, sketchbook in hand. It’s been ages since she’d been able to take the time to draw or journal, either tied up in other things that needed doing while she kept watch or simply too exhausted to do anything but stare off into the darkness.

Apples to Apples (f!durgestarion): His hunt was successful, relatively speaking. Badger tasted…well, uninteresting, but it got the job done and at least it was a bit different than the prey he’d grown used to while camping around the Grove. He feels mostly sated as he walks back through the dark forest, his footsteps and the occasional chittering animal the only sounds to escort him back to camp. 

i'll tag @brain-rot-central @fangswbenefits and anyone else with multiple fics that would like to participate!

[isfeed]

Apple’s homework is due Monday no matter what, says judge

Image: Cath Virginia / The Verge Apple, the most valuable company in the world, will have to work this weekend to meet a legal deadline on Monday. That’s after Magistrate Judge Thomas S. Hixson on Friday denied the company’s request for more time to produce 1.3 million documents related to App Store changes it made in January to comply with a 2021 court order. Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers, who…