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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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How the kleptocrats and oligarchs hunt civil society groups to the ends of the Earth

It's a great time to be an oligarch! If you have accumulated a great fortune and wish to put whatever great crime lies behind it behind you, there is an army of fixers, lickspittles, thugs, reputation-launderers, procurers, henchmen, and other enablers who have turnkey solutions for laundering your reputation and keeping the unwashed from building a guillotine outside the gates of your compound.

The field of International Relations has studied the enemies of the Klept in detail: the Transnational Activist Network is a well-documented phenomenon. But far more poorly understood is the Transnational Uncivil Society Network, who will polish any turd of sufficient wealth to a high, professional gloss.

These TUSNs are the subject of a new, timely scholarly paper by Alexander Cooley, John Heathershaw and Ricard Soares de Oliveira: "Transnational Uncivil Society Networks: kleptocracy’s global fightback against liberal activism," published in last month's European Journal of International Relations:

https://ora.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid:5e5a3052-c693-4991-a7cc-bc2b47134467/download_file?file_format=application%2Fpdf&safe_filename=Cooley_et_al_2023_transnational_uncivil_society.pdf&type_of_work=Journal+article

The authors document how a collection of institutions – some coercive, others organized around good works – allow kleptocrats to take power, keep power, and use power. This includes "wealth managers, company providers, accounting firms, and international bankers" who create the complex financial structures that obscure the klept's wealth. It also includes "second citizenship managers and lawyers" that facilitate the klept's transnational nature, both to provide access to un-looted, prosperous places to visit, and boltholes to escape to in the face of coup or reform. It includes the real-estate brokers and other asset facilitators, who turn whole precincts of the world's greatest cities into empty safe-deposit boxes in the sky, while ensuring that footlose criminal elites always have a penthouse to perch in when they take a break from the desiccated husks they've drained dry back home.

Of course, it also includes the PR managers and philanthropic ventures that allow the klept to launder their reputation, to make themselves synonymous with good deeds rather than mass murder. Think here of how the Sacklers used charity to turn their family name into a synonym for culture and fine art, rather than death by opioid overdose:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Beyond providing comfort to "Politically Exposed Persons" and "High Net-Worth Individuals," TUSNs are concerned with neutralizing TANs. Activists in these transnational networks play an inside-outside game: in-country activists will recruit peers abroad to bring attention to the crimes of their local kleptocrats. These overseas partners target the klept in the places they go to play and spend, spoiling their fun – and if they succeed in getting corrupt leaders censured abroad, then in-country activists can leverage that bad press to fight the klept at home.

To fight this "Boomerang Effect," TUSNs seek to burnish corrupt officials' reputations abroad, getting their names on humanitarian prizes, beloved sports teams, cultural institutions and great universities. They seek to capture international governance institutions that might wrong-foot kleptocrats, co-opting them to enable and even celebrate looters.

When it comes to elite philanthropy, TUSNs are necessarily selective. Kleptocrats' foundations don't fund anti-kleptocratic groups – they stick to "education, public health, the environment and the arts." These domains steer clear of human rights questions that might implicate their benefactors. Russian oligarchs love children's charities and disability rights – provided they don't target the Russian state.

If charitable giving is reputation laundering's carrot, then "reputation management" is the laundry's stick. Think of organized copyfraudsters who clone websites that have criticized their clients, then backdate the articles, then accuse the originals of infringing copyright in order to get them de-listed from Google or taken offline altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#dark-ops

Reputation managers also spend a lot of time in court. In the UK – the world's leader in libel tourism, thanks to a legal system designed to let posh monsters sue muckraking journalists into silence – Russian oligarchs have perfected the art of forcing their critics to shut up and go away:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/04/londongrad/#enablers

Indeed, London is a one-stop shop for the global klept, a place were forelock-tugging Renfields will buy you a Mayfair mansion under cover of a numbered company, sue your critics into silence, funnel your money into an anonymous Channel Islands account:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/07/the-klept/#pep

They'll sell you whole galleriesworth of "fine art" that you can have relocated to a climate-controlled container in a Swiss or Irish freeport:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/14/poesy-the-monster-slayer/#moneylab

They'll give your thick-as-pigshit progeny a PhD and never check to see whether he wrote his thesis himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LSE%E2%80%93Gaddafi_affair

Then they'll hook you up with a cyber-arms dealer to hunt your enemies by capturing their devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/27/gas-on-the-fire/#a-safe-place-for-dangerous-ideas

But don't let Brexit stop you from shopping for bargains on the continent. The Golden Passports of the EU – available in a variety of flavors, from Maltese to Cypriot to Portuguese – offer the discerning failson access to the luxury good shops and fleshpots of 27 advanced economies, making it a favorite of the Khmer Riche – the junior klept of Cambodia's ruling faction:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/cambodia-hunsen-wealth/

But golden passports are for amateurs. Skilled klepts travel on diplomatic passports, which offer the twin benefits of free movement and consequence-free criminality, thanks to diplomatic immunity. The former Kazakh dictator's son-in-law enjoyed a freewheeling diplomatic life in Vienna; one daughters of the dictator of Tajikistan had a jolly time as an envoy to DC; another, to London (where else?).

All this globetrotting serves a second purpose: when rival elites seize power back home and force the old guard into exile, those ex-monsters can show up in the lands they called their second homes and apply for asylum. It turns out that even bomb-the-boats UK will welcome any asylum seeker who enters via the private jet terminal at City Airport (to be fair, these "refugees" have extensive properties in Zone 1 and country places in the Home Counties, so they won't need housing).

This stuff works. After Kazakh state goons murdered at least 14 protesters at a Zhanaozen oil facility in 2011, human rights groups around the world took up the cause. But they were effectively neutralized by TUSNs, with former UK PM Tony Blair writing on behalf of the Kazakh government to the EU condemning any kind of international investigation into the mass killings (add "former Prime Ministers" to the list of commodities for sale in the UK to sufficiently well-resourced murderer).

The authors close their paper with two case-studies. The first is of the daughters of Uzbek dictator Islam Karimov, Gulnara and Lola. And President Karimov was indeed a dictator: he trapped his population within his borders, forced them to use unconvertible scrip in place of money, and ordered the murder of hundreds of peaceful protesters, plunging the country into international isolation.

But while Uzbeks were sealed within their borders, Gulnara Karimov became an international player, running a complex network of businesses that mixed the products of the nation's oilfields with her family's fortune. She solicited – and received – bribes from Teliasonera, MTS and Vimpelcom, who were all vying for the contract to provide service in Uzbekistan. All told, she extracted more than $1b in bribes, laundering them through Latvia, Hong Kong and New York. She acquired real-estate in France and Switzerland, and her spree continued until her father collaborated with Uzbek security to seize her assets and place her under house-arrest.

Lola Karimova-Tillyaeva was Gulnara's estranged younger sister. She and her husband Timur Tillyaev ran the Dubai-based SecureTrade, which did extensive business with "opaque Scottish Limited Partnerships," laundering more than $127m in a single year to offshore accounts in the UAE and Switzerland. They acquired many luxe assets – a jet, a Californian villa, and an LA perfumier.

Lola styled herself as the face of the Karimovas abroad, a "philanthropist and cultural ambassador." She was a UNESCO ambassador and commissioned works of monumental art – and also sued the shit out of news outlets that reported factual matters about her family repressive activity at home. She organized AIDS charities in the name of Uzbekistan – even as her father was imprisoning a writer for publishing a book explaining how to have safer sex.

The second case-study is on Isabel dos Santos, "Africa's richest woman," daughter of Angolan dictator Jose Eduardo dos Santos. Isabel's vast fortune stemmed from her personal capture of vast swathes of the third-largest economy in Africa: "telecommunications, banking, diamonds, real estate and cement, among many others." Isabel enjoyed seemingly limitless access to state credit and co-investment, and was given first crack at newly deregulated industries. Foreign firms that invested in Angola were required to "partner" with Isabel's businesses.

Isabel claimed to be a "self-made woman" – a claim credulously parroted by the western press, including the FT. She used her homegrown fortune to become a major player abroad, especially in Portugal, where she was represented by the leading Portuguese law-firm PLMJ. Her enablers are who's who of corruption-loving lickspittles: McKinsey, Ernst and Young, Boston Consulting Group, and the Spanish BigLaw firm Uri Menendez.

Isabel cultivated a public facade of philanthropic giving and public spirited activism, serving as head of the Angolan Red Cross. She attended Davos and spoke at the LSE (she was also invited to Oxford, but her invitation was subsequently rescinded). On social media, she dismissed critics of her wealth and corruption as "colonialists," decrying their "racism" and "prejudice."

Isabel dos Santos's corrupt sources of wealth were finally, irrefutably exposed through the Luanda Leaks, in which the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists mapped the network of "top banks, management consultants and legal firms that were central to dos Santos’s operations."

Both case studies shed light on the network of brilliant, driven enablers and procurers without whom the world's greatest monsters would falter. It's a rare window on a secretive world, one that is poorly understood even by its inhabitants. As Michael Mechanic wrote in Jackpot, his 2021 book on vast, intergenerational fortunes, the winners of the lucky orifice lottery often lack any real understanding of how The Money is structured, grown and protected:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

This point was reiterated by Abigail Disney, in a brave piece on what it's like to grow up subject to the oversight of these millionaires who babysit the children of billionaires:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

This is an important contribution to the literature. We naturally focus on the ultrawealthy individuals whose reputations and fortunes are the subject of so much attention, but without the TUSNs, they would be largely helpless.

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/24/launderers-enforcers-bagmen/#procurers

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

Colin (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palace_of_Westminster_from_the_dome_on_Methodist_Central_Hall_(cropped).jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

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cynic-spirit · 2 months

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Dragonsoul

aemond x reader

fluff pining, longing waiting

In a world where finding your soulmate is as simple as passing them on the street, the black thread tattooed on everyone’s wrist serves as a constant reminder of what could be. When the thread turns gold, it means you’ve found the one person destined to be yours. Most people don’t have to wait long—weeks, months at most—before their tattoo changes, leading them to a love that will last a lifetime.

But in the shadowy alleys of King’s Landing, where power and fear walk hand in hand, there's a man whose thread has never changed. Aemond Targaryen, a name that sends shivers down the spine of even the most hardened criminals, bears the same small black thread on his wrist as everyone else. Yet, for as long as anyone can remember, it has remained as black as the night.

Aemond is no ordinary man. He rules the underworld with an iron fist, his name whispered in hushed tones by those who dare to cross him. Tall, with the signature silver hair of his house and a single sapphire eye that misses nothing, he is as feared as he is respected. His other eye, covered by a black leather patch, is a reminder of the battles he’s fought and won.

People say that Aemond’s thread will never turn gold, that he’s too cold, too ruthless for love. He scoffs at the idea, dismissing it as a weakness he cannot afford. Love, in his world, is just another weapon to be used, another way to manipulate and control.

His siblings, Aegon and Helaena, have both found their soulmates. He remembers the day his brother’s thread turned gold, Aegon’s cocky grin spreading even wider as he flaunted his newfound bond. Helaena’s thread changed not long after, a quiet, serene smile gracing her lips as she met the person fate had chosen for her. They both had their destinies laid out before them, their golden threads a constant reminder of the love they had found.

But Aemond? His thread remains unchanged, stubbornly black, as if it knows something he doesn’t.

It’s easy to tell himself he doesn’t care. Aemond indulges in his work—crime, training, and the endless tasks of maintaining control over his empire. There’s always another rival to crush, another deal to broker, another lesson to teach his men. In the quiet moments, when the city sleeps and he’s left alone with his thoughts, he reminds himself that he doesn’t need or care for a soulmate. His power is all that matters; love would only be a distraction.

He convinces himself that the ache he sometimes feels is nothing more than a passing weakness. That he’s better off alone, unburdened by the complexities and vulnerabilities that come with finding a soulmate.

So Aemond throws himself deeper into his work, his every waking moment consumed by the pursuit of control and power. He trains harder, fights fiercer, and builds his empire brick by brick. Every night, he walks the streets of King’s Landing, overseeing his domain, his cold eyes missing nothing. The black thread on his wrist remains, a silent testament to the life he’s chosen.

But in the darkest corners of his mind, where even he doesn’t dare to tread too often, Aemond wonders if his thread will ever change. And if, perhaps, it does, what it will mean for the man he’s become.

Aegon leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Aemond. "You know, little brother, it’s almost amusing that you’re still running around with that black thread. The most feared man in King’s Landing, and yet... no soulmate. What’s the matter? Scaring them all off?"

Aemond didn’t even look up from the map he was studying, his voice calm, measured. "I don’t need a soulmate, Aegon. And even if I do find her, I’ll reject her."

Aegon chuckled, shaking his head. "You say that now, but just wait until that thread turns gold. You’ll be just as—"

Aemond cut him off, his eye finally meeting Aegon’s with a cold intensity. "It won’t. And even if it does, she’ll mean nothing to me."

The finality in his tone silenced Aegon, the room falling into an uneasy quiet.

Aegon raised an eyebrow at Aemond’s response but decided to let it slide. He leaned forward, changing the subject. "Speaking of things that mean nothing to you," he began with a grin, "there’s a party tonight. Big affair—Targaryens are hosting it. Almost 500 people, all the major players in the city, and some from beyond. Strictly business, of course, but it should be... entertaining."

Aemond’s expression remained impassive as he folded up the map. "And you’re telling me this because...?"

Aegon chuckled. "Because, little brother, it’s expected of you. You know how these things work—show your face, shake a few hands, remind everyone why they fear you."

Aemond sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. But don’t expect me to stay long."

Aegon shrugged, still grinning. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Aemond stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his all-black suit. The fabric was immaculate, tailored to perfection, every line sharp and precise. Black was the only color he wore, the only one he owned. It suited him—uncompromising, severe, just like the reputation he had carefully cultivated over the years.

He reached for his cuff buttons, his gaze flicking to the small black thread tattooed on his wrist. It was a habit he couldn’t seem to break, even though it had never changed, never given him any reason to hope. The thread was as black as the suit he wore, a permanent reminder of what he didn’t have and had convinced himself he didn’t need.

Aemond’s fingers lingered over the thread for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Maybe I don’t deserve love,” he thought, the words cold and unbidden in his mind. He quickly dismissed the thought, fastening the cuff buttons with practiced precision. Love was a luxury, a distraction. He had other things to concern himself with—like the party he was about to attend, a gathering of the city’s most powerful players, all there to solidify their alliances under the Targaryen name.

He straightened his jacket, giving his reflection one last glance before turning away. The party didn’t matter to him, but his presence did. It was a necessary part of the game he played, the world he controlled.

Without another thought, Aemond left the room, his steps measured and deliberate, ready to face the night and the role he played so well.

The grand ballroom of the Targaryen estate was alive with the buzz of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the opulent room, where nearly 500 of the city’s elite mingled, making deals and forging alliances under the guise of celebration. Aemond moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his every movement purposeful and controlled.

Aegon was in his element, charming guests with effortless charisma, his golden thread plainly visible on his wrist as he exchanged pleasantries and flirtations. Aemond, on the other hand, gave the crowd the bare minimum of his attention, offering a polite nod here, a brief conversation there. Women, drawn to his aura of power and danger, flocked to him, their gazes lingering, their touches bold. They threw themselves at him with obvious intent, hoping to catch the eye of the infamous Aemond Targaryen.

But Aemond’s responses were distant, his interest almost nonexistent. He was polite, detached, offering them just enough attention to be courteous but never more. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the business side of the evening, on the faces of potential threats and allies.

As the hours passed, the night seemed like any other—a routine, a necessary part of his life. Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Aemond felt a strange sensation creeping into his chest. His heartbeat, usually steady and controlled, began to quicken, pounding erratically in a way that he couldn’t ignore. The sudden intensity made his breath catch, and his hand instinctively moved to his wrist.

The tattoo—it was burning.

Aemond’s eyes widened, a flash of shock and confusion crossing his face for the briefest of moments. He clenched his fist, trying to focus, but the sensation only grew stronger, more insistent. The burning under his skin became almost unbearable, and for the first time in years, Aemond felt genuinely off balance.

He quickly excused himself from the woman he had been barely listening to, his voice calm despite the turmoil inside him. “Apologies, I need a moment,” he said, his tone clipped but polite.

Without waiting for a response, Aemond turned on his heel and made his way through the crowd, his steps brisk as he headed toward the restroom. The sensation in his wrist was intensifying with every step, the burning now almost searing, as if his body was reacting to something—or someone—in the room.

He pushed open the door to the restroom and quickly locked it behind him. The mirror in front of him reflected his composed exterior, but inside, he was anything but. His chest tightened as he looked down at his wrist, dreading what he might see.

For a moment, he hesitated, his breath coming in shallow bursts. The room was quiet, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Aemond swallowed hard, then slowly rolled up his sleeve, his heart pounding in his ears.

What he saw made his breath hitch in his throat.

The black thread on his wrist was no longer just black. It was shifting, shimmering as if something deep within it was coming to life. The darkness that had always defined it was fading, giving way to something... brighter.

Aemond stared in disbelief, his mind racing as he tried to process what was happening. The burn, the erratic heartbeat—everything suddenly made sense, and yet, it was the one thing he had convinced himself would never happen.

His thread was changing.

Y/N stood backstage, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. As a professional pianist and music teacher, she had performed countless times, yet tonight felt different. The Targaryen party promised an audience of the city’s elite, and the stakes felt higher than ever.

Her long black hair flowed down her back, framing her face as she adjusted the collar of her elegant dress. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in her stomach. The murmurs of conversation and laughter filtered through the walls, but all she could think about was the weight of the crowd’s gaze.

When the time came, Y/N stepped onto the stage, the grand piano gleaming under the soft lights. She faced the instrument, avoiding eye contact with the audience, and placed her fingers above the keys. The fear of scrutiny loomed large, but she was determined to lose herself in the music.

As she began to play, the rich, melodic strains filled the air, weaving through the chatter. The haunting beauty of the piece captivated the audience, drawing them in as Y/N allowed the music to envelop her. Each note flowed effortlessly from her fingertips, yet her heart raced with the fear of being watched.

Then, just as she lost herself in the performance, she noticed a flicker of gold at her wrist. The black thread tattoo that had always defined her began to shimmer, transforming into a radiant golden hue. Her breath caught in her throat as realization washed over her—her soulmate was near.

But before she could turn her gaze to find him, a loud shout broke through the melody. “Get away, you freeloaders! The party’s over!” Aegon’s drunken voice rang out, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire as he shot into the ceiling.

Panic rippled through the crowd, and Y/N's heart dropped. The music faltered for just a moment as startled guests turned toward the chaos, their eyes wide with fear. In that instant, the golden glow of her thread dimmed against the backdrop of confusion and disorder, the connection slipping away before she could grasp it.

Her pulse quickened, and she instinctively looked down, the brilliance of her thread overshadowed by the chaos erupting around her. The moment of potential connection vanished, leaving her standing alone on stage, the applause fading into distant murmurs as she struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Aemond stood frozen, staring at the golden thread on his wrist, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he could barely contain. For a few moments, all he could do was try to steady his breathing, grappling with the realization that had just hit him like a bolt of lightning.

His soulmate was here, at the party.

The truth of it washed over him in waves. She was close—close enough for his thread to change, close enough to alter the course of everything he thought he knew about himself.

“Who is she?” he thought, the question burning in his mind. He needed to find her, to see the face of the one who had unknowingly changed his fate. His pulse quickened again, this time with urgency, as his eyes darted to the door. It was just 500 people, right? He could find her, he would find her. He’d turn over every stone, every guest, if he had to. The cold calculation that had guided him all his life kicked in, and he knew that he would not rest until he identified her.

But just as he reached for the door, ready to step back into the crowded ballroom, he heard a noise outside. It was faint at first, but unmistakable—a muffled shout, followed by the sound of something crashing to the floor.

Aemond’s hand hovered over the doorknob, his instincts shifting from the desperate need to find his soulmate to assessing this new potential threat. The noise came again, louder this time, accompanied by hurried footsteps and the murmur of raised voices.

His mind snapped back into the mode that had served him so well for years—alert, calculating, and prepared for anything. Whatever was happening out there, it wasn’t part of the evening’s planned events. Aemond knew better than to ignore disturbances, especially in a place that was supposed to be under his family’s control.

He took a deep breath, pushing the rush of emotions aside, focusing instead on the immediate task at hand. He needed to know what was going on, to assess the situation before it spiraled out of control. The search for his soulmate would have to wait—at least for now.

With a swift motion, Aemond opened the door and stepped into the hallway, his eyes scanning the corridor for the source of the commotion. The noise was coming from just around the corner, near the entrance to the ballroom. He could hear more clearly now—raised voices, the unmistakable edge of panic creeping into the tone of the guests.

Aemond’s jaw tightened, the golden thread still gleaming on his wrist as he moved toward the sound. Whatever was happening, it couldn’t be good. And it seemed that, for the moment at least, the mystery of his soulmate would have to remain unsolved.

As Aemond stepped into the main area of the party, the scene that greeted him was chaotic. Guests were hastily leaving, their faces painted with a mix of shock and confusion. The atmosphere that had once been lively and filled with laughter was now charged with panic.

In the center of it all stood Aegon, clearly drunk, a wild grin plastered on his face as he brandished a gun, shooting it toward the ceiling. “Get away, you freeloaders! The party’s over!” he shouted, laughter mingling with the chaos.

Aemond’s heart raced, and he sprang into action, his instincts kicking in. “Aegon!” he called, his voice sharp and authoritative, cutting through the commotion. “Put that down before someone gets hurt!”

But Aegon, in his drunken haze, seemed oblivious to the danger. Aemond pushed through the throngs of fleeing guests, his mind racing as he assessed the situation. Half the guests had already left, their hurried exits echoing the urgency in Aemond’s chest.

He closed the distance to Aegon, his expression hardening with determination. “You need to stop this right now!” Aemond shouted, trying to get his brother’s attention.

Aegon looked at him, still grinning, but Aemond could see the flicker of mischief fading. “Oh, come on, Aemond! Just having a little fun!” he slurred, waving the gun around carelessly.

Aemond felt a surge of frustration. “This isn’t fun; it’s reckless!” He lunged forward, grabbing Aegon’s arm and forcing the gun down. “You’re ruining everything!”

In the chaos, Aemond’s wrist brushed against his suit, and he instinctively peeked at his tattoo. His heart dropped. The golden shimmer was gone, replaced once again by the familiar black. The warmth and connection he had felt moments ago had vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

“Aemond?” Aegon’s voice broke through his thoughts, the drunken haze giving way to confusion. “What’s wrong?”

The weight of the moment settled heavily on Aemond’s shoulders as he looked around at the disorder. He had been so close—so close to discovering his soulmate, to understanding what it meant to feel this new connection. But now, as the last remnants of the party unraveled, he felt the threads of fate slip through his fingers like sand.

“Just... stay out of trouble,” Aemond said, his tone clipped as he forced himself to refocus. He had to regain control of the situation. He glanced back at the dwindling crowd, noting the last few guests who lingered, unsure of what to do next.

With a resolute breath, Aemond stepped back into the fray, ready to salvage what he could of the night.

As Y/N stood at the piano, the chaos of the party unfolded around her. She caught a glimpse of Aemond Targaryen through the throng of guests, emerging from the restroom, his expression dark and determined. He moved swiftly toward Aegon, who was still brandishing his gun and shouting.

A rush of anxiety flooded through her. What would happen next? The tension in the air was palpable, and Y/N felt a cold sweat on her brow. She could see Aemond’s outstretched hand, his brow furrowed with intensity, and she knew he was about to intervene.

But the thought of the confrontation made her heart race with fear. Aemond’s fierce demeanor, mixed with Aegon’s reckless behavior, created an atmosphere that was volatile, and she couldn’t bear to witness what might unfold.

With a shaky breath, Y/N made a decision. She couldn’t stay here any longer, caught in the tension of the moment, so she slipped away from backstage. As she moved, she avoided making eye contact with anyone, feeling the weight of their gazes on her, and the fear of being drawn into the chaos overwhelmed her.

The music faded behind her as she hurried out of the room, the sounds of shouting and gunfire echoing faintly in her ears. The allure of the golden thread, the connection she had felt just moments ago, was overshadowed by the turmoil that had erupted around her. All she could think about was escaping the madness, leaving the uncertainty of the night behind.

As she stepped outside into the cool air, she felt a mixture of relief and regret wash over her. The opportunity had slipped through her fingers, lost in the chaos of the party, and now she could only hope that whatever happened inside would resolve itself without further violence.

The morning light streamed through Aemond’s window, casting a warm glow across the room. He sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on the small black thread tattooed on his wrist. It was unchanged, the familiar darkness mocking him with its permanence.

He couldn’t shake the memory of the previous night—the fleeting moment when the thread had shimmered gold, the realization that his soulmate was near. It had felt like a revelation, an awakening, but Aegon’s reckless antics had shattered everything before he could grasp it.

“Damn it, Aegon,” Aemond thought bitterly, frustration bubbling within him. “You couldn’t just behave for one night? Was it too much to ask to let me have this moment?”

He felt anger course through him, fueled by the knowledge that his brother’s stupidity had cost him something precious. “You’re such an idiot. Do you even realize what you’ve done? You had to go and play the fool, waving a gun around like a child! Do you think this is a game?”

Aemond clenched his jaw, recalling the chaos Aegon had wrought, how quickly the atmosphere had shifted from anticipation to panic. “You’ve ruined everything. You had your fun at my expense, and now I’m stuck here, still waiting.”

The thread on his wrist, once a symbol of the potential for love and connection, now felt like a chain binding him to his frustration. “How could you be so careless? You’re supposed to be my brother, not my downfall.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to focus. “So close yet so far,” he mused, longing filling his chest. “If only you could keep your mouth shut for five minutes. I could have found her. I could have finally understood what it meant to feel whole.”

Aemond glared at the thread, wishing for it to transform again, to be the golden mark of his soulmate that would signify a future he desperately craved. But now it remained black, just as it always had, a reminder of the connection he’d nearly grasped but had been cruelly denied.

“Next time,” he thought fiercely, “I’ll be ready. I won’t let you ruin this for me again.” He vowed silently, determination sparking within him. The world felt heavy on his shoulders, but he knew he wouldn’t give up. He would find her. One way or another, he would make it happen.

part 2

LIKE AND REBLOG PLEASE <3. ITS MY FIRST FIC MOBSTER AEMOND!!

Let me know if I should continue this 🌼

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond x soulmate #aemond targaryen soulmate #mob au #modern aemond #modern aemond targaryen #modern aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n

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penroseparticle · 26 days

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Extremely stupid D&D Cleric concept I might use for my next game:

Cleric to the highest bidder.

This cleric was a cleric for a God who in concept supports this style of play- say a God/Goddess of Fate or Chaos, Trickery or Wealth. Essentially on most days you are a cleric of that faith and have the domain and class features associated with it Every day after a long rest (or by session, I'd talk to the DM for this), roll a D100. on a 90 or higher, your god has sold your divine clerical goodness to the highest bidder behind the scenes, and you are now a cleric of X God. You have their domain slots, class features, etc. until you complete a task given to you by that god that, by your proximity, connections, power, or current undertakings, you have the most power to complete at this juncture.

Very much if you don't have a homegrown cleric, storebought is fine.

Your god brokers the contract with this other god for use of their divine powers for X amount of days, and your job is to try and complete the assigned task in that time- the spells and powers given will typically be useful in completing it, but if you go over your contract time, you have your regular domain and powers but still have a contract to fulfill. Maybe you get cool one time use of spells or a tip on a rare item or favor with the local church or something as payment for completion too.

It's got great potential for like, punch clock heroics. Cleric working in retail the customer is always right energy. Your city slicker cleric spends 3 days having to extoll the virtues of the forest while being an ecoterrorist and blowing up a sawmill type vibes.

The best bit is that obviously your DM can have LOADS of fun with this- sure it can be random but also your DM can just say hey you wake up with a new contract for plot reasons too. You can suddenly make a challenge easier or harder for the party based on gameplay needs, loop players in to knowledge via divine intervention (literally), tons of dramatic twists availble, etc.

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wizzsp · 4 months

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.THE LOVERS.

A rare, intimate moment backstage.

Featuring my Nosferatu investigator, Briar, and my masked opera singer, Cadence; Celosia to her patrons.

They initially find common ground in being the Kindred one should go to when seeking hard-to-come-by information/people within their domain; though the types of information they individually broker differs vastly.

Got real inspired by a Certain Image.

Happy pride month :3

#vtmfangfest24 #vtm nosferatu #vtm toreador #clan nosferatu #clan toreador #vtm #vampire the masquerade #vtm art #vtm oc #artists on tumblr #art #drawing #ghost draws #oc: briar #oc: cadence

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kaijucat01artblog · 5 months

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swapdom design for my swap au! lore below the cut

Swapdom (or Dominus) is one of two legendary inmates of Banland, who escape every phestival to interfere in the Phighting gameshow. Both he and his brother are rumored to make deals with gods in order to gain the power they hold during those attacks; however, the two being as elusive as they are, it's almost impossible to tell if that power is natural or lent. The wings the siblings have suggest the heritage of a demigod.

Dominus is the primary reason he and Valkyrie are able to escape Banland so frequently: he holds numerous keys to what seems like everywhere. Namely, he possesses the master key to Banland, capable of opening any cage; the Key of the Winds, which leads to the SFOTH; and the Key of Fires, which leads to Firebrand's domain. He also, for some reason, swiped a few apartment keys and a keycard that unlocks the door to the local frozen yogurt place. Strange. Nobody knows why Dominus and Valkyrie elect to stay in Banland outside of phestival times, but nobody's complaining about that, either!

During phestivals when the two are out on the run, Dominus will occasionally show up on Fedora's talk show for...an unknown reason. Fedora and Scythe don't seem to mind the casual hijacking - the three seem to fancy tea parties together.

(swapped w/ Broker)

Swaprocket

Swapkit

Swapspace

Swaphyper

Swapvalk

Swapbox

Swapbroker

Swapscythe

Swapsling

Swapsword

#roleswap au #phighting roleswap au #roleswap #phighting!#roblox phighting #swapdom (phighting roleswap au)#phighting dom #dom phighting #phighting au #art

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fatehbaz · 5 months

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Hal Langfur's Adrift on an Inland Sea: Misinformation and the Limits of Empire in the Brazilian Backlands sheds valuable light on spaces and processes in the history of colonial Brazil that have been overlooked and understudied, namely those taking place in internal frontier zones - the sertões, or backlands, between and beyond the enclaves governed by Portuguese rule, unstable and unincorporated spaces [...]. Langfur argues that [...] Lisbon made increasingly assertive efforts to survey and establish control over isolated zones after 1750 but that these failed such that the Portuguese imperial state found itself “adrift on an inland sea.” [...]

[T]he axis on which this enterprise fails is information. People made up the infrastructures of communication and data transmission that the Portuguese Empire endeavored to construct and deploy in order to render its domains governable and ever more profitable, but these people had purposes of their own.

The probing tentacles of imperial intelligence gathering met instead with the confusion of rumors, distortions, inflated claims, conflicting reports, disputed facts, and fantasies. [...]

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[Langfur] bring[s] into the conversation [...] accounts of several forays between 1750 and 1820 into the backlands of Minas Gerais [...]. These took place against the exhaustion of the mineral deposits that had fueled the gold rush decades earlier in Minas Gerais and the crown’s relentless pursuit of new deposits that could keep up the flow of alluvial wealth. While these projects foundered, ultimately, new forms of extraction in the form of slave-based export agriculture (coffee) would take their place. [...] [T]he first expedition was led by an ambitious merchant named Inácio Correia Pamplona in the late 1760s who commissioned a scribe to record a diary and compose poems praising his attempts to find gold and subdue Indians and thus extend the empire’s territorial dominion. While Pamplona’s actual accomplishments fell short of the Herculean feats described [...], he was able to cash in his narrative for favors and privileges that made him one of the largest landholders in the captaincy. [...]

The third [expedition] involved José Vieira Couto, a crown-appointed mineralogist, who was appointed to use his scientific expertise to investigate reports of diamond strikes in Western Minas Gerais, particularly of a famed free Black prospector known as Isidoro de Amorim Pereira [...]. The hoped-for diamonds never materialized but Couto [...] deployed a discourse of scientific rigor in an attempt to recast his mission and produce knowledge that would allow the crown to absorb and exploit the territory. [...] Wied established himself as an authority with unrivaled knowledge of Botocudo peoples for an international reading public; his accounts [...] presented the Botocuda as exotic primitives, incommensurable with “civilized society,” [...].

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If these expeditions [...] did not accomplish what the colonial state intended, this was, Langfur argues, a result of the capacity of diverse inland actors to divert, co-opt, and deceive authorities. [...] [Langfur's study] turns on an emphasis of the unacknowledged agency of a variety of marginalized peoples who acted as knowledge brokers: indigenous communities, both enslaved and free Afro-Brazilians, itinerant poor, and others deemed vagabonds and criminals: “the Indigeneous inhabitants separating the colony’s burgeoning capital from its mining heartland retained considerable say over the crown’s ability to impose its sovereign dominion. They largely determined what could be known, what remained a mystery, what could be accomplished, and what was beyond reach in this strategic mountainous expanse” (p. 150).

These frontier informants generated an “informational alchemy,” a mix of fantasy, fabrication, concealment, and contradictory reports [...].

How much information does an empire really require to run? Aren’t fantasies and lies always part of its infrastructures? Is all misinformation of a kind, or what specific misinformation carries with it not only the limits but also failures of empire? Put differently: How to judge the value and distribution of information versus that of representation in the running of an empire? What does the category of information itself conceal? [...] [A] horizon of intelligibility [...] is ultimately given by the Portuguese colonial state, so that the work of the information brokers is both possibly overstated and yet curiously limited, measured always in the terms set out by colonizing projects. [...] [I]n what ways [...] [do] such limits continue to bleed through once absorbed into the fabric of writing, determining the very grid of intelligibility?

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All text above by: Adriana Johnson. "Review of Langfur, Hal. Adrift on an Inland Sea: Misinformation and the Limits of Empire in the Brazilian Backlands". H-Environment, H-Net Reviews. February 2024. Published by H-Net online at: h-net.org/reviews/showrev.php?id=59701. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

#abolition #ecology #landscape #borders #caribbean #tidalectics #archipelagic thinking #indigenous #fugitivity #carceral geography #wetlands

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biinaberry · 6 months

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omgomgomgomg please tell me more about the batfam dnd au. whos what class? whos each race (i can only guess half) what are their backstories....

I dont have everyone's backstory (nor do I have a firm grasp on DND yet) but this is what I have so far Tim- DM Bruce- Human Paladin Dick- Tiefling Bard Babs- Dragonborn Artificer Jason- Halforc Rouge (Turned halforc fighter) Cass- Kenku Rouge Steph-Halfling Barbarian Duke- Elf Sorcerer Damian-Dragonborn Druid

Dick's character, Robin, stays pretty close to his childhood. Robin was raised in the circus with her parents being musicians. She trained herself on the trumpet, tuba and french horn. Following in her parent's footsteps she wanders the world trying to bring joy to others through her music. Eventually turning to her wanting to learn to be the best gymnast and to entertain kings and royalty. Babs and Duke are both royalty however in two very different environments. Duke was born to the forest and has an innate ability to control and command fireflies. This left him with the in charge of their light source and acted as a guide to those visiting. This left him with the title "Solar Guide". Babs however is the in a kingdom of machinery and advancements. Born with a tinkerer's mind she visited Duke's kingdom to explore how to combine both machinery, magic and nature. As well as to broker a deal between the two of them.

Damian's character, The Inevitable, was once a powerful druid. They were so strong in fact that they were once the final boss of a prior hypothetical campaign. However once the heros of the campaign defeated them they cursed him to never retain his memories, seen with the mask chained to his face. So all the spells and abilities he once had are no longer in his head. He is able to piece together that he was a druid due to the plethora of animals in his domain. They specialized in rot and decay with a motif of mushrooms. His main goal is to break the mask and gain back all the information lost to him over the past hundred years.

#batman dnd au #dick grayson #barbara gordon #duke thomas #damian wayne #If anyone has ideas let me know #eh ill tag the others for ref when looking later #tim drake #jason todd #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #bruce wayne

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robbiesblogdotcom · 9 months

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Unlocking the Potential of Premium Domain Names: How Domain Name Brokers Can Help

Unlocking the Potential of Premium Domain Names: How Domain Name Brokers Can Help For savvy domain name investors, recognizing the value of premium domain names is a key aspect of their strategy. However, navigating the complex world of premium domain deals can be challenging. That’s where domain name brokers come in. In this guide, we will explore the benefits of using a broker and how they can…

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godomainers · 2 years

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5 Domain Name Acquisition Services to Try Out Right Now

Domain names are an important part of the internet. They are used to identify websites. Domain names are composed of two parts: the top-level and second-level domains. The top-level domain is the part of the name that is at the end and is always .com, .net, .org, or some other type of domain. The second-level domain is the part of the name that is before the top-level domain.

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Godomainres

From small to large businesses, from local to global level businesses, GoDomainers is the rising Domain Acquisition Service. They have successfully acquired domains for the unicorn companies like 1inch network, they have also assisted companies like Abawaba Group, Rocket Node, Skoggy, and many more in acquiring desired domains for their company. They’re one of the most affordable domain acquisition services with an upfront fee of 25 USD and a 10% success fee, which is the lowest in the market.

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It all starts with a great name… They’re one of the major players in domain acquisition, they have successfully acquired domains worth millions of dollars since their inception. If you’re looking to acquire a domain

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With over 100 Domain brokers Godaddy is the largest domain acquisition service provider in the market with years of experience. Having acquired domains for startups and 100 fortune companies, they have the expertise and negotiation techniques that will help you get the best deal. They charge 69.99 USD, plus 20% commission upon successful acquisition.

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There are a few things to keep in mind when trying to acquire a domain name. Firstly, it’s important to choose a name that is easy to remember and spell. It’s also a good idea to check to see if the name is available and not already in use. You can use a domain name search tool to check. Finally, make sure you’re aware of any restrictions or rules that may apply to the name you choose. For example, some domain names may not be available for commercial use.

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Acquiring a domain is no longer an easy task, with domain privacy protection it has become too difficult to find the current owner of the domain. Even if you were able to find them, it is very difficult to negotiate a deal. With growing competition in businesses, everyone wants the best to outrank their competitors and most domain holders know their domain is actually more than what they are being offered.

Source: https://godomainers.blogspot.com/2022/10/5-domain-name-acquisition-services-to.html

#Domain broker #Domain Name Acquisition Service #Domain Acquisition Service

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jemerychow · 3 months

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What is the role of a domain name broker

#domain #web #broker #seo #ssl

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kaijuree · 12 days

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ok so lore dump... this will be added onto as i progress (this might be shorter then my other lore dumps... sorry to disappoint chat..) but HERE WE GO ‼️‼️‼️

illumina's alter ego ('iida'atan) is the one the cotte worships, right? ok so what if

illumina is a siren. the cotte is a bunch of cursed pirates on a cursed ship (flying dutchman) & over time they slowlyyy become more ghoul-ghost like or they turn into literal zombies. dutchman scythe is a more ghoul like member while broker is a weird mix of a zombie & a ghost

medkit (piratekit) is a relatively new member so the whole process hasnt fully started yet.. & hes thinking about leaving because he sees whats happened to all the other members but he's grown close to scythe & since she's been here long enough shes cursed to never leave, & he doesn't wanna leave her to rot for eternity

so...yeah. thats the cotte lore. for the sfoth i'll be a bit more vague but here

there are underwater civilizations & such, kingdoms & all. each sword deity has a domain, a temple in areas that are basically impossible for mortals to reach. theres also LAYERS to the ocean & for some of them, only certain merdemons can reach them

there are 7 layers to the ocean, each one of the sword's temples are in one of these deeper layers, & these layers are more...mystical. more ethereal. magical

land dwelling demons aren't aware of all these layers to the oceans, & all that. they just know that merdemons are very much real

thanks for coming to my ted talk

#🍤 shrimp flavor #kai yaps #🐚 pirmer! 🪸

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amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet · 1 month

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The Dreeka & The Horned Goddess w/ Princess Zelda

Zelda: "You're curious about the Dreeka? I'd imagine if you've been looking into the Convergence they would come up. I can answer some questions, but the Dreeka are a secretive people. Fitting for the followers of the Goddess of Secrets.

"According to the stories we have from the Convergence and the Dreeka's records, at some point after the cycle began, the Horned Goddess showed Herself to a portion of the Sheikah and offered them Her boon to help preserve the stories of the Hero and the Princess. These people became the Drex, and then after the Convergence, the Dreeka. The boon the Horned Goddess gifted appeared very similar to that in the Sheikah, though with one key difference. Rather than crimson eyes, the Dreeka notably have purple ones as a part of their lineage.

"During the time of the Convergence, an ambassador of the Dreeka presented themself to the Hero, and served as his Guide during his quest. The two remained friends long after, and they were essential in brokering relations with our neighbors. Part of that peace was the construction of the Dreeka's libraries, one in every nation, to store the collective histories of our countries and the legends."

Marela: "A lot of people don't trust the Dreeka though. I know they're secretive, but that shouldn't make them unlikable."

Zelda: "It shouldn't. That reputation tends to have more to do with the other epithets the Horned Goddess has. Most notably, the Goddess of Monsters. It's said She had followers during the Convergence who were within the Blin family of creatures, among others. Many people have taken to associate that incorrectly that She Herself makes monsters."

Marela: "Well that's just rude. That's like when there was still a distinction between River Zora and Sea Zora."

Zelda: "Precisely the problem. But people are unfortunately easy to scare, and particularly these days with more monsters, too many people are willing to find an excuse rather than confront the truth."

Marela: "Oh, truth! You said that was an affinity of the Horned Goddess before, didn't you?"

Zelda: "I did. The Horned Goddess's primary epithet may the Goddess of Secrets, but Her affinity is Truth. According to the Dreeka's history, She uncovered the means of ascending to divinity, like the other Golden Goddeses, and left this secret behind only for Hylia."

Marela: "So she achieved ascension as well? Is that suggesting she's as powerful as the other Golden Goddesses?"

Zelda: "According to the Dreeka, yes. I will admit, Her affinity is incredibly powerful. Enough to have two material affinities as well as the divine one."

Marela: "Would that mean she has a portion of the Triforce? Not much of a Tri-force then."

Zelda: "Early history suggests that before we recognized it at the Triforce, it was simply called the Light Force. Perhaps a unified power existed before the Horned Goddess was ostracized by the divines as well."

Marela: "Hm. Wouldn't that be something. What were her material affinities?"

Zelda: "Most notably, Earth magic seems to fall in the Horned Goddess's domain. That would fit with Her prominent colors, She seems to favor purples. Other than that is Soul magic."

Marela: "Soul magic? How would that different from Spirit magic?"

Zelda: "A difficult line to explain. Spirit magic seems to have more to do with death and, well, spirits. Things that are already immaterial. Soul magic on the other hand influences largely the living. Things like, oh. Marela, your singing can provide a particular bardic inspiration."

Marela: "Oh, you flatter me. I do my best. Keep complimenting me, I like it."

Zelda: "Hmhm, you are quite talented at it. But to my point. Soul magic works in a similar fashion. As your singing can motivate a performance from others, Soul magic can too provide boons to the mind. Though this must be done with caution. Abuse of this magic can be used to puppet others as well. Likely the reason it goes understudied."

Marela: "That does rather put a chill on the mood."

Zelda: "All action is about balance. That's what the Horned Goddess's High Priestess says too. It's no different for Power or Courage or Wisdom. It's only that we've seen so little of this magic that its worse uses are what's focused on rather than the good it might be able to achieve with better study."

Marela: "I suppose. Maybe we should pay a visit some time to this library. Perhaps we could find some answers on our current problems."

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Mark of a Hero (Updates on Tuesdays & Fridays, 1 of 9)

Hyrule is at peace, or so the Royal Family would have its people believe. Something is afoot in the kingdom, and someone needs to do something about it. Least likely would be Marksmen Link Sayre- a mercenary and monster hunter doing his best to get by. Until a job goes wrong, and he gets roped into the secret plans of Hyrule's princess. Now Link must play the part of the Hero to dive deeper into the mystery, and maybe stumble into a legend of his own.

AO3 - Wattpad

#markofahero #moah worldbuilding #fanfic writing #fanfic #loz: original legends #legend of zelda #zelda fanfiction #zelda #original legends #zelda fandom #the legend of zelda

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