#domain real estate

[fedoraspooky]

God, of course I managed to find SOME way to get into a new fandom/character, but at the same time have such a specific, wildly canon-divergent AU of them in mind that I STILL ended up right back in the oc hell of having to make all the drawings and whatnot by myself. ;w;

[wizardsnorlax]

Fighting game idea: Public Domination!

It's got all the popular fictional characters that entered the public domain and their skill sets are based on the source materials!

[d1abetic]

who wants this on a shirt

[midnapanda]

Nintendo should give the Legend of Zelda series to the public domain. Dead fucking serious. Let game developers create whatever fan-games they want to. They should let Zelda games be made by other game studios. Pretty sure almost anyone else can make a more compelling and in-depth story. There are so many people out there that treat this franchise and its characters 100x better than Nintendo ever will. Especially in regard to the Triforce Trio, as well as the Gerudo race.

[reasoningdaily]

DCist: Art Installation Calls Out Community Erasure, Past And Present

In what is now known as Metropolitan Park — created in phase one of Amazon’s headquarters in Arlington —  a red brick tower stands resolute, reminding passersby that nearly a century ago a community was erased nearby.

The simple structure, which stands 35 feet tall in an area filled with high-rises and office buildings, seems lost in time. Its red brick exterior evokes a long-past, industrial era — one similar, maybe, to the era  East Arlington residents lived in.

When visitors step inside the sculpture, they’re greeted by 903 ceramic teardrop-shaped “vessels” — one for every displaced community member.

The space is quiet, intimate and — above all — inspiring. According to Durrett, who spoke in an interview with Street Sense Media, that’s exactly the point.

“I try to leave space for the viewer to experience awe,” Durrett said. “First you see this mundane brick structure that looks like it’s from some bygone period. And then you enter the space and you’re met with something completely unexpected. The viewer then has all of these questions, and then hopefully feels inspired to find the answers and then learn this history that so many people don’t know.”

That history is a tragic one. East Arlington was a victim of displacement long before the 1940s, according to a 2011 presentation by the Arlington Public Library. Many of its residents previously lived in Freedman’s Village, a post-emancipation attempt to house enslaved people, before they were forced out by the government — this time to build the Arlington National Cemetery.

The construction of the Pentagon, at the time the largest office building in the world, initially offered a welcome source of work for men in Queen City, according to Dr. Nancy Perry’s 2014 lecture at the Arlington Historical Society.

East Arlington residents worked on the construction of the Pentagon for months before they were informed that the project would unseat them from their home, Perry said. The Black Heritage Museum of Arlington notes that Queen City was specifically displaced for construction of the transportation corridor that would ferry commuters to the Pentagon.

Without the means to move their belongings, many families were forced to leave behind almost everything they owned, according to the lecture. They fled — first to different temporary housing sites, and then to different parts of the country. Many of them never saw their neighbors again.

It was that side of the tragedy — the human suffering — that the artist said she wanted to evoke. In addition to researching the historic community, Durrett arranged a meeting with one of its last living residents. Her conversation with 92-year-old William Vollin, she said, taught her more about Queen City than archives ever could.

“Being able to identify and speak with someone who has been carrying that history since they were 12 years old further humanized the experiences that those people would have gone through,” Durrett said. “When I was speaking to [Vollin], he didn’t recount losing his home or any material possessions. What he did speak about was the loss of his community. About how he never saw most of those people ever again. He speaks about the destruction of Queen City as though it just happened yesterday.”

But the sculpture is about more than a single community, Durrett said. According to data from the housing search site Apartment List, D.C.’s cost of living is 53% higher than the national average — one of the least affordable cities in the nation.

“Queen City” tells a story of Black displacement at a time when, according to analysis by the Urban Institute, the District’s Black population has been declining for decades. The sculpture, according to Durrett, teaches more than just history.

“The value of learning that history is connecting the dots, it’s seeing how this sort of erasure persists into the present day.”

To create the 903 teardrops that line the interior of “Queen City,” each representing a displaced resident, Durrett commissioned 17 Black ceramicists from across the country.

“One thing that I asked them,” said Durrett, “was to bring forward stories of a Queen City in their own community. Each and every one of them had one.”

Although the artists might have been aware of each other’s work, this was their first opportunity to work together, Durrett said. Each ceramicist had varying abilities and experience, especially with the teardrop-shaped vessels Durrett was requesting.

This led to a “beautiful thing” happening, Durrett said. The ceramicists, rather than working independently on their portion of the commission, collaborated. Artists with more expertise met with less confident ones, creating an atmosphere of compassion and partnership.

In the process of memorializing a community, Durrett said, they had become one themselves.

“Using community, the very thing that was destroyed when East Arlington was razed, to actually create something as grand and long-lasting as ‘Queen City,’ was beautiful,” Durrett said. “It’s not just about the thing, the object — it’s about the process of making it. It’s about showing what we’re all capable of when we work together.”

[jamaicahomescom]

Essential Guide to Jamaican Real Estate Law and Agency Principles

In Jamaican real estate law, understanding the foundational terms, principles, and processes is essential for navigating property transactions and related legal obligations. Real estate is not just about property sales or leases but involves a complex framework of rights, responsibilities, and legal doctrines that shape ownership, agency, and the relationships between parties. Whether you are…

[avandelay20]

Good - get 'em!

REA Group / Domain - your days of printing money are numbered.

[uniqueeval]

Rupert Murdoch's REA Group considers bid for Rightmove property portal

Rupert Murdoch, chairman emeritus of media empire News Corp. Axelle/bauer-griffin | Filmmagic | Getty Images LONDON — Rupert Murdoch-owned REA Group said Monday it is contemplating a takeover offer for U.K. property portal Rightmove in a bid to create a global digital real estate business. The Australian property listings company, which is controlled by Murdoch’s News Corp, said in a statement…

[lunachi369]

same mood but stock market lol..see crypto digital gold lets go online casino lets go..forbes 500 lets go..shark tank,nft,forex,franchise lets go

[retiredteabag]

Hidden from sight

Synopsis: In a state of humiliation, you attempt to hide an injury from your master, Sukuna, this, of course, does not go to plan.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Foolish.

That, you were sure, was what Lord Sukuna would call you when you returned to the estate.

He was a harsh, and strict man. He never liked for you to stray from his presence too long, and more than anything else, he was mean. He said what he wanted, and always meant it.

You had begged the king of curses to allow you a day amongst the townsfolk, a day to explore the gardens outside of Sukunas domain, a day to see and hear and feel the world you so rarely saw.

The king, of course, was not too keen on this. You were not a member of kitchen staff, or a concubine, or a groundskeeper either. Like many people on the compound, you were simply a servant to the king. Yet, your relationship was not one that could be compared to your peers.

Beloved to the king, perhaps being too strong of a word. You were special to him, however. He expected your attendance at his meals or downtime. One might think you were close, but the truth of the matter was:

You hardly knew the king.

And he barely spoke to you either.

You had come to the palace an adult, knowing little of the king's mannerisms. Meeting him on rare occasions proved a thrilling experience. He was unlike any man you had ever met.

One evening, your presence was needed in the bath chamber. You had been told to assist in the cleaning of your king. Nonplussed as you were, you pled your case. An uninformed and inexperienced launderer. You were in no position to touch the king, too dirty yourself to even wish for such a position.

Having been told to never deny the king of anything he demanded, you were certain the response would not be one of pleasure. You escaped that day unscathed, a mere,

"Then depart from my sight"

Uttered from him, eyes closed, hand shooing you away.

But time passed and with the phases of the moon, so too did your relationship with the king alter. Night after night you grew more and more certain the king was calling for you directly. You grew acquainted with the king, with his bloodthirsty antics, with his unforgiving nature, with his intolerance for rebellion.

You served him through it all.

Twas' your job.

A launderer.

A foot servant for your employer.

You were sure, he would not be forgiving if you returned to his estate in such disarray. Only having warned you to be mindful a mere two hours prior, you limped from the ache in the side of your pelvis.

Your feet shook on the uneven ground beneath you. You had only just left the village you so desired to see, basket in hand full of goods to bring to your fellow maids. Evening was falling and the memory of the king's warning flooded your mind.

As you had made the trek back, the sight of a deer in the woods had shocked you. Certain you were looking at a curse, you gasped, lunged for cover, and promptly tripped over a stone lining the path through the woods.

Too eager to protect the contents of your basket your hands had been too occupied to catch your weight. You were certain there were scratched on your knees, but the real pain came from just above your hip, where an ill-placed stone had bludgeoned your flesh.

Dark red sept through your kimono, it had never looked so much like your kings. But he would not be pleased. Of this you were sure.

Foolish.

Too easily frightened.

Weak.

You knew little of Lord Sukuna's vast abilities. One thing you knew for certain was that the king had the ability to feel the souls of those around him. He knew when someone was guilty when someone was excited and fearful. He could sense it as if he was feeling those things himself. For this reason, before drawing too close to the palace gates, you steadied your heart and mind, reaching for peace as to not alert Sukuna of your presence so soon.

You went first to the washhouse, and rid yourself of the filthy clothes. After which, you were at once able to see the depth of your injuries. It had hurt, your way back to the palace, but after seeing them for what they were, you had to fight to keep the spike of panic from rising. How could you hide this? Hide it from him?

You wash your kimono of the coppery smell, disposing of it behind a pile of extra wash bins. You occupy your hands by dabbing at the open wound, wrapping yourself in a linen cloth, and dressing in one of the extra cleaning uniforms.

You were so caught up in walking in a straight line back to the estate, you almost forgot your gifts and whine out at the thought of making the trip back to the wash house. But you steel yourself and do it.

By the time you make it to the kitchens, it is far later than you intended. You simply drop the basket off on a staff table, wobbling to your chambers.

All you want is to sleep, to hide yourself from all the noises of the estate night shift, but the throbbing pain in your side is intense, and worse, you've bled through both your linen bandage as well as a laundry uniform. Even so, you are too tired to come up with a way to right this, you decide, that will be the job of tomorrow y/n.

-

Of course, when you arise the next morning, unable to sit up, you regret your choices of the night prior. Unintentionally a wail escapes your lips, the pain is so deep, so unchanging that you want to cry. You feel the humiliation once again from yesterday, what would Sukuna say if he knew of this? Would he remove you from the estate? Or would he simply look at you with disgust? Would he ever speak to you again?

Something you were sure of, at least, was that there was no way you would be able to work, bent over a wash basin, in the condition you are in. Knowing that, you were concerned with how long you could hide away in your chambers before someone came to get you.

Several maids had already come to speak through your door, asking about your trip, the basket of goodies you left in the kitchen, and eventually, in concerned tones, if you were alright.

You reassured them in a comforting voice that you were quite well but exhausted from your journey and would likely retire before dinner was served.

You had never been up however, still, the other launderers did not question your words, sure you just needed a nights more rest. There was, however, a person in the estate you could never evade, and contrary to popular belief, it was not Lord Sukuna. He certainly did not care enough for you to need to hide yourself from him, however, his loyal servant and chef, Uraume, always had everything in order and was aware of all the "goings on" that occurred within the estate walls.

Only a few minutes after the communal dinner bell was rung did Uraume arrive at your chambers, requesting your presence. Unfortunately, they were not so easy to dissuade. I have no appetite did not work, I long for rest, did not work, I tire from my journey, did not work. None of it worked. They were determined, if nothing else, to see you. There was nothing to be done.

In a grand effort, you slid from your bed to the floor, a dull moan muffled by the mattress as you strained your legs to rise but it was a tireless endeavor. Wincing, you shuddered to the door, opened it a crack to meet th Uraume's stern eyes.

"You are unwell." They announced.

You knew you could not lie, not directly. Still, you attempted to fib your way around it, claiming your menstrual cycle was nearing, but it did not work, claiming you had eaten something foul in the village, they merely squinted at you, you were blundering, grasping for straws. In your desperation, you did not notice Uraume's foot slip out to the threshold, slowly pressing your door ajar.

You had been resting your weight said door, and yelped at the pressure. The chef raised an eyebrow and pressed on more firmly. You called out their name and stumbled to the floor.

"You've been attacked?" They question but the pain is so intense you can simply shake your head, in a show of patience you rarely see from Uraume, they brush the hair from your face.

You knew they could use reversed curse technique on themself, but the management of this injury was something that would likely take time.

In the moments it took Uraume to lift you to your bed, and start to clean your wound they had you recount the story, in between each sentence you begged them to keep this from the king. Do not say a word, I beg, followed by, I pray you wouldn't speak of this, ending your story with Lord Sukuna mustn't know.

Even with all the begging, they never once promised you a thing. Pressing your gouged pelvis more firmly still, they wiped your eyes of tears. And when you finally met their gaze, their look seemed to whisper, do not be stupid. You could only hope.

-

Your hope had been stupid.

You knew it had been last night when Uraume had bandaged you up, you knew it had been when you fought to dress yourself this morning, you knew it had been when you trudged to the wash house, you knew it had been when you began to set up a bin full of sudsy water and even now, bent painfully over, scrubbing away at towels, you knew of your fate.

You had been invited to dine with the king. Once dismissing yourself for not being worthy to wash your king's body had been shockingly, acceptable at one time. But you knew you could not skirt this. You could not deny your presence to him twice.

And in his presence, you knew you could not hide. Uraume had been the one to collect you before the evening meal, washing you, clothing you, and redressing your wound. You walked with intention now, three steps behind the personal chef to the king. You found, however, that you would not be having dinner in one of the many dining rooms, but rather, in the kings chambers.

In an attempt to plead once more, you made to grab Uraumes robe, they simply gave you a look of greatest disdain, opened the door to Sukunas chambers, and bowed.

You could not meet his eyes, you could feel them as they traced over you. Despite the fiery pain, you fell to your knees. You did not speak, Uraume left, and you stayed glued to the floor.

"I hold no affection for those who hide from me."

You could do nothing but nod in your place on the floor. "Yes, my king."

"You know this."

"Yes, my king." You nod again,

"And yet-" You can hear his voice ever louder, he has gotten up from his place on the bed, coming to you, his steps echoing in your ears. "You evade me like an elusive snake." He paces around you steadily. "You hide yourself from my presence, and you beg" He spits it out, vehement, "beg- Uraume to keep your condition from me."

He has stalked behind you now, and begins to creep ever closer to your side, bending to your position to whisper in your ear,

"Did you believe I could not find you, did you think, even for a moment, you could fool me?" You cannot read his tone, nor his face, too ashamed to look.

He stretches back to his full height. "You have always been the one who's appearance I delight most in. Yet, now, you only appear at my demand. Must I demand you to speak as well in order for you to tell me why you have shamed me so?"

Shaking your head quickly, you heave, "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I did not want to- to show you-" You began but Sukuna cuts you off, whirling around,

"That much is very clear. Tell me why without the blabbering nonsense. I wish not to hear apologies fall from your lips now."

You murmur once more, ashamed, but speak up, "I am such a fool." You look up, resigning yourself, you want to see his face, "I wished not for you to see me as such. I am a weak and poor worker. Please, know, I did not mean to shame you."

Sukuna does not respond. Silently making his way to your form, "You cannot even stand on your own. Do you intend to lay there all night, or do you expect aid to be granted to you?"

He sounds genuinely curious, you are unsure of what to say, you had no plan. Your head falls to your lap but in a sudden movement, Sukuna is before you, one arm stretched out to catch your crestfallen face, "Look at me." He speaks gentler than you have ever heard.

With one hand on your jaw, and another cupping the back of your head he huffs air from his nose. "You are a fool."

You cannot look away from him, but all you want now is to hide your face.

"So very foolish." He speaks clearly, "To hide from me, to work in such a condition." Before his words even hit you, you are struck but the grasping of your waist by his other two hands. His eyes remain open but within a moment all your pain is gone. An unintentional noise escapes you at the immediate relief you are brought.

It cannot be said whether the shock of Sukunas RCT or the grasp he had on you caused you to fall limply into his grasp but you have no time to prepare before he is lifting you tenderly into his arms. An unseen sparkle in his eyes. He carries you the few feet to his bed before he lays you across his lap.

"Your condition is not ideal. You shall not work. You are to stay with me" He is petting your hair rather oddly, as if you are a wounded animal he has found.

Attempting to rise you start, "I feel- I- I must extend my gratitude-"

But he is placing a hand on your stomach to keep you down, "You will extend your gratitude by never hiding from me again."

There is no room for argument. You nod up at him. He has one arm still under your knees, another on your waist, and a third stroking your cheek.

"I will never allow you pain again." He murmurs. "Never again." His palm is large enough to cover your face wholly. "I shall keep you within my sight henceforth."

And it is at this moment that you wonder if, perhaps, you are closer to the king than you had originally thought. If you, by chance, meant something to him? If he had been worried for you. But in your dazed state within your king's arms, you smile to yourself, thinking tiredly of how kindly and merciful he had always been to you.

What you did not yet know, was that it was he that was a fool for you.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

[mlleshopping]

The buy low, sell high concept definitely applies with domain investing.

Sitandchat.com is available for purchase – Sedo.com Photo by SHVETS production on Pexels.com A conversation is so much more than words, a conversation is eyes, smiles, the silences between words. — Annika Thor I s it a Telecast , Podcast or Videocast Make it your TV SHOW -SIT AND CHAT ! What is a good topic to talk about?Tell me about you.This is a great one because it invites the other…

[wildgeese98]

We should lean more into the fact that Helen was a real estate agent before she got Distortioned. After Helen takes over, the Distortion hallways should start looking like a really sterile, beige, house set up to be shown to potential buyers.

Endless hallways in various different muted pastel colors. The same three generic paintings repeated over and over.

A maze of open plan kitchens that all lead into each other endlessly. Each identical in layout but with portions and angles slightly off in different ways.

Hallways lined with doors that all lead to the same immaculately neat child's bedroom stretching on and on, seemingly forever.

A living room that seems normal at first but slowly fills with more and more bowls of fake fruit and tasteful flower arrangements.

A house where every room is a lie. Everything set up carefully in a facsimile of a welcoming home but if you scratch the surface you'll find it to be cold and artificial.

That would have been a cool thing to do with her domain in season 5 too. You would easily do something with it about being forced to perform the heteronormative ideals of domestic life or something like that.

[adviceformefromme]

Stop obsessing over him…

While it might seem fun to fantasise about a man, to think about him non-stop, to imagine your life together what you’re actually doing is sending a very strong signal to the universe that energetically ‘I come second’. While this might sound extreme, hear me out... Your thoughts are no longer your own because you are thinking about him. You can’t focus on you because you are thinking about him. All of a sudden everything is about him. You wake up, you take a shower. Lost in the fantasy...He might be a man you’re talking to, dating, fucking, whatever the case my be. Obsessing over a man in thought is never something you should get comfortable with, giving your precious energy away to moments that will ….most likely never happen. And what for? What about thinking about you. Your dreams, passions? The vision for your day? You only have so much mental capacity each day. And getting lost in the fantasy is not the answer.

Create no fantasy of him. This is your lesson. Press pause. Literally press fucking pause. Eject the tape. Throw it out the window. This is YOUR movie. You get to take centre stage. You no longer have to play second to mentally overthinking men. 

Start choosing you. But you have to choose you in thought first and foremost. You can’t come second in thought. Your thinking has to be on you, about you. You can’t come second mentally because a man who is not your man is taking centre stage in your mind. Your thinking space is prime real estate. It needs YOU. YOU need to own that domain. Not think it’s cute to imagine the future, get all giddy and love sick. No. No no no. Bring it back to you. Your job now is to remain focused on you. That is it. Remain focused of you. Let go. Just let go. 

Is this message clear enough for you. Do you understand now how harmful it is to make a man first priority in your mind? 

Give yourself some grace. Clean your room and get back to you. Focusing on you. Energising you. It’s a process, but the shift can be instant..all of a sudden one day you just say no. No to allowing a man to take up the domain of your mind. And just like that you can switch off that light in your mind that gets excited to overthink a man. Say no. Pray. Ask for a miracle. Call on angels. This is truly serious because focusing on you, and remaining in your centre is how you win in this life. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

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

[ty-loves]

Briarwood Mortuary🕊️🪦

The Briarwood Mortuary is owned & operated by the Briar Family of Brindleton Bay. This longstanding mortuary & cemetery is the resting place of many of Brindleton Bay's most coveted citizens. This lot can be used to lay your sims to rest peacefully, host a funeral service, or even have a wedding in the cemetery.  

Gallery ID: ty_loves415 (✅include custom content to find builds)

Information: 

30x30 lot

$319,543

 Functions as: Generic, Wedding Venue, or Museum lot

CC Used:

Asabinsims | Real Trees for build mode (1) 

Alf-si | Birch Trees (1),

Magnoliidae | Leafy Ground Cover plant recolor (1)

TheJim07 | Gravestone & Mortuary ts3 (1), Mater Dolorosa (1), Winged Victory of Samothrace (1)

Felixandre | Estate (2), (1), (3), Paris (2), (1), Chateau (2), (5), (6), Berlin (2), (1), London (1), Gothic Revival (2), (1), Grove (4), Fayun (2), (1), Florence (2), (1), Soho (1)

Pinkbox AnYe | Venice (1), Summer Garden (1), (2), Bayfront Powder room (1),  Miranda (1), Cozy Corner (1), Magnolia (1), Ashwood Dining (1)

SYB | Ratatouille Kitchen (1), Hotel (1), Piano (1)

Valia | Mediterranean columns (1)

Lilis Palace | Folklore Skanzen (5), Intarsia Enfilade (1)

Plush Pixels | Parisian Apartment (1), Summer in the Hamptons (2)

Max20 | Garden at Home (1)

Pierisim | Domaine du Clos (2), (1), Auntie Vera’s Bathroom Toilet (1), Winter Garden (1), Woodland Ranch Old Rug (1)

Harrie | Coastal (2), (8), Copenhagen (1), Brutalist Bathroom Tiles (1)

PsychicPeanutKitty | Ghost w/ a Lantern (1)

KHD | Noor Set (1), Ghibli (2), Liberty (1), Countess Desk & Chair (1)

Severinka | Halloween 2018 (1)

Sims4Luxury | Fall 2023 Pumpkins (1)

Myshunosun | Herbalist Clutter (1)

Natalia-Auditore | Baron Samedi Coffins (1)

CWB | Anapolis Wall Light (1), October 2022 (1)

HYDRA | Heart Vanity (1)

Sooky88 | Vertical Oil Paintings (1)

PandoraSimBox | Get to Church Stuff Pack Pulpit (1) LittleDica | Countryside Cabin Roof Trim (1)

*Packs Used: Lovestruck (benches), Cottage Living, City Living, Get Together, Jungle Adventure GP, Romantic Garden Stuff, Paranormal Stuff Extras & TOU: 

Please do not reupload or claim my build as your own

Please do feel free to tag me if you use this build <3

Always use bb.moveobjects when placing

Reshade by YoursTrulySims

Leave a comment here if you have any issues

Thank you all cc creators <3

All trees used in this build are CC, not defaults.  

@asabinsims @felixandresims @pinkbox-anye @alf-si @sooky88 @pierisim @lilis-palace @myshunosun @kerriganhouse @harrie-cc @sims4luxury @psychicpeanutkitty @valiasims @maxsus @littledica @hydrangeachainsaw @nataliaauditore-blog @syboubou @thejim07 @magnoliidae @plushpixelssims

[thebibliophilevigilante]

When it comes to getting intel, there are several ways to go about it. One could ask politely, or ask the right questions to eventually draw information from their target. There is intimidation, threatening your target and demanding the information in exchange for remaining unharmed. Then there is incognito surveillance, appearing inconspicuous and melding in with one’s environment just listening and watching.

The current session was the latter.

A raven-haired man with a blanched tuft in his bangs kept his teal eyes trained on the book in his massive, calloused right hand. His left swirled his take-away cup absentmindedly. He was reading words, but they weren’t registering in his brain. His focus was more concentrated on the conversations around him, and what information he could gather before his next patrol.

The first three rules of real estate are location, location, location. Burnley Brewhouse definitely had that, especially for Jason Todd. It was conveniently placed right on the very edge of Burnley, practically at the juncture of where Crime Alley and The Bowery neighborhoods started (which were all Jason’s domain). By day, the neighborhood was full of regular citizens, students and tourists. By night, the whole area was crawling with denizens of the dark wheeling and dealing for their own personal gain and vices while putting others at risk.

Jason brought his cup to his mouth for a sip, his eyes flicking to the counter where two men with heavier builds were waiting for their order. One had a rough 5 o’clock shadow, the other a scraggly, unkempt blond beard, both wearing holy jeans and beat-up leather jackets. He recalled seeing them once during a patrol a couple of weeks prior, skulking around by the Freight Yards. They were definitely up to no good then, and could offer him decent information in the present. The barista handed both of them a take-away cup, and his eyes quickly glanced down to his book again, his peripherals watching as they meandered around to sit at a table caddy-corner from his in the back corner of the shop.

“Terry was telling me about that new candy order he has coming in,” 5 O’Clock muttered lowly to his friend. “Said it should get here overnight, and we can distribute to the stores first thing in the morning.”

Scraggles ran his nails over his beard as he listened. “Loaded with sugar? Y’know these kids can’t get enough of their sugar.”

“He said it was everything needed from the inventory list. He said he has his pal Molly coming in to help with the shipment too.”

There was a small pause before, “How many donuts did he get and where from?”

“11 for the crew. I think he said they’re from Declan’s over on 14th Street.”

Jason had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Those two idiots were blatantly discussing a drug drop in broad daylight just as if they were talking about a regular candy store shipment.

He switched the book to his right hand as he snagged a napkin from the holder and a pen from the table. He scribbled a note to himself, writing the characters’ names from his book, followed by “PG 11, DL 14.” He knew his own shorthand; the character names were to keep up appearances. “PG 11” would remind him the drop was scheduled for 11, and “DL 14” would remind him the ship would be at Dock Bay 14.

His attention went back to his book as he brought the pen to his lips, teeth nibbling on the retractable plunge as he appeared deep in thought. He was about to tune back into 5 O’Clock and Scraggly’s conversation when the cafe’s entry bell rung.

His eyes flitted to the door to assess the entrant, and he froze. A young brunette with piercing dark eyes was glancing around, looking for a place to perch herself no doubt. She was breathtaking, and certainly unlike any other person he had seen come in to Burnley’s. As she turned to the counter, he couldn’t help the large grin that danced over his face. First he got lucky with the tip-off. Would he be lucky enough for that gorgeous girl to sit anywhere within his vicinity?

@rpwiththelilflower