#thus was born the invention of the folding chair.

[herunswithscissors]

One of my favorite things to do on calls with friends and family is to needle them about how nice my weather is right now while they are freezing their asses off and fighting over folding chairs marking dug out parking spots.

[scotianostra]

On June 7th 1811 Sir James Young Simpson, pioneer of anaesthetics and chloroform, born.

I don’t really have to say how much Simpson is regarded in the medical world for his work, and of course by countless women in childbirth.

The story begins in an elegant dining room in Edinburgh, with  obstetrician Sir James Young Simpson running a series of experiments to find inhaled painkillers that would be less smelly and flammable than ether and have fewer side effects. In an unusual twist on the standard gentleman’s routine of after-dinner drinks, Simpson and his assistants, George Keith and Matthew Duncan, gathered on Thursday evenings to sniff different chemical compounds and determine their effects, a logical, if dangerous method of drug testing in an age before clinical trials.

  Simpson did not choose his chemicals randomly; he focused on substances with “a more fragrant or agreeable odour” than ether and on volatile compounds that would evaporate at room temperature, thus becoming absorbed into the bloodstream through the lungs.

On the evening of November 4th it was chloroform’s turn. This organic chlorine-based compound had been synthesized in the 1830s by three men working in different countries: John Guthrie, a physician in upstate New York; French chemist Eugène Soubeiran; and famed German chemist Justus von Liebig.

 Though Guthrie’s “sweet whiskey” had enjoyed a brief vogue as a sipping tonic in his town of Sackets Harbor on Lake Ontario, the clear, heavy liquid seemed to have little practical use. Still, it fitted in with Simpson’s guidelines.

  The three Edinburgh doctors poured out the chloroform, raised their glasses to their noses, and breathed in deeply. A sweet smell filled the air, and the younger physicians became lively and talkative.

“This is far better and stronger than ether,” Simpson thought. The next he knew, he was looking up at the ceiling, with noise and confusion all around. Duncan had collapsed under a chair, snoring loudly, and Keith lay on his back under the table, kicking it violently despite his unconsciousness. After gradually waking up and struggling back into their seats, the doctors were eager to experiment again—though more cautiously this time.

  Other family members watched these remarkable events. After inhaling the chloroform herself, Simpson’s niece-in-law called out, “I’m an angel! Oh, I’m an angel!” before folding her arms and falling asleep at the table. The group continued to sniff the chloroform until it all evaporated.

It must have been some party!

  The experiment was a grand success, and Simpson and his colleagues lost no time in having large supplies of chloroform manufactured to use on their patients. Its use spread rapidly, as it was easy to obtain and administer and less harsh in its effects than ether.

  Simpson wrote extensively in defence of the substance, countering doctors and clergymen who argued that pain was necessary for the body and ordained by the Bible. He delivered one of his pithiest ripostes in an 1848 exchange with “an Irish lady.” She chastised him by saying “how unnatural it is for you doctors in Edinburgh to take away the pains of your patients when in labour.” He responded, “How unnatural … is it for you to have swam over from Ireland to Scotland against wind and tide in a steamboat.” For Simpson and his supporters relieving pain was as great an innovation as steam power. Both inventions seemed to prove 19th-century ideas about boundless technological progress and the perfectibility of humankind.

Nevertheless, objections to anaesthesia—especially when used for women in labour—continued.

  Soon, however, chloroform received an unexpected supporter. Queen Victoria and her consort Prince Albert requested the compound for the birth of their eighth child, Prince Leopold, in 1853. John Snow administered the drug, using a few drops on a simple handkerchief rather than the inhalers and masks then on the market.

  The queen, who remained conscious throughout the procedure, recorded in her journal that the effect was “soothing, quieting, delightful beyond measure.” She received the drug again in 1857 for the birth of Princess Beatrice, her ninth and last child. When her oldest daughter Princess Victoria had her own first child in 1859, the queen rejoiced, “What a blessing she had chloroform.”

The old photo is the unveiling of his statue at the West End of Princes Street,  Simpson is seated in his academic robes while holding a book on his lap

[whatisthiscontentyouspeakof]

A Cold Days Night That Changes Everything

Inspired by The Quiet Ones by LonelyHarvest. Loved the story and wanted to read more similar to it, the same way you would other tropes within a fandom, but found out that there weren’t really any so I decided to write my own.

A03 | Next

Prologue Part 1

.

.

Minerva McGonagall had been in charge of sending out Hogwarts acceptance letters for a few decades by that point, so she had it down to a point. A magic quill would write out the acceptance letter and list of supplies before the page would fly to her desk where she’d sign it, by hand and not which magic since it wouldn’t be authentic and while they hadn’t had someone try to fake a Hogwarts letters in a couple hundred years, it was still a precaution that was mandatory. After she signed the paper sent sent it off to the side with a flick of her want where it’d be folded up into a envelope and passed off to an owl.

Of course this was only for students that were returning for another year or for students from magical families. Muggleborn letters, at least for coming first years, would still be signed but Minerva would then pick a staff member or go herself, to introduce the Muggleborn child to the Wizarding World and get them ready for the first day of Hogwarts. This was made easier by the fact that Muggleborns received their letter on their eleventh birthday instead of them all getting it on the same day the way the rest of the student body did.

Minerva barely paid attention to what she was doing anymore, her motions having long since become muscle memory. Every few years there were some troubles with letter deliveries, usually involving paranoid pureblood families with ancient, and illegal, wards that kept owls out. Knowing the amount of incoming first years that came from ancient pureblood families, she couldn’t say she was surprised when an owl returned with a letter still with them. It was a little surprising that the owl was wet but not enough for her to think twice about it.

Minerva didn’t bother looking at the letter, or really giving it a second thought as she passed it off to a second owl. She frowned when the owl didn’t take off once it had the letter but it was a newer younger owl and thus new to it jobs, she easily picked the owl up and dropped him out the window, knowing that the birds instincts would take over and the bird would head off. The owl did so but quickly turned around and flew back into her office.

She frowned deeper, taking the letter from the owl, making note of its markings so she could get it looked at later, to make sure it was just a nervous flier and didn’t have something wrong with it, before turning to a third owl. The third owl just looked up at her almost defiantly, not making a move to take the letter.

In all her years, Minerva had never seen a group of owls act like this, act as if there was something wrong with a letter and refuse to deliver it. Curiosity got the best of her and she looked down at the letter. A very familiar name looked back up at her, making her wonder if the wards Albus had placed for the boys protection was what was preventing the owls from delivering the letter. That was until she looked down at the location.

For a moment she thought for sure she was going to pass out as a gasp passed through her lips and her hand reached up to clutch her chest.

Albus Dumbledore was in his office preparing for the fast approaching new year, and a certain special objects arrival, when his deputy headmistress rushed into his office, face pale like death was on her tail, an envelope clutched in her hand. She stopped in front of his desk and looked at him in horror.

Albus found himself getting to his feet, concurred for his co-worker and friend. Not only did she look a little dishevelled but she was pale enough that he worried she’d soon pass out. Her breath was coming out in little puffs and a thing sheet of sweat was starting to form on her forehead.

“Minerva, what is wrong?” He asked her, skipping over pleasantries to get right to the point, as he lead her over to a nearby chair. He couldn’t think of a time, at least in recent years, in which he had seen her so out of sorts.

Minerva shook her head before pressing her lips together as if she were pulling herself together. She took a deep breath before looking him in the eye. “A great mistake has been made. One I’m not sure we’re going to be able to fix.” She hands him the envelope, a school acceptance letter, gravely.

Frowning, he looked down at the letter and for a moment his heart stopped, and he wondered if this would be what did him in, not a curse from a dark wizard but this horrid surprise.

Hermione Granger was born to Ivory Harris and Tristan Granger, two dentists. She didn’t remember her toddler years, besides knowing they were happy. When she was four however, her parents boss scammed her parents and the rest of his workers out of a bunch of their money, before trying to make a run for it. Her parents tried their best but eventually, when she was four, she found herself with her parents staying in a homeless shelter for the first time. Three and a half years later, when her parents had just gotten their feet under them and they were living in their first apartment, having moved out of the shelters not even four months previous, did the law suits go through and her parents got all their money back and a little extra. A year later they opened their own practice and were quite successful.

For all intents and purposes, life had gone back to what could be considered normal. She lived in a two bedroom apartment with talks of getting a house, she had a bed to sleep in every night and all the meals she could want but kids were mean and the kids at her school only knew her as the homeless black kid, they didn’t care that she and her family had a home just for them again, or that in reality she was just half black or any other fact, not when it didn’t fit in with the way they viewed their world. It came down to the teachers too, some of whom would look at her perfect grades and ask if she had cheated. Other would comments about how well educated she was and if her father helped her with her homework. She felt uncomfortable around people and their harsh words or racism or ignorance.

She had her family though and quickly she discovered that she had books.

She had read a little at the shelters for enjoyment instead of just for school, but found the books they had, all great fantasy adventures or other things along that vein, made her sad since she knew no one was going to come and whisk her and her family off to some fantasy land where they wouldn’t have to worry about anything again once they proved at she was a long lost princess or something. It wasn’t until her parents, who no longer had to work two jobs to try and keep food in their bellies and save up for an apartment and could just focus on their practice, took her to the local library for the first time, that she discovered a world of other books that existed out there. Books full of facts or different opinions and points of views, of languages and cultures she’d never seen before instead of false hopes and silly child fantasies.

Soon Hermione found herself reading anything and everything she could get her hands on that was non-fiction, consuming and learning and appreciating just how much the world had to teach her. It wasn’t like she had friends to hang out with or extracurricular that interested her, not when she could learn about how clocks were invented or the history of the British Empire or any number of topics that caught her attention at any given notice.

Besides just learning, she notices that her teachers stop asking her if she cheated instead most just make comments on how impressed they are at her knowledge and she can no longer tell whom of them are just impressed a kid knew so much and whom were impressed that a coloured kid knew so much. Not that it mattered to her, she liked learning and she liked people acknowledging that she was smart, she didn’t care if it came from a place of ignorance or not. At least after her she hoped they’d no longer be able to believe that the colour of ones skin determined ones intelligence.

At the end of the day she’d describe herself as many things but one of the first ones would be logical. Which was why finding out she had magic was so shocking. The fact that she was being given the chance to learn to do the impossible at a magic school that was part of a unknown and fantastical world felt like a punch to the gut. The idea of all there was for her to learn that she never knew of before filled her with excitement. The idea of leaving her parents and setting out on her own among people her own age in a brand new world where she wouldn’t no anyone scared the living daylights out of her.

In the end her parents and her talk and they all agree that she should go to Hogwarts to learn, that if she didn’t like it or decided to wanted to live a normal magical life she could always come home.

She allowed herself to feel excited and hopeful about the new world she was about to enter until she went school supple shopping and an adult sneered at her, not for the colour of her skin, but for the fact that neither of her parents were magical and she realized that magic may be real, but that didn’t mean it existed in some fantasy world where there were no problems or nothing went wrong. It was just a messed up and backwards as the real world.

Neville Longbottom grew up being told he was a squib, after all what magical child doesn’t do magic by the time they could walk. The first time he remembered his great uncle Algie trying to ‘bring out’ his magical abilities, he was four. He knew that the kick down the stairs, and ever other thing Algie ever did to him, wasn’t him trying to bring out Nevilles magic but was actually his attempts to rid the Longbottom family of the failure, of the embarrassing squib. He seemed to survive every attempt however, never once displaying any magical ability up until great uncle Algie dropped him from the window and he bounced.

Within hours the entire Longbottom family was there, congratulating him on his use of magic, of not being a disappointing squib. Of course not long after other comments started forming, like what if this had just been a one time thing? What if he was one of those squibs who could use some magic but not enough to count as a wizard? His father had dozens of bought of accidental magic by the time he was Neville’s age. Everyone knew right off that bat that his father was magical. What would Frank say to having a squib for a son?

Neville had been in the Longbottom greenhouses, his family have long since built them to grow their own potion ingredients, when the owl found him. He took the Hogwarts letter in shaking hands, not believing his eyes. He felt sick as he opened it, a part of him believing it was going to tell him that he was a mistake, a squib. He crumbled to the floor as the acceptance letter stared back up at him, bending over, resting his forehead on the ground as tears formed in his eyes.

He was a wizard.

He was going to Hogwarts.

Daphne Greengrass knew she was a witch, knew she’d be going to Hogwarts for the coming school year and she couldn’t wait. She was going to learn magic, learn what was her birthright, but that wasn’t what she was most excited about. At Hogwarts she’d be away from her parents and surrounded by other children, children for her to mold and bend and break to fit into the position she needed them for.

Daphne was the eldest of the living Greengrass children, all of whom had been girls. There were certain expectations she had to live up to, one of which was finding the perfect husband, the Greengrass family was a patriarchy and thus only a male could inherit. She would have to marry someone of good blood with proper manners, who’d produce a heir, male preferably, and not run the Greengrass name into the ground.

Daphne had her own requirements for a future husband. He had to fit what her parents demanded for the person she married, he had to be non-violent, she would not put up with an abusive husband the way her mother did with her father, and easily manipulated by her. She was not about to give up her freedom nor her future rule of the family by some man who thought he was better then her just because of what dangled between his legs. She would find all the potential matches for a future husband and mold them while they were still young to listen to her, to follow her lead and to be her perfect attentive husband until the day they had heirs she would be done with him, either killing him off if she didn’t care for him, or letting him live as she official took over as head of the family since by then he would have changed the family from a patriarchy to an inheriting system where the eldest child, no matter of gender, would be the next head of the family.

She had plans for the future, and Hogwarts was the first step in getting there.

Hardwin ‘Harry’ Potter Black woke up feeling, well he wasn’t sure, but it was a weird mix of emotions that he had never felt before. He knew that today was his eleventh birthday, his dad, the only one around that did have fits of insanity, meticulously kept track of every day was the reason for that. As such he knew that today was the day, the day in which his Hogwarts acceptance letter was going to arrive, the day in which everything was going to change. Technically speaking, his Hogwarts letter was supposed to of arrived several days previously, but…well, he knew why that didn’t work out, he just needed a quick look around his home to know that answer. Uncle Bastian said, and the others agreed, that they’d be sending someone in as soon as the owl didn’t deliver the letter, and they got permission, by the latest, his birthday. Well today was the day, the day in which he would be leaving his home and his family behind for the first time in years, with only his sisters to stand beside him.

He shifted out from under the dirty and worn blanket, careful not to disturb his still sleeping dad and made his way from the cell. His sisters were already gone, probably up at the very top, trying to see if any of the sunrise made it through the clouds and to give the rest of them some privacy. Harry knew that his dad would want to face the wizards who’d be arriving by himself. As such he made his way down to the ‘toy room’ as the adults called it, trying to give him and his sisters a sense of normality. He and his sisters called it the Fun Cell.

The Fun Cell was two cells down from his dads, the last in their wing and was were he and his sisters placed all the little items they found through their life for them to play with, tinker with and experiment with. There wasn’t really anything he wanted to play around with so he decided to organize the cell, splitting everything between what he wants to keep, what he knew his sisters would want to keep and what would go to either of their parents or any of their uncles.

He had most of the cell cleaned up when a chill went up his spine. He continued to clean up, though he made sure to keep an ear on what was happening. After all, this wasn’t the usual time of day the Dementors came to their wing, they usually waited until after they ate breakfast before mentally torturing the prisoners, which meant they had visitors. Couldn’t let the trapped, starved and dehydrated prisoners get too rowdy after all.

Sure enough he could hear as some of his uncles start to yell and scream, partially because of the Dementors and partially to freak out the visitors. He had just finished up his cleaning and organizing, having taken most of the time to wipe away all the chalk drawings and writings, when he saw light creeping towards the Fun Cell and his fathers voice speaking out, criticizing the visitors for taking so long to come and take Harry away, never mind the fact that he liked his home, and for allowing him to end up there at all.

The visiting wizards didn’t like his fathers comments judging by the “Shut up Black, before we make yeh” one of them snapped. His father just responded by laughing. Harry could imagine that he was also rolling his eyes as he did do. Harry knew the visiting wizards would take his fathers laughing as a sign of insanity, when in reality it was just his fathers way of not going on a murderous rampage. He really wasn’t happy that Harry ended up in Azkaban with him and a bunch of dangerous Death Eaters.

Harry sat down facing the bars of the Fun Cell, waiting for the wizards that just dismissed his father to find him. He wasn’t going to make their lives easier after all. His father was angry with the wizards that Harry had ended up in Azkaban, while Harry was angry that his father, and him by default, had ended up in Azkaban without having a trial and when he was in fact, innocent.

It didn’t take long for the wizards to find him. Not that that was an accomplishment since there wasn’t really anywhere to go but backwards or towards him. Harry noted that there was a singular witch among the visiting wizards. He hadn’t expected to recognize any of the wizards upon seeing them, having you know, grown up in Azkaban, but ended up figuring out who two of them were on sight.

Mad Eye Moody was just as he was described by the many of Harry’s uncles that the auror had arrested or at least taken down. His magical eye and prosthetic limbs were a dead giveaway as to who he was. Dumbledore was another wizard that was recognizable on sight alone from descriptions Harry had been told throughout his life. Really who had long grey hair with a long grey beard and half moon glasses?

Harry didn’t say anything as the wizards looked at him, instead studying them instantly and silently, knowing that his stare with his killing curse green eyes unnerved people. He wasn’t about to make the first move after all and wanted to see how long it would take one of them to snap.

A nervous, sweaty man who seemed to be trying to project an air of authority and was failing, stepped forward. Harry focused his eyes on him, forcing down a smirk as the man shifted before taking out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” he said. “It is good to finally meet you.” He shifted nervously as Harry just continued to look at him. He cleared his throat. “I am Minter Fudge your Minister of Magic and it is my honour to personally deliver you your Hogwarts acceptance letter.”

The man held out his hand, an enveloped in it, his hand slipping through the bars of the Fun Cell. Harry was amused that he didn’t make an attempt to walk through the cell bars. Anyone who’s magic wasn’t recoded in the prison, aka he, his sisters and the visitors, could walk straight through the bars as if they were illusions. They were only solid for the prisoners. Seemed like Fudge didn’t trust that however. Wonder if it was just nerves of a guilty conscious.

Harry slowly reach up and grabbed the envelope and scanning it contents. Once he was done he said nothing, going back to staring at the visitors.

Fudge cleared his throat again. “My friends and I are here to take you to St. Mugo’s to be looked after before the school term starts. We will be placing you in a magic sleep to make transit easier and when you awake you will be at Europes best magical hospital being treated and cared by some of the worlds best heroes. Doesn’t that sound great?”

Harry ignored the patronizing tone in the mans voice, instead deciding to play his surprise card now before they could start throwing spells at him.

“What about my sisters?” He said, his voice calm and controlled in a well practice way that gave nothing away.

He could have laughed at the look of surprise and horror that filled the visitors faces.

Next

[edgydepressedchoicesthot]

Abnormal

Summary: Freaky  – adjective (informal) – very odd, strange, or eccentric.

Or:

In one of the many timelines, we learn the sinister purpose behind Rourke’s “Freaky Friday” Machine.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296645

Word Count: 250

Notes: I used the same MC for this as I did for my ES series “Phases of Time”

This came from a few thoughts I had on Rourke's "Freaky Friday" Machine. I asked myself why he would make something like that in the first place: cuz he could? I mean, he sure as hell seems like the kind of person to do that, but I remembered how he knew MC was the key to unlocking La Huerta's mysteries. He would probably want to take that power for himself, one way or another, and thus, this fic was born!

The minute he wakes up, the memories flood back into Cain’s head.

Getting knocked out. Being dragged through cold metal halls. Having just a moment of consciousness to see Rourke’s wolfish smile before everything going blank again.

Shit, where am I? Thoughts race through his head at the speed of light. Where are the others? Cain looks down and gasps as he sees his wrists manacled to the armrests of a chair. Fuck, how long was I-

“Finally awake?”

Cain’s head snaps up, and for a second, his mind freezes.

What the…

No.

No, there’s no way…

Cain squeezes his eyes shut, aware that he’s started shaking.

Please let this be a dream oh god don’t let this be real.

He opens his eyes.

Cain takes in the sight.

Trembling, he looks down. Instead of his plaid buttoned shirt, Cain sees a brown three-piece suit on him.

Looking back up, ice-cold horror seeps into Cain as he realizes he isn’t looking into a mirror.

His own face is grinning right at him. His body is up, free and standing, arms folded in a confident pose just a few feet away.

This can’t be happening.

It can’t be…

The moment Cain speaks, he loses any denial he has left and knows that this nightmare is real.

“Rourke?” Cain says, not in his own voice.

That hideous grin on Cain’s stolen face widens.

“What do you think of my latest invention? Needless to say, this’ll open quite a few doors for me.”

[scarletraven1001]

Villainous

A Vegebul Fanfic Collab with @supersaiyanerd

Summary: Bulma is a genius, but has decided that she wants to use her brains for evil. Yet what is a Supervillain, without a bit of muscle?

Enter Vegeta, a mercenary for hire. He is tough, and frankly terrifying, and his brawn clashes with her brains in a cosmic power struggle that leaves the good guys in a real state of panic.

Never before has evil been so deliciously exciting.

Also on Ao3.

8-8-8-8-8

Chapter 1: The Supervillain’s New Henchman

8-8-8-8-8

Failure was not something that Bulma Briefs was good at.

She had never really, actually failed before, so she was rather sore about failing now.

It wasn't even as if it was a real failure, or so she liked to think, but more of a… Temporary setback.

She needed that damn medallion.

She just couldn’t get over the fact that she was not able to acquire it as quickly as she had anticipated.

She didn't like waiting. She was not used to waiting.

Bulma was a woman who had been born with everything within her reach.

Coming from a wealthy family, she had always had everything she needed, whenever she needed it, and in all the colors available.

She was beautiful. Long, silky hair, the color of a cloudless sky, with bright blue eyes and lips as pink as rose petals. She had fine, alabaster skin, perfect teeth, and a voluptuous build that had men panting after her wherever she went. Thus, it had always been easy for her to use her feminine wiles to get her way.

Most of all, she was incredibly intelligent.

She had a certified genius-level IQ and an uncanny skill for public speech.

She had been slated to run her family's company since she had learned to read and speak three languages at four years old.

She finished high school at thirteen, two Bachelor's degrees at seventeen, her Master's at nineteen and her PhD at twenty-one.

She had the world at her feet, an arguably perfect life…

And she had been bored beyond belief.

She knew that there would have been millions of women - maybe even men - who would have traded places with her in a heartbeat, but to Bulma, her life had been one tedious, never-ending cycle of being immaculately gifted and perfect, and she detested it.

She needed something different…

Something exciting.

The answer came to her one day, when she was at another one of her boring philanthropic luncheons, an esteemed guest after she had invented a state of the art method for terraforming a nearby exoplanet so that the government can use it to plant rice. A police detective had been one of the speakers, and he had spoken about the various tricks and lengths that evil masterminds would go through.

He spoke about working in tandem with West City’s superhero, the Great Saiyaman, and his son, the Great Saiyaboy.

The detective had then said one thing that forever changed Bulma’s life…

“Well, I suppose being a supervillain could be exciting, but sadly for them, they could never get away with their crimes…”

It was like he had just given her a bold dare, and Bulma realized that she wanted to see the look on his face when a supervillain managed to pull off a successful heist.

Bulma realized that what she needed, to escape the monotony of her dreary existence, was to become a supervillain.

Which led her to her current predicament.

She had been doing well as a minor villain, but Bulma was nothing if not an overachiever, and she wanted to be the most super Supervillain to have ever… Villained.

And so, she needed to make a powerful supervillain-superweapon, but to make that, she needed a supervillain-super-powersource.

She learned about a special little trinket that had just been brought to West City a few weeks ago, a small medallion from an ancient warrior race that, under the right conditions, had enough elemental energy to power the entire northern sector, and she needed it for her newest invention.

She had gone into the museum, intent on stealing it, when she was thwarted by none other than the Great Saiyaman.

What ensued, after he had decided to take the medallion back, could not even be called a struggle, since he had basically plucked the item from her hands, not even breaking a sweat as he retrieved the medallion from her thin fingers.

Bulma got to thinking… She had all the know-how, but how was she going to win when the good guys had the strength to overpower twenty Bulmas in one flick of a finger?

She needed to be stronger, but she really hated the gym, and would not be caught dead trying to do weight training…

But then again…

She didn't have to do the heavy lifting, if she could just pay someone to do it for her now, did she?

Perhaps… She can just… Hire a strongman?

Bulma quickly looked into her online network, looking for ad space.

She needed some brawn to assist her brains, and she was gonna have to start looking for the perfect thug to act as a minion.

Bulma Briefs, Supervillain Candidate, was hiring.

8-8-8-8-8

Vegeta Prince was not the type of person who enjoyed quiet. He’d grown up in war zones, on battlefields, in the purest messes of chaos, and had always risen above victorious.

So why in the HELL was no one looking to hire him?

Hours upon hours, day after day had been spent looking for work, looking for something to spare him from the mind-numbing boredom. And nothing had come up.

Maybe destroying a city or two would calm his nerves. It was something to do.

Just as he was about to get out of his chair, he heard a telltale ping!, alerting him to a job opening on a job site he was subscribed to. With his otherworldly speed, he clicked it.

 Wanted: Henchman

I am a villainess looking for some muscle, especially muscle that can take on The Great Saiyaman and his son.

 Vegeta stopped for a moment, his eyes lingering on the name. That Kakarot, walking around in spandex, defending all that is good, saving the distressed and protecting the innocent. It made him want to vomit.

 I am willing to pay a very high price for anyone who I deem worthy enough to be my henchman.

If you wish to prove yourself to me, send me an email at bulmagoesbad@briefs2.com for a pre-registration.

Go to the highest peak of the West Mountains on Monday at 8:00am.

The rest will be up to me.

 Vegeta pondered for a moment. Whoever had written this, they were clearly new. Inexperienced, maybe even some pathetic weakling who did it for some tragic reason.

But on the other hand, it was a job. And that was exactly what he was looking for.

And a chance to beat Kakarot and his brat into the dirt? It appeared the pros far outweighed the cons.

Cracking his knuckles, Vegeta Prince grinned, knowing business was good once again.

8-8-8-8-8

“I am Spike the Devilman!” cried the man in the strange blue suit as he stood with arms akimbo, a pose meant to be menacing. He had large, webbed wings and a pair of huge green horns, with large pointed teeth and pinkish claws.

He looked like a bat. Not a devil.

Bulma wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained.

Just because she was a supervillain now, didn't mean she could be rude.

“I can fly!” he said, lifting off on his thin wings, before brandishing a pitchfork that Bulma hadn't even seen on him before.

“I can use this weapon for combat! Watch me!”

He then proceeded to do aerial acrobatics that had Bulma finally give in to the urge to roll her eyes, before she turned back to her pre-registration list.

She groaned.

She had spent the entire day with not a single ideal candidate in sight. And batdevil here, was the last man on the list.

The most promising one had been an android who reminded her of the typical portrayal of Frankenstein’s monster. He had been strong and had the terrifying bad-guy henchman looks, but it all fell apart during the interview, when she realized that he was more harmless than a three-day old puppy.

This was hopeless.

She let the last candidate fly around a bit more, before she finally called him down.

“Um,” she began when he looked at her expectantly.

“You are on the shortlist!” she lied, crossing her fingers behind her back. “I will call you back.”

The man beamed, before he gave her a short salute, and flew off.

She sighed.

What a waste of a day. Perhaps she could set up another screening schedule.

She was about to get up to place the small table, chair and umbrella set that she was sitting on back into her storage capsule, when she heard a loud, indistinct rumble go off in the sky.

She stood up, turning her head to look for the strange sound, when a very small but sudden, concentrated explosion a little to her right made her jump, a terrified squeak leaving her lips.

“What the hell?” she screamed, spinning to face the direction from which the unexpected attack came from.

There was absolutely nothing there.

She scrambled to encapsulate her things, sticking the tiny containment unit into her pocket before she turned once again to survey the sky.

She pulled a small laser gun out of her utility belt, pushing the folds of her white lab coat back so she can crouch slightly, gun at the ready.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute, and while she was scared, she realized that this, this, was exactly what she wanted, why she decided to become a supervillain. This rush, the adrenaline and danger…

Whoever had attacked her, was taking his or her sweet time.

“Who the hell are you? Show yourself!” she called out.

An answering blast of light came from her left, and she responded with a few blind shots of her laser gun.

She realized belatedly that she really should have brought more defenses and weapons, but dammit, she was new at this.

It wasn't like she got a full job orientation.

The ground started to shake, and she stood stunned as she realized that the entire mountain range was now pulsing with violent energy, emanating from a spot just a few meters away from her. It was concealed by a small hill, but Bulma could see dangerous flames of purple ki leaking out from the sides, and she realized that whoever, whatever this attacker was… Was extremely volatile.

She shot at the small hill, willing the attacker to appear, but even after the small hill had been decimated by the blasts, the attacker remained hidden.

She saw a flash of movement, and she straightened as she understood that her attacker was now on the move.

She tried to follow the streaks of blue with her eyes, despairing as she realized that the attacker was just too fast.

She felt a gust of wind blow through her, and she held her gun to her chest, noting with apprehension that the attacker was drawing nearer.

Another flash of blue appeared to her right, and she spun, lifting her gun to fire, only to feel a powerful tug at her wrist, a second before she stared in horror at her now empty hands.

The attacker had taken her weapon.

Eyes wide, Bulma scrambled to try to run away, but before she could even deign to move, she felt a powerful cage of limbs wrap around her, trapping her frail arms close to her torso, holding her immobile against a hard, unyielding body.

“Let me go!” she screamed, lifting both legs up to try to force her captor to lose balance, but the being remained firm, lowering a malicious head to breathe harshly against the back of her neck.

She saw a thick shock of spiked dark hair from the corner of her eyes, a moment before she heard a deep voice growl into her ear.

“I am here for the henchman vacancy. Please, pardon my tardiness.”

The arms unlocked from around her, and she scrambled away, falling painfully onto her hands and knees, before she turned around, sitting on the ground as she stared up at the man.

She brought scared but indignant eyes up to meet an intense gaze, blacker than the darkest night and sharper than a warrior's blade.

The dark hair she had glimpsed before stood in a riotous flame-like wave, drawing down into a severe widow's peak that slashed over a stoic face with thin, stern lips and an angular jaw.

She noted that he wasn’t too tall, but his body looked hard enough that it could have been sculpted from stone, with firmly defined muscles and thick arms covered in light caramel skin.

He was wearing a blue tank top, tucked into a pair of the tightest pants she had ever seen, showcasing powerful thighs and leg muscles that clearly explained how he could have moved so damn fast.

He was impatiently tapping his gold-tipped white boots on the hard ground as he stared at her impassively, watching her marvel over his form.

“If you are quite done drooling over me, I suggest we begin your screening methods so you can hire me,” he said, voice arrogantly loud, shocking Bulma into alertness.

“Excuse me, who are you?” she asked irritably, getting up to go toe to toe against the frankly terrifying man. “You're not on my list of applicants.”

“I did not bother sending an email since I knew I would be the best that you can find,” he smirked at her, raising a brow as his lips formed a mocking smirk. “Am I incorrect?”

She sputtered, unable to deny it.

Deciding not to even dignify him with a response, she crossed her arms, huffing.

“Well, could you at least tell me your name first so we could get on with the interview?” she asked, staring up and down at his very impressive physique.

He leaned his weight on his right leg, cockily crossing his arms across his chest, and Bulma could have sworn that the smug bastard flexed his biceps as he moved.

He puffed up his chest, and with a low, raspy voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, he growled.

“My name is Vegeta Prince, and I will be your new strongman. Let me see whatever trial you have in store for me, and I guarantee, I will complete it.”

8-8-8-8-8

Vegeta looked curiously at the woman who could potentially become his employer.

To say that he had been surprised upon seeing her would have been a monumental understatement.

He had no idea, that the person posting that stupidly simplistic ad was, in fact, an incredibly beautiful woman.

He had been expecting a jaded old lady or a large, monstrous female who wanted world domination as revenge for a terrible life.

However, when he saw her atop that mountain, glaring dejectedly at her increasingly ridiculous applicants, he couldn't help but be intrigued at why such a good-looking person would decide to pursue the life of a villain.

Well… As if he should talk. He was pretty damn striking, if he did say so himself.

Woe betide anyone who dared to disagree.

Yet, he had his reasons. Vegeta was born to be destructive, his powers were literally all about destroying things and he did not have a well-meaning bone in his entire body.

This woman though… she was rather soft-looking, with pinkish white skin and baby blue hair that screamed innocence, and yet here she was, on the lookout for an evil henchman. He watched, interested, as the woman politely dismissed the last of the morons who had come for the job vacancy, and he cracked his knuckles as he decided to show off a bit, as his method of introducing himself.

It had worked very well.

The woman was definitely interested, if the darkening flush on her cheeks and the hastening beating of her heart was any indication.

“This job is mine,” he thought smugly as he stated his name, and the woman defiantly stared back at him, raising her chin as she stood up to full height.

“Well Vegeta,” she said. “My request is simple. Show me what you’ve got.”

He grinned, a wide and feral smile that showed off the sharp edges of his teeth.

“Well then,” he growled. “Get ready to be truly blown away. I assure you, I am not like anything you have ever seen before.”

“Well, then, dazzle me,” she dared. “I just had all the other applicants show me their powers. Come on, let's see what you're capable of, homeboy.”

He hooked one arm under her armpits, and the other under her knees. He smirked at her pink-stained face, shifting his weight from one leg to another, before he, without warning, shot into the sky.

He smirked snidely at the terrified screams that his sudden action wrenched from the woman’s surprisingly foul mouth, and his smirk turned into a full-on grin as the blue-haired woman gradually ceased her yelling, as she realized with blatant fascination how high they had actually flown.

“You can fucking fly!” Her eyes went wide with awe. “Not one of the other applicants could do that. I mean, the guy before you could, but it was with wings, and he wasn’t this fast. You… You can actually fly. No wings or gadgets or anything!”

He grinned. “If you think that's impressive, watch this,” and without a single hint or warning, he let her go.

He listened to her scream as she fell. He looked between her and the distance from the ground.

500 feet.

400 feet.

300.

200.

100.

Once she hit 50 feet, he shot down, and easily scooped her into his arms once again.

She was shaking.

Honestly, he knew she could have handled it.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” She looked at him, her cheeks flushed red, but now from rage.

“You said you wanted to see what I could do.”

“I didn't mean dropping me from 600 feet in the air, asshole!!!”

He watched her shake, and slowly, her body went still. Her eyes met his once again. “While that was a dick move, I will admit that was impressive. Your speed is phenomenal, and you do appear to be able to control your flight quite well. I guess you can show off a little more.”

He grinned, and she sighed. “And by that, I mean you can show off without trying to make my body hit the ground at terminal velocity.”

He soared back into the clouds, spinning around, doing loop-de-loops, watching her face light up. Oh, he surely had this in the bag.

At one point, he flipped his body upside down, holding her only by her wrists. She screeched, but he assured her he wasn't going to drop her this time. Her feet sliced through the clouds, and he could hear her laughter at the sight.

He touched down onto the ground, and watched her stumble as her frail body started to become used to being on solid ground once more.

“Oh wow!” she cried. “That was amazing! That was tons better than a roller coaster!”

He smirked. “Of course! I could fly ten times the speed of the fastest carnival rides. The speed I showed you just now was nothing.”

“Well,” she answered, her flushed, happy face seemingly lighting up the gradually darkening sky. “If you’ve still got more of that in you, how about you take me back to my lab?”

He raised his brows. “Why woman… We’ve only just met. Isn't it rather early to invite me back to your place?”

Her face flushed another interesting shade of red, and she stomped one foot on the ground, drawing a laugh from within his chest.

“First of all, you asshole,” she said through gritted teeth, “my name is Bulma. Bulma Briefs. And secondly, I need you back in the lab so we can perform a strength screening!”

He held a hand out, and the woman gladly took it. He used that hand to pull her up to him until he had her small body in his arms, before he lifted off, going straight up into the sky.

“In which direction?” he asked.

“It's in the very center of West City, Capsule Tower 3,” she answered, and he nodded, taking off.

However, something seemed strange about that location…

“Is that not a very visible area? Why would you put your lair in the center of the city?” he asked confusedly, peering down at the woman in his arms.

“Well, it’s my building. I figured, why not use it as my evil lab?”

He snorted. “Gutsy. Dumb, but gutsy.”

They flew the rest of the way in silence, until he finally saw the top of the tall tower, blinking up at him through the clouds of the early evening sky.

He landed on the helicopter helipad, placing the woman down on her feet.

“Follow me,” she instructed cooly, leading him to a small elevator near the edge of the wide rooftop.

The elevator hummed an infuriating tune as they descended, before it finally stopped, opening up into an expansive space with extremely high ceilings, filled with inexplicable little gadgets and complex machinery.

“Vegeta,” she said, turning to him as she stood at the entrance. “Welcome to my laboratory!”  

He looked around. Metal was scattered everywhere, blueprints were strewn all over the walls in favor of wallpaper, and a large computer covered one wall.

Various unidentifiable gadgets filled the large area, interspersed with what appeared to be advanc3d robotics and a large tank full of green liquid.

He had to admit, it was impressive.

“And what exactly are we doing here?” He stared at his future employer, her eyes glowing in the light of her super-computer.

“Oh, right! The strength screening!” She ran off, and he sat there for 1 minute, then 5, then 10, and finally, after about 20 minutes, she ran back in, holding 3 spheres.

“Here you go!” She grinned at him. He raised a black eyebrow.

“And you brought these, why?”

“Well, each one is made of a different alloy. This first one,” She held up the one at the far left. “Is a pure steel alloy. Each alloy is stronger than the last. You see, the Great Saiyaman has extraordinary strength, and you'll need to be on par with him if I'm to steal the medallion I need. So what I want you to do,” She gave him the sphere she was holding. “Is crush each and every one of these.”

He looked at her, then at the spheres, then back at her. “You didn't have any of the other candidates try this.”

She shrugged. “You are able to fly, and the blasts you fired at me had quite a bit of punch to them. So, I'm sure crushing these things will be no challenge.”

He looked at the sphere in his hand, and crushed it as though it were merely paper. “Like that?”

Her blue eyes widened. “Exactly. Damn, when I said crush it, I did not expect this. You literally turned it into a pancake.”

He smirked, and took the next one, and crushed it like the last, again showing no problem flattening it.

“You just crushed solid titanium. Basically the hardest metal on the planet. Ok. Wow. Well,” She held up the last sphere, smirking. “This is made of some of the hardest metals on the planet, and some from meteors, don't ask, in order to create what is theoretically the hardest metal to exist. I’d like to see you crush this.”

He took it from her hand, and tried to crush it like the others, but found it was harder than the last two. He had to admit, the woman had brains, because he had never found anything he couldn't crush with ease. He gripped harder, harder, and finally, the sphere gave. The blue eyed woman smirked, a victorious grin on her face. “That is definitely strength that will give the Great Saiyaman a run for his money.”

He smirked, “Woman, this is the strength that can crush Saiyaman and his insipid excuse of an offspring.”

“Confident, aren't ya?” she asked, an eyebrow raised in appraisal.

His smirk just widened further. “I am fully aware of my own capabilities.”

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma looked thoughtfully at Vegeta as she realized that he, in all his cocky, evidently overbearing glory, was undoubtedly the man that she needed for the job.

He was brilliant.

He was absolutely perfect.

His skills, his power, and that amazing strength… it was what she needed to defeat the Great Saiyaman.

He was also rather infuriating, but she was damn sure that she could live with that.

Putting up with the attitude would be worth it.

“Alright, Vegeta,” she said straightening to her full height. “I can see now that you really are the best man for this job. I wish to offer you a job as my official Henchman.”

He smirked, bringing his fists together and cracking his knuckles in glee.

“Good,” he said. “I am looking forward to it. Now… About the compensation…”

Bulma, stopped him by pulling out a small square of paper from her pocket, and she pushed it up to his face so he can see the salary that she was offering.

He whistled. “Not bad.”

“So you accept?”

“Looks fine to me.”

“Great!” she beamed, before she turned around, heading for a large table at a corner of the lab.

She sat down on the large office chair, and motioned at one of the cushy, small couches in front of her table.

“Take a seat, please? I’m just printing out your job offer, which I already arranged this morning. Just need to fill your name in,” she said, typing down on her keyboard as she squinted at the screen.

She pulled the job offer sheet out of the printer and held it out to Vegeta, who took the paper from her with a look of apprehension.

She went and entered his name into another document that she also printed, and handed to Vegeta as soon as he was done reading and signing the offer sheet.

His brown rose as he looked at what she was holding out to him.

“What on Earth is that?” he asked.

Bulma blinked. “Your employment contract.”

Vegeta’s eyes were wide in disbelief. “You… you want me to sign an actual, legal, employment contract?”

She cringed slightly at his question. “Duh! Of course! I may be a Supervillain, but I still need to follow labor laws. I would hate to get on the workers’ union’s bad side, you know?”

“I suppose,” he muttered, looking over the document, before pausing at a particular clause.

“Wait,” he said. “This part… Does this mean I get overtime pay?”

“And health insurance! With dental!” she beamed.

Vegeta shrugged, and after a few minutes, he laid the paper down on her table so he could sign it.

Bulma smiled. “So hey, I’d hate to rush you, but can you start on Wednesday?” she asked, giddy.

The tough, terrifying man blinked openly at her. “Today is Monday.”

“I know.”

He shook his head with a chuckle, before he answered. “What the hell. Sure.”

“Great!” Bulma said, extending a hand to Vegeta. “I look forward to working with you, Vegeta-san.”

He smirked, before he took her hand, and shook it with a firm, nearly arrogant grip.

“As do I, Bulma-san.”

8-8-8-8-8

To be continued…

[phidiaspickle]

For @foldingstars295

Gemini - QUICK-WITTEDNESS PERSPICACITY FLEXIBILITY

VERSATILITY PERFORMANCE DEXTERITY

Monkey - IMPROVISATION CUNNING STABILITY SELF-INVOLVEMENT WIT

OPPORTUNISM

“I think”    Air, Mercury, Mutable

“I plan”     Positive Metal, Yin

IMPA TIENCE GLIBNESS INCONSTANCY SELF-DECEPTION SUPERFICIALITY INDECISIVENESS

DECEIT RUSE LOQUACITY LEADERSHIP SILLINESS ZEAL

Monkeys and Geminis resemble each other, I always used to say. When I consider the energy level of this New Astrology sign, it’s as though someone took twelve Monkeys, piled them on top of a dozen sets of twins, tailed a couple of Rolls-Royce jet engines and then let‘er rip. These people never cease moving. In fact, I wonder if Gemini/Monkeys ever sleep. Gemini/Monkeys love to talk. They need to perform, and even, I afraid, to show off. For this reason, Gemini/Monkeys enjoy entertaining and watching others have a good time. They plan giant festivals and feasts complete with hand-opened oysters and lobsters flown in from the farthest reaches of the earth.

A Gemini/Monkey bash is a guaranteed jolly time for all, your all-time unforgettable pig-out of a lifetime, your best party memory ever— until of course next week, when Gemini/Monkey will be throwing a far more sedate party. This time he’s only inviting seventy very select friends. “We will begin at six with a wine-tasting. I’ve brought in a sommelier from the Tour d’Argent. After that there’ll the balloon rides. We have to do that before it gets dark. ...” The attractions are endless. Gemini/Monkey excess knows no frontiers. If you have a Gemini/Monkey for a friend you’ll never be bored again.

With all of this apparent folderol comes the best aptitude of all—genius. Yes. Gemini/Monkeys are always brilliant. Not only do they have active, vivid minds, that can make quantum leaps in a single bound. Gemini/Monkeys have wildly creative spirits. They are always on to some new breakthrough idea that will revolutionize the horse-racing industry—and they may not even be vaguely connected to horses. But one day were watching a horse race and it popped into their heads that if such and such were so and so, then maybe the races wouldn’t have to be thus and such. Gemini/Monkeys are addicted to improvisational living. They hate to do the same thing twice in the same way, and therefore spend time imagining new solutions.

There’s a bit of the snob in our friend the Gemini/Monkey too. As he enjoys everything bigger and better and grander and smarter, a touch of class, he feels, never hurt anybody. You can count on the Gemini/Monkey to have at least one fast car in his garage, an elegant brand of dog and an equally chic and very proper mate. The accoutrements are part of the show—and with Gemini/Monkeys the show is life itself.

Don’t think Gemini/Monkeys are as light-headed as they are lighthearted. These are self-reliant, responsible independents who are not averse to buckling to a hard day at the office or a heavy single-handed spring cleaning. They know how to do such a variety of different tasks at once that watching them work is akin to viewing a master juggler in the center ring. Gemini/Monkey can delegate authority well. And he doesn’t belie being bossy in order to get people to work for him.

This person is a born iconoclast. Rules, he thinks, are made to be broken, flouted, torn up and written anew. Smashing idols is to the Gemini/Monkey only the first step in true progress. If he can’t prove that a fusty old rule is dull and simple-minded by mere logic and a bit of persuasion, then he will make short work of testing that brittle old law. Don’t ever tell a Gemini/Monkey not to ride his bike in a hospital corridor or you will soon see him cruising down the hall in Ward III.

The rule-breaking this subject gets up to can cause him some trouble. He is not a crook or a criminal. But he could very well be called a troublemaker by higher-ups. Generally his genius saves him from destruction by those too serious to see beyond their own belly-button. They know he’s impossible. But he’s so necessary to their cause that won’t let him go. Exile is one tactic used in trying to discipline the Gemini/Monkey. But no matter which remote boondock they banish him to, the Gemini/Monkey will come up giggling and raring to try his skill at some new implausible scheme.

Love

This is no ordinary lover. The Gemini/Monkey is a demanding and insistent gourmet of affection. He needs constant attention and will stop at nothing to have the spotlight permanently turned his way. It is this person’s ingenious charm that eventually seduces those he courts with such craft. How would you respond if your beau placed a diamond ring in the bottom of your bubbling champagne glass? How would you like to be presented with a shiny red sports car just because you caught the Gemini/Monkey’s eye at a dinner party? The bigger, the better. All’s fair in love—and in war? Well, Gemini/Monkeys don’t take well to amorous conflict. They like their romance clear-cut and without ghosts.

Loving a Gemini/Monkey is not particularly complicated, though. You simply have to be willing to spend your whole life standing blind-folded on the very tip of a very springy diving board with a strong wind blowing from behind. That’s all. Just stand there and quake. Of course you also have to do all the dirty work because Genius is too busy blowing up balloons for the party to remember to wash the dishes. But never mind, what you get in return is full-time nonstop fun and games. If you like show biz, the Gemini/Monkey is definitely your kind of mate.

If you have a Gemini/Monkey in your life and feel a lot like shooting him or her from time to time, I can certainly understand. The Gemini born in a Monkey year is an exhausting challenge to the sedate people he often chooses to love. Yet, there is so much joy in the best moments spent with this dynamo of imagination that all I can advise is—great, unflagging patience. If a Gemini/Monkey loves you, hold on tight. You’re in for the ride of the century.

Compatibilities

Why don’t you take up with a Libra/Rat or Dragon? Your senses of humor match well. Aries/Dragons and Monkeys are good for you too, as are Leo/Rats and Aquarius/Dragons. You’ll fail miserably if you try to woo a Virgo/Tiger or Snake, a Sagittarian Ox, Snake or Dog. Worse still would be the spotlight-grabbing Capricorn/Snake. You want all the attention, remember?

Home and Family

Gemini/Monkeys like to have all sorts of different homes. They dream of living in the mountains part of the year, in the tropics another, and then again in Rome or Milan or why not Morocco? Wherever they go, Gemini/Monkeys are quick to settle in, claim the loveliest hut for their own and set about inviting a zillion people in for a smorgasbord.

Although they are fond of luxury and class, Gemini/Monkeys cannot be accused of trying to impress with their wealth. To them, an environment should bespeak the understated elegance of a fine leather easy chair and expensive lived-in carpets six inches thick.

As a parent, the Gemini/Monkey is extremely serious. He may have many children and will love them and tend to them with equal kindness and understanding. He doesn’t, however, like being misused, and reacts badly to any relative, child or otherwise, who tries to dupe or trick him. The Gemini/Monkey possesses enormous guile himself. But he tends not to apply it to cheating those he loves. He’s a fabulous friend, faithful and out-on-a-limb involved with his old pals and cronies. He never forgets people with whom he’s had fun.

The Gemini/Monkey child is a handful. Hyperactivity is not unusual in these kids. They must be directed and disciplined into applying talents and using up each day’s energy that day. Otherwise, they may keep you up all night. Sports, music lessons, clubs and-- most of all—theatrical experiences will both please and excite the Gemini/Monkey child. Keep the never-a-dull-moment Gemini/Monkey busy and I guarantee you your child will be happy. Pay attention to him when he has achieved. But don’t give him too much free applause.

Profession

This person is gifted in very serious, intricate and difficult roles in life. He can be anything from a cancer research specialist to a high-minded theatrical director. But this person thrives on change, variation and diversification. Truly, the Gemini/Monkey is the most mutable of all the mutable signs. No matter what he does it must involve the opportunity to invent, to innovate, to create new methods and points of view. He is vibrant and full of mercurial mental motion. He must never be stuck in a dull office or forced to work in a bank or any confining place. The Gemini/Monkey cannot tolerate isolation. He likes space and requires company and attention from coworkers. As a boss or director of operations, this person will manage very well. People are attracted to the antics of the Gemini/Monkey and if he is careful to surround himself with a loving audience, he will never have to use force or coercion to see that work is done. Even at his silliest, even when he’s rolling around laughing at fate and the damned rules, the Gemini/Monkey still inspires admiration and respect in his “subjects.”

Some celebrated Gemini/Monkeys: Paul Gauguin, the Marquis de Sade, Ian Fleming, the Duchess of Windsor, Alain Souchon, Bjorn Borg, Helen O’Connell, Peggy Lee, Pierre Daninos, Venus Williams, Yves Robert.

[chocolateheal]

Seven Society Of Female Artists Tips You Need To Learn Now | society of female artists

Last month, a record-breaking hundred and twenty-seven women were affidavit in to the U.S. Senate and the Abode of Representatives. Now forty-four women accept taken over the walls of Gracie Mansion, the official home of the Mayor of New York but additionally “the people’s house” of New York City. The break is “She Persists: A Century of Women Artists in New York,” an aggressive exhibition inventively curated by the adolescent art historian Jessica Bell Brown, at the allurement of Chirlane McCray, the city’s Aboriginal Lady. Sixty paintings, sculptures, videos, prints, textiles, drawings, and photographs are installed throughout the formally appointed apartment on the aboriginal attic of the Federal-style house. The after-effects are adapted and unexpected. Museum staples (the Abstract Expressionist painter Lee Krasner, the columnist Cindy Sherman) allotment the date with ascent stars (the sculptor Simone Leigh, the category-defying Mickalene Thomas). Bell Brown additionally introduces some unsung heroines—including the Aboriginal Lady’s backward mother, Katharine Clarissa Eileen McCray, who sewed and abstract hundreds of alluring bolt dolls that she dubbed “Quashies,” in account of own mother’s West-African beginning name. Three are on display, apery her daughters, Chirlane, Cynthia, and Cheryl.

The ancient McCray’s labors of adulation acquisition a arrant analogue in “The Advantages of Being a Woman Artist,” a 1988 affiche by the Guerrilla Girls, an bearding aggregate of changeable artists, which hangs in Gracie Mansion’s ballroom. The aboriginal “advantage” is “Working after the burden of success.” Historically, of course, the allowance of obscurity accept been exponentially greater for women of color. One agitating moment in the exhibition is a black-and-white account by an alien columnist (was she a woman, too?), documenting the Harlem Renaissance sculptor Augusta Savage in the aggregation of a arresting sculptural choir of cast-plaster abstracts that angle at accelerating heights to cumulatively advance the appearance of a harp. Commissioned for the 1939 World’s Fair, area it was put on display, the allotment was conceived to be casting in bronze, but the allotment was never secured, so it was destroyed already the fair ended. Beyond the pics-or-it-didn’t-happen desolation of the angel lies a adventure of #MeToo-style harassment, which Jill Lepore afresh brought to ablaze in an article and a consecutive book: the belled Joe Gould, a writer-fabulist, stalked Savage so relentlessly that she fled the city, in 1945, and died, forgotten, in 1962. (Happily, the New-York Historical Society will accessible a Savage attendant in May.)

The account of Savage hangs in the mansion’s Peach Room, abreast “Haven,” a agilely aureate painting by Elizabeth Colomba, from 2015, which portrays an abstract brace in the celebrated adjacency of Weeksville, Brooklyn. (Established in 1838, Weeksville was one of the aboriginal communities founded by chargeless African-Americans in the United States.) The august brace boring over their amateur at a cloud-clotted landscape: a storm recedes, dejected sky break through, achievement is on the horizon. The canvas hangs aloft a mantel on which a brownish baby of Eleanor Roosevelt gazes up, askew by her Weeksville neighbors. The cartoon is a Gracie Mansion fixture, not a allotment of the show, but this call-and-response is archetypal of Bell Brown’s active approach. In addition hasty cross-pollination, “Haven” hangs beyond from “Sun Spot,” a clamor of absorption corrective by Helen Frankenthaler, in 1954, in umber, russet, and black. This palette echoes that of Colomba’s painting, the acknowledged focal point of the room.

In the high-ceilinged ballroom, abreast the Guerrilla Girls poster, a vitrine is abounding with ephemera—campaign buttons, flyers, best editions of books—devoted to the incomparable, Brooklyn-born Shirley Chisholm, the aboriginal atramentous woman adopted to Congress. Not included is her acclaimed adduce “If they don’t accord you a bench at the table, accompany a folding chair.” Beyond the accessible ballroom, in the library, Bell Brown ups the ante on Chisholm’s admonition by installing two admirable Florence Knoll chairs, adipose in costly anthracite fabric. (The beat modernist, who is the abandoned decorative-arts artisan represented in “She Persists,” died on January 25th, at the age of a hundred and one, which lends the abandoned chairs an adventitious atramentous note.) They face “Lost in the Music,” a four-minute video by the artist-activist Tourmaline and the filmmaker Sasha Wortzel. It centers on Marsha P. Johnson, a annoyance aerialist who ample acutely in the Stonewall riots and who could abandoned accept dreamed of a bench at the Aboriginal Lady’s table. The aforementioned ability be said of the three sanitation workers crabbed the artisan Mierle Laderman Ukeles in a blush photograph from 1980, the year that Ukeles assured her months-long achievement of afraid the duke of anniversary of the city’s eighty-five-hundred “san men.”

This is hardly the aboriginal art exhibition at Gracie Mansion—it’s the third in the de Blasio Administration alone, and, afore Fiorello LaGuardia inaugurated it as the mayoral residence, in 1942, the architecture served as the aboriginal home of the Museum of the Burghal of New York. But the appearance is celebrated nonetheless, not atomic for the attendance of so abounding atramentous artists in a abode built, in 1799, by the activity of the enslaved. Those ancestors are not forgotten. Their ghosts accost visitors alfresco the advanced door, area Kara Walker’s brownish carve “Invasive Species (to be placed in your built-in garden)” is installed. The awash figure, whose two burst anxiety still advance ahead, is an anti-monument to racist brutality, which, horribly, additionally persists.

Seven Society Of Female Artists Tips You Need To Learn Now | society of female artists – society of female artists | Encouraged to help the weblog, in this particular time I will teach you regarding keyword. And now, this can be the 1st graphic:

Famous African-American Female Artists | Black is a color. We are … – society of female artists | society of female artists

Think about impression earlier mentioned? can be of which amazing???. if you believe thus, I’l t explain to you a few image all over again beneath:

So, if you’d like to acquire all these great images related to (Seven Society Of Female Artists Tips You Need To Learn Now | society of female artists), press save icon to store these pics for your laptop. These are available for down load, if you want and wish to own it, just click save symbol in the post, and it’ll be instantly downloaded to your desktop computer.} Lastly if you need to gain unique and the recent graphic related with (Seven Society Of Female Artists Tips You Need To Learn Now | society of female artists), please follow us on google plus or bookmark this blog, we try our best to provide daily up-date with all new and fresh shots. Hope you love staying here. For some up-dates and latest information about (Seven Society Of Female Artists Tips You Need To Learn Now | society of female artists) pics, please kindly follow us on twitter, path, Instagram and google plus, or you mark this page on book mark area, We attempt to give you up-date regularly with all new and fresh graphics, love your exploring, and find the perfect for you.

Here you are at our website, articleabove (Seven Society Of Female Artists Tips You Need To Learn Now | society of female artists) published .  At this time we’re excited to announce that we have found an extremelyinteresting topicto be discussed, namely (Seven Society Of Female Artists Tips You Need To Learn Now | society of female artists) Lots of people trying to find info about(Seven Society Of Female Artists Tips You Need To Learn Now | society of female artists) and certainly one of these is you, is not it?

Celebrate Women Artists in Science Fiction and Fantasy at the … – society of female artists | society of female artists

Nature's Embrace by proxi-mity on DeviantArt – society of female artists | society of female artists

Saddle Rock School art teacher joining National … – society of female artists | society of female artists

Glasgow Society of Women Artists – Tracy Butler Art – society of female artists | society of female artists

Pre- selected to an annual exhibition of The Society of Women … – society of female artists | society of female artists

society of women artists call for entries – catherine beale – society of female artists | society of female artists

Watercolours With Life: SWA Society of Women Artists 2011 … – society of female artists | society of female artists

Soraya French Indian Fruit Sellers – society of female artists | society of female artists

Society of Women Artists | Revolvy – society of female artists | society of female artists

Miss Heu From Muun Tribe With Tattoo On The Face, Kanpelet, Myanmar – society of female artists | society of female artists

Goodman, Sheila – society of female artists | society of female artists

Female artists dey use art exhibition to celebrate oda women – BBC … – society of female artists | society of female artists

Tribal Chin Woman From U Pu Tribe With Tattoo On The Face, Kanpelet, Myanmar – society of female artists | society of female artists

National Association of Women Artists Salon … | Fresh Paint – society of female artists | society of female artists

History – society of female artists | society of female artists

16-Cathy-Read- Society of Women Artists Summer Exhibition Private … – society of female artists | society of female artists

We stumble across some famous American paintings at the … – society of female artists | society of female artists

27 best MilkMilkLemonad images on Pinterest | Pop art … – society of female artists | society of female artists

from WordPress https://americanartist.club/seven-society-of-female-artists-tips-you-need-to-learn-now-society-of-female-artists/

[mikemortgage]

Cantech 2019: The future of technology and investing in Canada

Canada boasts a thriving tech ecosystem comprised of inventive entrepreneurs, significant access to capital and international scope. This ecosystem is apparent from the rise of companies such as Shopify and Slack, which began as start-ups in Canada, eventually going on to become global leaders in their respective industries.

“Maple Syrup Mafia” and “Silicon Valley of the North” are two of the complimentary nicknames the international tech community has bestowed upon Canada, noted by Cambridge House International’s president and chief executive officer, Jay Martin.

However, in its formative stages, the technology realm lacked a unified central hub for gathering the industry together and forming meaningful connections, so this is how the Cantech Investment Conference was born.

Between Jan. 29-30, over 3,500 tech enthusiasts, media and investors assembled in Toronto to celebrate the burgeoning tech space across Canada. The annual event has grown significantly since its inception in 2013, featuring many key players in Canadian tech and finance.

( function() { var func = function() { var iframe_form = document.getElementById('wpcom-iframe-form-7809d4d61d583325d7dc8d2ad3dcd857-5c59a5c43d71f'); var iframe = document.getElementById('wpcom-iframe-7809d4d61d583325d7dc8d2ad3dcd857-5c59a5c43d71f'); if ( iframe_form && iframe ) { iframe_form.submit(); iframe.onload = function() { iframe.contentWindow.postMessage( { 'msg_type': 'poll_size', 'frame_id': 'wpcom-iframe-7809d4d61d583325d7dc8d2ad3dcd857-5c59a5c43d71f' }, window.location.protocol + '//wpcomwidgets.com' ); } } // Autosize iframe var funcSizeResponse = function( e ) { var origin = document.createElement( 'a' ); origin.href = e.origin; // Verify message origin if ( 'wpcomwidgets.com' !== origin.host ) return; // Verify message is in a format we expect if ( 'object' !== typeof e.data || undefined === e.data.msg_type ) return; switch ( e.data.msg_type ) { case 'poll_size:response': var iframe = document.getElementById( e.data._request.frame_id ); if ( iframe && '' === iframe.width ) iframe.width = '100%'; if ( iframe && '' === iframe.height ) iframe.height = parseInt( e.data.height ); return; default: return; } } if ( 'function' === typeof window.addEventListener ) { window.addEventListener( 'message', funcSizeResponse, false ); } else if ( 'function' === typeof window.attachEvent ) { window.attachEvent( 'onmessage', funcSizeResponse ); } } if (document.readyState === 'complete') { func.apply(); /* compat for infinite scroll */ } else if ( document.addEventListener ) { document.addEventListener( 'readystatechange', function(){ if (document.readyState === 'complete') { func.apply(); } }, false ); } else if ( document.attachEvent ) { document.attachEvent( 'onreadystatechange', func ); } } )();

Key features at Cantech

Among the featured speakers at Cantech were various thought leaders from across the emerging technology space.

Bruce Linton, CEO of Canopy Growth Corp., one of the largest cannabis companies in the world, delighted attendees as one of the most charismatic and hardworking business leaders in the country. Linton is an industry titan who commands a vast influence over the cannabis industry and is often described as the individual who puts “polish” on the sector. Linton spoke on his responsibility in facilitating the transition of cannabis as early-stage activism to a professional industry — something he continues to do at the highest level through Canopy Growth. The company is advancing research, product development and production methods through innovative technological applications for the goal of altering the global perception of cannabis.

Jim Balsillie, former chairman and co-CEO of RIM, spoke on his experience growing Blackberry from an idea to $20 billion in global sales, which is one of Canada’s most remarkable technology storylines. RIM is responsible for setting the new standard in telecommunications at the government and billion-dollar corporation level. Now, Balsillie continues to be a pioneer in the Canadian technology realm, as the chair of the Council of Canadian Innovators.

Apart from the list of distinguished speakers, one of the more exclusive features of the conference was “The Deal Room,” which allowed professional investors to arrange meetings with top executives to learn more about specific companies and emerging trends in the tech and innovation sectors. Through the events’ “Exhibitors” function, businesses were able to interact with shareholders and dedicated prospective investors proactively seeking new opportunities across Canadian tech.

Emerging trends

Among the fascinating topics of discussion at Cantech was the advancement of artificial intelligence (AI), e-gaming and the evolving psychedelics space within the health technology realm.

Regarding AI, this is something that has become further intertwined in modern society, including self-driving cars and smartphones. Thought leaders in the space understand that Canada cannot afford to fall behind and that to have a pragmatically optimistic mindset moving forward will allow the country to comprehend and deploy AI in the most effective ways possible.

E-sports were another noteworthy topic and an emerging realm in the technology space. With global viewership estimated to surpass 250 million individuals in the near future and tournaments featuring grand prizes in the dozens of millions, the electronic gaming sector is primed for lucrative investment opportunities and significant advancements as popularity grows. This sector not only represents a fascinating emergent investment segment, but also a new kind of career that is being redefined by tremendous international popularity.

Within the health technology space, psilocybin and MDMA have entered the fold as potential treatments for PTSD, end-of-life anxiety, treatment-resistant depression, and other significant mental health concerns. While this is undoubtedly a “fringe industry” at the moment, legitimate clinical trials are taking place in what could be a significant development in the mental health space — an area that is ripe for new ideas and technological disruption.

The results thus far are generally very positive, and these initial trials could be an indication of what lies ahead for mental health — potentially riding on the heels of recent cannabis legalization.

Dr. Kenneth Tupper was invited to speak on this modern concept, helping solidify clinical trials with UBC and other institutions for this cause. He candidly talked about everything from the historical uses of psychedelics to current medical applications, possible treatment angles and more.

( function() { var func = function() { var iframe_form = document.getElementById('wpcom-iframe-form-5a166ae8d0d9877447457c3de9b533b7-5c59a5c43d9e7'); var iframe = document.getElementById('wpcom-iframe-5a166ae8d0d9877447457c3de9b533b7-5c59a5c43d9e7'); if ( iframe_form && iframe ) { iframe_form.submit(); iframe.onload = function() { iframe.contentWindow.postMessage( { 'msg_type': 'poll_size', 'frame_id': 'wpcom-iframe-5a166ae8d0d9877447457c3de9b533b7-5c59a5c43d9e7' }, window.location.protocol + '//wpcomwidgets.com' ); } } // Autosize iframe var funcSizeResponse = function( e ) { var origin = document.createElement( 'a' ); origin.href = e.origin; // Verify message origin if ( 'wpcomwidgets.com' !== origin.host ) return; // Verify message is in a format we expect if ( 'object' !== typeof e.data || undefined === e.data.msg_type ) return; switch ( e.data.msg_type ) { case 'poll_size:response': var iframe = document.getElementById( e.data._request.frame_id ); if ( iframe && '' === iframe.width ) iframe.width = '100%'; if ( iframe && '' === iframe.height ) iframe.height = parseInt( e.data.height ); return; default: return; } } if ( 'function' === typeof window.addEventListener ) { window.addEventListener( 'message', funcSizeResponse, false ); } else if ( 'function' === typeof window.attachEvent ) { window.attachEvent( 'onmessage', funcSizeResponse ); } } if (document.readyState === 'complete') { func.apply(); /* compat for infinite scroll */ } else if ( document.addEventListener ) { document.addEventListener( 'readystatechange', function(){ if (document.readyState === 'complete') { func.apply(); } }, false ); } else if ( document.attachEvent ) { document.attachEvent( 'onreadystatechange', func ); } } )();

Concluding thoughts

More than 100 public and private technology companies gathered at the Cantech Conference along with thousands of enthusiastic attendees to examine emerging trends, investment opportunities and what makes the Canadian tech realm so unique. Cantech served as an educational and connective symposium, enabling new connections, the dissemination of profound novel concepts and a chance for the market enthusiast to evaluate innovative investment opportunities.

The event hopes to have been a catalyst that expands on the more than $1 billion currently invested in Canadian tech by the conference’s attendees. As education and technology continue to shape our world, events like the Cantech Conference are an indication of the tremendous progress made to welcome in new ideas. With many exciting features, attendees were able to shape their experiences based on their interests and preferences.

Trends always begin in the obscure. If new ideas and concepts are open to exploration, then Canada is bound to maintain its position as a technological leader across the globe, spawning innovative businesses that help advance the world.

This article was provided by Market One Media Group for commercial purposes.

from Financial Post http://bit.ly/2t6jOXq via IFTTT Blogger Mortgage Tumblr Mortgage Evernote Mortgage Wordpress Mortgage href="https://www.diigo.com/user/gelsi11">Diigo Mortgage