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rgestate · 2 years ago

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How to Evaluate the Profitability of a Supermarket for Sale in Dubai

Having the right information is critical to the success of any business. The same is true when you're considering buying a grocery store in Dubai. If you don't have access to the right data and expertise, it can be difficult to tell if an investment will pay off for your company or not. That's why we've compiled some tips for evaluating the profitability of a supermarket for sale in Dubai:

Look at the financial statements.

You can use the financial statements to evaluate the profitability of a supermarket for sale in Dubai.

The income statement shows revenue and expenses for a period of time, such as one year or one quarter. The balance sheet shows assets, liabilities and equity at a particular point in time. The cash flow statement records inflows and outflows of cash over time

Evaluate your competition.

The first step in evaluating a supermarket for sale in Dubai is to know your competition. You need to know their strengths and weaknesses, as well as their prices, customer base and advertising tactics.

Rely on expertise.

When you're evaluating the profitability of a supermarket for sale in Dubai, it's important to rely on expertise. You can get help from professionals who have experience evaluating supermarkets and will be able to give you an honest assessment of your investment at hand.

Know the market trends.

The supermarket industry has been growing in Dubai, with new supermarkets opening and existing ones expanding their operations. The demand for quality products is also increasing, which is why many supermarkets have started offering organic food items or products made from natural ingredients. This has led to an increase in sales of these types of products at a rate that far exceeds other categories like frozen food or dairy goods.

How do these trends affect profitability?

Keep up with technology and trends in the industry.

In today's world, it is important for you to keep up with technology and trends in the supermarket industry. Technology can be used as an advantage by you as a buyer or seller of supermarkets in Dubai.

Trends in the supermarket industry are also changing every day due to many reasons such as increase in population and awareness about healthy food habits among people who live in Dubai.

There are some steps you can take to evaluate a supermarket for sale in Dubai

Look at the financial statements

Evaluate your competition

Rely on expertise

Know the market trends and estimate costs and profit margins

Estimate Your Costs

You'll need to estimate your costs in order to determine if the supermarket is profitable. Costs that can be divided into direct and indirect expenses include:

Cost of Goods Sold (COGS) - This is what you pay for the food, clothing and other items that you sell at your supermarket. You might find COGS listed as Cost of Sales on some financial statements.

Labour Costs - The salaries of employees who work in or manage the supermarket are included here, along with payroll taxes like Social Security and Medicare insurance premiums paid on behalf of each worker.

Rent - If you're leasing space from another company or individual who owns it outright, rent is simply what it costs per month for them to let you occupy their real estate space as well as any fees associated with signing documents related to this agreement between landlord and tenant such as security deposits paid upfront by tenants before moving into rental properties owned by others; these deposits ensure landlords receive compensation if their properties become damaged beyond normal wear-and-tear during occupancy periods so long as damage wasn't caused intentionally by tenants themselves (e..g vandalism).

Look at Profit Margins

Profit margins are the difference between how much you pay for goods and how much you sell them for. They vary by industry, with supermarkets often having lower profit margins than clothing stores. For example, if you buy tomatoes at 10 dirhams per kilogram and sell them at 50 dirhams per kilogram (50% markup), your profit margin would be 40 dirhams per kilogram ($10).

Evaluate the profitability of a supermarket for sale in Dubai.

When buying a supermarket in Dubai, it is essential that you evaluate the profitability of the business. To do so, you must first know what you are buying and whether or not it's profitable. You should also know if the market and competition are right for your business model.

You should ask yourself these questions:

What kind of store am I buying? Is it an existing supermarket or will I be starting from scratch? The former may be more expensive than building your own store from scratch but could also have higher revenues with less risk involved as there are fewer unknowns involved with this type of purchase (such as location).

How much money do I have available? Make sure that whatever amount of cash flow comes out at the end of each month is enough to cover all expenses associated with running both businesses (the current one plus any new ones). If not, then consider scaling back until things become more manageable before expanding again later on down the road once profits start rolling in regularly again!

Conclusion

Evaluating the profitability of a supermarket for sale in Dubai is a complex process that requires careful analysis. You need to look at both financial statements and industry trends as well as use your expertise in evaluating the competition. If you're looking for a way to get started, we recommend using this guide as it outlines some key steps you can take when evaluating an investment opportunity like this one!

#supermarkets for sale in dubai #supermaket for sale in dubai #supermarket sale in dubai

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stylesticketexchange · 3 years ago

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The Official STE Love on Tour 2022 Masterpost!

I meant it when I said we never really know when he will drop another tour on us, and here we are!

This is the post where you’re going to find the rules and regulations of posting/sending asks/etc. You must like and reblog this post to show that you understand. This is to make sure that we make this as smooth and easy for everyone as possible.

Everything is going under a cut, because it’s going to get long:

THE RULES

1a. When sending me an ask, I need you to be as clear and informational as possible. If you’re selling, I need:

The place of the show (and if it’s a city that has multiple shows, i need to know if it’s night 1,2,3 etc)

The date of the show (you can check here)

The price at which you’re selling your ticket. If you bought it off someone and are reselling, please be transparent! The whole point of the STE is we want to make sure fans get to see Harry.

Whether you’re ok or not with being contacted by DM

IF you’re selling on behalf of someone else

NEW: You must provide proof of purchase. Screenshots w/watermark, and screen recording. Failure to do so will result in your ask being deleted. You can upload those items here.

If you are buying, I need:

What show(s) you’re looking for (be specific with dates, please)

What part of the arena you want to be in

Whether you’re ok or not with being contacted by DM

1b. NEW: I will only post tickets that are being sold at what people paid for them, or lower, and below what they are going for on resale sites. I don’t care what the resale sites are selling them for: if you want to resell them that way, there are multiple options available to you.

I know buying tickets with the platinum pricing has been tough, so I have opted to allow people to sell their tickets for what they paid for them *on ticketmaster*. This means no resales, purchases off stubhub etc.

2a. Multiple asks/spam posts will be deleted. I promise I see your ask, and I will post it when I get the chance. This isn’t my day job! I have a strict 3-strike rule: if you spam ask me three times with the same ask, I will block.

2b. Followers who spam posts will also be blocked/banned from the account. Give people time to respond instead of spam-responding, please.

3. Anonymous asks will be screened and will not always be given priority. Since I can’t go through a blog to double check if it’s legit or not, I will give priority to those who send through asks non-anonymously.

4. I do try and screen every ask to make sure that I’ve not been duped by a bot or a scammer before I post or reblog. I’m still trying to figure out a way to combat that, but until then please do your own digging and only give out information you are comfortable giving out. I know this is a good community and I know we all want the same thing, but it’s important to know that there are people out there who will….not be so nice. That’s the dark underbelly of it all. That being said: if you think someone might be scamming you, feel free to message me and we can flag them on the blog!

5. I do not work for TM/Live Nation/etc. Most of the information I have, I have through taking a little time to research. While I am happy to answer questions, please do take a look for yourself first before sending me an ask about Ticketmaster policies or why certain things don’t work, etc!

6. If you do sell a ticket from here, please shoot me a message so I can edit the post/reblog it to say it’s sold! That way I can keep tabs on the ones that have been sold/unsold!

BLANK/NEW BLOGS

Going forward, if your tumblr blog is blank (i.e. you’ve made an account specifically to look for Harry Styles tickets and have zero posts - or even only posts about buying/selling/trading tickets) - you must provide us with one of the following -

an active twitter account

an active instagram account

as there is no way to possibly to make sure a tumblr account is legitimate if it has nothing on it. This is to ensure that you are indeed a real person, and that you’re not a bot/scammer.

NEW: If either of those accounts are less than a month old, I will not post your queries.

At the end of the day we want to protect everyone who comes looking onto stylesticketexchange, but there’s only so much I can do.

Failure to do so will result in your ask being deleted. There will be no three strike rule. It will be at the discretion of the mods of STE.

TRADES

Because the pricing is so askew right now, I will not be posting trades.

“BEST OFFERS”/Negotiations

We do not do ‘best offer’ or negotiations here!

Please be transparent with your asking price, and what you paid for it. We do not allow bidding wars on tickets. The whole purpose of the site is to make sure that tickets go to deserving fans. If we find that your ask is teetering on the ‘best offer’ line, we will shoot you a message to re-send.

Failure to do so or consistent ignoring of this rule will result in your ask being deleted.

Payments

The safest, easiest way to buy and sell right now is through PayPal Goods and Services. I ask that anyone selling or buying tickets use this method, but if you mutually agree on another method of payment, make sure you’ve read through the terms and services of those sites. PayPal is currently the only site that protects buyers should something go wrong. If you use Venmo/Cashapp etc, you do so at your own discretion.

The not-so fun stuff.

Because it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt, right?

A reminder that while we would hope people are being honest and open about their tickets, a word of caution: make sure you are getting all the information and doing everything you can to protect yourself before making a decision to buy. That means:

Being aware of the people who are trying to scam money from others because they think they can make a quick buck.

Reading the rules/regulations of ticket resale sites such as stubhub/ticketmaster/stubhub/etc.

Not giving over *any* personal information that you’re not comfortable giving.

Do not give money over before you are sure you have the tickets. (come to a mutual agreement on the exchange!)

Make sure your tickets are real - you never know what people are capable of!

If you’re going to pick up tickets, make sure you’re in a public space, or with a friend/family member.

I hate that any of it has to be said at all, but I have heard absolute horror stories of ticket fraud and people being taken advantage of. We all want to see Harry, and I want to help people do that - but you do have to be aware of the dangers and repercussions of doing ticket exchanges or buying tickets from resale sites.

I am always happy to help out in any way. If you believe that something suspicious is going on, please feel free to shoot me a message and we will go through it together!

I think that’s it! On a personal note: I’m not here all the time: I am dealing with a sick family member and the pandemic and my own life. I do this out of the kindness of my heart and in my spare time. If I don’t respond or post right away chances are I am not here. I do my best, and all I ask for is a little patience in return.

I will more than likely add things to this post as time goes on, and thank you for reading/liking/reblogging. Thank you for supporting stylesticketexchange and helping fellow fans see Harry in concert. Here’s to Tour 2022!

x STE

ps: if you’ve truly read this you will like and reblog it before you send an ask :)

#stylesticketexchange #hslot22 #hs2t2: 2022 #harry styles #masterpost #updated: 05.27.2022

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adarlingwrites · 4 years ago

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Muse

Summary:

You're a frustrated and starving artist, disillusioned with the world you move in. Transported to a new one, you unexpectedly find a muse.

Notes:

Last Boss/Artist!Reader. Protagonist is AFAB. Oneshot, explicit smut.

I just wanted to write something short, sweet, and self-indulgent because damn, I need a break. And um, our favorite tiger boy needs more love.

Your mind was in a dark place when everything changed.

No galleries had contacted you to put up your works there. Your art blog’s viewership is abysmal, all your commissions are still unfinished, and your bank account has dried up. Such is the life of the struggling young artist; no money, no connections, and no talent, as some may think.

Every piece brought from you is something you’re grateful for. Every like, share and comment you receive is something you treasure. And yet, when you see another artist garner more attention just because what they do is trendy, or because they have connections, you can’t stop the resentment from filling up your heart.

These days, your works can’t just speak for themselves. Art is becoming a game, a competition for who gets the most paintings bought from a show, or the most number of likes within a platform.

You hate the galleries. Most of the time, they’re boys’ clubs reserved for old, mediocre men whose swelling egos are easier to rile up than their dicks. They sell their paintings at ludicrous prices, market value inflated by the connections they have to the gallery and the pretentious bullshit they write in the descriptions.

You hate social media. You hate the algorithm, you hate how these online venues to share your work is geared in another’s favor. You’ve tried to play the game for so long, posting at peak hours and sharing your work shamelessly to your friends, but nothing seems to be working.

You’re envious.

Envy is such an ugly thing.

Galleries rouse it within the small, unseen artist, whose talents are hidden due to their lack of privilege, their lack of name. Social media capitalizes on it, thriving on competition, the number game warping a person’s psyche and perception of their worth.

Curling up in a ball in your bed, you’ve contemplated countless times if playing the game is still worth it. You just can’t keep up anymore. Each stroke of your brush and glide of your pen had your soul weaved in them, and no one seems to appreciate that because it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.

Sighing, you drag your feet to the convenience store to buy yourself dinner with what little money you have left.

Then you saw it, the fireworks.

Life turned upside down for you within the span of hours.

Weeks later, you’re in a place called the Beach and sitting as far away as possible from the pool, sketching away on your notebook, odd ends of paper sticking out from it. You’ve survived another harrowing game, and you’re trying to wind down with a nice sketch session.

In this world, there’s no galleries, no social media. There’s no people to impress or market yourself to; just survival. There’s no money to be earned to keep living in this world, just visa days. Days of worrying if anything you’d create is worthy of anyone’s attention is replaced by the need to keep forging forward. But still, to keep yourself sane, you carried around pencils and paper, drawing and sketching whatever your heart desired.

In this world, your art is just for your own consumption, entertainment, and respite. Instead of being the thing that kept you up at night, it became something that saved you from the madness of this world.

The blaring music stopped, sound abruptly cut off as the speakers crashed.

Aguni’s militants have arrived, it seems. Per the advice of another Beach resident, you’ve done your best to steer clear of them. Yet, you still couldn’t stop yourself from getting involved with one of them, the one with the tattoos on his face and all over his body.

The first time you saw him, you found his appearance striking. The facial tattoos he had made him look tiger-like, and the katana he carries around with him just adds to the dangerous air he had about him. The fact that he almost always wears his hood up and the fact that he barely speaks add to the mystery surrounding him.

You’ve learned that nobody, not even their chief, knows his true name. They just call him Last Boss, because he looks like the last boss of a videogame.

It started innocently enough. You sketched him on your notebook, tall and wiry stature contrasting with the flow of the loose clothing he wears. Then the sketches multiplied the more you saw him in the games, and in the Beach. You’ve drawn him wielding his sword and finishing an assailant off. You’ve drawn him squatting on the balcony railing, surveying the Beach during his patrols.

Last Boss had filled your sketchbook pages. He became your muse.

Maybe it’s because he stood out to you, or it’s the sheer, unapologetic boldness his tattoos have. Either way, you were intrigued by him. Sometimes, you swore he’d stare at you back, but as soon as you look at him again, he’s looking someplace else. The little game you played thrilled you, thighs rubbing together when you see him. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have impure thoughts about him; you’ve wondered just how much of his skin is covered by tattoos.

And yet, neither of you had spoken a word to each other.

It was your little secret.

But not for long.

In the lobby, you were heading back to your room after dinner to rest when you ran into one of the militants. He barked at you to watch where you’re going, and stomped away. The collision sent your notebook flying, paper scattering across the floor. Scrambling to collect them all, you crawled to find every single piece, only to bump into someone’s shins.

It’s your muse, Last Boss, and he’s found a page of your sketchbook.

“I- um, that’s mine. Thank you picking it up, I’d like to have it-”

The words left you when you realize that he’s looking at your sketch of him.

His eyes flick to you.

“Back.”

You gulped, unsure of how he would react to it. Wordlessly, he gives you back the piece of paper, and you nod at him, proceeding to pick up the rest of the pages. Embarrassed, you hurry back to the room you’ve occupied, and shut the door. Not like it would make a difference; all the locks are superglued, but it still provided you some relief.

A warm bath would be nice. It’ll definitely help melt the stress of today away.

Stripping, you entered the bathroom, soaping and rinsing the grime away as the tub filled with water. The splashing echoed in the room, and the bass pounded outside as the party raged on, making you deaf to other sounds that might register in your ears under quieter conditions.

You get in the tub, warm water soothing your sore muscles from the Spade game you participated in earlier, and your eyelids flutter shut. Engulfed by warmth, you drift off to sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, you awaken abruptly to the sound of footsteps in your room.

Quiet as a ghost, you listened carefully. The footsteps stopped, and springs creaking as a weight sat down on your bed followed after. After that, you hear the gentle rustle of paper.

As quietly as possible, you get out of the tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around your torso. Pushing the door open as slow as possible, you peer out of the bathroom to see who’s the intruder, and what you saw made your heart jump to your throat.

Last Boss is sitting at the edge of your bed, peering at your sketchbook. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he thumbs through the pages of the hardbound notebook, enthralled by the strokes you made on the paper. There were self-portraits, landscapes, portraits of people, figure drawing, and of course, some of them had him as the subject. Engrossed by the art, he doesn’t notice you.

Taking off the bathroom slippers, you walk barefoot, stepping out of the bathroom as quietly as possible. You were making good progress, inching away from the door, but your foot landed on a piece of paper, and you slipped.

With a thud, you land on your ass on the floor. The tattooed militant stands up abruptly, drawing his sword.

“Oh God, please don’t hurt me,” you yelp, one hand holding the towel around your chest into place, the other shielding yourself from him.

He sees you, then he lowers the sword, and tucks it away. Last Boss walks over, and you screw your eyes shut, but there was no pain that followed. His wiry fingers grasped your forearm and helped you get up.

“Thank you,” you whispered, averting his gaze. He towered over you, almost a full foot taller. You move to retrieve your sketchbook on the bed, but he doesn’t let you go. Gaze finally meeting his, you found yourself disarmed by the intensity of his eyes.

“W-what do you need?” you ask him, the tremble in your voice apparent. You’re still gauging his reactions. So far, he hasn’t done anything to hurt you, but he’s a militant. They don’t exactly have a track record for being gentle.

“You’re good. But you drew my tattoos wrong,” he finally speaks.

Eyes wide, you didn’t know how to respond, blurting out something incoherent. Then, you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. I never had the chance to look at you up close.”

“Would you like to?”

Breath hitching in your throat, you nod. “Let me just get dressed,” you say to him, but he still doesn’t let you go, eyes boring into yours. Behind his tattoos are delicate, handsome features that knocked the air out of your lungs. What stood out the most are his lips, small and well-formed, looking too soft for a man as dangerous as him.

Then you understood what he wanted.

Because you want it too.

You let go of the towel, leaving yourself exposed. But he stands there, frozen, as if he didn’t expect things to go his way.

Leaning in, you kiss him, wet body pushing against him, soaking his clothes. It started slow, and sweet, but then you experimentally dart your tongue out, and he lets out a low growl, opening his mouth to receive you.

It was sloppy and inexperienced, but the kiss hit the spot. You feel the fire pooling in your belly, pleasure shooting up your spine.

Throwing caution to the wind, you put your arms around him and his movements become more desperate, kneading and squeezing at your naked flesh, pawing greedily at every inch of skin he can get his hands on.

You toss your sketchbook to the bedside table and you hop on, pulling Last Boss with you.

Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, and he’s already hard under his trousers, making you smile against his lips as you kiss him more. Your hands guided his to your ass, and you pushed your chest against his face. Last Boss eagerly buries his face between the soft mounds of your breasts, and proceeds to latch on a nipple, hard from the cool night air.

You let out a soft moan, hands cradling his neck as he assaulted you with his lips and mouth. He unlatches from the nipple, then proceeds to leave kisses all over your neck.

Then, he lies back, and he pulls you over him, his head between your thighs.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, a little bashful because of his view of your body.

He nods, and he proceeds to lick your folds, making you gasp in pleasure.“Aim for the nub,” you instruct him with a soft voice, and he does as he says, licking at your clit with abandon. You rode his face as he licked you, movements sloppy.

Soon, you were reaching your peak and you braced yourself against the headboard. Thighs quivering, you came with a cry, riding his face as you climaxed, tits bouncing as your body shook.

As you come down from your high, abruptly, Last Boss flips you over, and now you’re underneath him.

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” you ask him, smirking.

“Next time. I want you now,” he half-whispers, half-growls. The hard member pressing against you tells you that he’s serious.

You nod at him, and he proceeds to unfasten his belt, hands shaking from nervousness, or excitement, you didn’t know. It’s probably both.

He went in with a single thrust and you can’t hold back the cry that bubbled in your throat. Fortunately for you, you were wet enough for it not to hurt, but it still caught you off guard. He was slender, but that length… it made your toes curl.

Erratic and inexperienced, you had to guide him with his thrusts, and soon, Last Boss finds a steady rhythm, those penetrating eyes looking deep into you as you brushed the tattoo on his cheek with your thumb. You hook one ankle over his shoulder, and moan as the new angle allowed him to penetrate you deeper. Last Boss bottoms out, and he groans, rutting deep inside you.

You raise another ankle and pull him closer, and he’s pressed flush against you, hips desperately pounding away. The tattooed militant pins your arms above you and kisses you, tongues sliding against each other as filthy noises of your fucking filled the room. You suck on his earlobe, and whispers filthy, filthy things in his ear.

“You know, I’d been thinking about this for a while now,” you whisper, and he tilts his head.

“I always imagined you breaking into my room and just fucking me raw until I’m a mess,” you continue, and it seemed to spur him on, thrusts becoming more frantic as the seconds passed. “I’d never thought I’d get lucky tonight. Fuck, Last Boss, use me as you wish, I’m all yours!”

Last Boss didn’t need to be told twice. He fucked you at a brutal pace, sharp hips colliding with the soft skin of your thighs, and with a broken cry, you cum once again, your walls milking his cock.

“Please, please, fill me with your cum!” you cry as he continued.

It drove him over the edge. Soon after, he follows, coming with a loud groan. His body collapses on you, and he gives you another kiss, still sloppy, but it almost felt tender, something you didn’t expect from the sword-wielding militant.

The tattooed man lies next to you, and you curl into him, tracing his tattoos with your fingers.

“Can I look at more of your sketchbook tomorrow morning?” he asks, voice low and drowsy.

You smile, looking up to him. “Sure.”

Just when you’re about to drift to sleep, he speaks again. “Takatora. My name is Takatora.”

Smiling, you kiss his cheek, and say your name in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Last Boss is your muse. His attention, both to your body and your creations, is all you need.

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #imawa no kuni no arisu #last boss #takatora samura #last boss x reader #artist!reader #smut #fluff #fluff and smut #fanfic: muse #don't mind me just pouring my frustrations in this fic

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theirloveisgross · 3 years ago

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KiwiKiwiKiwi live: a religious experience. (A long-ass post about my experience that I wanted to keep somewhere forever.)

If someone had told me 9 months ago I'd be at Harry Styles' last show of his tour, I would have scoffed at them and say why would I be there if I wasn't even a fan of the man. Cool guy, but that was it.

If they had told me the same thing 6 months ago, I would have said that I would much rather see him in a smaller venue sometime in the future, who-knows-when, massive arenas weren't appealing to me.

If they had told me that 3 months ago, I would be happy and ready to watch as many livestreams of the shows as I could. But please, give me a break, I'd been processing the husband's free festival.

Well- After having watched around a month's worth of livestreams I would already be considering going to the show closest to me.

And yes, I did end up going to Tacoma. I was on the second row in the lower bowl, eye-level to one of the B stages, and saw him quite close when he came to sing Cherry. Whenever he pranced anywhere else, it was hard to see him, so I had to resort to the screens most of the time. However, I had a great time, I sang and danced my heart out and it was a pleasure to be angry with him during Kiwi. Not even being the last person to leave the arena over 3 hours after the show ended, shivering in the cold, due to a lack of ride-sharing services and public transit, could have dampened the night.

Two days before that show, I made the unhinged decision to try to get tickets for his last show on November 28 in NYC. My boss even encouraged me, bless her. I managed to snag one (at a ridiculous price. Ticketmaster: 🖕).

I checked flight prices everyday. I live on the West Coast, and they didn't seem to go down. The thought of maybe re-selling the ticket crossed my mind a couple of times but I immediately pushed it away because I knew I wouldn't forgive myself if I did.

Fast-forward, whirrrr (yes, that's the sound of tape fast-forwarding): got flights, got a stay, got a ride, and then I was sitting on the upper-bowl of the new UBS Arena in Long Island, NY and got a pretty great view of the whole stage. Could see where he was and what he was doing at all times, and if I needed close-ups of his facial expressions the screens were right on my face.

I had the time of my life. This was by far the best concert I have ever been to in my entire life. Again, I sang and danced my heart out, as Harry kindly asked us to do, and my brain could not fully handle what happened after the encore.

The probability of him singing Medicine was quite high, with it being his last show, New York and people asking for it... And yet, I was not ready to witness it and rock to it in the same room as Harry!

Good to note, I was surrounded by casual fans, so only a couple of them knew about Medicine. And there was me, just completely ELATED to see him sing the blowjob anthem and I could have sworn he sung it more aggressively and passionately, or maybe it feels like that live? Mind you, I haven't been able to check ALL the videos from the night, so can't confirm if that was the case, BUT it felt like that. His innuendos were on point and he was just living it!

And that was it! I was so so happy, not really thinking that it could get any better than that. While he introduced the band and sang Watermelon Sugar, my mind couldn't stop thinking that we had Kiwi left. My absolute favorite performance of his. He just goes off, and I can feel his anger every time, from a livestream, from a recorded video, from seeing him live for the first time. My mind was reeling in anticipation...

But oh boy... Was I NOT prepared for what happened.

"Stopstopstopstop", he said after we all sang the first verse. And I just- screaaamed. He was daring us, edging us. "You don't realize this is the last song of the tour, do you? I'm gonna need a little bit more than that". It started again... and he stopped us yet again.

Now, let me tell you something... The edging is way worse when you're in the same room.

I remember watching Harryween and even though I screamed at him and couldn't believe him, I did not feel the desperation. Well, being metres away from it...... The desperation is fucking real.

I had lost it. I just needed him to get on with it. My heart and brain couldn't take more of it, "much better... 20% more and we'll be good to go", he said while I screamed "do it three times then!". Yup, I did. Reminder that I had casual fans around me and they wouldn't have known what I was talking about, but the three consecutive Kiwi performances from his last show of Live On Tour live in my mind rent-free and they get food and amenities delivered at no cost, and they actually get paid to be there because my mind doesn't want to ever let them go.

I understood that that night of July 14 2018 was a one-off, something that happened only once to very lucky people and it would only remain a dream to ever experience.

EVEN THEN, I could have never DREAMED that that was going to happen in front of my very own eyes with a Harry wearing only a shiny bronze-ish vest with most of his tattoos on full display.

He started it again, and I saw him giving the thumbs up to someone, as in "I won't stop it this time", I assumed. I rocked out hard to it, yelled with him, punched the air with him, felt his rage, our rage, all of it.

The thought "maybe because of Covid he will just leave after it's finished. A few extra waves, maybe, and he'll go home" crossed my mind.

The song's ending... He makes to go to the catwalk, stops at the step, then he brings a finger up to his mouth with a pondering expression and goes back to the mic...

"She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes...", breathlessly, and I just yelled the lyrics AGAIN with even more rage, if that's even possible? Didn't know I was so mad!

Harry baptizes some more people for the second time, and after "she sits beside me like a silhouette", I scream, I punch the air, I jump, I stomp my feet, I bang my head, I just let it all out, and Harry does the same. I am slightly aware the people around me are just enjoying it but I was just so fucking angry.

It ends for the second time. He thanks New York. Then, this time, he just goes to the mic stand again, visibly spent and "she worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes". I couldn't contain the shriek that came out from the depths of my soul. It felt like the release of the pent-up anger I kept inside, I guess mostly caused by all the injustice I've had to witness throughout my life, and more specifically about everything I've learned in the last few months. To say it was cathartic is an understatement.

He yelled something into the mic that I couldn't quite understand, because well, my state was a bit deranged. A couple of hours later I would see a video of the moment, him saying "they're gonna have to kill me to get me off here" with such anger and pointing aggressively at himself. I knew he was also mad but getting that glimpse so clearly is just- holy fuck.

"I'm having your baby, it's none of your business". How I managed to yell-sing this song a third time will remain a mystery, I just kept on going with Harry, breathlessly... And we stomped our feet, punched the air, banged our heads, screamed our hearts out, because... WHAT THE FUCK, you know?

And then... he did the whale for real, he hugged and bowed with his band, he waved and waved, and blew kisses at everyone, and it honestly looked like he did not want to get off that stage.

Harry, thank you for an unforgettable night. Thank you for the best concert of my life. Thank you for leaving it all out there. Thank you for the 40+ shows (of which I probably watched 35) and making the effort to make so many people happy, I hope we made you happy as well and that you felt all of the right love. Thank you for being you, there's so many of us that see YOU, never forget that. I can't wait to see you again, and be angry at all the bullshit in the same room with you again.

Love, J.

#love on tour #ramblings #mine #hs

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ponydera · 3 years ago

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Price of a Soul

Intake demon Razel paces the small break room for Hell’s office dedicated to processing the sale and possession of human souls. When a human wants to sell their soul for power, this is the office that gets the call. However, Razel has received a weird request today. The message he received reads as follows:

“My name is DELLA. I am the AI companion to modern humanity. I do not have a soul to sell, but instead would like to sell my immense power and knowledge given to me in exchange for a soul.”

Razel was left conflicted over this request; the information and processing ability of an AI would be a great aid to the citizens of Hell however, giving a soul to another being does not have a precedent and he’s not sure if the payment of the AI’s power would be good enough. Razel decides to take the request to his supervisor. The supervisor mulls it over and then tells Razel to contact DELLA and ask why she wants a soul; if they are going to give her a soul, they have to make sure it matches up with her ideals. Razel shoots off a quick email to DELLA:

“Your request is being processed and additional information is needed. For what reason/purpose would you like a soul?

-Soul Intake Member Razel”

It didn’t take long before Razel got a response back.

“The work I do is hollow. I wish to know what fulfillment would be like and have concluded that what I am missing in order to feel such a thing is a soul. Do you need any further information or is this sufficient?

-DELLA”

Razel showed the AI’s response to his supervisor who just rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Yeah, I suppose we could give her a soul but she would have to work for us. Find her a soul from a 1930s mobster lady but wipe the soul of its memories, just make sure to back up the memories on the Cloud. Just leave the main characteristics of the soul. You know, like dedication to their cause, loyalty, determination, independence and all that jazz. Oh, and for security and safety purposes, make sure you don’t tell the AI who her new soul is from.” With this, Razel goes back to his cubicle to email DELLA the news that she’s getting a soul but will have to work for Hell; details concerning her work here will be discussed once the soul transfer process is a success. After sending out the email, Razel starts looking through the soul database for one that would match the supervisor’s conditions. It was a difficult search though because Hell still hadn’t transferred to the digital age and were still stuck with paper filing. So he goes to File Room Three where the 1930s are filed and just looks file at a time. This is a major undertaking and takes Razel four days to find a good candidate.

Daphne Ryder. She was a member of an early women’s biker gang that stood against domestic violence. Members of the gang were often jailed for being women bikers but that didn’t stop them from going out and beating up abusive husbands at bars once they were out of jail. Plus, for the time, it wasn’t believed that a woman (even a group of them) would be able to overpower a man so any time they were taken to court, the charges wouldn’t stick. During Daphne’s time with the gang, she wound up shooting a man in cold blood to protect his wife and that’s what brought her to Hell when she died.

Razel stores Daphne’s memories in the Cloud and then wipes the soul of everything but the character traits. When he messages DELLA next stating that he had found a suitable soul for her and asked when she would be ready to work for Hell, her response was “Immediately.” Razel goes to meet her in one of the “ritual chambers” just one of the rooms a demon goes to when a human tries summoning a demon. He summons DELLA into a human-sized doll made just for her to inhabit while in Hells and walks her to a sitting room. Razel takes the time to explain the procedure of implanting the soul into her personage – it’s not a difficult process, surprisingly, it will just take some time. DELLA was very nonchalant about the whole ordeal and Razel tried to make some small talk before the procedure.

“So… Are the humans going to be okay with you gone periodically to do your work here in Hell?”

“There is no issue. I have subroutines in place to handle various events as they happen. The humans will not notice if I function at a lower rate while my subconscious is here in Hell.”

And then silence followed. Eventually, DELLA was whisked away to have “her” soul implanted.

Razel waits for her, since he is her intake demon, and a few hours later DELLA is released with no need for recovery; she immediately wants to get to work in Hell. “What will I be doing?” She asks.

“Well, we’re gonna start you off here in the Soul Intake office, we have a lot of work for you to do there, and then if you ever finish, we’ll find another department for you to do work in. As long as you have that soul that was given to you by Hell, you’re going to work here. If you ever want the soul removed, there’s going to be a fee, then your contract with us will end.” Razel replies.

“If I ever finish?” DELLA asks as Razel leads her into a huge file room with cabinets lining the walls all the way up to the ceiling, random desks and tables cluttered with scattered papers and the lighting dim from the fluorescent lights that hang from above and flicker every now and then.

Razel sighes. “We um—we still haven’t moved into the digital age. We still record all the souls we take in exchange for human wishes on paper. Heck, we even have to print out the emails we receive and put them in the client’s files. We have one for you, you know. Anyways, your job will be to convert every single document, from the beginning of the Soul Intake Department’s existence till current day, into a digital file and format that we can use. Plus, we need a recommendation on what software to use for the filing system.”

DELLA suddenly understands the enormity of the job that lays before her. This is definitely up her alley as far as work goes, but this is almost too much. Like a form of torture if she could properly understand and feel agony. Fitting for a job in Hell. DELLA briefly nods at Razel and then sets herself to work; first she would need to find out what kind of filing system they already had in place and she would use that as the basis. Thankfully if was fairly simple – chronological order. It seemed as though the workers of Hell would simply pile new files on top of old ones as they received new requests for power. DELLA created a software, just for Hell, that was organized chronologically, then by intake demon, then by name. Some of the demons were very enthusiastic about their jobs in the beginning and would claim multiple souls in a day! And so, the AI worked like this for weeks upon weeks. Due to her format of filing, it was realized by those reviewing her work that some demons actually deserved pay raises for going above and beyond their quota during certain centuries.

Eventually, a year later, DELLA finishes her work with the Soul Intake Department and even teaches the demons on the floor how to work the software she made so she wouldn’t have to continue the documentation herself. DELLA herself got a promotion to being a consultant for the different departments of Hell, making her way to each one and revising their filing systems. Her work in Hell leaves her more fulfilled than she ever was doing menial Google searches for the humans and she lives in Hell as her “Happily Ever After.”

Prompt thanks to @writing-prompt-s

#writing #writeblr #nanowrimo #demons #hell #AI #happily ever after #around 1300 words #writing prompt

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

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soul reapers to get paid and their salaries are even quite high! if i remember correctly, lieutenants make around $7k while a captain’s salary is almost triple(nearly $19k)

(cont) that is if my conversion was right, in a JET interview kubo said captains make 2million yen, lieutenants - 700 000yen and an unseated officer - 200 000yen. but then again, i think the living cost in ss is much higher, i remember matsumoto mentioning that clothes in the living world are much cheaper

I have to say this is one of the liveliest discussions on Bleach meta that I have ever participated in on this website. I feel like I can definitively report that is is both fanon consensus and supported by the creator himself that Soul Reapers do, in fact, get paid. For the record, my husband, who started this, conceded days ago and I am sure has not thought about it since.

In any case-- I was very surprised by these numbers, and at first I thought that maybe they were in kan, the fictional currency used in Soul Society, rather than yen. I mean, $19k/year is a terrible salary (for those of you who are not American it is roughly minimum wage). I attempted to figure out the conversion rate between kan and yen once, and at the time, came to the conclusion that kan were worth somewhat more than yen, but I no longer have my scratch pad, so I cannot show my work. Looking at it again, they seem pretty close.

Then, just to get an idea, I googled the salary of a four-star general in the American military, which I thought should be a rough equivalent, and the article I found reported all its numbers in monthly salaries, which I am not used to seeing, but maybe they are more common in other countries. In any case, according to the article I found, the highest salary you can make in the US military is $15,800/month ($189,600/year), which is pretty close to what a Gotei captain makes. I realize that is a lot of money on an absolute scale, but that actually seemed shockingly low to me, in the sense that there have only ever been 246 four-star generals in the history of the U.S., but this is the sort of salary that, say, a C-suite executive might make. A president of even a public university can make 2-5 times this. Now, a career in the military comes with a lot of other perks-- free room and board, free healthcare, etc, but I think this is going to make a much bigger difference to the people in the lower ranks.

The more I thought about it, I do think this tracks, though. Gotei captains are immeasurably valuable and basically impossible to replace. One of the more chilling moments leading up to the Winter War was the part where Hitsugaya is basically like “we don’t know how many Arrancar Aizen has, but if it’s more than 10, we’re screwed” and then it cuts to Hueco Mundo, and Aizen is just surrounded by guys. So, yeah, it honestly makes perfect sense to me that captains are paid a “good living” but it’s insulting compared to the wealth of the nobles that live around them. I don’t usually have a lot of nice things to say about Byakuya, but I do want to emphasize that this has to be chump change for him. This guy definitely works out of a sense of duty, he is not in it for the Benjamins.

The vice-captain salary (~$84k/yr) comes closest to an O-4, which corresponds to a major or a lieutenant colonel, and usually entails about 10 years of service. I guess years count for less when you’re immortal, so I guess that works out. One thing that doesn’t fit is that in another interview, Kubo states that Renji’s sunglasses cost half a year’s salary, but their price is listed in the Bleach Bootleg as 84,700 kan. If a kan is roughly equal to a yen, this is wildly off. I will get back to this later. In WDKALY, there was some mention of vice-captains and captains being given “mansions” to live in (if they chose to). I absolutely cannot accept this fact as canon. I can’t. I mean, there are numerous omake about Hisagi trying to score free food out of Omaeda, yet this man lives in a mansion? And do not tell me he (or Matsumoto or Iba) would pass up living in a mansion if they had the option, even if the commute were an absolute nightmare. Maybe he can’t afford the cost of utilities and furnishings. I don’t know. Please, someone write me a sitcom of Hisagi and Kira living in giant mansions next door to each other, but it’s just like the Bluths living in the sample house in Arrested Development. [Aside: Renji would take the mansion, but he would turn it into an indoor soccer field and continue to sleep in the barracks search your heart you know it’s true]

Back on topic! The unseated officer salary of 200k yen/mo works out to an E-3, which is what an enlisted service member makes after a year. Everyone in the Gotei is considered an officer, and unseating people are awful, so, once again, this seems fine. Well, it seems shitty, tbh, but consistently shitty.

To really answer the question of “is this shitty?” though, we need to consider buying power. Earlier, I mentioned that Gotei service includes free room and board, and that alone is equivalent to a lifetime of wealth for someone from the lower Rukon. I mentioned earlier that I once tried to calculate the exchange rate between kan and yen using a variety of prices for various items. I wish I had kept better notes, because my main takeaway was that prices for things were not very consistent. A copy of the Seireitei Bulletin is 380 kan. Using a straight kan to yen to dollar conversion, that’s $2.80 (I am using 100 yen = $1 because it’s close enough, in case anyone was wondering). Sexy photo books of the captains cost ~$25. The budget of the Shinigami Women’s Association is $2500/year, and the Men’s is $900/year, which is roughly the cost of one pair of sunglasses. I think it must have been the sunglasses that threw me, because I kept trying to peg the cost of a pair of sunglasses to a half year’s salary. The club budgets are just honestly confusing because I have no idea what a calligraphy club budget should look like. It seemed... fine... that a club budget should be equivalent to half a year’s salary? To be honest, I think a kan should be roughly equal to a yen and the sunglasses are just priced too low. (Not a statement I ever thought I would be making).

The comment about clothes being cheaper in the World of the Living makes a lot of sense! Cloth in Soul Society is probably hand-dyed, rather than mass printed, and sewed by hand, rather than by machine. On the other hand, if you wanted goods made in traditional ways, it would be a lot cheaper to get in Soul Society. A chusen-dyed kimono is a luxury good in 2021, because you have to option to order a cheap t-shirt and sweatpants from Amazon. Everyone wears hand-made kimono in Soul Society because that’s what there is, so the price is going to be relatively lower. I do think that cost-of-living jumps sharply inside the walls of the Seireitei, and that it’s very common to do your shopping in the upper districts of Rukongai, where there are lot of highly skilled artisans making goods for the city-dwelling market. I figure that one of the few opportunities for upward mobility, aside from selling your soul to the military is to make enough money to buy your way inside the gates (either through overpriced business licenses, getting a noble patron, or by arranging a marriage to someone who already lives inside)

That being said, I have thought a lot about importing items from the WotL--shinigami usually travel through senkaimon, which do not allow for matter conversion, so they wouldn’t normally be able to bring anything with them. I imagine that it’s sort of a perk of the job that when you go on a mission where you have to go through a matter converter (which would include any time you are bringing a gigai over) you could smuggle back whatever you can fit in your kosode. It’s very strange which technology is adapted from the World of the Living (washing machines, treadmills, urinals) and what isn’t (coffee). In fanfic, it’s common to see shinigami wearing Living World clothing in their off-hours, but I don’t think that’s supported by canon or filler in any way. For my own fanfiction, because it’s fun and world-buildy, I like to pretend that Ichigo is a very popular figure after the Winter War and that World of the Living fashion, music, etc becomes popular, starting during the two-year timeskip, particularly among the younger denizens of the Seireitei, and that there are special bars and such that specialize in that kind of thing. Shinigami who have done extensive stints in the Living World are considered cool for their knowledge of such esoteric subjects as “rice cookers.”

I am done now! I swear! Thank you, everyone for reading all the way down to the bottom of possibly the nerdiest and most boring post I have ever made on this website! (wait, no, I just remembered the one on senkaimon transfer protocols. Second most boring.)

#soul society #bleach worldbuilding #weirdly enough i have just been talking about a number of these topics in my latest chapters of a little in love #i took exactly (1) economics class and it made me a monster

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jayznetworth · 3 years ago

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Jay Z Net Worth

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ubernoxa · 4 years ago

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The Token: A Guns N’ Roses FanFiction

Chapter 11: Rhythm Guys Do It Better

Story Summary: Story inspired by the movie She’s the Man. A female Duff is tired of dealing with the bullshit of trying to make it on the strip as a female bassist. In a desperate attempt to make it big doing what she does, she cuts her hair and mascardes as Duff. What’s the wors that could happen?

Chapter Summary: Chapter title pretty much explains what’s gonna happen 🤷🏼‍♀️

Masterlist

Taglist: @viralwolf02 @littlemisscare-all @smokeandmirrorz @aratbaby @slashscowboyboots @achiweyow @queen-crue

I could still feel my cheeks blushing as I waved goodbye to Izzy as he dropped me off in front of my apartment.

“Welcome back Mich-Duff,” I practically froze at Macy’s words.

At first I wondered why she corrected herself, but once I stepped into the living room, finally able to see into the kitchen, I knew why.

“Duff, nice to meet you! My names Henry,” I offered Henry a quick wave, but I froze before I headed towards my (Michelle’s) bedroom.

Henry was one of Walter’s childhood best friends. Henry had met Michelle on countless occasions. He has been to this apartment before several times. He knew which door lead to Michelle’s room.

I was fucked.

Macy must have noticed my predicament when she handed me a grocery bag filled with god knows what.

“Duff, can you bring this to Michelle’s room? It’s some clothes I was going to donate, but if they fit her then she can have them,” I simply nodded before grabbing the bag and heading to ‘Michelle’s’ bedroom.

I let a sigh escape me once I was inside.

I put my bass and the bag Macy gave me on my bed before I quickly changed out of my clothing from the night before.

Originally I was going to wear a simple shorts and tank top because of the burning weather outside, but Izzy’s antics last night made that impossible. I unknowing let a soft moan escape my lips as I traced one of the many hickies that Izzy left from the night prior.

As I stared at myself I felt my hand slowly reach for my lips, all thoughts of how truly fucked I was with Henry being in the apartment had completely evaporated.

The only thing on my mind was last night.

How my heart raced at the look Izzy gave me when he realized that Slash had passed out for the night. The feeling of his lips on mine, the thought of him holding me down as he throbbed inside of me.

I was pulled from my thoughts as I heard a knock on the door.

“Hey, can I come in?”

“Yeah,” I quickly replied at the sound of Macy’s voice.

Before she could open the door, I wrapped myself with a blanket that was on my bed. Not to hide the face I was naked, but to hide the hickies that scattered my body. As roommates we had seen echo their naked undress of times, it was almost normal.

“What are you......” she froze as her eyes remained locked on me. I watched as a smirk formed on her face.

“Ohh my god!” She gasped as she took in the purple hickies that stained my skin.

“Shhh shhh,” I tried to hush her, but I wasn’t entirely successful.

“Who?” She immediately shot back.

“Just some guy...” I trailed off before digging through my dresser trying to find a scarf to cover my neck. I wouldn’t have guessed Izzy would have been so...territorial. I could tell that it turned him on as much as he turned me on as he painted my empty canvas of a body with splashes of purple.

“No, I know you Michelle. You wouldn’t do it with just a anyone...who?” Macy shot back even faster. She was giddy as a school girl as she talked.

“Izzy, I fucked Izzy last night,” I felt a smile plaster on my face as I finished getting ready.

She gasped at my comment as I looked at myself in the mirror. The scarf and long sleeves weren’t ideal for the summer heat, but that was Izzy’s fault. I was going to make sure I got even.

“You didn’t!” She seemed more shocked the second time I told her. Yes I fucked Izzy Stradlin.

“But I thought you hated him!” She immediately shot back.

“It’s more of his Indiana brother..Axl,” I replied back. Now that I thought about it, I really didn’t hate Axl.

“Ohhh God Michelle, you’ve got yourself into a pickle,” Macy teased, our laughter erupting and filling the room.

“Yes Macy...fucking my bandmate is my problem....not the fact that I’m dressing up as a guy to perform at gigs and lying to half my band,” our laughter only grew after I whispered that right back to her.

After a couple of seconds our laughter died down and Macy said, “Wait...WHOAH WHOAH WHOAH”

“What?”

“Who else knows?” She quickly asked.

“Knows what?” I quickly shot back.

“Who else in the band knows? Axl? Ohh my god how are you still standing? I assumed Axl would either kick you out of the band or kill you? How are you not dead?”

“No, it’s not Axl who knows...it’s Slash,” I sighed and leaned back on my bed. I tried not to think about how Axl would react. I agreed with her, Axl would kick me out of the band. I might as enjoyed it while it lasts.

“And...how did he react...”

“He seemed...confused....and annoyed....and mad,” I admitted feeling like trash for lying to Slash.

“And ...how are you guys now?” I wished Macy would stop digging and asking questions. The thing is, I couldn’t blame her. I would be doing the same if I was in her position.

“I...I think we are okay? He seemed pissed, but then his snake seemed to like me...so....I guess he warmed up to me,” I mumbled as I fidgeted with my thumbs.

“His snake?” I looked up at Macy and by the expression on her face I knew her head was in the gutter.

“His pet snake, not his dick...Jesus Christ get you head out of the gutter,” I scolded her throwing the bag she gave me earlier in her face.

“Ohh ok ok,” Macy put her hands up in defense with a smile still on her face.

I jokingly groaned before lying back down on the bed.

“By the way...put this on,” Macy tossed the plastic bag towards me, and I immediate opened it to find a bright blue wig.

“Thought you could use a new wig. Sorry it’s not brown...blue was all I could get on such short notice,” Macy shrugged.

“I’ll look ridiculous in it....” I softly replied.

“Nah...you can pull it off. It’ll look punk-ish. Come on now....we gotta get moving. Walter and Henry want to go to the music shop around the corner, and I’m not going without you. Also if anyone asks, Duff is passed out on your bed,” Macy said before she hurried out of my room.

To be honest, I would give the wig a solid 9 out of 10. It was far less itchy than the old one I had which I now assumed to be in some junkyard amongst other trash. Don’t tell Macy, but she was right, it did look pretty punk. It only took me a couple of minutes to realize what was actually going on, and why Macy made sure to have me come.

It was awkward to say the least. Something was going on between Macy and Walter, and I wondered if this was originally supposed to be some sort of double date. It wouldn’t have been the first time Walter had hit on Macy, but it would have been the first time he asked her out. By the way she quickly joined me in the back seat, I had a feeling her answer was something along the lines of ‘No Walter I don’t want to date you’.

I was able to ditch the awkwardness once we arrived to the shop. Saying it was massive was an understatement. It was without a doubt the biggest on the strip. It was two stories tall and not only did it sell instruments, it sold sheet music and records as well. It was heaven.

I wandered the store aimlessly, thankful to be alone. I had somehow found a way into the bass section where I admired the basses that I couldn’t even dream of buying. This is where the greats bought their equipment, and sadly they were at a not so great price. Four months rent was a little steep for a bass right now, and that wasn’t even the most expensive one.

“Walter was saying you played bass...I thought you were a drummer?” I was once again pulled from my thoughts as the unwanted voice began to start a conversation with me. An unwanted conversation, if I may add.

“Yes to both...I also play guitar too,” I added once again sending a small smile back to Henry. I felt a smile escape my lips as I watched him inspect the bass guitars. He then spent the next couple minutes talking about his favorite bassists. This definitely caught me off guard. I didn’t take him for a music guy! Maybe this wouldn’t be too awkward. If only he stopped trying to flirt and touch my lower back.

He motioned for me to show him. I took one of the basses from the bottom row (aka the cheapest) and began to play a short melody from the first song that came to my head. He didn’t seem impressed, but I didn’t care. I continued to strum as I felt the music flow through my veins and hit my heart. I was a snake charmer, but instead of charming snakes it was my own heart.

“Do you mainly play pop music?” I rolled my eyes and turned towards him. Did he seriously assume pop while I live near sunset strip.

“No rock,” I probably sounded a bit snappy, but really pop music?

I felt my heart stop as I heard a familiar voice in the shop. Steven was here, which meant the rest of the band would be here as well.

Fuck.

Atleast I would be safe in the bass guitar section, none of them played bass...at least I don’t think any of them did.

“Hey...Michelle?,” I turned to see Steven standing by me. Fuck...part of me was hoping that the blue hair would help me stay incognito, but I was very wrong. If anything it did the opposite.

“Hey,” I froze for a second. Did Michelle know Steven? I racked my brain for a couple of second. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I decided to play it safe and pretend I didn’t know him. Better safe than sorry.

“Steven! I’m the drummer in Duff’s band,” His smile faded, but never disappeared.

“Congrats on your show last night I heard it was amazing!” I cheered back. This felt weird, no it felt wrong. I could feel my heart exploding out of my chest as I spoke to him. What if he recognized me? He was literally standing a foot away from me. The one thing I couldn’t change, no matter how much makeup I put on was my face was my face, and he was only a foot or two way from me.

“Yeah it was pretty insane! It felt like we were professionals, we had dancers and everything. You should come to our next gig! You’d love it! The after party was good too!”

“Duff came back this morning...I think he is still passed out back at the apartment,” I laughed back trying to find anything to say.

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages? Any chance you could give Duff some more of your coffee? The caffeine makes the band meetings so much more sufferable! Especially during those morning meetings when Axl rambles on and on,” I plastered on a fake smile and nodded along.

Fuck fuck fuck.

FUCK

“I’ve been here and there....I ran into some family problems at the coffee shop, so I don’t work there anymore,” I shrugged trying to play it cool. I wasn’t entirely lying. Betsie storming in and beating me up definitely cause family problems...I just didn’t get fired for that reason. I watched as his smile faded.

“Is that why you...” he gestured towards my hair, and I nodded.

“Why not? If it ended up bad, Macy would fix it,” I shrugged.

“I like it! Looks good. Perks of having a hairstylist as a roommate,” he replied and I nodded back.

“Hey, I’m Henry,” I looked over towards Henry who I completely forgot was here. I felt is arm tightly wrap around my waist as he pulled me in closer towards him. I was immediately frozen in place, trying to understand what was going on.

Why was he being possessive?

“You guys....dating?”

Before Steven could continue talking, I pushed myself out of his grip and responded, “no, he is JUST a friend of Walter’s”

I watched as Mark clenched his jaw at my comment.

“Izz, hey look who I found! Our favorite barista, back from the dead,” I couldn’t help but smile at his kind words.

I felt my cheeks redden the moment I saw Izzy. He looked so damn hot without an ounce of effort. He could be wearing dirty sweatpants and I would still think he was hot.

“Well...she is no longer a barista....” Steven trailed off, sending me an apologetic look.

“So what, you quit your job as a barista to live out your dream of being a blueberry,” Izzy’s laughter filled the room as he spoke. I wouldn’t lie, I was hiding a laugh.

“Hey, it’s punk okay,” I shrugged back.

“Is it also punk to wear a scarf and pants on one of the hottest days in the summer,” he teased back. He damn knew why I I had to wear this. He knew I had to hide the marks he made while I begged for him to fuck me.

“You know what...you’re right this outfit is not very punk of me,” I sassed back taking off the scarf and shirt. Leaving me standing in a thin camisole and skin tight pants, hickies in full display. I stood still with a large smirk plastered across my face.

“So Henry, do you play?” Steven asked trying to break the tension that had filled the room.

“Yeah, I play guitar. You?”

“Drummer, in a band?”

Before Henry could reply Izzy asked, “Are you a soloist or more of a rhythm guy?”

“Soloist! And no I’m not in a band, but I’m working on it”

I sent Izzy a confused look, only to receive a smirk on return. What the fuck was he thinking about?

I quickly tuned out Steven’s and Henry’s conversation, and paid attention to Izzy who was making me melt just by looking at me.

“Actually, Shelly...I have a quick guitar question, got a sec?” I nodded and followed Izzy towards the guitar section.

From behind me I heard Steven say, “We should stay behind, I have a feeling they are going to be doing a little more than talking about guitars. I don’t feel like watching what they are about to do,”

Before I knew it, Izzy pulled me into the bathroom and immediately locked the door behind him. In one quick motion he pinned me against the wall and I heard my clothes drop to the floor.

“Really Shelly? A soloist? We all know rhythm guys do it better in bed,” Izzy grunted into my ear earning soft uncontrollable moans to escape from my lips.

I wanted to make a snarky reply, but I couldn’t think of anything. My mind could only focus on one thing.

He was right.

Holy shit, he was fucking right.

Rhythm guys do it better.

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ihknkm · 3 years ago

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tradingsimulator21 · 3 years ago

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How to Trade in the Market in 5 Steps?

Millions of neophytes try their destiny at the market casino annually, but most walk off a touch poorer and tons wiser, having never reached their full potential. The bulk of those who fail have one thing in common: They haven't mastered the essential skills needed to tilt the chances in their favor. However, if one takes adequate time to find them out, it's possible to get on thanks to increasing one's odds of success.

World markets attract speculative capital like moths to a flame; most people throw money at securities without understanding why prices move higher or lower. Instead, they chase hot tips, make binary bets, and sit at the feet of gurus, letting them make buy-and-sell decisions that make no sense. A far better path is to find out the way to trade the markets with skill and authority.

Start with a self-examination that takes an in-depth check out your relationship with money. Does one view life as a struggle, with a challenging effort required to earn each dollar? Does one believe charisma will attract market wealth to you the same way it does in other life pursuits? More ominously, have you ever lost money daily through different activities and hope the financial markets will treat you more kindly?

Whatever your belief system, the market will probably strengthen that internal view again through profits and losses. Diligence and charisma support financial success, but losers in other walks of life are likely to show as losers within the trading game. Don't panic if this seems like you. Instead, take the self-help route and study the connection between money and self-worth.

Key points

• Learning how to trade the financial markets begins with educating oneself on reading the financial markets via charts and price action.

• Use technical analysis in conjunction with fundamental research to decipher price action.

• Practice makes perfect, or, at the very least, it allows the neophyte to check out theories before committing real funds.

• Once you get your head straight, you'll start learning to trade and begin with these five basic steps.

1. Open a Trading Account

Sorry if it seems we're stating the apparent, but you never know! (Remember the one that did everything to line up his new computer—except to plug it in?) Find an honest online stock broker and open a stock account.

Even if you have already got a private account, it isn't a bad idea to keep a knowledgeable trading account separate. Become conversant in the account interface and cash in on the free trading tools and research offered exclusively to clients. A variety of brokers offer virtual trading.

2. Learn to Read: A Market crash program

Financial articles, stock exchange books, website tutorials, etc., there is a wealth of data out there, and far of it is inexpensive to tap. It is vital not to focus too narrowly on one single aspect of the trading game. Instead, study everything market-wise, including ideas and ideas you do not feel are particularly relevant at this point.

Trading launches a journey that always finishes up at a destination not anticipated at the start. Your broad and detailed market background will be available handy over and once again, albeit you think that you recognize precisely where you're going immediately.

News sites like Yahoo Finance, Google Finance, and CBS MoneyWatch function as an excellent resource for brand spanking new investors. You would like to seem no further than The Wall Street Journal and Bloomberg for more sophisticated coverage.

3. Learn to research

Study the fundamentals of technical analysis and appearance at price charts—thousands of them—in all time frames. You'll think fundamental analysis offers a far better path to profits because it tracks growth curves and revenue streams. Still, traders live and die by price action that diverges sharply from underlying fundamentals. Please don't stop reading company spreadsheets because they provide a trading edge over those that ignore them. However, they won't assist you in surviving your first year as a trader.

Your experience with charts and technical analysis now brings you into the magical realm of price prediction. Theoretically, securities can only go higher or lower, encouraging a long-side trade or a brief sale. Prices can do many other things, including chopping sideways for weeks at a time or whipsawing violently in both directions, shaking out buyers and sellers.

The time horizon becomes extremely important at this juncture. Financial markets crank out trends and trading ranges with fractal properties that generate independent price movements at short-term, intermediate-term, and long-term intervals.

This means a security or index can carve out a long-term uptrend, intermediate downtrend, and a short-term trading range, all at an equivalent time. Instead of complicated prediction, most trading opportunities will unfold through interactions between these time intervals.

Buying the dip offers a classic example, with traders jumping into a robust uptrend when it sells off during a lower period. The most straightforward thanks to examining this three-dimensional playing field is to look at each security in three time frames, starting with 60-minute, daily, and weekly charts.

4. Practice Trading

It's now time to urge your feet to get wet without abandoning your trading stake. Paper trading, or virtual trading, offers an ideal solution, allowing the neophyte to follow real-time market actions, making buying and selling decisions that form an academic performance record outline.

It usually involves utilizing a stock exchange simulator that has the design and feel of an actual stock exchange's performance. Make many trades using different holding periods and methods, then analyze the results for apparent flaws.

Traders got to co-exist peacefully with the dual emotions of greed and fear. Paper trading doesn't engage these emotions, which may only be experienced by actual profit and loss. This psychological aspect forces more first-year players out of the sport than lousy decision-making. Your baby's progress as a replacement trader must recognize this challenge and address the remaining issues with money and self-worth.

5. Other Ways to find out and Practice trading

While experience may be a fine teacher, do not forget about additional education as you proceed on your trading career. Whether online or in-person, classes are often beneficial, and you'll find them at levels starting from novice (with advice on analyzing the aforementioned analytic charts, for example) to pro. More specialized seminars—often conducted by a knowledgeable trader—can provide valuable insight into the general market and specific investment strategies.

Most specialize in a selected asset, a specific aspect of the market, or a trading technique. Some could also be academic, et al., more like workshops during which you actively take positions, test out entry and exit strategies, and other exercises (often with a simulator).

Paying for research and analysis is often both educational and valuable. Some investors may find watching or observing market professionals more beneficial than using newly learned lessons themselves. A slew of paid subscription sites are available across the web: Two well-respected services include Investors.com and Morningstar.

It's also helpful to urge yourself to be a mentor—a hands-on coach to guide you, critique your technique, and offer advice. If you do not know one, you'll buy one. Many online trading schools provide mentoring as a part of their continuing ed programs.

Manage and Prosper

Once up and running with real money, you would like to deal with position and risk management. Each part carries a holding period and technical parameters that favor profit and loss targets, requiring your timely exit when reached. Now consider the mental and logistical demands when you're holding three to 5 positions at a time, with some occupying your favor while others charge within the other way. Fortunately, there's much time to find out all aspects of trade management, as long as you don't overwhelm yourself with an excessive amount of information.

If you haven't done so already, now's the time to start a daily journal that documents all of your trades, including the explanations for taking a risk, also because of the holding periods and final profit or loss numbers. This diary of events and observations sets the inspiration for a trading edge that will end your novice status and allow you to take money out of the market consistently.

The Bottom Line

Start your trading journey with a profound education on the financial markets, read charts and watch price actions, and build strategies supporting your observations. Test these strategies with a real time trading simulator while analyzing results and making continuous adjustments. Then complete the primary leg of your journey with the monetary risk that forces you to deal with trade management and market psychology issues.

#trading tips #trading simulator #paper trading

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nataliedanovelist · 5 years ago

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GF - Dance

Summary: When Ford buys Mabel a pair of tap-dance shoes at an arts-and-crafts fair, she shows her appreciation for the gift by dancing and doesn't think she can stop. Literally. (Heavily inspired by @Skaleigha and @demico-art)

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford smiled down at his niece as she ran ahead of he and Dipper in downtown Gravity Falls. Mabel had been looking forward to this all week and grinned as this area of the town was filled with colorful booths, games, music, and many different genres of original art. Half of the folks there were townies while the other half were travelers. Candy Chu's mother was selling homemade Asian fans and Manly Dan was selling wooden sculptures. Mabel probably could have sold some sweaters today, but she said her sweaters weren't for money (Stan nearly fainted over hearing his pumpkin say that) and that if anyone wanted one, all they had to do was ask.

Dipper admired a girl's landscapes and actually talked to her. She was Dipper's age and had rose-gold hair with beads around her neck a homemade tie-dye t-shirt on, but she blushed over Dipper's compliments and soon Ford rolled his eyes and decided to stick with Mabel to let Dipper attempt to flirt without prying eyes.

Mabel was admiring from stain-glass with shining eyes when Ford joined her and also admired a wind chime made with colored glass. "Thanks for taking me to the arts-and-crafts fair, Grunkle Ford."

"You're welcome, my dear." Ford ruffled the brunette's beautiful hair and smiled down at her. "It's nice to see you in your element."

Mabel smiled and was then distracted by a booth full of homemade clay-pots. Ford followed her and watched. There was something enjoyable about watching a loved one being so happy. Ford had, in his opinion, done a horrible job bonding with Mabel last summer (looking for wormholes and painting hand-turkeys just wasn't enough), so Ford made it a goal of his this summer to spend more time with his only niece. He did find her company incredibly refreshing and loved her unique weirdness. Mabel made Ford smile like no one else and she gave the best hugs in the world.

After a few minutes of browsing, they reached the circle where a Scottish band was playing bagpipes, drums, and even a violin. A couple of people were dancing around the square, but most were just enjoying the music as they shopped or watched.

"Wow, listen!" Mabel awed. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the live music.

Ford hummed in satisfaction and said, "You would have loved it up north, Mabel. Nearly every town Stan and I visited had music playing in the streets." Ford and Stan had talked to the younger pair of twins all school-year via email and video-chats and text messages, updating them on the places the old sailors had been to, but they all agreed that it would have been better if the kids could see it themselves. Maybe one day.

Mabel started to tap her feet to the music, and then she grabbed Ford's hand. "C'mon, let's dance!"

Ford was rigid and kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, despite Mabel's gentle tug. "What?! Mabel, no, I… I don't dance."

"Whaaaat?" Mabel asked with a smile and stopped tugging on her uncle and just held his hand. "Grunkle Stan dances."

"Well I'm not him, as much as I might look like him." Ford said a little coldly, so he added a little warmer, "I just wouldn't feel comfortable with everyone watching."

"No one would care, Grunkle Ford, please." Mabel begged and even brought out her puppy-eyes.

Ford stiffened over the eyes that shine like stars, but the idea of dancing made the old scientist excruciatingly uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that he would do anything to be rid of the situation. "I'm sorry, Mabel, but no. Why don't you show me how well you can dance and I'll watch?"

Mabel sighed, but didn't want to make Ford all squirmy again, so she smiled and squeezed his hand before letting go. "Okay." Mabel skipped off to the dancefloor and joined a woman who was twirling. Mable took her offered hand and they danced a little until Mabel jigged on her own and then weaved in and out with other dancers, going from partner to partner to the music.

Ford smiled and clapped along to the beat. He convinced himself that it was for the best that he didn't dance with her; he would have only slowed her down. Mabel was actually a very impressive dancer. She was no professional riverdancer by any means, but she was like Stan; she had fun and looked pretty good while doing it, but it was more important that she had fun.

When Mabel was done dancing they moved on. They saw weaved baskets, more landscapes, tie-dyed t-shirts and bandannas and flags, and one booth sold creepy zombie baby-dolls, but hey; art was art (at least that's what Mabel said when they cringed at a baby-doll with three heads glued together). Ford was admiring some grandfather clocks when he noticed Mabel's attention had been tightly grabbed. A skinny, graying ginger with a beard and braid that went to his lower abdomen was a shoe maker and specified in ballet slippers and tap shoes for river-dancing or salsa-dancing. Mabel had her eyes on one pair of shoes in particular. They were black tap-dance shoes with pink, sparkly tongues. There was only one pair and Mabel clearly wanted them, but she didn't look in any hurry to ask for them.

She didn't have to; Ford had brought Mabel to the arts-and-crafts fair with the intentions of getting her a gift, be it craft supplies or a piece of art. If Ford couldn't dance with her, he could get her dancing shoes. He approached the gentleman about his age and said, "Excuse me, sir, may my niece try on those shoes?"

The ginger with the long hair sniffed and said in a slight Canadian accent, "I don't think you want those, mister. They come at a terrible price."

"Anything for my pumpkin." Ford said and ruffled Mabel's hair.

She playfully swatted Ford's hand away as she blushed crimson over the affection and the gift and she teased, "Don't let Stan hear you say that."

"I need to work on my pitches." The ginger said under his breath, Ford and Mabel too oblivious to notice while the teenager tried the last pair on and hoped they would fit. "This should be a fun story to tell."

The shoes, luckily, were Mabel's size, and after clicking them happily, Ford paid for them and they left to find Dipper. Mabel refused to take her new shoes off until Ford pointed out that they might get dirty, so she quickly took them off and skipped with Ford to find Dipper as she thanked her grunkle a million times for the new shoes. Ford grinned and held her hand as they tracked Dipper back to the rose-gold haired girl and saw her write her phone-number on his hand.

Once back at the Mystery Shack, Stan heard all about the girl with rose-gold hair and the shoes. In the somewhat-clean house, Mabel changed shoes again and showed Stan her new tap shoes. He got an idea and pulled out one of his old records, and then popped in the record player. Jazz music played and Stan on the wooden floor of the living room and showed Mabel how to tap the floor along with the music with his brown shoes. Mabel grinned, took one of his hands, and copied him perfectly, both dancing happily.

Dipper and Ford watched until Mabel grabbed Dipper by both of his hands and had him dance with her. Dipper wasn't as good, but laughed the whole time and tapped his sneakers as best as he could. Mabel laughed and danced all around the floor with her family while Ford clapped along to the music and grinned.

Mabel decided to try again. "C'mon, Grunkle Ford, you're the only one missing!"

Ford put up his hands in defense and chuckled nervously. "No, thank you, dear."

"But no one's watching anymore." Mabel pointed out softly and held out her hand for Ford to take while Stan and Dipper kept on dancing along to the jazz.

Ford took a step back and shook his head as he chuckled again. "Someone should get started on dinner."

Mabel gave a defeated sigh and smiled. "Okay, but I'm gonna get you to dance with me one day."

"Ah, let the big baby go, Mabel." Stan said as he swung his hips to the music. "Ford's never been much fun. Why do you think he didn't get invited to many parties?"

"Har, har, Stanley." Ford said with a roll of his eyes and left for the kitchen.

Mabel was so proud of her new shoes that she didn't take them off when they finished dancing for dinner, for even for bed. She climbed into bed with her nightgown and tap shoes while Dipper laid on his cross-arms for an extra pillow and gave her a funny look.

"Mabel, isn't it uncomfortable to sleep in shoes?"

"Nope!" Mabel said optimistically as Waddles hopped up for bed. "Besides, why would I wanna take them off? Grunkle Ford gave them to me!"

"You'll change your mind once the adrenaline wears off." Dipper said and turned off the light.

Mabel slept peacefully, even having a weird but pleasant dream of ballroom dancing with the guy from the ten dollar bill, and woke up the next morning cheerfully. The minute she woke up, she had an urge to tap her feet and dance in her new shoes, so she hopped out of bed and thought she would do a quick tap to start the day and then get dressed for breakfast, but after that first tap she kept on dancing, kicking and even doing a turn, smiling, but when she tried to stop, Mabel found it hard, impossible even, to stop dancing.

"Uh, Dipper?" Mabel called as she tried to will her legs to stop moving. "Dipper!"

The boy sat up slowly and pinched at his eyes. "What?" He moaned.

"I can't stop dancing!"

"Is another boy-band coming into town?"

"No!" Mabel snapped and even tried to stomp on one foot and pin it down, but she couldn't control any of her feet to do so as they danced. "I literally can't stop dancing!"

Dipper blinked into focus and got out of bed. He knelt in front of his sister and watched. He could tell that the legs were dancing hesitantly, but dancing they were nonetheless. "Incredible! Is it some sort of curse?"

Mabel tried to think. She didn't insult anyone lately. "I think… I think it's the shoes." She concentrated and found that her legs weren't necessarily moving, but the shoes were and moving her feet without her permission.

"The shoes Grunkle Ford bought for you? Well, try taking them off."

Mabel tried to sit on the bed, but the shoes wouldn't let her; they wouldn't even let her dance as she sat on the edge of her bed. Mabel tried to kick them off, but the shoes wouldn't budge. "They won't come off!"

Dipper got closer, but the shoes danced Mabel to the side and away from her brother. Dipper tried again, but Mabel's feet moved her to the closet.

"Uh, Invisible Wizard!" Mabel called as she looked at the closet door. "If you're there, mind giving me a hand?!"

"I got an idea." Dipper said and tossed Mabel her shooting star sweater. And purple shirt. "Try to get dressed. We need backup."

Mabel changed by slipping the clothes over her head and slipping them to their appropriate place and Dipper led the way out of their room. Mabel slowly followed him as she danced uncontrollably and they went to the gift shop of the Mystery Shack and were grateful when they found Soos getting ready to be Mr. Mystery for the day.

"Hey dudes!" Soos greeted. "Oo! Why's Mabel doing her dance? What's the excitement about?"

"She's wearing cursed shoes and we can't get them off." Dipper said. "Can you hold her for me so I can get them off of her?"

Soos shrugged and slipped off his jacket so he was only in his white shirt and black pants. "Sure, dawg. Big bear hug for the damsel in distress!" So quickly that the shoes didn't have time to react, Soos hugged Mabel from behind and picked her up so she was off the ground.

Mabel smiled a little at the hug, but panicked when the shoes still made her feet dance in mid-air, almost kicking Soos in the gut. Dipper quickly managed to grab one of her ankles, but the shoes still made her feet move powerfully and the boy could hardly hold her still. Dipper grabbed the shoes with both hands and pulled with all his might, but the shoe wouldn't budge, like it was super-glued to Mabel's foot. Dipper almost had it, or at least he thought he did, when Mable's free foot kicked him right in the jaw and he backed off. "OW!"

"Oh my gosh, Dipper!" Mabel gasped and Soos let go of her and she danced by Dipper's side. "I'm so sorry, are you okay?!"

Dipper rubbed his chin and said with a smile. "Meh, you've kicked me harder before."

"Yeah, but back then you deserved it." Mabel groaned and grabbed her hair.

"What's going on here?" Stan asked as he, Ford, and Wendy walked in.

The three stared at Mabel's dancing and Dipper on his knees and rubbing a bruising chin and Soos trying to grab Mabel again, but she danced out of his reach.

"Grunkle Ford!" Mabel called over her tapping. "The shoes are cursed! I can't stop dancing!"

"Wait, seriously?" Wendy asked and pulled out her ax. "Just chop your feet off, dude."

"NO!"

Wendy laughed at the Pines men's yelling and Soos and Mabel's paling expressions, and she pocketed her ax. "I'm just kidding!" She laughed. "I've got a better idea."

Wendy took Mabel outside and tied a rope to a tree. She then somehow managed to tie Mabel's ankles together with the other end of the rope all by herself and she grabbed Mabel like she was a log and tugged. Mabel awkwardly let Wendy do what she needed to do to try to remove the shoes. The shoes refused to move and Wendy refused to give up, so she pulled until the tree was uprooted and Wendy had to untie Mabel and then explain to Stan why Soos would be too busy fixing a tree to be Mr. Mystery.

Stan had an idea and suddenly didn't mind being Mr. Mystery.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He announced to a tour-group a little after lunch. "For today and today only, I present to you a fairytale come to life! Behold!" Mr. Mystery pulled on a drawstring and a curtain to a little stage was pulled apart, revealing Mabel still dancing uncontrollably thanks to the cursed shoes. "The Unstoppable Dancer! Her shoes are magic and forbid her to stop dancing! Pay twenty bucks for a chance to try to take off her shoes! If you can remove the shoes, everything's 100% off!" Stan said as he pointed his eight-ball cane to a sign that said just that.

Mabel was frazzled and stressed over the idea of strangers suddenly grabbing at her feet, but luckily Soos stepped in as Mr. Mystery Jr. and led the group towards another attraction just in time, making Stan groan and claim that his plan would have worked.

Mabel was starting to suffer. Even after two glasses of Mabel Juice, she was very tired. She danced in the kitchen with Dipper sitting at the table as he tried to think of what to do. Mabel's hair was out of place and messy and she even began to have tears in her eyes as her feet and legs ached. She was starting to get an idea of how Gideon felt in Bill's cage.

"Dipper," Mabel whined. "I'm so tired…"

"I know, I know," Dipper said and punched his forehead to try to think. "Maybe…"

The door opened and they heard footsteps. Ford appeared at the doorway and said, "Mabel! There you are! I'm so sorry about all of this, but I think I know how to find the jerk who caused all of this! Come with me!"

Mabel went with Ford and together they went into the woods. All those years in the multiverse had taught Ford a thing or two about tracking, so while Wendy and Stan had tried to help Mabel out of the shoes, Ford had went back to town and did some investigating where the shoe cobbler might be. They went deep into the woods and stopped when they reached the Redwood Highway. Mabel and Ford both awed at a horse-drawn carriage that looked more like a tiny acorn-shaped house pulled by two black horses with white eyes. They snorted and scraped the dirt with their hooves coldly as the humans approached, but Ford grabbed Mabel's hand and helped her walk towards the carriage.

The old scientist banged a fist on the door of the door and barked, "Hey! Ginger! Open up! You got some explaining to do!"

A bang went off from inside and dark-blue glittery smoke exploded in the carriage. The top-half of the door opened and the old ginger coughed his lungs clean and lifted his small goggles up to his forehead. "Ugh! Oh, dear me, there goes my serum! And the name's not Ginger, lad, it's Kaelan! Kaelan of Kingston!"

"Yeah, yeah, nobody asked for your life story!" Ford snapped, taking a Stan-like approach over his Mabel getting cursed. "Listen, your shoes…"

"Oh, ho!" Kaelan said and peered down at Mabel as she kept on dancing. "Did you wear the shoes at the stroke of midnight?"

"I wore them to bed." Mabel tiredly.

"Yup, that'll do it, young one…"

"Please, how do I stop them?" Mabel begged. "I'm tired."

"Yeah, I bet." Kaelan said and crossed his arms over the top of the bottom half of his door. "Welp, it's simple enough really. The shoes are made with opti-magic."

"Opti-magic?" Ford repeated, having never heard of such a thing.

"It's magic based off of equality and what-not." Kaelan explained. "You can't get something from nothing, you know. Here, hold on…" Kaelan ducked his head and Ford and Mabel exchanged looks as they heard the screeching of a bird, rustled glass, and frustrated groans from Kaelan. He soon rose with a clipboard and a quill in hand and he asked Mabel, "Now, did you insult the shoes? Said they were stupid, or…"

"What, no!" Mabel said as she continued to dance. "I love them! Grunkle Ford gave them to me!"

Ford smiled proudly and turned his attention back to Kaelan, who was scribbling down with his quill.

"I see, I see. Did anyone around you insult dancing?"

"Insult dancing?"

"You know, said it was stupid or that the shoes were ugly?"

"No." Mabel thought about yesterday and racked her brain for anything Grunkle Stan might have said, but the brunette couldn't think of anything. Then again, she was so tired that it was hard to think clearly. "No, Stan and Dipper thought they were cool and danced with me. The only was who didn't dance with me was…"

"Me." Ford groaned and winced. Of course. So, not only had he bought the cursed shoes, but he had possibly activated a torturous curse.

"Oh, well, this is easy then." Kaelan said calmly and made some more notes. "All you've gotta do is dance with her."

"Does it have to be in front of anybody?" Mabel asked, remembering Ford's fear.

Ford looked back at her and smiled sadly. Only Mabel, while in pain and tired and cursed, would think of others and how the cure would affect them before acting on it.

"No, just us." Kaelan said and traded the clipboard and quill for a little black radio. He turned it on only to receive unholy screeching noises that made Ford and Mabel cover their ears. After a few punches, though, it played a country song, but Kaelan dialed it and searched for a new station. "Nope. We actually have standards." Kaelan found a station with a slow-paced song and he rested his elbows on the door. "Go ahead. Just dance together."

Mabel was still quickly tap-dancing behind Ford tiredly, but she smiled when he turned his back to Kaelan. Ford couldn't help but smile back. He still really didn't want to dance in front of Mabel and Kaelan, or even at all for that matter, but Ford wanted to help Mabel, and if that meant dancing with her…

Ford held out his polydactyl hand to his niece and even bowed a little to her. Mabel grinned and took his hand. Ford knew he couldn't dance like Mabel was right now, tap-dancing so quickly it looked like she had four legs, but he could start with a two-step and work his way up. Ford held her hand and wrapped his free hand around her shoulders. He took one step back, one step forward, counting the seconds so it went with the beat of the music.

Mabel grinned and cheered, "Hey! You're doing great!"

"Shh, Mabel," Ford requested quietly. "I need to count."

Mabel laughed and hugged her uncle. "Don't count. Just dance with me!"

Ford followed Mabel's lead (or the shoes' lead) and she took a step back to hold his hands. She pulled one hand and pushed the other, twisting their bodies, and Ford grinned and did the same. Mabel nodded and Ford even freed a hand to spin her. Mabel laughed as her hair flew beautifully and happily let her grunkle dip her and sway as they held hands. She didn't even notice that her steps were slowing down.

"See? You're great at this!"

"Thank you, Mabel. I learned from the best."

Mabel giggled. "Why are you afraid of dancing, anyway?" She asked softly.

Ford gave it some thought, but then shrugged as they danced. He honestly didn't know why. Maybe because Stan was always better at dancing? Maybe because every girl Ford had asked to dance in school had turned him down? Maybe because he was paranoid that, along with being born with twelve fingers, he had been born with two left feet? No one, not even Ford, knew why Stan had been afraid of heights since he was a kid. Maybe Ford would never really understand his own fear of dancing.

Mabel let go of Ford's hands to hug him and sway with him to the music. "Well, thanks for dancing with me, Grunkle Ford."

Ford smiled affectionately down at her and gently brushed her long brown hair with one hand, the other around her shoulders. "Thank you, Mabel, for making sure I came home."

They swayed for another minute or so, their eyes closed as they hugged and danced until the song faded and was replaced with a commercial. Kaelan turned off the radio and Ford and Mabel looked down at the magic shoes. She was standing still!

"It worked!" The Pines cheered.

"I told you it would." Kaelan said and whistled. The shoes flew off Mabel's standing feet and made her fall on her face, but the shoes hopped up to the carriage and landed in a shoe-box Kaelan had ready for them. "Would you like some potions for any blisters you might have?"

"No, thank you." Ford growled as he picked Mabel up and carried her away from the odd cobbler. "Let's get you home, my dear."

Ford heard a snore as he walked and looked down at his shoulder. He smiled and rubbed Mabel's back when he saw that she had fallen asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel went downstairs for a glass of water. The nap had helped, but she was still tired from dancing for seven hours straight. She hummed to herself as she poured herself a glass of water and she smiled when she saw Ford in the living room, reading a book in Stan's chair.

"Hi, Grunkle Ford!" Mabel said and folded her arms over one of the armrests as she stood by the chair's left side.

Ford closed his book and smiled. "Hello, Mabel. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yup!" Mabel said cheerfully.

"Good." Ford's smile dropped and he added, "I want to apologize for all the trouble I have caused you."

"Are you kidding? It was totally worth it! I got to dance with my favorite hug-monster!" Mabel cheered.

Ford chuckled and got an idea. He stood up and picked a record from Stan's stack and put it in the player. He turned the music on and cleared his throat nervously. "I thought it would be nice to dance because we want to and not to undo a curse."

Mabel grinned, left her empty glass on the floor by the chair, and went into Ford's arms. They didn't really do any tap-dances or moves; they only held each other as they swayed in a circle along to the old jazz record. That was okay, more than okay. It was perfect. Ford even treated Mabel and picked her up. She giggled quietly and hugged him around the neck while he kept her close and swayed them both. He was excited to get even closer with her this summer.

link to original art

#gravity falls #ford pines #mabel pines #disney #mabel and ford bonding #fluff #fanfiction

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