#gift city property investment

[giftcityproperty23]

Unlocking Real Estate Potential: Why GIFT City is the Perfect Place to Buy, Rent, or Sell Property

Gujarat International Finance Tec-City, popularly known as GIFT City, is emerging as a premier destination for business and living in India. Nestled between Ahmedabad and Gandhinagar, this smart city offers a dynamic blend of residential and commercial spaces designed to cater to the diverse needs of modern professionals and families. If you’re looking to buy, rent, or sell property in this flourishing hub, GIFT City Property provides a comprehensive platform to explore the best opportunities available. Here’s a closer look at what makes GIFT City an attractive destination and how you can navigate the property market here.

Why Choose GIFT City?

GIFT City is not just another urban development project; it is India’s first operational smart city and International Financial Services Centre (IFSC). It is built to create a business-friendly environment with state-of-the-art infrastructure, tax benefits, and regulatory flexibility. The city is equipped with cutting-edge technology, making it ideal for businesses, IT companies, and financial institutions looking for a globally competitive base. For residents, GIFT City offers a unique living experience with modern amenities, green spaces, and easy access to major city centers.

Residential Properties: Buying and Renting in GIFT City

For those looking to make GIFT City their home, a range of Residential Properties for buy in Gift City gandhinagar. Whether you're seeking a luxurious apartment with a panoramic view or a more modest home for your family, GIFT City Property can help you find the perfect match. The rental market here is also thriving, with options for short-term stays or long-term leases, catering to the needs of professionals who prefer the convenience of living close to their workplace.

Advantages of Residential Living in GIFT City:

Modern Infrastructure: High-quality construction standards with earthquake-resistant buildings.

Smart Amenities: Automated waste management, energy-efficient systems, and high-speed connectivity.

Convenience: Proximity to schools, hospitals, and recreational facilities.

Safety and Security: 24/7 surveillance and security measures ensure a safe living environment.

Commercial Spaces: Renting and Buying for Businesses

For businesses, GIFT City presents a golden opportunity. The city’s commercial real estate market is thriving, offering office spaces, retail outlets, and coworking facilities that suit different business needs. Whether you're a startup, an established company, or looking to expand your operations, GIFT City Property provides detailed listings and expert advice to help you find the right commercial space for rent in gift city.

Benefits of Setting Up Business in GIFT City:

Strategic Location: Located between Ahmedabad and Gandhinagar, with excellent connectivity to major transport hubs.

Tax Incentives: Various tax benefits and incentives under the SEZ and IFSC policies.

World-Class Infrastructure: Smart grids, water management systems, and advanced data networks.

Business Support: Access to a skilled workforce and proximity to other key financial institutions.

Selling Property in GIFT City

If you're looking to sell your property in GIFT City, you’ll find a market that is both competitive and lucrative. With ongoing development and increasing demand for both residential and commercial spaces, property values are expected to rise. GIFT City Property offers a platform to list your property, connect with potential buyers, and get the best possible return on your investment.

How GIFT City Property Can Help

Navigating the property market in GIFT City can be challenging without the right guidance. GIFT City Property offers a comprehensive range of services, including property listings, market analysis, and expert consultations to help buyers, sellers, and renters make informed decisions. Whether you're looking for your dream home, the perfect office space, or seeking to sell your property, GIFT City Property is your go-to resource.

Conclusion

GIFT City is not just a place to live or work; it’s a visionary project that combines innovation, sustainability, and growth. As it continues to evolve, the opportunities for residential and commercial real estate in this smart city are bound to expand. GIFT City Property is dedicated to helping you seize these opportunities, whether you’re buying, renting, or selling. Explore the future of urban living and business with GIFT City Property today!

[regaliagiftcity]

Is investing in Gift City beneficial?

GIFT City India is a crucial pillar on par with other international financial and IT hubs. Read this blog to know why investing in Gift City will be beneficial.

[res-management]

Gujarat's decision to exempt GIFT City from liquor prohibitions marks a pivotal shift with multifaceted impacts. If you are looking for expert guidance to guide you through your GIFT City property investment procedure, RES Management is the one you need.

[coldwellbankergujarat]

Wishing you all a year filled with joy, growth, and countless achievements. May each day bring new opportunities and inspire everyone to reach greater heights. Happy New Year. Coldwell Banker Gujarat Real Estate Consultant 9512370010 www.coldwellbankergujarat.in

[604to647]

Mi Galleta (Part 3 - Salted Caramel)

4.5K / Modern AU Grumpy Bouncer!Pero Tovar x Sunshine-Rich Girl!reader

Summary: Dating Pero feels like a dream, until you overhear something that makes you question everything.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please), dating Biker!Pero needs a warning (check out the ✨vibes✨), allusions to smut (reference to oral, unprotected PiV, aftercare, fingering, semi-public sex), dirty thoughts, the bike helmet stays on 🤷🏻‍♀️, pet names (Cookie, princesa, hermosa, etc.), misogynistic, classist and degrading language used to talk about women (not by Pero, but... you'll see).

A/N: A friend of mine once told me that the restaurant business can be super misogynistic and I was actually shocked to hear some of her stories 😣 For our story, Lin isn't one of those types of establishments, but sometimes, bad eggs make their way into a good carton.

Series Masterlist

You wake up the next morning naked and snuggled into Pero’s side, your arm draped over his broad chest.  Trying not to wake him as you carefully climb out of bed, you look back and admire Pero’s peaceful face, much soften with sleep and framed by hair messy and tossed from the previous night’s activities.  Gosh, he’s so handsome.  Even the scar over his left eye is becoming one of your favourite features; a fearsome token of some past violence that belies the softness of the gentle giant who bears it.  You wonder if he’ll ever tell you where it’s from.  Throwing on a camisole sleep set and robe, you pad out to the kitchen and leave your snoring Adonis to his rest. 

Grinning to yourself lazily as you make coffee, your mind drifts back to events of last night.  Of the multiple orgasms Pero pulled from you with his skilled mouth, hands, and cock.  Of the heaviness of his balls on your tongue and how sweet and salty he tasted as you worked his length down your throat.  God the things that man said in bed: calling you a goddess one minute, then his dirty fuck doll the next, all while you bounced cock drunk on his lap.  His eyes, however, never expressed anything but devotion and wonder, grounding you even as he made you shudder and convulse in pleasure.  Humming contently while cooking eggs, you’re pulled from your daydream state only when a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and patchy scruff tickles into your neck where Pero whispers, “Good morning, Cookie.”

Turning in his arms, you immediately lose yourself to the searing kiss Pero lays on you.  He had missed you the moment he woke up and found himself alone.

After Pero accepts your invitation stay for breakfast, he sips on his coffee and takes in your apartment; you’ve decorated for a clean and classic aesthetic, it’s not overly opulent but there are obvious touches of luxury and understated elegance that trim the furniture and personal items that litter the grand space.  You catch him admiring the breathtaking panoramic view of the city through the window wall running down the length of your apartment, “Really nice place you have here.”  He doesn’t miss your slight wince at his compliment; blink-and-you-miss-it, but he catches it before you smile, almost apologetically, “Thanks.  It used to be an investment property of my parents’.  They gifted it to me when I started work in the city to help me out.  Or to claim the tax deduction.”  You make the joke, not sure why you think you should feel embarrassed?  Because normally, you’re not.  You love your place and you’re so grateful to your parents, but you don’t want Pero to think you’re some type of… freeloader?  You're not even sure where you head is at with this.

Sensing your discomfort, Pero sweeps you into his arms; kissing you gently, he explains, “I just meant, this place is beautiful and I can tell you’ve poured yourself into making it a home.  It’s calm.  And welcoming.  I see you everywhere here.”

Your chest swells with emotion and a little embarrassment at how quickly you had gone on the defensive; Pero’s been nothing but kind and sweet.  Face still buried in his shoulder, you nuzzle in even closer to envelope yourself in his warmth and whisper, “Thank you.  It’s my favourite place in the world.”

Over a delicious breakfast, Pero asks you what your plans are for the day and you tell him all about the famers’ market you like to visit on the weekends.  When asked if he wants to join you, Pero looks thoughtful, “I’d love to, Cookie.  But I have to work at 3:00 today… and I had planned on making you come a few more times before that.”

Giggling at his shit-eating grin, you cross to the other side of the table where Pero is sitting and climb into his lap, “How do you plan on doing that?”

“Over you, under you.  On every surface of this gorgeous apartment, Cookie.  Gonna give you a couple more reasons for it to be your favourite place,” nudging your nose with his a few times, Pero urges you to open your mouth and let him in.  His kisses are unhurried, long and sweet; sated with good food and the promise of unfettered access to your body, Pero feels no reason to rush.  Fingers finding the knot of your robe, he works it loose with his nimble fingers and opens the garment to reveal the soft satin number underneath, “My my, what do we have here, princesa?”  Pero licks his lips and his eyes darken as he takes in the way you shiver and your nipples perk up and tent the delicate fabric when he slides the robe off your shoulders.

You never make it to the farmer’s market.

Dating Pero is like something out of a movie.  Most nights you enjoy decadent, late dinners with Pero after he gets off work; he takes you to some of the city’s most celebrated and exclusive restaurants, always entering through some hidden staff entrance and eating in private rooms or employee access only areas.  Whenever you ask about paying, Pero waves you off and say there’s a restaurant staff quid-pro-quo arrangement with Lin.  You’ve never heard of any type of restaurant industry secret community, but you suppose it’s possible.  Either way, the food is always impeccable and the company is dreamy.

Being a biker’s backpack is one of the most unexpected, yet fun things you’ve ever experienced; you love riding with Pero.  Some nights, he’ll take you for casual, aimless rides in the city, just weaving through the busy streets; the city lights always seem to be brighter and even beautiful when whipping by in streaks.  Other times Pero will pick a farther destination under the guise of trying a bakery or some local delicacy, taking you out on the open road for longer rides.  You think you like these rides more; when you’re alone on a highway or side road, you’ll egg Pero to go faster and he will just to amuse you, loving when you squeal from excitement and hug him tighter. 

Pero loves taking you out on his bike, too; he loves the weight of you against his back and the feel of your hands wrapped around him and the way they press up against his stomach, and, if he plays his cards right, grip and rub his thigh. When he lowers his speed, he’ll hold one of your hands in his glove, loving the way your slender fingers intertwine with the leather.  He should buy you gloves, he thinks.  He does buy you a helmet. 

Surprising you one day after work, Pero, looking like a dreamboat, turns heads in his sleek dress clothes topped with his motorcycle jacket as he leans against his parked bike.  Crying out in delight when you see him curbside in front of your office building, you practically leap in his arms before slotting your lips over his in a hungry kiss.  Not caring if your co-workers see, you open your mouth to Pero’s and let him lick into your mouth slowly and sensually; he cradles your head in one of his big hands, the other pressing you flushed to his broad frame.  Pero on the other hand wants your co-workers to see (and maybe even hear) as he worships your soft, supple lips with his own, his hands working their way lower on your body until they’re both full of the plush globes of your ass.  Mine, he brags, as he massages and gropes, turning you into putty under his touch. 

“What are you doing here, Pero?” you exclaim happily, thrilled by the surprise.

“Took the day off today, Cookie.  Thought I’d come grab ya, surprise you with a present.”

“A curbside pick-up and a present?  What did I do to deserve this?”  You’re still learning not to be surprised by Pero’s thoughtfulness.  Turns out you didn’t have a clue just how thoughtful he could be because you’re positively floored when he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a helmet smaller than the one he wears, and holds it out to you with both hands.

“For me?” A question more rhetorical than anything, you’re astonished as you reach out to accept.

Pero is pleased by your reaction, “For you, princesa.  Gotta protect that pretty head of yours.”

“Should I feel special?  Or is this the helmet you keep on hand for all the girls you let ride… your bike?” your eyes crinkle mischievously, leaving no doubt of the double meaning to your words.

But Pero isn’t about to let this romantic moment get away; he turns the helmet in your hands so that you’re looking at the back before he leans in to plant a soft peck to the upturned corner of your mouth, “Brand new just for you, Cookie.”

You look down and see that on at the very back, near the base of the shiny black helmet, is a small silver etched cartoon of Hello Kitty baking cookies.  You love it!  It’s so cute.  So you.  Pulling the helmet over your head, it smells brand new and you feel the baby pink lining personally picked for you fit snug against the sides of your head; definitely not a shared helmet.  Internally, you swoon.

“I love it!” you call out loudly so Pero can hear you through the thick plastic.  Grinning big back at you, Pero helps adjust your chin straps before playfully flipping down your visor, “Looking good, hermosa.  Ready to ride.”  He winks at you before helping you up onto the back of the bike and putting on his own helmet.  You’re overcome; it’s more than the fact that Pero cares for your safety.  Your heart flutters at the idea that Pero is planning for future bike rides with you, frequent enough that it warrants you getting your own gear.  When he takes off, you hold on to him tighter than necessary.

---

That night, he fucks you on all fours, naked except the helmet.  The protective headgear muffles your pornographic screams of ecstasy, while the sensory deprivation amplifies every orgasm he pulls from your overwrought cunt.  After he paints your insides white, Pero runs you a bath to help soothe your strung-out body; cradling you in his arms under the steamy water, he asks if you might like to do that again, but where he keeps the helmet on as well.  Sleepily, you tell him the truth, “Anything for you, Pero.”

The next morning you come twice while riding him just from watching the way your tits bounce in the shiny reflection of his helmet visor.

Sleepy Sunday mornings with you are Pero’s favourite.  The two of you still naked from the previous night’s lascivious activities, bodies tangled in your crisp bed sheets, just talking; he’ll press soft kisses to your hair while you draw endless designs on his chest with your perfectly manicured nails.  It’s as close to domestic bliss as Pero’s ever felt.

“Cookie, don’t take this the wrong way…”

You tilt your head up to see Pero smiling indulgently and raise your eyebrows to play along.

“Why aren’t you married to some rich investment banker, living in a mansion and being treated like the princesa you are?”

You can tell it’s a genuine question, not meant in any way to be insulting; you think you also read unspoken questions in Pero’s eyes: Is that the life you want?  What are you doing with me, then?  Something to get out of your system before you settle down?

You lay your head on Pero’s chest, chin resting on your hands as you try to be thoughtful about your response.

“I probably could be, if that was what I wanted?  I’ve dated those guys before, I grew up with a lot of them, and they can be nice enough.  Although, I suppose some of them aren’t.”  Pero’s eyes darken at this but lets you continue.  “It’s just that with everything they do, they… I guess, maybe a way to describe it is, they lead with money.  Having money, making more money, showing off what money they have – it’s what drives all their decisions.  It’s core to who they are or who they want to be.”

You take a deep breath, “And that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and it doesn’t mean they are bad people.  But, I don’t know?  My measure of value and success has never been wealth.  I just… never want money to define me like that.  I wouldn’t want to feel like it’s my identity.”

Pero seems quiet, giving you a chance to add, “I know that that’s a very privileged thing for me to say.  Money is important, and I’m very lucky to not have to worry about it.  I’d just want to live a life and be someone, be with someone, that contributes beyond that.”

You sigh.  It sounds silly even to your ears; first world problems, indeed.  But Pero pets your head lovingly, lightly massaging your temples with his thumb and reassures you, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Cookie.  I’ve seen the way you care for your friends, and the love you hold for your family.  Life has treated you well and you don’t take it for granted.  You carry yourself with gentleness and pour kindness into everything you do.  Everyone you meet or is lucky enough to know you is made better having had a chance to bask in your sunshine.  Including me.  Especially me.”

Pero’s sweet words have you tearing up.  You’ve suspected it for a while, but now you’re sure that of the two of you, he’s the kinder one; he of the tender heart.  You remain convinced that it must be some sort of cosmic prank that one of the most deeply feeling men you’ve ever known makes his living being intimidating and scaring people on purpose.  You think you’re falling in love with him.

“You’re so different than people think you are,” you whisper, contemplatively.

“Oh, how’s that, hermosa?” he gives you a deep scowl, not unlike the one he wore when you first met, but you’re not fooled.  You don’t think that scowl will fool you ever again.  You crawl up his body, and break up your words with soft kisses all over Pero’s neck, jaw, face, lips, “So you’re a little grumpy.  But grumpy is a mood, not who you are.  You’re fiercely loyal; maybe you don’t have a million friends but the people you decide to let in, you treasure.  You’re a friend for life.  You’re hardworking and you love what you do; and even though you’re supposed to be intimidating for your job, I’ve never seen you treat anyone disrespectfully.  More often than not, you lead with kindness.  And you’re so generous!  Both with your time and your good humour.  And thoughtful.  The most thoughtful man.  You’re always so considerate of my heart and feelings – don’t think I don’t notice when you do things just because you think they might make me happy.  I’m so lucky, Pero.  Maybe I’m not living in a mansion, but I’m already being treated like a princess.”

“You deserve it, princesa.  And more,” Pero wraps his arms around you and rolls you gently so you lie beneath him, caged in by his strong arms and his heavy gaze, “I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” you whisper, before closing your eyes and letting Pero show you how deeply your words have affected him.

Once, you asked Pero what he loved the most about riding a bike, and he told you it was probably the sense of freedom and also calm that the open road brings him; then throwing you a wink, told you that having a pretty backpack to show off was getting up there. 

Your favourite part of rides with Pero is ironically when you’re not riding at all, but when you’re stopped by the side of the road for a breather, to take in a pretty view, or if you just can’t wait to get home to sample the food you rode all that way for.  You’ll sit on the backseat and Pero will sit with his back against the fuel box facing you, the shared food placed in between.  As you savour the trip’s procured delicacy, Pero will pull your legs off the back peg and massage the back of your calves lovingly, melting away the tension built up from the long ride.  Inevitably, he’ll start to inch his hands higher and higher; how far you let him go really depends on how horny you are that day.  Most of the time, you're wet with want for Pero by this point of the ride, powerless against how adept he is at turning you on – once, while you were parked in a rest area right next to the highway, he had walked his hand up your skirt to stroke you over your soaked panties so expertly, you had been one shudder away from just letting him finger fuck you to completion while unsuspecting traffic zoomed by.  You don’t tell Pero, but lately you’ve had an increasingly vivid fantasy of sinking down on his cock and riding him on his bike out in the open, public decency be damned, until you both come, moans drowned out by passing commuters who get the show of a lifetime.

As it is, sex with Pero leaves you breathless and more than fulfilled.  He worships your body and reaches parts of you that you didn’t even know existed, setting you on fire with his every touch.  His particular brand of filthy dirty talk combined with gruff praise, gets you shockingly wet every time; just the memory of his low baritone growling ‘good girl’ in your ear can have you distracted and fantasizing about his dick at the most inconvenient of times.  More than once, you’ve had to turn off your camera during a work video call, afraid that your colleagues would be able to read your far off, cock drunk expression for what it is.

You’re definitely falling in love with him.

“Do you think it’s weird that I’ve never been to Pero’s place?” you wonder out loud.  You’re not sure it bothers you, but it’s something you realized only recently.

“No? Not weird… but I didn’t know you hadn’t,” says Eloise, surprised.

Dorothy doesn’t even look up from her magazine, “No, it’s not weird at all, babe.  I mean, I’m sure your place is way nicer than his.”

“Maybe.  Well, I don’t know really, I guess,” you crinkle your nose.

“No, babe, it’s definitely nicer.  Maybe he thinks his place isn’t good enough for you.  Or maybe he’s too scared to find out if you don’t think his place is good enough for you,” Dorothy says with certainty.

You can’t imagine Pero being scared of anything, “That kind of thing doesn’t matter to me.”

“We know it doesn’t!” sympathizes Eloise, “But if you’re thinking about it, why don’t you just talk to him about it?”

You nod; you think the next time you see Pero, you will.

The next day, you make your now typical lunch time trip to visit Pero; when you walk into Lin’s lobby, it’s empty but that’s not unusual.  Walking over to the reception desk where Pero works, you see that his computer is on so you decide to just wait until he comes back, unpacking a small container of snickerdoodles you brought for him in the meantime.  As you put the container on the desk, you’re surprised to hear voices coming from the small alcove for the staff elevator hidden in the corner of the lobby.

“Heard you got yourself a designer pussy, Tovar.”

“Best part of working in restaurants like this is getting a shot at all these rich sluts who wouldn’t normally look twice at you on the street, but now they want to slum it with the kitchen staff.”

“Hey, come now…”  That’s William’s voice, you realize; the other two you don’t recognize.

“Oh you’re a married old fart, but I’m sure you’ve got some of these wannabe trophy wives throwing themselves at you.  You can’t expect us to believe you’ve never had a taste!”

“Yeah, how you can look at that piece that Tovar is tapping and not want a slice for yourself?”

“Or do you guys share her?  She into that?”

“Fuck, if she’s into that, then please, please call me the next time she wants to go to Paris.  Better yet, bet she’d pay for an actual trip to Paris.  Chick probably has more money than she knows what to do with.  Let her pay for that good dicking, yeah?”

“A couple of us have a little competition on who can bag the hottest, most desperate sugar mama from the restaurant.  You want in, Tovar?  There’s a prize for who can keep it running the longest too.  You’ve been banging her for a few months now, so you’re a shoo in for that.  So fucking easy.  All you gotta do is give these dumb rich bitches a little bit of attention and they’re opening up their legs… and cheque books like that.” You hear a finger snap, followed by loud, spine-chilling cackling.

You think you’re going to be sick.  You’ve never heard such misogynistic, classist, and honestly vile talk in your life; you’re about to march over to the alcove where these assholes think they’re so cleverly hidden and given them a piece of your mind when you hear Dorothy’s name.

“Your girl got that friend, Dorothy?  Oh fuckkkkkkkkkk, wanna tap that snobby, entitled pussy so fucking bad.  She’s always strutting around the restaurant like she owns the place; want to put her in her place… on my cock.”

“Introduce me, Tovar.  Or you saving her for yourself?  This skirt you’re fucking now is just a stepping stone to a bigger, richer fish?  Hey!  Kudos to you man, but do me a favour – when you’ve moved on and up, send that pretty thing over my way for some comforting.  I’ll make sure she’s fucked so good she doesn’t even remember your name.”

You haven’t heard Pero’s voice at all during this stomach-churning exchange; you keep waiting for him to speak up and shut down this type of talk, when you hear the cruelest sound you’ve ever heard.

Pero’s laugh.  He’s laughing.  Then you hear William join in, and soon all four men are laughing uproariously.  At you.  At your friends.  At women.  Women who have the means to dine at this restaurant which apparently means they’re stupid, desperate, and not worth any respect or even the decency of being treated like human beings with feelings.  All of this is what Pero thinks of you.  Every cadence of his ongoing laugh is sharp like cruelty itself, piecing and shattering your heart.  You didn’t even know there were men out there that debased and demeaned women this way; how could you have let one into your life, your bed.  Your heart.  They laugh for what feels like forever; you can’t stand to listen to it anymore and you flee.

---

Pero can’t help but laugh at what fucking idiots this busboy and dishwasher are.  They were spewing such despicable garbage and they fucking dared to talk about you in any such derogatory way, and did so with big smug grins – did they seriously think there wouldn’t be repercussions?  No fucking way anyone could be that dumb, he laughs.  William joins in on the same wavelength as Pero.  The laughter crescendos for a while before William catches his breath and manages to choke out, “You guys don’t even know...”  Still laughing, one of the idiots manages to ask, “Know what?”  And that’s when Pero goes silent, grabs the asshole by the neck and shoves him up against the wall, “You don’t even know how much shit you’re in, talking about my girl like that.”

“Hey dude, we were just kidd-,“ the busboy doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Pero reaches out and William shoves him into Pero’s outstretch hand. 

“Shut up.  I talk now.”

Though gritted teeth, Pero growls menacingly, inches away from the dishwasher’s face, “You piece of shit.  You don’t deserve to think about her.  Talk about her.  Or share the same air as her.  If you ever go near her, you’ll be eating through a tube.”

He slams the busboy up against the wall next to his friend, “This is what is going to happen, William’s going to take you upstairs, and you’re going to thank him, because it was me, you’d both be losing blood before the elevator doors even closed.  You will get your things, and you will never fucking set foot in this restaurant again.  You’re fired.  Your last cheques will be mailed to you.  Never come back.”

He punctuates his point by pulling back and shoving both frightened men into the wall again, harder than before, hands firm on their throats, “…I’m this fucking close, just give me a reason to squeeze.”

“Pero.” William’s voice is barely audible through the thick cloud of rage fogging up Pero’s brain.  He felt physically disgusted at the way these two morons had talked about you and that they had even thought about you in the manner they were describing.  His sweet Cookie - the kindest and gentlest creature he had ever known.  That these assholes had contemplated laying a finger on you made him see red.  Never mind they trying to taint your friend, or any woman at all, with their gut-less filth.  They had said there were others like them, he seethed; he would root them all out and deal with it today.  If he could find it within himself to let go of their necks, that is.

“Pero.” William’s second attempt to bring Pero back down to earth finally ringing through.  He lets go, and the two pathetic excuses for men slide down the wall they had been pinned against, gasping for air. 

“Every restaurant worth working at will know what kind of shit you pull with their female patrons, don’t ever bother trying to apply for another restaurant job ever again.  Get the fuck out of my face now.”

William roughly hauls the two idiots into the staff elevator and out of Pero’s sight as quickly as possible, lest Pero failed to contain his rage any longer.

Taking some deep breaths, willing himself to calm down and for his breathing to even, Pero walks back to the front desk hoping there aren’t any patrons waiting in the lobby.  When he gets to his seat, his heart plummets.  There, on his desk, is a container of cookies.  From you.  You had been here.  What had you heard?  It couldn’t have been anything good because you had left without making your presence known.  He’s desperate to see you, comfort you.  Pero frantically rushes out the front doors and looks up and down the busy sidewalk, but you’re long gone.

Fuck.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮

Hiii!

Okay 51 new sentences for 📚:

---

See, when Ravi dropped out of college, his parents had been scared for him. Convinced he was throwing his life away to become a city employee. Like it was a dirty word. His father, one of the owners in a large property management company, had felt the need to take matters into his own hands. I won’t stop you from following what your heart says is right, Ravi, he’d said. But I also will not leave you without a safety net. He’d always thought his safety net was exorbitantly rich parents, but apparently not. Apparently, he needed properties. To begin building his own generational wealth. His father, therefore, put the ownership of two apartment complexes in Ravi’s name. One in Montebello and one in La Cienega Heights. 

The latter building was smaller. Only six units, one of which Ravi lived in. It was close to work. Easy to manage. And yes, a good asset to his name. The Montebello property - much larger - and the one across the street his father was pushing him to buy? A way bigger chore. One that Ravi was finding difficult to manage. 

“No,” Ravi shook his head. “No, I wasn’t just going to sell it.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Anil said, doing an excellent impression of sincere curiosity. 

“I was going to talk to you,” Ravi promised his father. “About taking it back or selling it. Investing the money properly. Letting the funds accrue.”

His father looked crestfallen.

“You did this behind your father’s back?” His mother asked. 

“No, no.” Ravi said again. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Well you talked to Shin.” Anil dropped another colossal bomb. 

“You talked to an agent at a rival brokerage to your brother’s?” His mother gasped, like Anil accused Ravi of stabbing him.

“I talked to my friend, who is familiar with the area and prices.” Ravi clarified. “It was one lunch.”

And how word of that got to Anil, Ravi did not know. 

“You don’t sell a gift, Ravi,” his father chastized. 

“It’s not…” Ravi sighed. “Look, I’m keeping the La Cienaga place. Montebello is too much for me, right now.”

“Too much for you to manage? Free real estate?” His father retorted.

“Pops, between all the shifts I’m working, and the drive out that way more than once a week, it’s been a lot,” Ravi tried to appeal to him. “I need down time. Time to decompress. I don’t do well if I-”

Anil scoffed. “So this is an autism thing, then.”

---

30 for 🦮:

---

“Are you sure?” Bobby asks.

“Yeah,” Buck nods. “Trainer says it’s my choice.”

Bobby smiles giddily. “Well, good. I love dogs.”

Buck grins. He misses Bobby. He visits sometimes, but it’s different from being here everyday. It’s different when it feels like he’s visiting out of some strange guilt.

“Also, I made everyone wait up there so they don’t overwhelm her,” Bobby says. Buck looks up. Sure enough, Hen, Chim, Eddie, and someone Buck has never seen before are standing at the rails of the mezzanine, looking down. “But we can bring coffee and lunch and everything down here so you don’t have to use the stairs.”

Buck gives the team a small wave before answering Bobby. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Buck says. “I can do stairs. It’s good to get practice in.”

He doesn’t want any more accommodation than he already has by bringing a dog in with him. He’s fine. He’s capable. 

“Okay,” Bobby nods. “Well, then up we go.”

Buck walks towards the fire station stairs as if he isn’t at all daunted. Not just to be climbing them, but to be climbing them with a dog. He’s definitely nervous. And he’s definitely going to feel a little wiped afterwards. Bobby walks ahead of him, and then Buck focuses on climbing each step the way he’s worked on in physical therapy. Foot first, then prosthetic.

[madsfrank]

'*•.¸♡ 𝕬 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖙 𝕲𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕭𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖇𝖔𝖓 𝕻𝖙. 2 ♡¸.•*'

-ˏˋ Directory ˊˎ -ˏˋ AU ˊˎ -ˏˋ Pt. 1 ˊˎ -ˏˋ Pt. 3 ˊˎ

Pairing II Cowboy! Carlos x Fem! Reader

SFW II Angst, Fluff, City-themed reader

WC II 1.7k

Content II X reader, country motif, ranch, farmland

Synopsis II Living with your relatives in the country wasn’t going to be easy. Your nearest neighbor was a rancher a few miles down and better yet, her cows constantly got loose on your property. Maybe the only plus side was the young ranch hand who came to retrieve them.

Just like you predicted, the muffled caws shook you from your slumber. The rooster had awoken extra early, you think, just for you. How…great.

The sun had barely risen above the horizon as you got up to peer through your blinds. It’s early rays drew everything across the ranch in this pale, golden glow. Almost as if everything was in a haze.

Slipping off your nightgown, you carefully selected a pair of jeans and a flannel you wouldn’t mind getting dirty from one of your traveling bags. Two months here would also mean a new set of ranch clothes soon.

You family was already awake. Making themselves coffee and throwing on their boots. Your uncle offered you some dark roast, which you gladly accepted. Coffee wasn’t always your favorite, but something about the chill of a morning this early and the scent of the land around you made it all the more appealing.

After your core had been warmed, your aunt tossed you a work hat. Your first gift on the ranch. You nearly chuckled, the hat was a cowgirl hat! Did they actually wear these on a daily basis?

The answer was yes, as your aunt slipped on her own and led you to the stables.

Your families ranch had a multitude of building, but the stables had to be the most ornate. They were painted like a classic barn, with a tall roof and heavy oak doors. It was furthest from the house, butting up to old wooden fence post, connecting your property to your neighbors.

“Now I know your excited to meet Rosie, so I figure I’ll start you off by familiarizing you two. Why don’t you take that brush over there,” she pointed to a shelf within the stable, “and giver ‘er a good brushing.”

You nodded, making your way over to Rosie’s part of the stable as your aunt headed off to the chicken coop.

Her sliver coat was impeccable, it was short, but yet wonderfully patterned and you began to wonder how any animal could form something so beautiful.

Taking the brush, you slowly approached her. The Turkoman was gentle as could be, easing down so you could have access to her neck.

She took to you well. You moved slow and calmly. All the while cooing the creature. You had become so invested in caring for her that you failed to realized the bells approaching the nearby fence.

“MMMMMOOOOOOO”

The noise startled you, and made you squeak, earning a neigh from Rosie.

When you moved out from the stable, you saw a caw had made it’s way into your property, you assumed through a break in the fence a few feet down.

“Just who are you now?” You smiled, the cow looked back at your with big, brown doe eyes.

“Hey new-girl!”

A young man was pacing toward you at the fence. Stopping to catch his breath at the post.

“Sorry for bothering you miss, my mama’s cows don’t really listen to our herd dogs.

You looked up at the man. He was young. About your age, with long curly locks that seemed to cover his eyes almost entirely.

He was big too, well-built from years of labor. A pair of leather gloves covered the hands that leaned against your fence.

You stared at the man for a moment, there was a certain charm to him you couldn’t place, almost as if he talked too loosely for a stranger.

“Oh no, it’s alright, I was just taken care of the horses,” you pointed to Rosie.

He leaned forward on the fenced and lifted one of his hands flat in the air.

“Well, it’s still my cow, new-girl. I didn’t want her to cause no trouble,” he chuckled.

“So I guess we’re neighbors, huh?”

“That depends, You livin’ here?”

“For the summer.”

He stood up again, smiling slightly before dipping into thought.

“Not gonna lie new-girl, I feel like I’ve seen you before…” he questioned.

“Well, I used to come around here as a kid. I’m staying with my aunt and uncle.”

“(Y/n)?”

He knew who you were?

“Yeah that’s me.”

The neighbor’s smile then grew warm.

“It’s me, Carlos. Miss Oliveira’s kid. One of ‘em,” he was practically beaming with excitement now, recognizing you almost instantly.

You remembered Carlos now, one of they brothers you sometimes played with as a kid.

“You’re one of the boys then, huh?”

“All that’s left. Rico is still here, we help mama around the ranch. Some of my older brothers got their own place now or went off to work.”

You looked past him into his property. It spanned forth miles. Embracing the large stone and board ranch house. It was much wider than your own, with thick smoke puffing out from the chimney.

Carlos noticed your action and moved out of your line of sight.

“Haven’t changed much. Mama keeps that fire going every mornin’ and night since I was little. You prolly remember that.”

You changed your sight to look back at him.

“I remember you and your brothers would race each other down the hill over there.” You pointed to a long dip into his property, spanning the length of it’s southwest side.

Carlos scoffed a bit, shaking his head like he was remembering his childhood years.

“So where have you been all these years, (y/n)?”

“I’ve been away for collage, back home in New York.”

“Yeah, I remember you being a city girl. Didn’t you once end up hitching a ride on mama’s cows?”

Your face turned beat red from embarrassment and you angled your head to the grass.

“Oh, uh—yeah. That was me. Heh,” your voice was shaky and quiet. Obviously reminded of how embarrassed you were to be cleaned up by your neighbor’s mom.

Carlos could sense he asked something wrong and quickly corrected himself.

“N-no! I mean it was cute…er like, you know, like kids do.” Now he was embarrassed.

You cleared your throat and realized that you were both dodging each others gaze.

“Well I should—”

—get going”

You both spoke at once, apologizing profusely.

He nodded, spoke a quick goodbye and turned on his heel to leave. Meaning you were back to taking care of Rosie. Cooing her once more.

By the time you had finished conversing. Your aunt had come to collect you for more tasks throughout the day. None quite as interesting as your chat with Carlos.

You quickly followed your aunt and uncle across the property, serving for your orientation.

Shoveling shit was the worst. The pitchforks you had to use were old and splintered, but, your aunt had promised you would get to herd afterwords. She said it was just like all those old cowboy movies too.

After piling the goat crap into a bucket and removing it, your uncle met you at the heavy wooden doors.

“Well,” he hummed, “since I reckon you take to Rosie so well, how about you take ‘er out herding. Your aunt will show y’a how.”

You were practically beaming with excitement as uncle Mark led you back to the stables. He began to explain how to saddle her. Taking one of your aunts saddles from off the wall and securing it. He also changed Rosie’s stirrups into a custom set-up that you wouldn’t struggle with.

“Now, you were too little last time you were here, so your aunt will teach you some basics on how to ride. For now…hop on.” He pat Rosie behind the saddle and handed her off to you.

After hooking your leg around the saddle, Rosie began to strut off to the open land, heavy with different kinds of goats all running about.

Clara met you halfway from the house, on an older morgan she called Missy. She thought you how to control Rosie through example, all the while strutting forward into the open field of goats.

“Don’t give her too much pressure on the bit now. Just keep ‘er head up a little…like that, you’re a fast learner, girl!” Your aunt cheered.

You and Rosie were agreeable, it helped that the horse already knew what to do. She wrapped around one side of the field and your aunt took the other.

“Now,” She shouted, “the goal is to get them heading to the barn. Take the side opposite to me, circle ‘em, ‘n turn the herd around.”

The pair of you were off, making quick work of shifting the herd. Rosie already knew what to do, making your work rather simple. Aunt Clara led while you followed. Moving the goats orderly. Returning them to the barn.

Rosie kept to the rear the whole time, up till the barn doors has closed.

“That was fun!” You laughed, cheering for yourself.

Aunt Clara praised you, having learned so quickly. She helped you off the horse right after, and guided you both back to the stables.

“Saw you talking to the neighbors boy,” she prodded, “he’s a cute one, and a hard worker too. Takes care of most of that property for his family.”

You didn’t know why, but you found yourself blushing as you recollected your time spent with Carlos. You found yourself commenting on how nice it was to speak to him.

“I’ll tell you what,” your aunt paused for a moment, “I have some extra goat’s milk…I’ll have you send it down. Give you a chance to catch up with ‘em.”

You found yourself blushing once again and agreed. Had you really enjoyed talking to him that much?

Most of the mornings tasks were over now, leaving you and your aunt to return to the farmhouse while she began packing up goat’s milk in some ribbon.

“Why don’t you go get changed, hon. Can’t have you lookin a mess.” She winked.

A wave of nerves washed over you as you returned to your room to clean yourself up, suddenly worried about meeting his mom and him again. Would She remember you? Your head was spinning with thoughts about what you would say or how you would act when-

“Well hurry up now! Milk ain’t getting any colder!”

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

10th November >> Fr. Martin's Homilies/Reflections on Today's Mass Readings for The Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time (B) (Inc. Mark 12:38-44): ‘She put in everything she possessed’.

Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Gospel (Except USA) Mark 12:38-44 This poor widow has put in more than all.

In his teaching Jesus said, ‘Beware of the scribes who like to walk about in long robes, to be greeted obsequiously in the market squares, to take the front seats in the synagogues and the places of honour at banquets; these are the men who swallow the property of widows, while making a show of lengthy prayers. The more severe will be the sentence they receive.’ He sat down opposite the treasury and watched the people putting money into the treasury, and many of the rich put in a great deal. A poor widow came and put in two small coins, the equivalent of a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, ‘I tell you solemnly, this poor widow has put more in than all who have contributed to the treasury; for they have all put in money they had over, but she from the little she had has put in everything she possessed, all she had to live on.’

Gospel (USA) Mark 12:38–44 This poor widow put in more than all the others.

In the course of his teaching Jesus said to the crowds, “Beware of the scribes, who like to go around in long robes and accept greetings in the marketplaces, seats of honor in synagogues, and places of honor at banquets. They devour the houses of widows and, as a pretext recite lengthy prayers. They will receive a very severe condemnation.” He sat down opposite the treasury and observed how the crowd put money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow also came and put in two small coins worth a few cents. Calling his disciples to himself, he said to them, “Amen, I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury. For they have all contributed from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.”

Homilies (4)

(i) Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

We know from our own experience that the value of a gift does not always depend on the amount of money that was spent on it. People can put a lot of thought into a gift that costs very little. Others can spend a lot of money on a gift without putting much thought into it. A bunch of flowers that we have invested time and energy in cutting from the fields and that we personally hand over can mean more to someone than an expensive bouquet of flowers that is delivered by courier. When a gift contains something of the person giving it, we appreciate its worth. When it displays a generosity of spirit it means more to us.

In today’s gospel reading, a poor widow displays an extraordinary generosity of spirit. She gave a very small amount of money to the Temple treasury, only two small copper coins. It was what we used to call a ‘pittance’, but it was all she had to live on. If generosity is measured not in terms of how much we give but in terms of what we have left after we give, then this widow’s generosity knew no bounds. She gave until she had nothing left to give. Her tiny contribution to the Temple treasury would have gone unnoticed by others. However, it did not go unnoticed by Jesus. He focused on her. The gospel reading is reminding us that the Lord sees more deeply than the rest of us. He saw that the widow’s small gesture revealed a large and generous heart, because the little she gave was all she had to live on. In giving a little, she was giving everything.

Perhaps Jesus saw in her an image of himself. At this point in Mark’s gospel, Jesus is in the city of Jerusalem, where he would soon be crucified. He was about to give everything on the cross. Like the widow, he would give all he had. In the words of the second reading, he was soon to offer himself. The widow embodied Jesus’ gift of his whole self. Her extraordinary generosity to God made her vulnerable; she gave everything to serve the worship of God in the Temple. Jesus’ generous service of God made him completely vulnerable, leaving him at the mercy of powerful men who unjustly took his life in the cruellest fashion. The widow was following in the way of Jesus without realizing it. It is often the case in Mark’s gospel that the minor characters in the story, like this widow, are the ones who show us what it means to be a disciple of Jesus, whereas the central characters, like the twelve disciples, are often slow to grasp what being a disciple means.

Jesus knew that his disciples had something to learn from this widow, which is why he called them over and drew their attention to her. He wanted them to notice this widow, just as he had done. The evangelist, Mark, included this story in his gospel because he recognised that disciples of ever age have something to learn from her. What can we learn from this poor widow? There are times in our lives when we may have little to give, little in the way of material resources, or, perhaps, little in the way of time or energy or enthusiasm. Yet, the widow shows us that we can be just as generous, if not more so, at such times than when we seem to have a great deal more to give. She teaches us that what matters is not how much we give but the generosity of spirit that lies behind it. In giving a little, we can sometimes be giving our all, if a little is all we have to give. A small gesture at a certain moment in our lives when we are weak and frail can have a greater value in the Lord’s eyes than a greater gesture when we are much more able. Just as Jesus noticed the widow’s generosity when most others would have ignored her, the Lord notices our generosity at those times in our lives when we seem to have very little to give, when we sense that our tank has run dry. In giving the little we have, the equivalent of two copper coins, when it is all we have to give, we are walking in the footsteps of the one who came not to be served but to serve and to give his life for all, and we are helping to make the kingdom of God present on earth.

In today’s gospel reading, the scribes, the religious experts of the day, are identified by Jesus as ‘men who swallow the property of widows, while making a show of lengthy prayers’. They have the visible trappings of religious piety while stealing the property of the most vulnerable in society to enrich themselves. The poor widow is a representative of the group that the religious leaders of the time were exploiting. They thought they were serving God with their lengthy prayers, whereas, in the eyes of Jesus, it was the widow who was really serving God with her generosity of heart and spirit. Jesus is reminding us that our religious devotions are worth nothing in God’s eyes if we fail to care for those whose lives are precarious.

And/Or

(ii) The Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Most of us have probably negative memories of school or college examinations. Coming up to exams is always a pressured time. We often come away from exams with a feeling that we may not have done ourselves justice. Examinations are very much part and parcel of college and school life. Yet, many feel that there are a limited means of assessing knowledge and understanding. That is one of the reasons why various forms of continuous assessment have become more popular in school and college life. End of year examinations are probably better at assessing ability than at assessing effort. Very able people who may not do much work can do very well in examinations, whereas those who work hard but are less able can do poorly. Exams may be better at measuring how much people have, in terms of ability, rather than how much people give, in terms of effort.

There is not always a close relationship between ability and effort, between what people have and what they give. Some who have a lot can be very sparing with what they give. Others who have a little can be very generous in their giving. The first reading and the gospel reading this morning focus on two widows who had very little but gave a great deal. In the first reading, the widow only had a handful of meal in a jar and a little oil in a jug, which was barely enough for herself and her son. Yet, she shared the little she had with the prophet Elijah when he asked for help. The widow in the gospel reading had even less to her name. All she possessed in the world was two small coins, the equivalent of a penny, which at the time was about one thirtieth of a day’s wage. Yet, little as she had, she put the whole lot into the temple treasury. Her extraordinary generosity revealed the depth of her surrender to God and, indeed, her complete trust in God to provide for her. She had very little to give and, yet, she gave everything. Those who had an abundance of this world’s goods put much more into the temple treasury than she did. Yet, relatively speaking, they put much less into the temple treasure, because after they made their generous contribution, they continued to have a great deal left, whereas after she made her tiny contribution, she had nothing left. Jesus is suggesting that generosity is not so much measured by what we give but by what we have left after we give. The widow gave her all; she had nothing more to give. Even though the economic value of what she gave was tiny, the value of what she gave in the Lord’s eyes was enormous. When Jesus looked at her and drew the attention of his disciples to her, he may have recognized something of himself in her. At this point in Mark’s gospel, Jesus is in the temple in Jerusalem. Very soon he will undergo his passion and death. In the course of that painful final journey, he himself will give everything he has. Everything will be taken from him. By the time he cries out, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me’, he will have nothing more to give. Like the widow before the temple treasury, he will have given everything he possessed. It is with this poor woman that Jesus identifies, and not with the religious leaders that Jesus spoke about earlier in the gospel reading, those who like to walk around in long robes and take the front seats in the synagogues. In contrast to the external signs of honour sought out by the religious leaders of the day, this poor widow possessed true honour in God’s eyes. Jesus also says of these religious leaders that they make a show of lengthy prayers as a cover for swallowing the property of widows. It is somewhat ironic that this widow gives so generously to an institution that exploits her.

This passage prompts me to ask the question, ‘Where would Jesus recognize something of himself today?’ The gospel reading suggests that he would recognize himself most of all in those who, like the widow in the gospel reading, mostly go unnoticed, but whose total trust in God enables them to give without counting the cost, without looking to see what they have left, without expecting anything in return. They don’t just give of their possessions, but they give of themselves. It is said of Jesus in the second reading this morning, that he sacrificed himself, he offered himself. God is more interested in the gift of ourselves than in the gift of our possessions.

Jesus saw something of himself in the widow. Through baptism we become members of Christ’s body, temples of his Spirit. As baptized we are to live our lives in such a way that Jesus recognizes something of himself in us, especially in our generosity and goodness of spirit. John is now about to be baptized. We pray that through the grace of baptism he will grow up into the kind of person Jesus recognizes as an image of himself. We can all help him to become that kind of person by living our own baptism to the full, by becoming ourselves people in whom Jesus recognizes something of himself. We ask the Holy Spirit this morning to help us to become that kind of person.

And/Or

(iii) Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

I have often been struck by the quiet heroism of people, their unassuming goodness and generosity of spirit. These are people who live below most people’s radar. They never feature in any of our media outlets. I am aware of many such good and generous people here in the parish. I become especially aware of such people on the occasion of their death. I sit with the family of the deceased and they speak to me about their loved one who has died. I am often greatly touched by what they have to say. They speak about the simple, ordinary, things that their loved ones did throughout the lives. What made these simple, ordinary deeds so special was that they came from a loving, generous, heart.

I was reminded of those people of unassuming goodness by today’s gospel reading. There are two very distinct parts to that reading, and they stand in very sharp contrast to each other. The first part features a group of influential and powerful men, the religious experts of their day, the scribes. Jesus speaks of them as people who like to promote themselves, who like to be seen, who look for honour from others. Yet behind this outward show, there lurks a heart that stands ready to exploit the vulnerable. Jesus accuses them of swallowing the property of widows. The second part of the gospel reading features a poor widow, a representative of the very group that the scribes exploiting. Whereas the scribes went out of their way to be noticed, this widow would normally have gone completely unnoticed by others. Yet, Jesus noticed her and he made sure that his disciples noticed her, calling them over and drawing their attention to her. Jesus noticed what others would have missed. He noticed her extraordinary, yet almost invisible, generosity. She placed a very small amount of money into the Temple treasury, two small coins, the equivalent of a penny. Yet in putting in that tiny sum into the treasury, she was putting in all she had to live on. What was tiny in monetary terms was enormous on the scale of human generosity. The penny she gave to the service of God in the Temple was, literally, her last penny. Whereas Jesus warns his disciples away from the attitude displayed by the scribes, he clearly wants them to learn from the attitude of this widow. Jesus holds her up to his disciples as their teacher. ‘Learn from her’, he is saying. Where this episode is placed in Mark’s gospel is significant. Jesus is in the Temple in Jerusalem. He has just cleansed the Temple, incurring great hostility from the religious leaders, including the scribes, for doing so. He is just about to begin the journey of his passion and death. At the end of that journey, he will give his life, his all, out of love for God and humanity. Jesus must have seen something of himself in this widow who gave her all out of love for God.

Just as Jesus held up this widow to his disciples to learn from, he continues to hold her up to all of us today. I was reading a book recently by a Jesuit priest. He spoke about a Sister of Mercy who taught him when he was a child in primary school. She prepared himself and his classmates for first confession and first holy communion. On the occasion of his first holy communion, he received a bone china holy water font of the Madonna and Child. One day he dropped it in the school yard and it broke in pieces. This sister immediately collected all the bits of the holy water font piece by piece, and put her arms around him to comfort him. Some weeks later, she called him to her office and gave him back the font restored to its former glory. She had clearly spent hours and hours piecing it all back together again for him. Many years later, now a priest, he went to visit her. She was now aged ninety and clearly hadn’t very long to live. She said to him that, while she was frightened of pain, she wasn’t fearful of death. She said that she was looking forward to meeting Christ face to face, and, hopefully, hear him say to her, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant – with what you had, you did your best’. I was struck by that phrase, ‘with what you had, you did your best’. The widow in the gospel reading had very little, but she did her best with what she had. What any one of us has can often vary from one moment in our lives to another. There are times when we seem to have a lot, whether it is of financial resources, or health, or energy, or imagination, or ideas. There are other times in our lives when, for a whole variety of reasons, we seem to have very little. Our health may not be great; we sense we have run out of energy and enthusiasm; we feel below par in all kinds of ways. At such times, we can be tempted to judge ourselves rather harshly. Yet, today’s gospel reading reminds that all the Lord asks of us is that we do our best with what we have at the time, even if what we have is very little, perhaps no more than the  equivalent of the widow’s penny.

And/Or

(iv) The Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

We know from our own experience that the value of a gift does not depend on the amount of money that was spent to buy it. People can put a lot of thought into a gift that costs very little. We tend to value more the gift into which a lot of thought has gone than the gift that was expensive. A bunch of flowers that we have invested time and energy in cutting from the fields and that we personally hand over can mean more than the most expensive bouquet that is delivered by courier. When the gift contains something of the person giving it, we appreciate its worth.

In the gospel reading, Jesus observes two kinds of gifts being given to the temple treasury. Some put a great deal of money into the treasury. Yet, it was the widow’s gift of two small pennies that caught Jesus’ eye. Even thought her small gift was worth little, it was the most valuable gift of all, because in giving that small sum, she gave her livelihood – she gave her life. Jesus very deliberately points her out to his disciples. Just on one occasion he pointed to a child as the teacher of his disciples, on this occasion he points to the extraordinary generosity of the widow. Jesus was within a few weeks of his passion and death, when he would be called upon to give all he had, his whole life. Perhaps he saw in this widow an image of what was soon to be asked of him.

It is very likely that if Jesus had not pointed out this widow to his disciples, they would not have paid any attention to her. Unlike the scribes who made it their business to be as visible as possible, and about whom Jesus is very critical in today’s gospel, this window was one of the invisible people of the time. The passage reminds us that it is often the people who are least noticed who have the most to teach us. The quality of their goodness and generosity is never on public display; it is hidden and more often than not it goes unrecognized. We live among such people without always knowing it. We may hear things about them after they have died that we never suspected while they lived. The gospel reading suggests that the quality of goodness and generosity that is invisible to us is always visible to the Lord. He notices even if others do not.

The widow, in putting her two small coins into the temple treasury, believed that she was giving to God. It was to God that she wanted to give her whole livelihood, her life. Even though Jesus was very critical of the temple and of those who were responsible for it, there is nothing in the gospel reading to suggest that Jesus thought the woman was misguided in giving everything she had to the temple treasury. In a sense, she shows what it means to live the first and the greatest commandment that was the focus of the gospel reading a couple of Sundays ago. She loved God with all her heart, soul, mind and strength. She gave expression to that love in the only way she knew. Jesus recognized that God was the focal point of her giving. The gospel reading suggests that in the case of those who gave large sums of money to the temple treasure, the focal point of their giving was much more themselves. Their giving was, ultimately, an investment in their own honour and recognition. One of the more subtle temptations that we all have to fight against is the temptation to be self-serving in our self-giving. We give with a view to receiving. We are less likely to fall into this temptation if, like the widow, God remains the focus of our giving. Rather than giving to receive, we give because we have received from God; we give back to God from what God has given to us.

By putting all she had to live on into the temple treasury, the vulnerable widow was, in a sense, making herself more vulnerable. It takes extraordinary trust in God to go out on a limb to the extent she did. Deep within her, she must have trusted that God would provide. In the first reading, another widow hesitated initially to share the little she and her son had with Elijah who had asked for something to eat and drink. She was vulnerable enough without making herself more vulnerable. Elijah assured her that if she shared the little she had, God would provide for her. Ingiving she would receive.

This is the core of the gospel message; it is in giving that we receive, it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Jesus says in Luke’s gospel, ‘Give and it will be given to you, a good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap’. The giving Jesus refers to there is not only the giving of money. Our generous giving can take many forms. For some, it may take the form of forgiving someone who has done them wrong, for others it may take the form of serving people with whatever gifts the Lord has given them. Whatever forms our giving takes, both widows in today’s readings can be our teachers.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[mythosaursarecool]

Well I reached my 50 followers milestone so time to deliver on some lore drop stuff for my Mythosaur

So let’s get this ball rolling!

The plan here is three additional posts (maybe more we’ll see) going into more detail on the species this is going to more of an overview. This for now is just some random facts and lore I’ve put together.

Additional Content coming soon:

[Anatomy] [Force Use] [Battle Bonds]

-Written by a lover of world building and theoretical biology

My design came into play because boy oh boy do hate the canon mythosaur design. Like come oooon look at this guy! That’s not the stuff of legend that a weirdo that can stay down at the bottom of his living waters pond

So with the power invested in me by myself and no one else I said "I can do better" and spent the next year and a half designing , scrapping that, Pinterest boarding, then designing again another two times before before I settled on what has become my Mythosaur

Now some lore and random facts~ enjoy my word vomit! More to come with the other posts!

The story of Mandalorian riding mythosaurs as big as cities comes from the fact their bones fossilize into bescar and the great mines span for miles, but there’s not been any confirmation of living mythosaurs that big in any recoded history.

Mythosaurs are highly intelligent beasts, they form what is called a Battle Bond with the Mandalorian they carry into battle. Wile all mythosaurs can form these bonds the ones that do tend to be far and few between as there is a criteria that must be met for this, but more on that in the Battle Bonds post.

It should be noted that wile highly intelligent mythosaurs are also considered highly aggressive too. One can neither run nor hide from them once a Mythos has decided your life is forfeit. They do not take slights easily to themselves or their Mandalorians.

A mythosaurs name has power to it. To know their name does not give you power over them but it does give one the ability to truly know them. They do not give out their names to just anyone.

Mythosaurs are gifted in a few verities of force sensitivities. They can’t interact and move things around like a Jetti can but they can access the Livning and Physical force with practice. Most are skilled in the mind arts to some degree.

There were no known Mythosaur and Mandalorian Battle Bonded pares when the Empire glassed Mandalor. In fact there hadn’t been any known paring since before the Mandalorian civil war

Mythosaurs can resinate with bescar, it’s commonly called making bescar "sing"

Bescar has some interesting amplifying properties for Mythosaurs in the force. They can tether their force signature to teal they are familiar with and track it over large distances wile also being able to sense what’s around the anchor point to some degree.

I have like waaaaayyyy more I can go into here but I want to break things up and go more in-depth on things in separate topic designated posts so enjoy these tidbits! I do this for fun and entirely self indulgent so cheers y’all!

[giftcityproperty23]

Smart Investments: GIFT City’s Booming Commercial Real Estate Market

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Conclusion

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Now is the time to explore the vast opportunities awaiting you in GIFT City.

[alexanderflowerbird]

DAY 12

Ahh! Late again! I did write yesterday, mind, but I spent my evening with some of the folks in my writing group talking about one of their projects because they were stomped on some plot beats and we were working together to inspire them and come up with options for them to work with. It was SO MUCH FUN, and I'm so excited to see what they do with the story after this boost of inspiration! But literally after that? Went right the fuck to sleep lol. So here I am, having woken up at 4:30 AM to report on yesterday's progress lol.

I have curated my playlist for Blood Sun Territory, and it is really helping me get all of my ideas in order, and yesterday, I worked chronologically so I'm on chapter two of BST and Malachi is finding his way in the world, figuring out a game plan to get back to Felina and Mercedes. Along the way, he's having these small interactions and I honestly love writing stuff like this. I love an impactful moment between strangers. I love a sudden feeling of connection. I love a random act of kindness, even if the person isn't nice at the same time, because nice and kind are not the same thing.

It was such a pleasure to hang out with my friends and talk about the art we create together. It makes it all worth it to keep working, when people who's work you admire and respect are invested, and proud, and curious, and want to see you keep going. I am that person for a lot of people, but I have those people for me too, and man. What a gift it is. <3 I know I wax poetic about it a lot in these entries lol, but like, times are hard! It would be easy, had been easy in the past, to go to work, come home, lay down and despair. Having no real support can really kill a part of you that's vital to being the beautiful person you are. I'm glad I'm rediscovering this part of me after so much hardship. My love language? It's creation, baby lol Taglist: @tragedycoded @thelittlestspider @theskeletonprior @badscientist

If you'd like to be part of my taglist, please interact with this post!

His first home, temporary as it is, is the Clover Hotel. It’s old, but the property seems to be something of a dearly loved personal project, a building that could probably be bulldozed and forgotten but that someone with money to their name refuses to see it die like so many other classic old businesses in the city. It doesn’t have doors that open on their own or a pristine, sterile lobby like the big name hotels that are slowly swallowing up the market. It has a regular door that pushes in and has a twinkling brass bell over it. It has old sofas and an ancient but freshly varnished coffee table on one side of the space for guests to enjoy tall, west facing windows and a view that isn’t some dull, bricked up alley way but instead a small garden full of hydrangeas and herbs and the occasional bright pop of small sunflowers. He approaches the front desk, and smiles with what he hopes is a convincing level of charm at the older asian woman occupying the desk. She looks at him and smiles back. 

“Hello! Welcome, room?” Her accent is charmingly thick and a refreshing sound when Malachi has been so used to punchy east coast accents and traipsing southern drawls, American accents born from the very land. This woman, her name tag says ‘Suzy’, and her voice reminds Malachi that there’s a whole world that exists, not just this city or even this state. Maybe to find Felina and Mercedes, he’ll have to go across an ocean, see a whole new place. He’d never traveled outside of the country growing up. He nods at her question and imagines what it might be like if he discovers Felina has taken Mercedes to live in China. 

He only has backdrops in his mind that come from old kung fu movies and pictures in books, but it’s still a pretty thought and thanks to Felina’s impossible, unanticipated kindness, his mind doesn’t crumple up the vision and add it to the pile of scenarios where he faces total, devastating rejection. His anxiety does get a word in though as he imagines China’s sleek modern cities, its ancient misty mountains and beautiful villages. He has no idea how much it would cost for him to make it to China, he doesn’t know any words except the ones Leeroy had introduced to him when his occasional-lover had taken a turn towards understanding all things linguistics. ‘Ya know, Chinese is a pretty cool language, Malachi. It’s got a beautiful shape for every word, and sometimes, the word do sound sorta like another word, but you see that beautiful shape and you realize it’s a whole other word!’ Leeroy had been ecstatic to discover the idea of tones shortly after pondering how the symbols could be different but the words could sound so similar. Did people in China always read and speak at the same time? That didn’t make any sense of course, so off Leeroy had gone with a smacking kiss to Malachi’s brow to find out the answer. His reminiscing and daydreaming pop like a bubble as Suzy’s expression goes from friendly to neutral and guarded. She’s looking at the ID he’s given her to put on file. 

“This old, expired. I cannot use expired.” She tells him, setting it on the counter and sliding it towards him. He feels his stomach sink and is surprised at himself in his reluctance to admit his circumstance to this woman when he’d told Leslie at the bank the truth without really thinking about how she might react. It’s nothing to do with either of the women he realizes; when he’d come to Leslie, he’d had no hope at all for success and had been prepared to discover that his first day out of prison would be spent on the street with no food or help because he had no money worth noting to his name. In those circumstances, why not admit he’s a felon? If Leslie hadn’t been so kind, he could’ve dashed his chances right there and not found out about Felina’s money for him at all, let alone have a new bank card. He struggles to decide to take that gamble a second time. Now he has something to lose, though he isn’t sure what. He could find another hotel, or even seek out a shelter for the night, but he has stupidly, sentimentally looked around for the last few hours for a hotel he can temporarily call home, and he’s picked this one, and he wants to be here. 

“I–” He tries to begin. “I know, I’m sorry. I need to get it replaced, but, I…” He can feel his ribs tightening in his chest around his organs. Does he roll the dice and share something most people find repulsive and hope Suzy will understand? This history will follow him everywhere, and just now, it’s not even history, barely history. Suzy watches him stumble through his words with an unimpressed expression and then sighs. 

“You lazy?” She asks, disapproving. Malachi blinks at her. “You lazy.” She seems to confirm her opinion in his shocked expression. “Okay…Malachi.” She says as she checks the name from his ID. She taps it on the counter while she thinks, sighing again, before setting it down. “You listen okay? Outside, Treetop Street, left, go for numbers to 8th Av’,left again, down, down, down, looking for big red letter. Ah… Notary?” She doesn’t look at him to confirm if she’s chosen the right word. “Maybe. You take this,” She emphasizes it and shakes the ID at him a little, “Get new one. Okay?” Malachi nods, solemn and feeling guilty even if her interpretation of what he’s done is entirely wrong. There’s something almost refreshing to feel a new, much more innocent sense of shame. He reaches for his ID from between her fingers and she pulls it back from him. 

“Tomorrow. You sleep here tonight, go tomorrow. You remember?” She asks and the way she looks at him he knows he isn’t meant to just say yes. 

“Treetop, left, 8th Av’, left again, find the notary with the big red letters further down the street.” He repeats back to her, and Suzy makes a low approving noise before offering his ID back. She gets up from her seat and brings him a card key, perhaps the most modern part of the experience and likely an upgrade that the Clover had to make to compete with the security measures of other more modern hotels. Suzy is smiling again, beatific and pleased. 

“You enjoy, come tomorrow with new ID and you stay as long as you like.” She charms, and Malachi can’t help but smile back at her. 

“Thank you ma’am.” He says, dipping his head and tucking his old ID and his debit card back into his wallet. 

“Breakfast at 8, okay? Come.” She invites, and with a little wave, she lets him off the hook, just like that. He’d been scared, damn near terrified for some stupid reason, but a charming little slap on the wrist hasn’t stopped his momentum at all. He doesn’t need to correct Suzy’s opinion about him being lazy, he wants to though. He wants it more than the logical, necessity based want towards having a valid ID card. His room number is 12, and when he makes his way inside and takes a look at the old, charmingly floral decor, he feels a relief and gratitude that crushes him to the floor. He sits down heavily, and leans his back against the door, pressing his face into his hands. It’s a posture of despair, he knows, and it has the same heaviness to it even though it is something entirely opposite. Hope is just as weighty, just as devastating. 

[res-management]

According to valuable insights from RES Management’s real estate consultants, ADIA’s arrival at GIFT City promises to be a game-changer for the real estate market, opening up new venues of growth and opportunities for both investors and realtors.

[kunvarjirealty]

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[redfoxwritesstuff]

Can u describe alastor home, what does it look like and where does he live

Alastor lives in his childhood home, at the edge of the city. His property backs up against the bayou. While his property itself isn't very large, there's a good bit of undeveloped land around him- the area isn't desirable due to the dangers of the wildlife.

His home is a simple two story structure. There's two bedrooms, though both are smaller. He hasn't done much to update his home, it still runs on gas lights and uses a wood stove for cooking. He did however invest in plumbing and a hot water furnace early on, a gift for his mother in her declining health.

He's not too keen on getting his home wired, though it'll be a good bit until it's a option out his way. He'd rather live in the past and the memories of his mother than move forward into the future.

His decore is a lot of what was left from his mother's passing for the same reason. A lot of rich warm woods. He favors reds and earth tones and that shows as well. He has many books and records and a few hunting trophies scattered around.

PS- answers will slowdown a little bit since I'm working but keep them coming!

[female-malice]

How do you advocate for cities and claim to love the environment? The run off and toxins, the destruction of natural spaces, and the destruction of man's connection to nature? There is nothing more unnatural or embodies the false idols of capitalism and waste like a city. They're called concrete jungles for a reason, a foul mockery of the gifts of Gaia. Do you really think mankind is more harmonious with nature when living in a steel and glass cage where there is no shrubbery or foliage than they are in a 5 acre wooded property? Where no animal can escape the fate of ending up road kill? Where the infrastructure and lifestyle cannot compete with the fires which cleanse the forest or the blizzards which feed it?

Ah, yes, blizzards. Surely we can count on blizzards every year. Surely the drought crisis will just suddenly vanish one day, right? So that will just magically take care of itself. Okay.

Do these hypothetical rural Gaia-loving cabin dwellers have infrastructure? Or no? Are we doing rural infrastructure, too? Or are we talking about cryptic cottage witches with no contact to the outside world?

In reality, rural areas require infrastructure. Roads. Power lines. Power plants. Water. And the cost and energy use to build this infrastructure is astronomical. And for all that cost and energy invested, only a few people benefit.

Who do you think is actually using the highways? Who do you think is killing the most wildlife? Do you honestly think an urban cyclist is responsible for more roadkill than a rural driver?

Do you seriously think there's no industrial pollution in rural areas? Do you really think all that rural land is undisturbed? Have you ever seen an industrial map? Do you know who actually owns all the rural land in the US and what they're doing with it?

They're not living in harmony with Gaia. That's for sure.

You're arguing that pollution is inherent to urban development. So by your logic, I can say deforestation and ecocide are inherent to rural development.

There are ways to have better rural and urban policy. But policy change doesn't seem to exist in your logical framework. So I guess we won't discuss it. Should we just say what we see in front of our faces is the only way things can ever be?