Hey!! I Was Wondering Why You're Not In Sumeru Anymore, By The Side Of Your Love Scaramouche!! I Got

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ ˎˊ˗ to reliana : 

the love express is back !! ! ! and is hoping that u’ll accept this little gift of hot chocolate ☕︎ and a cookie 🍪 remember to take care of yourself & be just as kind to yourself as a friend ( ← me !!! ) would ! !  !! sending u all the love & blessings over this very sunny morning and i hope u get to smile a bit today ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´- i adore u & im glad u exist ! ! !! ! ♡

Hi!! Omg hello, thank you for the cookie and hot chocolate. I hope you have a great day and I'm also sending all the love for you✧(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧. Im sorry for the late reply, work and stuff. May your day be bless as well (๑•ᴗ•๑)♡

A certain delicacy

Author note before you read:

This is bad and I'm not even kidding, alsoy first time writing to publish it. So very sorry if it's wonky or have many grammar issues, english is not my mother language.

Albedo x reader

Fluff

Synopsis: what if the prince of chalk himself is treating you, a long known friend of his. To a meal after he found you almost getting frozen near his lab in dragonspine. Only to realize, the prince of chalk himself have quite a unique dish he like to offer along with a new information that he can tease you in a name of experiment

Tags: @i23kazu

You could have sworn it moved, it could very much still be alive at this point.  With a frown, you poke the dish with a fork. Picking apart each and every leg to see where you even start to eat.

“You know, it's not good to play with your food.” Albedo spoke, just entering his lab in dragonspine. his ashen golden hair seems perfectly fine despite what it has gone through in this forsaken cold mountain.

“I'm not playing…per say,” you retorted while thinking of a good word to put in. “Just, trying to see where to begin” is all you could say as an excuse, looking at the male his expression didn't even change one bit from his usual one. He hums. 

“If you're uncomfortable with how it looks, perhaps taking the head first would be a good start “ he suggests. “How about, no.” You were quick to reject his suggestions, albedo shrugs as he begins tidying up his lab. Looking back at the food, you mentally curse yourself for losing all of your food supply after fighting two fatui agents, to think that they would retreat while also stealing your bag is ridiculous… or you could say smart enough.

It's a good thing The alchemist was just coming up the mountain, only to see your pitiful existence, cold, hungry, and with a few small injuries, he is kind enough to offer shelter and food at his lab. is what you've thought to be a blessing, before he offer you smoke spider as a meal. Taking one final breath you stab one of its legs before putting it in front of you, a disgusted feeling tries to surface on your face, before you fight back and barely manage to keep your expression still…barely. 

‘it's alright, just for once. Just for once’ you assure yourself, Albedo have been kind enough to carry you to warmth, it will be rude for you to complain about the food now.

It's alright. maybe, the taste ... .would be rather ... .unique. A soft chuckle could be heard near you, only to come from Albedo himself. “That was a good expression you have, to think you would considering to eat it. I guess I was wrong about the other possibilities that you would outright refuse” he said in a light manner.

“Hey….” You said in a down voice, “you were playing with me??” You ask with disbelief, feeling defeated that you didn't see it coming. He smiled back before shaking his head, arm across his chest. “well…not particularly. I was just seeing if you would refuse to eat it. like how others did when I offered that dish to them. You could say, it was a little experiment “

You pouted while looking at him, putting the fork down and leaving the dish alone. “I've never consented to this experiment in any way, Albedo.” You pouted at him for doing such a thing. 

Albedo agreed, “that's true, so I apologize. I would just think you would refuse to eat it like the others. I'm sorry, for making you feel pressured to eat it.” he said before taking the plate away and replacing it with another one. This time it is a genuine dish made from fish meat along with vegetables.

You were silent for a moment before turning to albedo confused, “I thought you said you don't have any other food aside from ... .that” you point to the plate his holding, “true” he answered, “well, I couldn't have you stay hungry, so I've been searching a few camp spot to see if there's other ingredients to cook.”

‘oh, so that's why he hurriedly left after he made sure I stayed warm’ you thought, a  smile creeping to your face before finally letting go of your pouty face. “I guess I could forgive you for that, only if this dish doesn't have mysterious ingredients in them” you joke. How could you be mad for so long with your friend?.

He chuckled before reassuring you that he in fact didn't have anything mystery ingredients put in your dish.

There is no childhood in Gaza 💔

gofundme.com

Donate to Support Amal's Family in War-Torn Gaza Escape to Egypt, organized by Brooke Cole

Hello, my name is Brooke Coke and I am organizing this fundraiser o… Brooke Cole needs your support for Support Amal's Family in War-Torn Ga

At this time, children are usually on summer vacation, playing in the streets and going to the beach to swim. But this does not happen in Gaza. The occupation kills children in cold blood in front of their families because they demand their right to play like other children in the world. What injustice? You are my last hope. Our children want to go to school and live in peace and security

How can you help our children? This is done by donating, publishing the campaign, sharing it with friends, and reblogging. Thanks for helping us

@sayruq @schoolhater @butchniqabi @politijohn @loonarmuunar @qattdraws @turtletoria @tododeku-or-bust @unfortunatelyuncreative @piratekenway

@khanger @vilonnie @butchniqabi

The weather is quite awful..... Is the hydro dragon always weep this hard before?

It is a good thing navia make sure one of her bodyguard came along, otherwise I would have been lost and having a cold.

@xianyoon

WAKE UP Y'ALL!!! ANOTHER TURNFIRE PART HAS DROP AND IT'S STILL AS AMAZING AS THE FIRST PART!!!!.

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟒]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, cursing, mentions of abuse/alcoholism, mentions of broken bones

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. i've been SO busy this week, but i hope this chapter still meets everyone's expectations ;-;. unedited for now, but please enjoy and pls pls lmk what you think! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚'𝗦 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗖𝗘

Kinich breaks his arm when he’s eleven.

It had, admittedly, been stupid of him. He’s always been partial to extreme sports, as many members of his tribe are, but he’d gone a bit too far that day with his grappling, and it all came crashing down in an unceremonious heap. He more than anyone knows how unforgiving the ground can be, so it’d been a foolish endeavor in the first place.

Dizzy, he tries to push himself to his knees before crying out in pain—it’s his right arm. He can’t put any pressure on it all, at least unless he gets used to the shooting pain that overwhelms his senses. He leans on it again, testingly, before wincing.

No, there’s no getting used to a pain like that.

Surveying the land nearby, he notes the sharp, menacing rocks that dot the riverbed—he’d been lucky to land where he did. He decides he won’t fill you in on that detail. After all, you’ll be mad enough as it is.

As far as he knows, you’re still at home at this time, but you’ll be out delivering medicines later as a courier—the village apothecary trusts you with the work, and there are few others willing to do it. Plus, you learn a few things along the way. Kinich notices that you’re becoming quite skilled in certain remedies.

In general, the work the two of you participate in is rarely safe—safe work doesn’t make Mora, and it’s hard to feed two mouths without coin. Kinich himself usually takes jobs that see more combat, involving Saurians or any other odd tasks. So it’s not uncommon that he comes home with injuries, but it’s never been this bad. Something like this spells out a lack of work for at least several weeks, maybe more.

He sighs, briefly considering whether or not he should hide it.

But you seem to have a sixth sense for these things, and he’s truly lousy at lying when it comes to you, so he decides against it. Instead, he rises to his feet, groaning at the feeling of his pants sticking to his skin, still soaked.

The journey home feels three times as long.

He hadn’t risked grappling again with one arm, so he had walked, the hot sun beating down on his skin. When he thinks about it, he can’t really remember how he had put up with having to walk everywhere—grappling truly saves him so much time out of his day. The small building at the foot of the mountain enters his sight after what feels like an eternity, an even smaller form standing just outside of it.

“Kinich!”

As he grows closer, a certain affection seeps into his chest at the sight of your grin, toothy and bright. You’re carrying a wicker basket on your hip, filled to the brim with fruits and vegetables—dinner for tonight, most likely. 

He never quite gets used to your excitement whenever he returns to the small house you share. It’s as if every day is your first day seeing him, or like he’s just returned home from a year-long journey. At most, he’d been gone a few hours.

“Hey,” he says, smiling faintly. For a moment, he almost forgets he has something to tell you, simply satisfied with your presence. It’s only when you scamper to his side that he becomes hyper-aware of his arm.

“Wait!” he hisses, just as you reach for him. You stop in your tracks, lips barely parted in an ‘o’ shape. He takes a cursory step away from you, blood freezing in his veins when your face drops at the distance.

“I broke my arm,” he quickly admits. Your brows knit together as you give him a once-over.

“What?!” you half-yell, nearly dropping the goods in your hands—Kinich has to catch the basket with his good hand, wincing at the volume.

“I was grappling, and I messed up, and I…I landed in the river.”

The whole thing sounds ridiculous as soon as it leaves his lips. You seem to think so too, based on the way you blankly look between him and his arm. You’re thinking, hard.

“And you’re sure it’s broken?” He nods, sighing. “I’m sure.”

Truly, he’s never experienced pain like that in his life—at least not the physical kind. His father’s beatings usually ended in bruises, but he was always able to escape out the door before they got to this point. But the way his arm hangs uselessly at his side is certainly unfamiliar.

Fingers pressed thoughtfully to your chin, you look toward the house.

“Well, I have the materials to make a splint, but that means you won’t be able to use that arm for a while.”

Kinich frowns. A while could be a long time, and time he isn’t working is time that Mora isn’t being made. The two of you could survive decently on your farming and hunting alone, but it would be hard labor for you. He’s unsure how much help he can be with only one usable arm.

“But—”

“—and I already know,” you interrupt smoothly, “that you’re not going to argue about that. Because that would make me really annoyed, right? Because your arm is clearly broken, right?”

Kinich presses his lips together tightly. It’s probably not the best idea to fight you on this. So he merely sighs, walking toward the front door.

“Fine.”

“Good!” you cheer, hoisting the basket to your side again, following closely in his wake. “Then I’ll make dinner for us, and you try not to make trouble for me!”

He rolls his eyes; he never makes trouble for you the way you do for him.

/

If there’s one thing that truly bothers Kinich, it’s being unproductive.

He’s not unreasonable about it, per say; after all, breaks can be productive too if they improve your work. But it’s to the point that there’s rarely moments where he truly isn’t doing anything. He’d grown up that way, always on the move, always doing something for the sake of survival.

That apparently includes moments when his arm is broken, set firmly at his side in a splint.

You’re preparing vegetables for dinner when Kinich plops into the chair at your side, quietly asking what he can help with.

You send him an incredulous look, still cautious about your fingers under the shadow of the knife.

“Your arm is broken, Kin.”

And you’re right, but the notion irritates him a bit—the idea of doing absolutely nothing while you prepare all the food. He folds his arms on the table, resting his chin atop with a scowl. His golden eyes passively watch each cut of the potato, the neat chunks gathering on one side of the cutting board.

“So? I can still help.”

A heated exchange occurs—you stare at him questioningly, and he stares right back, determined. Within the past few years, the two of you have reached the point of nonverbal communication. Sometimes, he truly feels like you can read his mind.

“Fine,” you relent, gently placing your knife down. You slide the basket of vegetables to him, gesturing towards it with your chin. “Pick out the good ones and give them to me.”

Kinich looks unamused, unsatisfied with the difficulty of his task, and his mouth opens like he’s about to say more when you shake your head.

“Please?”

And he really can’t take that look you give him, when your eyes widen and your lip juts out, so he merely sighs, pulling the basket closer to himself.

“Alright, alright.”

The room grows comfortably quiet, save for the even thuds of your knife against the cutting board. Kinich listens to your sonorous hum as you smile and sway to the sound of your own music. He takes his job seriously, too—he squeezes at each potato, feeling for the right ripeness.

“Is that a good one?” you ask, nodding toward the vegetable in his hand.

He frowns. “It’s okay.”

Kinich tends to be a bit strict about his vegetables—he gets it from his mother. Rarely is he ever truly satisfied with a harvest. Based on your impatient stare, you’re probably realizing this isn’t the best job for him after all.

“It’s probably good enough,” you say. Kinich looks at the potato thoughtfully for a moment before setting it down before you.

He still has trouble accepting the idea of being good enough.

You engage in a bit of small chatter, discussing your plans for the next few days and funny things that have occurred recently. Kinich enjoys these moments the most, the feeling of belonging, of caring—the way your eyes sparkle genuinely as he recounts his day, or the way you giggle hearing about the gossip overhead in the village.

“I’m gonna head to the market tomorrow, so let me know if you need anything.”

Your lip curls in disapproval, gaze drifting to his arm.

“I can go this time,” you say, concern written over your face. Then, you add teasingly, “since I know you hate having to get along with all those people in town.”

Kinich glares at you, sour.

“I know how to get along with people.”

You smile, and Kinich remembers when you told him that you like when he acts a bit childish, a bit more like you. It reminds you that you are the same age after all. It’s a bit difficult to realize in your daily life, when he’s always nagging and protecting and working. 

“Is that why all the others run away at the sight of you? Ever since we went to school, they’ve been avoiding you.”

And Kinich can admit that he isn’t the easiest person to get along with, but the kids at the village school aren’t the kind of people he wants to get along with anyway—the one day he spent in class made that much clear. They don’t understand the realities of living the way he does, the way you do. 

Really, he considers it a success that they seem to steer clear of him now.

“What about you?” he counters. “You’re not exactly a social butterfly, living out here in the woods. The most social interaction you get is in the market, just like me.”

It’s your turn to be offended, a pout crossing your lips.

“I’ll have you know they like me in the market.”

Kinich quirks a brow, handing you another potato.

“They like you because you take whatever price they offer,” he replies flatly. “I really need to teach you to barter.”

Everyone knows how notorious Kinich is in the market—he’s a menace with Mora in hand, even at your age. It’s one of the reasons that he’s so insistent that he be the one to do your shopping, besides the fact that he doesn’t like you traveling alone.

“I can barter,” you defend, pouting. “I just feel bad. What if they need that extra Mora?”

“You know we also need that Mora, right?”

Kinich flicks at your forehead with his good hand, faintly smirking when you sulk in response. Brushing off your hands, you lift the cutting board toward the pot on the stove. He lets his gaze follow you, curious.

“Enough about me,” you declare, glaring playfully. “If you want to eat, help me start cooking these.”

When Kinich eats that night, a simple meal of curry and rice, he thinks it might just be the most delicious food he’s ever had.

/

A few weeks later, Kinich finds himself lying side by side with you in your bed, staring at the ceiling.

You’d been telling him about something amusing you saw on one of your deliveries, and he makes a point to listen to all your stories, no matter how small they are. The moon is peeking over the horizon by the time that you finish, and Kinich glances over at his own bed across the room.

He’s not really sleepy yet, he reasons. You don’t seem to be either, based on the way you stare at his side profile.

“Your hair is getting long,” you murmur, taking a lock between your index and thumb. It’s a bit rough to touch—Kinich doesn’t tend to be gentle when he washes up. Neither of you really are, not when the river water is as chilly as it is.

He sighs, blowing his bangs out of his face. It’s a perpetual messiness that you think suits him, in a way.

“I know, it got in my eyes when I was grappling and I couldn’t see. That’s how I fell.” He glances at you, deadpan. “Should I just shave it off?”

The idea leaves you giggling—the image of it is certainly vivid. 

“I don’t think you should go that far, but I do think we have to do something. Otherwise, you might snap all your bones at this rate.”

He huffs, immediately defensive. “I would not—”

“I’m joking,” you soothe, chuckling. You card your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, humming—Kinich has to keep himself from melting into your touch. The room grows a tad warmer by the time your voice echoes again, barely a squeak from your throat.

“Can I try something?”

Kinich snorts. “You’ll have to be more specific, because last time you said that, it didn’t end well.”

Sitting up, you scoff. “I mean with your hair. Just to see if we can get a bit of it out of your face.”

You pat at the space in front of you, urging him up—he moves begrudgingly, already comfortable in his spot. Clambering to your knees, you peek at him over the top of his head. 

“Which part gives you trouble? This long part?”

Kinich hums thoughtfully, thumbing at some of the strands framing his face.

“Yeah, I guess. Some of the longer strands behind my bangs get annoying because they won’t stay.”

You nod. “Okay, let me try this then. Just sit still.”

Kinich follows along, hands neatly gathered in his lap. It’s a bit puppy-like, and you smile at the notion.

You don’t speak as you plait his hair, gently easing each strand between your fingers. It’s a certain kind of calm that tends toward the unfamiliar. Kinich feels a bit conflicted over the heat that spreads through the rest of his form at the contact.

He’s still trying to get used to a lot of things about you, despite how long he’s spent at your side—even now, the gentleness and kindness with which you treat him leaves him speechless sometimes.

“Your hair is pretty,” you state softly, looping a tie over the end of the braid. “So unique.”

He thinks that you’re the first person to have told him as much. There had been times when he caught his mother staring at the blond streaks of his hair, frowning—they likely reminded her too much of his father. A part of him is glad that he at least inherited the majority of his genes from her. 

“Thanks,” is all he breathes, staring down at his hands.

Your fingers brush over his ear, and a blush crawls over his cheeks.

“You’re welcome,” you yawn, stretching, “I’ll try to figure out something else to keep your bangs out of your eyes.”

That night, listening to your soft snores, Kinich watches the moon just outside the window. 

His hair doesn’t bother him anymore, he realizes.

/

A resounding crash rouses you from sleep.

When your eyelids split open, body pulsing with shock, the sun hits you first. Harsh rays slip through the curtains, pools of gold falling between your bedsheets. You’re quick to throw the blankets off, sitting up quickly. 

In the opposite corner of the room, Kinich’s bed lies empty, cooling with the morning dew. But he shouldn’t be gone, at least not yet—with his arm out of commission, he’s been taking time off work.

Your heart drops.

In a panic, you cover the space from your bed to the door in a mere two steps, and then you’re throwing it open, chest heaving.

The sight that greets you leaves you frozen where you stand.

Kinich stands in the kitchen, equally as flabbergasted as you are, surrounded by a shower of crystalline shards. His good hand is still raised, evidence of his own shock.

“Sorry,” he utters, hasty. He looks more disturbed by the situation than you do. 

You take a cursory step toward him. “W—what happened?”

He looks at the floor, then back at you.

“I was trying to wash the dishes,” he explains, sheepish. You peer over at the sink, bursting with soapy water. It would’ve been hard to do with one arm.

He’s still standing among the slivers of ceramic, sharp edges too close for comfort. You suck in a breath.

“Just…don’t move, okay?”

You snatch the broom from the closet—when you glance over your shoulder, Kinich is standing obediently still, a statue in your kitchen. Carefully, you sweep the shards away from his feet, before neatly depositing them in the trash.

Kinich lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He’d wanted to wake up early and clean up a bit so you could relax, but even that had ended in disaster. 

He glares down at his arm.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It takes a bit of arguing to get him to take a seat away from the sink—Kinich finds something ugly curling around his heart at the idea. He’s heard enough arguing in this kitchen, and the memories aren’t friendly. So he takes a seat at the table despite his hesitation, unwilling to meet your stare as you check the floor for stray fragments.

You don’t seem to be angry about the broken dish—in fact, you seem to be angrier that he woke up early to do any of this at all. He doesn’t really get it. Though he’s becoming familiar with your habits, he finds that he sometimes falls short in terms of truly understanding you.

The cupboard falls shut—Kinich flinches at the sound, and then you’re padding over to him with a cup of water.

“Drink.”

The order barely leaves your tongue by the time you’re back at the sink, starting to clean at the rest of the dishes. You’d been upset moments ago, but you’re already back to being concerned about his hydration.

He stares at the drink, too long. If you notice his unrest, you don’t comment on it. 

A few minutes pass that way.

“Sorry that I broke my arm,” he finally mumbles, tracing the rim of his cup. A drop of condensation glides down the side, slow. He watches it pool on the table, seeping into the wood. 

“Why are you sorry?” you wonder aloud, scrubbing at a plate. “Did you hit the ground on purpose?”

He eyes your back. You’re so happy in everything you do, Kinich notes. Even something as simple as washing dishes, you do with your best effort—it’s admirable. You glance back at him when he doesn’t answer, and your gazes meet momentarily. He’s first to break the contact. 

“You’ve had to work way harder for weeks,” he replies, regret pouring from his words. “Because I fell from that stupid tree.”

A seed of fear plants itself in his heart. Despite your cheery disposition, he’s always wondered what you truly think of him. Typically, he’s satisfied with just being useful to you, being able to provide for the home that you share. But when he’s like this, he wonders if that standard will change.

Like this, he’s just a burden to you.

To his surprise, you merely shrug. “I had to work way harder than this when I was alone. And now, I get to work hard with someone by my side. I think that’s a better deal, isn’t it?”

Your words permeate the air, and Kinich sucks them in greedily—they fill his lungs, slow. He wonders if this house has ever seen such warmth before. Then, he wonders if you know the way your comment fills his heart, pulsing.

You crane your neck to look at him, another smile gracing your lips. Light pulls through the gauzy curtains over the kitchen window, a halo.

“Don’t you think that kind of relationship is priceless?”

At that moment, the blazing sun rises in Kinich’s chest.

paliliberation posted:

Family 167 - Imagine being a mom, a wife, and a dedicated career woman on the brink of life-saving research, only to have everything ripped away. This isn’t just a personal loss; it’s an assault on progress and humanity itself. When the pursuit of knowledge and the chance to help others is brutally stopped, we should all be enraged. A world that allows this to happen is failing us all. It’s time to stand up and refuse to let dreams and lives be crushed.

please note this campaign is verified #167 on the linktr.ee/paliliberation

and also vetted by documented people:

by @90-ghost here

by @dlxxv-vetted-donations here

by @northgazaupdates2 here

by @aces-and-angels here

gofundme.com

Donate to Help my family survive famine and have secure life, organized by Mazin Fakak

Dear friends, family, and compassionate supporters, My name is Eman Za… Mazin Fakak needs your support for Help my family survive famine an

Spoiler alert....i don't think I get any point for this lmao 😂

The weather is quite awful..... Is the hydro dragon always weep this hard before?

It is a good thing navia make sure one of her bodyguard came along, otherwise I would have been lost and having a cold.

@xianyoon

Been researching information about archon quest for fontain, so.....i would write tomorrow since I have just gotten the info. Might as well lety imagination run wild

Just 279€ more to hit 1000€ and achieve the first milestone towards rebuilding my life. Your contribution make a huge difference. 💗💗💗

Help a Gazan English Teacher Attend Sheffield University/UK and Regain his Stolen Life. 🙏

Hello dear compassionate souls,

This is Mohammad, an English teacher form Gaza.

On Thursday, October 5th 2023, two day prior to the crushing war, I got up from my comfortable bed at 6 a.m., brushed my teeth, took a shower, dressed my ironed suit, had my coffee in peace and headed to Al-Azhar University where I worked.

It was not until two days later that this beautiful & simple life would become a far-fetched dream.  On October 9th, I found myself displaced tens of kilometers away form home, lost my job and even my neat clothes and my entire life revolved around securing the most basic necessities for survival. My dream became a pile of wood and a bag of flour. At some point, I genuinely forgot who I really once was.

The war went on and on and it’s just three days away from its first anniversary by the time I am writing my story. Throughout this year, I witnessed all sorts of suffering and humiliation from the loss of my home and university to the grief of losing many beloved ones. I have experienced countless displacements, chaotic food lines filled with the hungry, deprivation of essential supplies, and the horror of witnessing some of history’s most harrowing scenes.

This genocide took a full year away from my life so far and replaced it with death and humiliation. As far as academics are concerned, the war destroyed all our universities and schools taking away all my dreams of restoring my progress. Despite all that, I was determined to regain my stolen life and start over again. I applied for the university of Sheffield and obtained an unconditional offer letter to continue my studies in the field of TESOL, Teaching English to Student of Other Languages.

I am reaching out to you to join in my fight to regain my progress and get back on my feet. My TESOL program at Sheffield is a one-year MEd that costs 24.950₤. any donation no matter how small gets me a step closer to a better life.

Much love,

Mohammad

https://gofund.me/8206e0fb

Congratulations! You have recieved a package from ss; an anonymous benefactor who reunites lost things with their loved ones and delivers packages from beyond. - 🎩

-------

Hi, are you Reliana?

Did you lose this necklace? It has a beautiful design. It looks like it was handmade by someone.

Based off what I can tell, whoever made this must love you very much.

Incidentally, my fellow courier from Snezhanaya mentioned how much the design looks similar to that Harbinger he's seen in Inazuma, Scaramouche. The color scheme and everything.

Maybe he's the one that made it?

That'd be something, huh?

Awww a necklace.... Why is it so style in such of an inazuma way??. Silver did the sender sent anything else other than the necklace??

"I'm afraid not miss, the box is the only thing that was sent for you."

Hmm, I see. This one is strange tho, I certainly didn't have anyone close enough to give me a necklace from inazuma....well the kamisato family is quite close, but I don't think they would send me a necklace.....espacially with these color pallets..

"...if its a bother, I could dispose of it"

Ah no that would be unnecessary, I'll just keep it here since someone brave enough to send me gift. I would have send a gratitude letter for them, but there's no Name for me to know who send it to me...

To: ss benefactor

I appreciate the time and work you all done for giving my necklace back, it is such an important thing I hold dear to me. I would like to thank you for giving me back something I lost, and to hope meet you in person to thank you in person

Sign

Reliana S̶i̶l̶v̶e̶r̶