#amaia pack

[pupsmailbox]

DOLL︰PUPPET ID PACK

NAMES ⌇ abbie. adelaide. adorablesse. adorablette. aerlyn. alena. alexis. alice. amaia. amaya. andrea. angeline. ankou. annabelle. annie. antoinette. anxiette. anxious. apricot. asaka. ash. asha. aspen. atticus. ava. avel. babette. babydoll. bambi. bambina. bambino. bashfelle. bashful. beau. bellamy. belle. bells. bernadette. blu. blue. bluesse. bluette. blushe. blushesse. blushette. boo. bram. bronach. bronagh. brone. button. buttons. cadel. candace. carmilla. carrie. catherine. cessair. charlie. charlott. charlotte. chelsea. chia. chica. chirella. chirelle. chiwa. chuckie. claeg. coffin. colere. commedia. constance. coquette. cordelia. corelle. corette. corsette. cypress. dahlia. dalia. damon. darling. dawn. dearesse. dearest. dearette. dearie. deidre. demure. desdemona. devin. devon. doilie. doily. doll. dollaintye. dollawie. dollerie. dollesse. dollette. dolleyed. dollie. dolline. dollita. dolly. dolores. dottie. drea. dread. drusilla. dáinn. eeria. eldritche. elissar. eliza. elle. elodie. eloise. emerence. emily. essie. esther. evangela. evangeline. evelyn. eveyln. faith. frill. frillette. genevieve. genoveva. gia. gladys. glorie. glory. gorey. gorie. gracelyn. gregory. gretta. gwen. gwenivive. haldor. haunt. hiccup. hyde. iraia. iresse. irette. itishree. jabez. janelle. janet. jannet. jinx. josie. julie. juniper. juno. kailey. kanani. kewpie. kiva. krak. lace. lacesse. lacette. lacey. lacie. lain. laintess. lakka. lalki. lavender. lea. lefu. letta. letum. libitina. lilac. lillith. lilly. lily. loaela. lola. lolah. loletta. lolita. lolite. lolla. lottie. lovelace. luci. lucius. lulu. lute. lyla. lys. madison. mahina. mandy. mannie. manon. many. mara. maria. marianette. marie. marion. marionette. marionne. marotte. marrionette. marrow. mary. maryjane. marzana. maveth. meek. melanie. melodie. melody. merripen. miel. minuette. mold. moldie. moldy. molly. moonie. moore. morana. morgana. morgue. mors. mort. mot. muriel. murmur. muse. nadine. nadzen. nancy. nanea. nanelle. nanette. nappi. naz. negan. nekane. nelly. nemesis. nettie. nicodème. niegan. nimbus. nina. nuri. olive. oliver. olivia. omega. panchaali. parner. pinkesse. pinkette. pinkie. pinky. pinocchio. pippin. poe. poppet. poppette. poppy. porce. porcelain. porcelynn. prantika. pulau. punthali. pupetta. puppet. puppetear. puppetesse. puppetette. puppette. puppyte. putala. quinn. ravanche. raven. realiteer. rebel. ribbon. ribbonne. riley. rion. robert. rose. rubella. ruby. sacrifette. salem. sasha. satin. scarlet. sebastian. sew. sewine. shivani. shiver. sidney. smierc. smiley. smilie. softesse. softette. softie. solikha. spirit. sprout. statuette. stitches. strings. sweeheart. sweetheart. sweetie. sweetiebelle. sweetine. sychar. teacup. tearie. teddy. tempest. thalia. than. thana. theodora. thorn. trembelle. trista. ultima. ulysses. vanessa. vera. viola. visage. whisp. whisper. willow. winston. wisp. wispera. wrathes. zizi.

PRONOUNS ⌇ adorable/adorable. ae/aer. angel/angel. anger/anger. antique/antique. app/apparition. bell/bell. berry/berry. berserk/berserk. bjd/bjd. bla/black. blank/blank. bliding/bliding. blue/blue. blush/blush. bug/bug. button/button. cake/cake. car/carcasse. cheer/cheer. cloth/cloth. coffin/coffin. control/control. coo/croon. cor/cor. cor/corrupt. core/core. corpse/corpse. coy/coy. crack/cracked. cracked/cracked. cre/creepy. creep/creepy. cu/curse. cu/cute. curse/curse. cute/cute. da/dark. de4/de4d. de/dear. de/demure. dea/dead. dead/dead. dead/death. dear/dear. death/death. decay/decay. delica/delicate. delicate/delicate. demon/demon. despair/despair. dirt/dirty. do/doll. doll/doll. doll/dolly. dolly/dolly. dread/dread. dress/dressup. dress/up. d♡ll/d♡ll. eer/eeerie. elegant/elegant. en/energy. end/end. evil/evil. eye/eye. fabric/fabric. fae/fae. fi/figure. fig/figure. figurine/figurine. flower/flower. fragile/fragile. frail/frail. friendly/friendly. frill/frill. fury/fury. gho/ghost. glass/glass. glo/gloomy. gore/gore. grave/grave. grief/grief. grim/grimm. grime/grime. gru/grudge. ha/haunt. happy/happy. haun/haunt. hx/hxm. h♡/h♡m. it/it. joint/joint. joint/jointed. joy/joy. ke/ker. kew/kewpie. kill/kill. kor/kor. kor/korrupt. la/lace. lace/lace. lae/lace. lo/love. lo/loved. lolita/lolita. love/love. mad/mad. mae/mae. mari/marionette. marionette/marionette. me/meek. mi/mier. mim/mimic. model/model. morbid/morbid. mu/mutter. mur/murmur. nap/nap. null/null. ny/nym. patch/patch. phan/phantom. pink/pink. pitter/patter. plastic/plastic. play/play. play/playtime. play/time. plush/plush. plush/plushie. por/porcelain. porce/porcelain. porcel/porcelain. porcela/porcelain. porcelain/porcelain. pose/pose. pose/posed. possess/possessed. pup/puppet. puppet/puppet. rea/reality. rest/rest. reven/revenge. rib/ribbon. ribbon/ribbon. rot/rot. scare/scare. scary/scary. seem/seem. sew/sew. sew/sewn. shi/shift. shi/shiver. shx/hxr. sh♡/h♡r. sie/sier. silk/silk. slee/sleep. sleep/sleep. smile/smile. snap/snapped. sneak/sneak. soft/soft. sou/soul. spi/spider. spi/spirit. spo/spook. spook/spook. sta/stalk. sta/stare. statue/statue. sti/string. stitch/stitch. string/string. sweet/heart. sweet/sweet. sweet/sweetdolls sweetie/sweetie. ta/tap. te/teer. tea/teatime. teeth/teeth. thre/thread. thread/thread. thxy/thxm. th♡y/th♡m. ti/timid. to/toy. toy/toy. toy/toytime. trick/trick. un/canny. unca/uncanny. ve/ver. vey/vem. vi/vr. vintage/vintage. vomit/vomit. wan/wander. watch/watch. whi/whisper. white/white. wilt/wilt. wood/wood. wrath/wrath. yarn/yarn. zzz/zzz. ♡/♡. ⚰️ . 🍨 . 🛌 . 🛏️ . 🥀 . 🧸 .

[thatliminal-wanderer]

Yourself/Silly Billy (Friday Night Funkin) ID pack

Requested by Anon

Names

Aaina, Addolorata, Adheer, Adonis, Akuji, Amador, Amaia, Amanda, Amaya, Ambrose, Anastasia, Angerona, Anurag, Asaka, Asiya, Bacia, Baharupa, Benoni, Bronach, Cadell, Caedmon, Ceolburh, Cessair, Chapal, Claeg, Damien, Darpana, Dempsey, Desdemona, Dolores, Draincun, Elvira, Erasmus, Esme, Faakhir, Garv, Gediminas, Goman, Gondefle, Govran, Greig, Halia, Hel, Idony, Itishree, Jabez, Keres, Kyla, Kyoko, Lenin, Lennon, Leukadios, Lola, Malachi, Malalai, Mallory, Mandy, Manea, Mara, Merripen, Minna, Naeyli, Naushik, Nayela, Nayla, Naylea, Nekane, Niall, Omega, Ophelia, Orpheus, Ozul, Perdita, Prantika, Pritam, Renata, Requiem, Rue, Sheeza, Shivani, Sychar, Tamasvi, Toshi, Tristan, Tristezza, Uqbah

Pronouns

beep/beeps, beloved/beloveds, cherish/cherishes, dear/dears, dull/dulls, haunt/haunts, lyric/lyrics, mic/mics, mimic/mimics, mirror/mirrors, miss/missing/missings, mourn/mourns, music/musics, same/sames, sing/sings, smile/smiles, song/songs, wilt/wilts, you/yous, 🎙️/🎙️s, 🎤/🎤s, 🎵/🎵s, 🎶/🎶s, 🔊/🔊s

Titles

The (Sleepless/Restless) Mind, The Human With A Large Smile, The Lover With a Broken Heart, The Mirrored Soul, The One Akin to a Creepypasta, The One Who Looks Like You, The One With a Lost Soul, The Singer Who Mourns, [prn] Who Misses [prns] Love, [prn] With A Haunted Mic

Genders

00screepastish, Amosoporidreamic, Amourdeathia, Dehumanix, Finalboyfriend, Funkingender, Funkinhypic, Ghostenamoric, Ghostvitica, Glasbrisphoria, Horrorwebgender, Limbobodien, Lostboy, Lostgender, Lovirium, Morfinalboyic, Musicfilled, Phoshorrial, Psychoanatamic, Singersoftware, Somnospectric, Sorrowfilled, Viscurse

Other mogai

Alderhorror, Assigned Shapeshifter at Birth/AShAB, Boyfriendvesi, Melavesi, Musicperspesque, Musicvior, Musivesil

[heauxvibez]

Born Again Virgin: II

Part 2 to Born Again Virgin

Amaia confidently strode through the entrance of her clothing store, the very one she owned, heading straight for her office. Today was special, she was about to meet a new client. Being a rising star in the world of celebrity styling, Amaia was in high demand, just like the famous Kim Kimble.

A call had come in from a manager, pleading for her assistance in styling his client, a WWE Star who had been making waves in the industry for years – Roman Reigns. Known as one of the top wrestlers around, Roman needed a new stylist urgently, especially with the Espy Awards looming just a day away.

Initially, Amaia hesitated, her schedule already packed for the day. But when the manager mentioned the price, she couldn't refuse. Without a second thought, she accepted the job, knowing it would be a whirlwind of fittings and designs.

As she flicked on the lights, Amaia prepared for the arrival of her employees. Her frequent travels meant she wasn't often at the shop, leading her to hire more staff than initially intended.

Turning the sign to 'Open' and another warning against photos and autographs, Amaia reflected on the growing attention her shop received from fans eager to catch a glimpse of celebrity clientele. What started as a minor inconvenience had escalated, prompting the need for clear boundaries.

Unlocking her office door, Amaia breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be back in her sanctuary after weeks of traveling with other clients. Her office wasn't just any ordinary workspace; it was grand, almost as large as her own apartment. Walls painted in a soothing violet hue, complemented by sleek black and marble flooring, created an air of sophistication. A delicate chandelier hung from above, casting a gentle glow, while a colossal closet dominated the room's rear. Overflowing with garments ranging from petite children's sizes to the sizes of Rick Ross, it was a treasure trove of fashion possibilities.

Every item of clothing was organized by color and style. From elegant dresses to sharp suits, the racks carried a plethora of options, some already worn by clients, while others awaited their red carpet debut at upcoming events and award shows.

Adjacent to the expansive closet were two discreet changing rooms, providing privacy for those hesitant to undress in front of Amaia. She recalled with a chuckle the boldness of certain clients, like Rihanna, who did not care about undressing in her presence. Amaia couldn't help but be thankful that she wore a bra that particular day, given Rihanna's notorious aversion to them.

She busied herself fluffing the plush pillows on her couches. Nestled between them was a sleek glass table, topped with a bowl of yummy fruit candies and a stack of glossy fashion magazines, inviting guests to indulge in both sweets and style.

Reserved exclusively for her esteemed clients, Amaia's office was off-limits without her explicit permission.

Taking her place behind the desk, Amaia sorted through the scattered papers, her schedule filled to the brim. With appointments shuffled to accommodate her newest client, she made a mental note to reschedule today's and tomorrow's clients for Monday.

The lively chatter of her employees filled the air, bringing a smile to Amaia's lips. Each member of her team held a special place in her heart, and she always felt a bit sad when separated from them during her travels. She wanted to wait a bit before going out to speak to them, she focused on returning calls to clients, informing them of the scheduling changes prompted by her latest styling venture.

Mid-task, the ring of her office phone interrupted her concentration.

"Hey Amaia, you got 2 men here saying that they have an appointment with you today,"

"Names?"

"Paul Heyman and Roman Reigns.."

"Okay, send them in, thanks Makayla."

"No problem, boss."

With a soft click, Amaia hung up the phone, tidying a few papers into the drawer of her desk. Just as she finished, three gentle knocks echoed through the room, she rose from her seat and made her way towards the door.

As she swung it open, her gaze was met with the towering figure of a man clad in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweats. Her eyes traveled slowly upwards, taking in the breadth of his frame before meeting his face.

Damn, she thought.

He was undoubtedly the most handsome wrestler she had ever laid eyes on, and she'd seen her fair share. His features were chiseled and defined, sharp enough to cut like a knife. Dark, almost obsidian eyes poured into hers, set against smooth, pretty brown skin. His lips, full and inviting, drew her attention like a magnet.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Roman but you can call me Joe.." His voice, deep and seductive, snapped her out of her trance, though it sent a shiver down her spine, her knees trembling slightly.

A faint smile played at the corners of his lips, noting her reaction. The way she couldn't tear her gaze from his lips gave away more than she realized.

Roman wasn't one to brag, but he knew his charm. He was well aware of his good looks and the effect they had on others, especially women. Seeing Amaia's response wasn't new to him.

Purposefully, he licked his lips, revealing a set of perfect teeth in a charming grin.

"And I'm Paul, his manager."

She tore her gaze away from the striking sight of Roman, turning her attention to the burly man beside him. He sported a black and white suit, a touch of gray in his tie, his balding head lending him a seasoned air. With a weak smile, she extended her hand to shake theirs, introducing herself.

"Sorry we're a little late, I just moved into a new place an-.." Roman began to explain.

"No, it's totally fine. No need to explain.." Amaia interrupted, ushering them into the room and gesturing for them to take a seat on one of the plush couches.

As she opened the door to her closet, she headed towards the section reserved for men's clothing, selecting a few suits to present to Roman. Laying them out on the adjacent couch, she turned back to face him.

"Okay, so I'm styling you for the Espy's correct?"

Roman nodded, "Correct.."

"So, explain to me your style. Like what do you like to wear, favorite colors, so on and so forth..",

"I'm not too big on name brands and stuff like that. I dress casually for the most part. Colors..hmm..I like dark, sometimes with a pop of somethin' bright..you get me?"

She chuckled, pulling out a few dark suits and colorful button-ups and ties.

"I definitely understand,"

Roman glanced at his manager, who seemed preoccupied with his phone.

"What?"

Paul glanced up briefly, "Nothing, don't worry about it. I'll be right back." he smiled, nodding towards Amaia.

"Take good care of him while I'm gone." he requested.

"I'm not a child, I can take care of myself," Roman said, rolling his eyes.

Amaia giggled, "It's fine, I got him."

"Thank you."

She held up a black suit, "Come here for a minute.."

As he approached, she felt a flutter of nerves. His presence was intense, his cologne intoxicating.

Turning to face him, she held up the suit, "How about these black slacks with a black button-up and a deep blood orange or red tie? Or you can wear the black slacks with a red button-up and a black tie..no suit jacket, though.."

Roman considered the options, his presence sending her thoughts into a tailspin.

"I like the all black with the red tie, that would be pretty dope. What do you think?" he asked. His eyes stared deeply into hers, almost as if he were searching for something. If you ask Amaia, she could've sworn he was trying to find her g-spot by staring into her soul.

"I..I think you will look great in that." she stammered.

"Yeah?" he leaned in closer, his breath grazing her cheek.

"Yes.." she breathed out softly, feeling a flutter in her chest. Gripping the clothes tightly, she fought to steady herself. If his intention was to make her lose her mind, he was certainly achieving it.

The door swung open, causing both of them to jump.

"Joe, we got to go. You have a meeting in 30 minutes. If we don't go now, you'll be late, and that's not a good first impression." Paul said, fingers tapping away at his phone.

"What about the outfit for the Espys tomorrow? She doesn't know my sizes.." Roman's concern was evident.

"Text her your sizes and we'll deal with the rest tomorrow morning. Amaia, will you be able to be here at 6:00 am tomorrow?"

She nodded, "Great, problem solved. Let's goooo!" Paul exclaimed, ushering Roman out of the room.

Roman groaned, rubbing his temples.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow.."

"Yeah, tomorrow.." she murmured, glancing down.

"Reigns!"

"I'm coming!"

"See you later, beautiful.." his smirk lingered in her mind.

As the door closed behind them, she sank to the floor, her knees finally giving out.

"My God, what am I going to do with this man?" she lamented, her box braids threatening to fall out of her bun.

This born again virgin thing is going to be harder than she thought.

-----------------

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede @alichesmi @msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @sassginamillls @wrestlingprincess80 @saintmagx @headoftheetable

[chaosdoesnotdefineme]

ok, @guess-ill-dye you asked about my OCs, now bear the consequences.

beware this post is rlly long

First of I need to explain a bit of the world-building;

In the beginning there was nothing. Only darkness and the freezing Cold. Out of that nothingness Aviya was born. Aviya was the first light, warmth and life itself. He created the world as we know it. But with life there comes death, and with it Amaia.

Over time, more and more deities weee born. Fauna, the Animals and wildlife and her sister Flora, the plants and flowers, Munin, the moon and the memories of the past, Morgan, the water that flows over our planet and Ojuna, the love that inhabits every being on earth. There’s also a bunch if smaller more insignificant deities like Celia, the deity of the seasons.

All of the major deities have regions to them self, with different cultures and practices dedicated to their deity. In the middle of the map is Aviya‘s region, the capital.

At first it was one singular big culture with Aviya being seen as the most powerful and important of the deities, because he was the first and also „created“ the others. But over time the different cultures started to separate and Aviya had less controll and overall was worshipped less.

He grew jealous and yearned for the times where he was the biggest. He made it his mission to overtake the other deities‘ cultures and make them center around him again.

Because he felt Amaia was the exact opposite of him and destroyed everything he created he started with hers.

Fast forward a couple hundred years into the furure, is where the story actually takes place.

Elleonora grows up on a farm in a small town outside the capital. She lives there quite happily with her mom, dad and brother, until her father leaves seemingly out of nowhere.

Elle is blessed by Amaia, wich causes her a great deal of trouble and bullying in the small town under Aviyas rule. Her father was the only one really understanding and protecting her. With him gone her mother and everyone else have free reign to bully, ridicule and abise her.

She grows up mainly playing on her own in the forests surrounding the town, playing with the wolfs and wild dogs that life there.

Until she meets Blanca, who becomes her best friend and later her lover.

Elles mother does not approve of Blanca and her daughters relationship, and shoots the former after catching them in the barn behind the house.

Elle runs away and meets Anya, a wolf shapeshifter blessed by Fauna.

Anyas family is blessed by Munin, and was killed when Aviya took over the tribe. She fled to the nearest woods, was adopted by a pack of wolfs and blessed by Fauna.

She joined a rebellion against Aviya and is recruiting new members until she meets Elle. She joins in hopes she can avenge Blanca.

Together, Elle and Anya go to the Capital, where they stay at a cemetery run by Alfred, a member of the rebellion who is also blessed by Luci, the deity of the soul.

In the capital they’re joined by May, a girl from a family of great doctors, all blessed by Emmi, the deity of healing, that holds her up to dangerously high standards.

together they go on a journey to be able to fully end and, in order to maintain balance, replace Aviya.

There’s like much more details that i’m just to lazy to write down right now ^~^ You‘re still very welcome to send me asks about more details though!!

[emilmoreno]

@lia-lozano Event: Halloween Party @ Golden Hour Beach Bar. It turned out Amaia wasn't capable of stonewalling him forever, there was still some shred of empathy in her and she'd let Emil take Isabel to a Halloween work party. It wasn't the same as going Door to Door around the neighborhood but they went around to all the desks and the guys set up a little child-friendly fun house on site. So, with that having taken place the evening before Emil was taking his small sliver of hope and floating on cloud nine. A drink in hand helped, of course. Just lightly buzzed enough to have stopped fiddling with his ears every five minutes. He wasn't exactly sure why but he was pretty sure he'd briefly bumped into a smug smirking Mari just moments before he spotted her. He'd heard her laugh first and his head snapped in Lia's direction without him even realizing what he was doing, gaze scanning the crowd for the familiar head of hair. Nothing could've prepared him for the sight. An amused grin danced into place when he clocked the purple-accented jet pack bag. The rest of her costume was cute but revealing and his pulse spiked immediately, not catching himself mindlessly gravitating towards her through the crowd. Sharp blue eyes traced the line of her glittering thigh-high boots, and Emil would like to claim it took longer than it did for his attention to settle on the curve of Lia's butt. He'd had to stop in his tracks to do a double-take when he registered the letter 'E' written boldly on her skin. If it was possible, he was sure his jaw would've hit the floor then and there. Just unhinged and dropped off. His brain seemed to stop functioning for a whole solid minute. Despite being dumbstruck and feeling a warmth blossom up his neck and face his feet decided to function again and before he knew it Emil was stood behind her. His palms were sweaty, his heart thudding in his chest, and a lump in his throat. No idea how to form words as his mind begged him to 'Be Cool'. Be cool, be cool, be cool. Trying to remember how to breathe he lifted a hand to tap on her shoulder and somehow managed to offer her some version of his usual lopsided grin when she turned to him. "You look... out of this world." Emil winked, pun definitely intended.

[hollowayhqs]

Character information

Name: Catalina Amaia Rivera Carrizo “Cat” Age: 30 Gender: Cis - Woman Pronouns: She / Her Species: Werewolf Face claim: Adria Arjona Character Occupation: Tattoo Artist (Fine Line Studios) Neighbourhood of residence: The Manors Affiliation: (Coven/Pack) Hollow Pack Length of stay in Holloway: Seven years.

Character summary:

Born in Guatemala Catalina was the product of an affair between a Guatemalan artist and a Puerto Rican woman travelling. Her father loved her mother and despite the marriage he was already in her father continued their affair after Catalina was born. He had a small presence in the first few years of Catalina’s life, but when her mother passed away, he stepped up to take care of her full time. He brought Catalina into his home where she was raised alongside her half-brother, who was ten years older than her.

Her half-brother left for America when he was in his twenties for reasons unknown to Catalina. From then it was her, her father and his wife who very literally took the role of evil step-mom. Catalina and her step-mom never saw eye to eye because she saw Catalina as nothing more than a mistake. So when the time came that Catalina was old enough to leave the family home she did, and though she is still close with her father she wanted to find her brother. At 19 years old Catalina travelled to America, with not much to go on she tried to search for her brother but simply had no lead and no idea where to start. It was as if he did not want to be found and she could not spend forever searching each state without a penny to her name.

Eventually Catalina stopped off in North Carolina, a place her mother had told her she had extended family, cousins, aunts, uncles... She eventually reached out and found them in Holloway where she has now lived for the past seven years.

Catalina inherited her father's artistic skills and sketching was always her favourite hobby. Eventually Catalina turned it into a career having worked as an apprentice in a local studio and working up to become a popular tattoo artist in the local area.

[breath-of-eternity]

Chapter 4

The far side of the fork was full of high cliffs that the sun was quickly sinking behind. There wasn’t even enough light for Amaia to find the markings the others would have left so she knew which way they were going. Which was less of a concern than her needing to find a place to hide for the night.

She left the tent and the raft by the shore and made her way back along the rocky cliffs. Everything had taken on a deep blue hue and her heart rate clicked up a notch.

A cleft yawned below her, easily stepped across. If she climbed down far enough to be safe from a monster, she’d never be able to get out again. Overhangs that would be easy to pin her down under. Maybe she could climb a tree… No, a monster would shake her down like she shook down the nuts.

The sun was gone, the sky a dark purple with flecks of stars. She had never been out this late, so far from the protective glow for a fire, except the past few nights she hid in dirt and animal burrows. Now she didn’t even have those.

She knelt down, crawling into the brush. The ground was soft muck, sucking at her hands, and she scooped up a handful to rub across her body. If they couldn’t smell her, she would almost be safe. Her hands brushed a fallen truck, almost as big across as she was tall. She clawed out the earth underneath to make a den and wedged herself inside. It still wasn’t enough, even after she packed the dirt around herself.

Any time she thought she was going to sleep, a twig would snap or the breeze would pick up and she would start awake until she was sure it wasn’t approaching footsteps. The monsters would be full, right? They wouldn’t be on the prowl?

“Why do they eat us?” she asked a grandmother once. It couldn’t have been long after an attack that nearly halved their band’s population. Amaia only had about eight summers, and Mother’s mother and Father’s mother both died in the slaughter.

“Everything eats something,” Retta had answered. She was one of Amaia’s favorites. She did not hide truths from her, confirming Dash’s story about the monsters laying clutches of leathery eggs.

“But why does it have to be us?” Amaia said. “They should just eat plants.”

“Different beasts eat different things. There used to be many more animals that ate nothing but meat. They didn’t eat humans much, though. These monsters… are something else.”

“No one ever knows,” Amaia said bitterly.

“Nothing we know is certain and that’s absolute shit,” Retta said, another reason Amaia liked her so much. “My brother was the one who saw the eggs, back when we were children. He had been gone all night and we thought he was lost, but then he came back to us, pale and shaking. He had gone into a cave looking for mushrooms and ran into a circle of monsters lying around a clutch of half a dozen. By all rights, they should have smelled him and pounced on him, but somehow he made it out. Even though I’d heard stories from my grandparents about eggs, I believed they were just stories.”

“Do you think he was lying?” Amaia said, and it was only on reflection she realized Retta was likely distracting her from the answers she couldn’t give with a story.

“Not at all,” she said. “He was near tears when he told us, and my brother was always too proud to show tears. He saw the eggs, he saw the monsters, and they must have been too lulled to realize a meal had been delivered to them. He was very, very lucky. More luck than he had later, when…”

Retta had stayed with them a few more years, until another starving time came on them. Several grandparents died, as did many of the young children. And Mother…

Amaia cut that thought before it led her down a river she did not want to travel.

After an eternity, the night ended. Once she could see the sun glinting through the trees, she emerged from her indentation and began her journey back to the fork, scraping mud off her body the whole while. She was near the river after all, and she was able to wash for the first time in a week. Layers of mud and sweat had caked onto her, and she sat down on the shallows to soak.

They must have left already, not even waiting a few days. Or perhaps they hadn’t arrived yet. Yes, that had to be it. They went off in other directions, and needed time to orient themselves and head to the fork, which was where the band had been heading before the attack. It was the easiest place to cross, and there was always fish to catch.

That was what she had to do: catch fish. Once she was clean, she’d cross to the other side so she’d have the river between her and the monsters, and work on fishing for the next few days. Once the others showed up, she’d have plenty to share, and they could continue on.

To the south was a lake they always stopped at, another great fishing spot. Then came time for the rafts, so they could float supplies down the river, and then the next gathering—hopefully one that would happen this time. With all the people they lost, it might be wiser to stick with another group. It would mean a change in their route, learning new land, but they needed enough people to fight, to hunt, to care for the children.

Amaia ran her fingers through her hair and found it matted into clumps. She got the knife and shorn off as much as she could, nicking her scalp in places. It was just hair, after all.

She floated back towards her things and went searching along the trees and rocks for any marks she may have missed. Wavy lines were carved on one tree, weathered and worn, perhaps the one her people left last year. She carved a figure made of lines and circles into the bark, and put a circle around it to indicate she was alone. Licking her lips, she nodded at the image, and went to tie her things on the raft.

The river was shallow enough that she’d be able to walk most of the way if it wasn’t for the current. The raft was of good use as a float, and she braced her upper body on the smooth wood while she kicked herself across. Water splashed over her head and flooded her nose and ears, but she could make it, she could make it, it wasn’t sweeping her too far down river. The raft slammed into a rock and was sliding out from under her. She snagged the rope and wrapped it around her hands even though it threatened to cut off the circulation.

More water crushed her and now she was beneath the surface. Her toes brushed the bottom of the river and she couldn’t breathe, she was losing the rope, the world was getting dark.

Monsters! her mind cried out, though of course that was impossible. She pulled her body in and then kicked as hard as she could, breaking through to the surface. Her hand flailed out and caught a rock slick with moss that her ragged fingernails could not grip. Down below the water again, she twisted the rope around her hand again and felt for the bottom. Rocks, slick weeds, something squirming. She tugged the raft along, hoping it was towards the shore.

The ground rose up and when she stood, she could get her head into the fresh air. Amaia blinked water out of her vision and spotted rocks and trees, and she grabbed hold of the nearest trunk. Her lungs burned, and she pulled the raft closer. Pouch sinched tight and intact.

Her fingers slipped over the rocks, but she pulled herself towards the shore even as the water continued to beat down on her. It filled her mouth and went all the way up into her nose, and this was gritty, frothing water and she coughed it up only to have more flood in. Amaia bent her head and clutched the raft.

She spit out another mouthful of water and then she was able to stand and take in a breath. Her callused feet rubbed against the rock, and she carefully felt her way forward. Every muscle fought to keep her upright, because if she was knocked down, she’d never be able to get up again.

Soon her head was entirely above the waterline, then her chest, her stomach, and then she was dragging the raft over the shore. She kept going until she reached the trees, where the river could no longer crush her, and the instant her arms found bark her body gave way and Amaia was gasping for air in the dirt.

No wonder the band always crossed farther upstream, even if it meant a longer trek and two rivers instead of one. None of the grandparents or children would have made it, and their supplies…

Amaia’s body jerked as she tried to lift her head. Pain tingled across her neck and as she lifted her head, it felt like muscle was grinding against bone. The rope was still wrapped around her arm, and when she squeezed, the roughened fiber pressed into her. Then the wind wrapped around her and she began to shiver. Winter inching ever closer.

Somehow she was able to get back on her feet and drag the raft into the forest. Insects chirped, birds fluttered in the highest branches. How lucky they were to be able to stay out of reach.

“Is anyone here?” she called out, and the forest stopped for a moment. Soon the chirpers started up again, and she detected an air of annoyance in their reep-reep about the lumbering interloper. No other reply came to her.

She got the stone knife and the pouch and made her way back to the river, scanning the trunks and rocks for any sign of her people’s presence. All were infuriatingly blank. Well, of course they would be. The others were probably smart enough to cross upstream.

The land grew steep and she had to be careful as she climbed the rocky soil. The trees pulled back as if there was an invisible line nature decreed they not cross—and in a way, it had, since any acorn or nut buried out here would not find enough soil to survive. The cliffs grew high enough to have caves, and Amaia made note of them.

This was no longer rocks, it was cliffs. She headed farther inland, keeping the sound of the river to her right. Trees began to pop up again, but they were pines she couldn’t eke any sustenance from. Up above her head, three slash marks had been gouged into the wood, weathered but not healed over. Hopefully the monsters wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.

Walking by the trees covered her in sap and miniature cones, and her feet were coated in dirt by the time she realized she could no longer hear the river. The sun was just heading out of midday, giving her plenty of time to reach the crossing point before she needed to head back to the river caves. Probably not protection enough, but where else was she supposed to go?

She kept her eyes fixed in front of her and kept walking.

The rush of another river came to her, not quite as active as the last one. When her foot stepped onto the dirt and sank up to her ankle, she knew this was the right place. This river was shallow but strong, pouring down in falls from cliffs that stretched up to the sky. Eventually the mud led to actual water, a river that wasn’t wide but always a dangerous cross. Last year, she had to help a grandfather across, then run back over to help another.

The white and shining river came into view.

“Hello!” she yelled, but it was not enough to go over the river. She shielded her eyes and scanned the far side, but there were only more trees.

She checked all the trees and rocks. Carvings from years past, one she remembered Father gouging into the stone last year.

“Where are you?” she asked, only vaguely aware she had spoken out loud. She licked her lips and screamed “Father!” with all the power she could muster.

It bounced off the cliffs, dead and alone in the air.

[t3anks]

Last stop....

Hair:  TETE – GOEUN Hair (Kustom9)Mesh Head: LeLUTKA. EvoX Noel 4.0Skin: [Glam Affair]  Clover [Lelutka EvoX] (DUBAI)Dress: TRIGGERED – Charlie Dress (Kustom9)Glasses: TRIGGERED – Charlie Glasses (Gift) (Kustom9)Nails: Pure Poison – Amaia NailsBackdrop: Amitie – Last Stop BACKDROP (Anthem)Pose and prop: Amitie – Mobile Pose Pack (Anthem)

[ellesource]

HI! How are you? Could you maybe do a pack for Amaia Salamanca in the series Gran Hotel???

hi ! i'm good, thank you, hope you're well !! if i can manage to find the show in good quality then yes, absolutely !

[thechaosmuses]

Alright so really quick before I do anything else I wanna introduce some new muses to you guys.. They'll be under the cut to save y'all from seeing the long post-

First up we have Anastasia Sloane Lenkov... She’s a former black widow, now working for Shield. She was born in Russia and was trained as a black widow pretty much since she could walk. She can speak Russian, of course but also several other languages, including Sokovian. She despised ballet for a while but eventually picked it back up, reclaiming it as something she loves rather than something she was forced to do. She also loves to cook/bake and paint, all three are her hobbies but also an escape, something she does when she needs a break or a moment of peace. She’s very sweet, some might say too sweet considering she used to be an assassin. She is very caring, and protective of everyone, especially the people she cares about. Like Nat she has a very motherly energy to her despite not being able to have kids though she’d love to adopt one day. (she was made mainly for an OC of my darlin's, @chaos-awakens, using the guy who plays Jordan Parrish because we aren't 100% on board with Lydia x Parrish but they do look good together so we made oc's using them, something we've done a few times before)

Next up we have Amaia Talia Alexander... She was born in a small town just outside of Beacon Hills to a banshee mother and a werewolf father. Though she doesn’t remember either of them, or much of her early life. She knows her parents were killed when she was four and she was taken in by her father’s childhood best friend and her Godmother, Talia Hale. When Talia died, Derek took the young werewolf under his wing and showed her how to be a werewolf. However, no one, not even her, had known she was also a banshee. Her Mother had written her a letter that Derek gave her on her 16th birthday, and the letter told the young girl about the strange things that she would hear and see though her mother hadn’t known what she was, just that sometimes she knew when people were gonna die. She also mentioned that she wasn’t even sure with Amaia being a werewolf if it would even happen to her and when Amaia first got the letter, nothing major had happened, she'd had a few weird dreams and thought she heard voices, but she just chalked it up to stress. At least until Lydia Martin let out her first banshee scream and it was like a switch flicked inside the brunette’s mind. She’s a lot like Derek since they sort of grew up together though a little more sarcastic like Stiles, and she’s pretty introverted, though she can be extroverted with the right people.

(this next one is a long one, my apologies - also i rewrote it like three maybe four times so if there's any spelling errors or anything just ignore them cause if i re-read this again i'm gonna wanna either rewrite it or scrap it completely)

And last but certainly not least we have Chandler Matthew Labonair... He was born in New Orleans but raised in Beacon Hills as his family had to leave their home because of hunters. The reason they’d chosen the California town was because his family was close friends with the Hales. And he and his family just so happened to be in the house the night Kate set fire to the Hale house. He was still only a child at the time and his parents managed to get him out of the house through a window, but they unfortunately didn’t make it out. Afterwards Deaton took him in and raised him as he didn’t want the poor boy to end up in the foster system and when he needed him Derek helped with anything werewolf related that Deaton couldn’t handle. When the young werewolf was old enough, and with Deaton’s permission, he decided to seek out a witch in New Orleans to see if he could somehow talk to his parents, get some advice on being a werewolf. The witch had him lay on the ground on symbols she’d drawn, his family’s pack symbol along with others he didn’t recognize. Before he knew it he was unconscious and in the afterlife where he saw his parents again. He also met other members of his pack, even some that were from another world. A world where members born of the pack were born with the pack symbol on them, a world where they fully transformed into wolves, something that only happened rarely in his world. A part of him wished he could go there, he had friends back home of course but he had no family, not a single person from his pack remained but in the other world maybe there would be. He had half-jokingly said it out loud though he didn’t expect anything to come from it. Next thing he knew he was waking up and though he was still in New Orleans he wasn’t in the witch’s shop, he was where he had been standing last with his parents, in the bayou of New Orleans. After making his way to the city he followed his instincts which led him straight to a large house and an auburn-haired girl around his age named Hope with his pack symbol on her back. Though a bit rough around the edges at first the two of them, along with her family, quickly became close. A few years later at the Salvatore School he put his life on the line to save that same girl, and in an attempt to save him Hope gave him her blood but it hadn’t worked, at least not in the way either of them thought it would. The brunette woke up a few hours later much to everyone’s surprise, and more than that he was now a hybrid, the first and only of his kind. Chandler isn’t really introverted or extroverted, he likes his alone time or being around just his close friends, but he still enjoys big gatherings or parties here and there. He’s sweet, loyal and funny, also pretty sarcastic and he’s a hopeless romantic. And not just in the romantic way, like he’s actually kind of hopeless. He is also very protective of the people he cares about and his found family, both back in New Orleans (the Mikaelsons + honorary ones) and the ones from the Salvatore school. He can play the guitar and he's learning piano, and he also likes to draw and write; poems, songs, etc.

[thatliminal-wanderer]

Traumacore ID Pack

Requested by 🫀🪽anon

Names:

Abaddon, Addy, Amaia, Amanita, Amelia, Anahera, Angela, Angelette, Angelica, Angelina, Angelo, Angerona, Aniela, Ariel, Ashley, Auiak, Ava, Bacia, Balaksha, Benjamin, Blaire, Blessed, Bomma, Bronach, Cael, Castiel, Cessiar, Charolette, Chimie, Chisuke, Chrissa, Claudie, Cordelia, Corinne, Deirdre, Desemona, Dol, Dolores, Eden, Elijah, Ember, Emma, Engel, Evangeline, Evelyn, Eztli, Felicity, Gabriel, Gabriela, Gwen, Halia, Henry, Ichigo, Isabella, Itishree, James, Jophiel, Laveda, Leah, Liam, Lola, Lucas, Luna, Mallory, Mia, Michael, Mugdha, Nathaniel, Nishkapata, Noah, Oliver, Olivia, Perdita, Ramiel, Raphael, Raziel, Riju, Sariel, Seraphina, Sophia, Theodore, Tristan, Uriel, Valeji, William, Zaccheus, Zadkiel, Zelenka

Pronouns:

blood/bloods, cloud/clouds, cor/corrupt/corrupts, de/dec/decays, dull/dulls, empty/emptys, fall/falls, fi/figure/figures, flower/flowers, fun/fungus, gore/gores, hum/hums, inno/innocent/innocents, kid/kiddy/kiddies, knife/knives, melancholy/melancholies, mist/mists, mud/muds, nostalgia/nostalgias, plush/plushes, prey/preys, pure/pures, rot/rots, sacred/sacreds, sick/sicks, soi/soil/soils, somber/sombers, sorrow/sorrows, spoil/spoils, stitch/stitches, stuff/stuffie/stuffies, taint/taints, thread/threads, to/toy/toys, toy/toys, void/voids, ☠️/☠️s, ⛓️/⛓️s, ❤️‍🩹/❤️‍🩹s, 🌘/🌘s, 🌪️/🌪️s, 🎈/🎈s, 🎭/🎭s, 🏚️/🏚️s, 🐁/🐁s, 🐇/🐇s, 🐊/🐊s, 🐍/🐍s, 🐛/🐛s, 🐡/🐡s, 👤/👤s, 💉/💉s, 💔/💔s, 💭/💭s, 📌/📌s, 🔇/🔇s, 🕊️/🕊️s, 🕷️/🕷️s, 🕸️/🕸️s, 🚨/🚨s, 🚫/🚫s, 🚬/🚬s, 🥀/🥀s, 🥉/🥉s, 🥣/🥣s, 🥩/🥩s, 🦈/🦈s, 🦝/🦝s, 🦷/🦷s, 🧫/🧫s, 🧸/🧸s, 🩸/🩸s, 🩹/🩹s, 🪡/🪡s, 🪰/🪰s, 🪱/🪱s, 🪳/🪳s, 🪶/🪶s, 🪽/🪽s, 🫀/🫀s, 🫗/🫗s

Titles:

The Bloody [One/Angel/Your choice of Animal], The Blurry Nostalgic, The One Which Feels Broken, The One Who Grew Up Too Fast, The One Who Lost [prn] Innocents, The One With a Broken Childhood, The Traumatized One, [prn] Which Wants [prn] Childhood Back, [prn] Who Feels Like a Broken Doll, [prn] Who Hides [prn] Trauma Behind Cute Images

Genders:

Aesthetitraumic, Angelcoretraumic, Auroracoretraumic, Babycoretraumic, Beaniebabytraumic, Beastwoundgender, Bettertraumic, Brokenangelic, Brokendollic, Childhoodgender, Corrangelic, Corrinnogender.exe, Crayongender, Cybercoretraumic, Dangerlinetraumic, Dontraumic, Dreamsweetraumic ,Filthangelic, Foxcoretraumic, Foxplushtraumic, Genderfangel, Ghostklahomic, Guardetrayal/Trascguardetrayal/Tremguardetrayal, Hallowtraumic/Eastraumic/Julytraumic, Ingeluse, Inochuld, Kindetravio, Liminalspacestalgic, Lolitatraumic, Lostboy, Memoridemic, Mychemancetraumic/Mychemancetraumix, Nostbackplushic/Kenostbackplushic, Novemberaintraumic, Nursedollic, Oreotraumic, Pateretraumic, Pinkanifuraum, Psychosocialtraumic, Recovertraumic, Sacrilambtraumic, Snuftraumic, Sweetchildtraumic, Teremuskin, Traumacoric, UYI1traumic/UYI1traumix, UYI2traumic/UYI2traumix, Vantablackic, Virstuel, Wistigender, Wolfplushtraumic, Xenohoardtraumic

Other MOGAI:

Alderpelosgui, Assigned Void Doll at Birth/AVDAB, Brokenwingsdernic, Fallevior, Innocentperspesque, Traumavesi, Unholy Omninoun

[thxgreywaren]

Amaia Romero layouts (request)

༄ Like or reblog if you save/use

༄ Don’t clame as your own

╰┈ ೃ Credits twitter: @thxgreywaren

[lunelouv]

— ♡ °  𝙰𝙼𝙰𝙸𝙰 𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚁𝙾 𝙶𝙸𝙵 𝙸𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂

 if you click ( ʜᴇʀᴇ ) you will find  #337 gif icons  ( 80x80 )  of spanish singer amaia romero  from  operación triunfo 2017.   all of these gif icons were made from scratch by me, so pleaaase don’t claim as your own or repost in other gif hunt.  i worked really hard on these, so likes or reblogs would be appreciated if you found this useful, 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎

[emilmoreno]

Full Name: Emiliano Tomás Moreno Nickname: Emil Age & Birthday: 33 - November 20th.  Occupation: Marine Welder Preferred Pronouns & Gender: He/him & cis-male Sexuality: Heterosexual Hometown: Briar Ridge, South Carolina. Neighborhood: Beach Front Family: Isabel 'Isa' Moreno - 9 year old daughter.

Pinterest | Stats | Connections. 

trigger warnings: car accident.

Born locally, Emil had what he would consider a mostly fairly middle of the road childhood. He often felt a bit detached from his parents, but he wanted for very little outside of perhaps a more socially stimulating environment. His uncle who was deemed by his ma as the ‘wild’ one of her family is very close to him.

A lot of times it was his uncle that took him to tee-ball, and sat in the stands all through his schooling years on the field.

Just as he was about to pack his bags and get out of dodge on a baseball scholarship, he experienced one of his first real upsets in life. His ma was in a bad car crash, and had to go through physical therapy. With medical bills and her needing help around the house, Emil put off college.

A semester turned into a year plus, but eventually with luck on his side and some help from his high school sweetheart’s family - Emil left town for his belated start out in San Diego on scholarship and studying physical therapy.

Everything was going pretty swimmingly, even his long distance relationship and he was so close to making the draft that he could practically hear the stadium crowds cheering for him. but alas life had one more curve ball for him & he was given the news that Amaia was pregnant and Emil immediately dropped everything to go back home.

Things went downhill from there in the years to follow. Between his own emotional distress of giving up his dream, there was a lot of tension between him and Amaia that he thought getting married could somehow fix. When it didn’t, the pair had a really ugly divorce and a custody battle you’d expect to be run by Judge Judy. Amaia was successful in painting Emil poorly and in the end, though he’d get visitations, he lost the custody battle for Isabel.

Having followed in his father’s footsteps upon coming back home, Emil nowadays has a very steady career. Though none of it is what he imagined he would be doing growing up he’s far from miserable, he’s adapted pretty well. Being able to turn his welding experience into his own thing by getting all his diving certifications definitely helped him settle in. Coaching tee-ball and being a sub for a local softball team certainly helps as well. The main stress in his life currently is dealing with his ex-wife and having to sometimes fight tooth and nail to get his owed visitations etc. with Isa. It doesn’t help that she’s old enough to ask questions Emil doesn’t always have an answer to, like why she has to stay with her mother. He’s stable enough that he’d like to go back to court, but he’s a little nervous it’d be hard on Isa and that he has less of a leg to stand on when Amaia has had her for as long as she has.

Fun facts:

he has a husky named Hercules after the dog in The Sandlot.

can be a bit of a thrill seeker. Likes roller coasters, dancing, and spontaneous road trips.

technically has enough diving certifications he could be a diving instructor but has little interest.  

owns way too many jerseys kind of sports fan, has seasonal tickets. supports a lot of local teams.

has a serious shellfish allergy, which is slightly amusing given the local cuisine.

likes #DadJokes and always has a snack on him because of either Isa or the kids he coaches for tee-ball.

[wildfloweredits]

*･｡ﾟ⊱Amaia Romero layouts.

༄ Like/Reblog if you use them.

༄ Please give credits in @grungxalienedit. Don’t reclaim as your own.

If you don’t give credits I will put a password on the tumblr.

[allie-scribbles]

Love, Found

Summary: It’s the big reunion. But will it be a happy one?

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k (whoops)

Series Tags/Warnings: Angst, sad feels, implied pregnancy (now there's a baby!), cussing because I can't help it, a smidge of violence.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Interlude | Part 4

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You swear you aren’t force sensitive, but the way you step outside one day and somehow, deep down, know he’s there makes you re-evaluate that assumption - if only for a second.

You had just gotten Amaia down for a nap and were planning for a moment of peace and quiet in your garden when you felt it: you were being watched. Only this didn’t feel like the uncomfortable gaze of a stranger or a judgemental look from an acquaintance. It was calm and focused. Warm, if a bit distant. It was him, and you didn’t need to be a Jedi to know it.

It almost takes you by surprise, how quickly he’d arrived on Wrea. It had only been a couple weeks since Hunter had let you know he’d given your coordinates to Crosshair. To be honest, part of you was expecting to wait months for him to show up. But there was never any doubt that he’d observe from afar first, making his move when he felt comfortable. The Empire may have changed him, but you still were confident you knewhim like the back of your hand.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Crosshair had been in the same position for hours upon hours, yet the fatigue and stiffness didn't register. He pushed them to the back of his mind, quite easily in fact, putting all his focus on you. You, who had haunted his dreams since he begged you to defect to the Empire with him. The person who betrayed him even more than his brothers. He had bared things to you he’d never dare whisper to them, trusted you with his ramshackle heart, and in the end, you didn’t choose him.

That’s what he had been telling himself, at least, until you were there in his scope. Cliché as it was, he couldn’ breathe for a moment when he saw you. You were exactly the same, yet different somehow. You seemed softer around the edges, both physically and in the way you moved. Where your movements before were purposeful and precise, there was now a graceful ease.

He watched through the window as you readied breakfast, singing to yourself and dancing in the kitchen. He watched you slip on a shawl and shoes as you exited the front door, a bundle strapped to your chest that he quickly realized was a baby in a very fuzzy hat with Tooka ears (not an actual Tooka). He felt a sharp panic then, easily quelled when you returned from the village minutes later without the child. He knew you had always liked children, so it made perfect sense you’d help the villagers watch them when needed.

A few household chores later and you returned to the village, coming back after a short while with what he assumed was another child strapped to you - the Tooka hat was gone and replaced with a plain bonnet. He allowed himself a half smile then - you were still his girl, caring and always willing to lend a hand where needed.

That led him to now, when you stepped out to the garden alone, taking a deep breath and smiling as the wind brushed your hair away from your face. As he watched you through his scope, he felt the full weight of his situation hit him for the first time. He could reveal himself, or not… risk being rejected again, or not.

He made his decision, removing himself from the patch of ground he had made his home for the day, packing up his kit with the intent to leave you once and for all. His fragile heart couldn’t take rejection again from the one thing it loved above all else. Just as he was about to tuck his scope into its compartment, he caved, stealing one last glance your way. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you were staring right at him, a serene smile on your face, like you knew he was there. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face and shoving the scope angrily into his kit. Whatever previous decision he made wasthrown to the wind. He fucking loved you, and he hadto try.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You were washing dishes when the energy in the apartment shifted. Your hands stilled, and you took a deep breath. This was it. The moment you had been waiting for. But your movements were slow and deliberate as you set down the now clean plate, drained the water from the sink, and wiped your hands on the towel before folding it neatly on the counter. You steeled yourself as you turned, not sure what version of Crosshair you were going to find. The imperial soldier? The stoic sniper you first met? Or the man you were irrevocably in love with?

When you turned around, he was seated at the kitchen table, feet up and toothpick in his mouth, a smirk on his face. You gave his feet a pointed look, and he huffed out a chuckle as he swung them down to the floor.

“Miss me, sweetheart?” he drawled, legs spread wide and one arm slung over the back of the chair, looking for all intents and purposes like a permanent fixture in your home instead of the (welcomed) intrusion that he was. But still you could see the apprehension, the uncertainty in his eyes. The concern that what has transpired has changed you, changed him, too much. That what you had was completely and utterly gone.

The only sign of surprise is his soft “oof” as you flung yourself at him, arms around his neck and knees hitting the floor as you hug him as best you can in your awkward position. He immediately returned your embrace with one arm, the other hand resting under your chin. Both work in tandem to guide you both to a standing position. Though he still says nothing, you can see how much he missed you shining in his eyes, felt it vibrating through his body, tasted it in the searing kiss he pressed to your lips as he held you close.

You stood there together reveling in the closeness for what seems like hours, until a soft cry from the next room breaks the silence. Panic flooded through you; while Amaia was asleep you had been able to pretend this moment you’ve dreaded would never come. But Crosshair doesn’t seem surprised, which you guess made sense if he had been watching you. But did he know?

He spun you around to face the bedroom door and pats you on the ass, a smirk on his face as he jutted his chin towards the source of the cry. You give his hand one last squeeze before you go, and his responding squeeze gave you both hope that maybe things would be just like they were.

Admittedly, you took longer than you needed to gather Amaia, drawing out changing her diaper and tidying the blankets in her crib as long as you could. You could feel your heart beating a mile a minute, your muscles tensed your skin clammy. Amaia sensed it too, refusing to settle in your arms as she continued whining and wiggling.

You took one last deep breath to fortify yourself, and slipped back into the main room. Crosshair was examining some baby paraphernalia carefully, as if it may bite him. His back was to you, and you couldn’t help but snort a little at his posture and the confusion you knew was on his face. But your laugh gave you away, and he suddenly spoke as he turned toward you.

“I should’ve known you’d be helping out with the village’s babies. You were always so good with my…” his voice died mid sentence as he took you in.

He froze, going stiller than you’d ever seen before. His eyes darted from Amaia to you and back, tracing every similarity the two of you share and cataloging each difference. You could see him connect the dots almost instantly… how could he not? A shock of white hair, his warm eyes set just as yours were, and his skin tone on a face shaped exactly like yours left no doubt. In your arms was a perfect blend of him and you.

You want to plead with him to not be mad, to let you explain, to do anything to make him stay, but when you registered the newest emotion on his face as fear - true, genuine fear - the words just didn’t come. You could count the number of times you’d seen this man scared on one hand; hell, on one finger. And the one thing you had learned is that a scared Crosshair was an angry Crosshair.

So when you softly whispered, “Cross-,” part of you wasn’t surprised when his blank mask snapped back over his face, or when he simply stated, “No,” and stalked right out your front door, gone as quickly as he appeared. Part of you knew it was coming. But the other part of you collapsed on the floor, sobs wracking your body as you held Amaia close.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was 2 a.m. when you heard the door to your and Amaia’s shared room squeak. When you finally worked up the nerve to roll over some minutes later, you saw a tall, thin figure slightly bending over the crib, backlit by the soft nightlight.

You slipped out of bed and padded over to Crosshair, stopping a few feet away. You could see the tension in his shoulders, yet they’re slumped almost in defeat. He tentatively reached out as if to brush a lock of silver hair off of Amaia’s forehead, but retracted his hand a millimeter away, quickly as if he had been burned.

“I had a right to know,” he whispered, and there was no mistaking the anger, the fear in his voice. “I had a right to know about her,” he practically spat, and that was what snapped you out of your trance. There was no way he was getting away with talking about your daughter in that tone.

You grabbed his wrist as firmly as you could, and dragged him into the main room of the cottage where the low light over the stove casted just enough light.

“And I had to do what I thought would keep our daughter safe,” you seethed. “Do you know what the Empire would do with the daughter of a clone? Because I don’t, and I don’t ever want to find out.”

He jerked his hand out of your grasp. “I could’ve kept you safe,” he all but whispered, anger lacing his words. “If I had known, I could’ve kept you and her safe.”

“Her name is Amaia,” you threw back at him, “and since you decided to leave, I had to do what I thought was best.”

You stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before the unthinkable happened. Crosshair broke. He slumps into your kitchen chair, head hanging in his hands, and you swore you see a tear make its way down his cheek.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed in a broken whisper. “I love you and I think I love her, and I don’t know what to do.”

You felt all the anger leave your body at the sight of the broken man in front of you. Slowly, you crossed over to him and sunk to your knees between his legs as best you could, in a more somber mirroring of your earlier position. You took his hands in yours and lowered them from his face, releasing them only to wipe the tear track from his cheek. Pressing your forehead to his, you whispered one simple word: “Stay”.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He stayed. For the next day, at least. Much to your shock - and delight - Crosshair was a natural with Amaia. You attempted to reassure him the first time he tried to hold her, wanting him to know he didn’t have to be afraid of dropping or hurting her, but your words were met with a smirk and an eye roll.

“Honey, these are the steadiest hands in the galaxy. They don’t drop anything they don’t mean to.”

He was a bit flustered the first time she cried, but quickly recovered by standing her up and balancing her in the palm of his hand (which was met with squeals of delight from her and mild terror from you).

The afternoon found you all in your small bed, Amaia napping contentedly between Crosshair and yourself. His fingers ghosted up and down your arm, gaze flirting between your small daughter and you, and you swore you had never seen him look more at peace. Until suddenly, he wasn’t. The sound of a ship passing overhead startled him out of his daze, and he suddenly went back to his stoic self.

“I have to leave tonight,” he stated simply, as if unaware of the effect those simple words would have on you.

“Crosshair, what… why? You said you would stay!“ you whispered, determined to not wake Amaia.

He motioned for you to wait a second, and scooped her up and placed her in her crib oh so gently. Then, he beckoned you to follow him into the kitchen.

“I thought you said you were staying,” you hissed, somewhere between pleading and anger.

He slowly approached you and gently pulled you into his arms, resting his head atop yours. He held you there for a moment until your body relaxed into soft sobs.

“Mesh’la,” he whispered, tilting your chin up so you met his eyes. “Mesh’la, I’m not leaving you. I just… if I aim to get away from the Empire and not endanger you, endanger my family… I have to go back. But I’ll return to you both.”

His thumbs stroking tears off your cheeks did nothing to calm you as you tore yourself from his grip. Logically, you knew he was right. But after so long expecting him to find you and Amaia and being disgusted by what he found, you couldn’t bear to let him go after the slice of normalcy you’d gotten a taste of today. You stood by the kitchen window, sobbing into the sink.

You heard him shift awkwardly behind you; he was never the best at handling displays of emotion. After a few long minutes, he cleared his throat. “Baby, you know I… Maker, I don’t want to kriffing leave! But I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you. Either of you.”

His voice broke on the last sentence, and you turn around and are met with a sight you never thought you’d see. Tears were shining in Crosshair’s eyes. His hair was mussed, short strands normally kept down now flying in all directions. His hand not supporting his weight on the small table was digging into the back of his neck.

You regarded him calmly as you could, waiting for him to finish. Apparently he didn’t know where to go next, because he paced and ran his hands through his hair again.

He stopped in front of you several times as if to speak, but resumed his pacing before he finally stopped for good.

“Six months,” he breathed “Give me six months. I’ll come back. I’ll be her buir and your riduur. But I need to keep you safe.”

The look of sheer desperation on his face would have been enough to convince you. You nodded slowly, and let him collapse into your arms. After all, what was another six months when you had a lifetime ahead of you?

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The sun rose the next morning, and Crosshair was gone as quickly as he had come.

Six months. That’s all you had to endure. Six months.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You woke up, once again filled with anticipation. It had been just about six months since Crosshair left. Actually, six months and 14 days. But who was counting? Not you.

The day passed slowly and uneventfully, with you and Amaia mostly spending the time outside as you were accustomed to doing. Not only was the weather delightful, but being able to see Crosshair as soon as he appeared was a motivation you were all too willing to own up to.

Like every other day recently, it ended in disappointment. When you finally wrangled Amaia into bed, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat by the window to wistfully look over the darkening horizon until your hope for the day was extinguished.

And so passed six months and 15 days. Six months and 28 days. Seven months and 12 days. Nine months and three days. One year, two months and 17 days. Two years on the dot.

Of course there were visits from Amaia’s ba’vode. And any time they came was a delightful distraction, but even they could see the wear the waiting was taking on you. You were no longer your chipper self, convinced Crosshair had either changed his mind or was dead. You weren’t sure which was worse.

At two years, one month, and one day, you finally gave up. He wasn’t coming.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Amaia was now a rambunctious five-year-old, running around with the village children and making all sorts of trouble and mess. Today, you had sent her off to a friend's house, with the promise you would take the terrors that were your children the next day so Carra could have a break of her own.

You were engrossed in washing dishes, humming and swaying to an impromptu song. You’d finally started to feel yourself again, even entertained thoughts of seeing one of the men in the village. Kane was kind, and was never anything but gentle in his interactions with Amaia.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear the bag that was sat down in the entryway, or the sound of feet swung up on your kitchen table. In fact, you didn’t notice anything until you were suddenly aware of everything. The dish slipped from your hand and shattered in the sink. Swallowing in an attempt to wet your suddenly dry-as-Tatooine mouth, you could only think of one thing to say.

“Get your kriffing feet off my table, Cross.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice as he responded. “Come over here and make me, mesh’la.”