anais knows what it's like to be on the brink of adolescence and fighting for your life. they remember what it was like to get caught picking pockets on some other kid's turf with nothing but teeth and nails to fight their way out of it. life was not easy on them as a child, and loathe as they are to admit as much, it makes them want to make life a little easier on most kids they come across.

        but ylfa is not most kids. that much, anais can admit. there's a fire and a drive inside of her, and she has the muscle to back it up. they can respect that. and if staying in camp is not enough...

        something good. something noble.

        the words bring a knot to anais's chest, and they're not sure why. with a sigh and a roll of their eyes: “all right, fine. with the pixie's blessing, we can all move through the shadow curse safely now. i guess you can come with us into reithwin town tomorrow.” anais points their knife at ylfa. “on the condition you promise to follow karlach's orders, no matter what she tells you to do.”

nothing ylfa has done has ever felt like it mattered, not really, not in any way that's good. she spent time with her grandma, but she still died. she strayed off the path, and she became a monster. the situation that they are all in is really, really fudged up, but it's the first time ylfa's felt like she mattered to more than just an old lady who cheated at cards and let her stay up a little late. all doing what other people told her has done is make everything worse, so maybe she's got to listen to her own conscience now. maybe she's got to make things matter herself.

she's a little girl and she's a fearsome werewolf and she is teetering on the brink of adolescence, ready to fall towards it. she's strong enough. she's brave enough. she can do something good with these honkin' big teeth.

❝ yes! you won't regret it, i promise! ❞ she can matter here, too. and the darkness doesn't scare her, doesn't seem to cling to her quite as much as it does the others, when she has let herself shift. in the dark, the monsters aren't the scary ones. it's the people you have to watch out for. ❝ okay, okay, i will. but we're a great team, me and karlach. she's been training with me. —uh, are you gonna stop pointing that at me now? ❞

the cautious press of her hand against his tattered jacket weasels a sad, loose smile outta him. he wants to be braver. wants to slay his fear like the fire-breathing dragon it was. « could probably hear a needle drop. in a haystack. » signed with trembling hands and admirable jest.

the boys head lolls upon his makeshift pillow, a travel-beaten backpack. « wake me up in one hour. » feels necessary to emphasize it. (‘cause he has done late, late night watches. despite being the oldest, his own eyes are like anvils at a certain point.)

he rolls onto his side and falls asleep.

a war rages inside beatrys' head; august said to wake him in one hour, but she saw the shadows beneath his eyes, dark smudges a reminder of the difficulty of this world they live in, and she knows that the right thing to do is to let him sleep longer. what she was told, or what is right? what he really needs is to sleep all night, but neither of them can have that, here. they need to protect each other, and they both need to sleep enough to survive, even if it's not enough to survive well. there's no being well-rested, no fully bellies or warm enough clothes. there's just enough to survive.

so she waits, ears pricked for any danger, switchblade clutched in her hand, until her eyes are too heavy that she cannot listen properly anymore. she has no watch, but bea thinks it's been two and a half hours, maybe three, by the time she reaches out to gently shake august's shoulder.

He let out a low breath as he lowered his eyes. He knows that she wouldn't want that. She wouldn't think that this was a good idea, his deflecting and taking it all on himself but what could he do? "We are." He agreed with a nod of his head in agreement. "But, Nynaeve, no matter what you do - you can't do this for me."

the world does not want them safe, it seems; no sooner has nynaeve got her family back then they are ripped apart again, the wheel weaving something she cannot begin to pick out. she wants to tear at the threads, to force them all back into the same place. she wants them all to be able to stand together, as though they are still just some two rivers kids. but they're not, are they? rand certainly is not, but neither is she. ❝ maybe not, ❞ she says, stubbornness refusing to let it be a definitive no; if there is a way, she will find it, ❝ but we can support you as you do it. ❞

bit of a sigh, " oh, all right, then. " he can tell she isn't about to let this go. much like himself, he guesses. always lovely to find a kindred spirit. " british? " best to play along, he supposes. he nods, " right, just got a bit lost. terribly forgetful, got a bit distracted. " well, he certainly doesn't look like a soldier, she's right but he doubts there are many civillians who dress like him. " royal army medical corps, actually. they let me pick my own uniform, very nice of them. "

rosalie has always had an expressive face, her heart worn on her sleeve; she can't hide that she thinks everything this man is saying is bullshit. she works among airmen, and she knows the scent of it. maybe he's a civilian, maybe he's some poor fella who got hit on the head, but maybe he's a spy. ❝ uh-huh, ❞ she says, figuring it's best to play along, for now. ❝ wish they'd let me pick my uniform. ❞ she fetches antiseptic. ❝ you got a name? ❞

♔ — memes / accepting!

        “At what cost? And who for?” Lucy lifts her hands and lets them drop back to her sides in exasperation. “Survival can't be the only thing we live for. We should do something to make sure we deserve it, if we can.”

❝ to keep people safe. ❞ sidonie isn't convinced that's 5's ultimate goal, especially not overseer taverner, who cares more for herself and her position than anything else, but it's what sid wants to do. it's what drove her to be a field agent. ❝ to know what's out here, so that other vaults aren't venturing into the unknown like newborns when they return to the surface. but we can't do that if we don't survive. ❞

        anais pauses only a step or two off what appears to be the main path, torch raised as they peer into the wavering shadows. it is strange to know something is there and not be able to see it. they do not like this place. it’s almost enough to make them miss the underdark. an unnerving pit forms in their stomach as they turn, abruptly pacing back to join the others. “relax, healer,” they drawl, passing the torch from one hand to the other. “i’m not wandering anywhere. that inn seems like the best place to start.”

she hates this. this place specifically, with its shadows that threaten to crawl inside them and tear them apart from the inside out, but in general, nynaeve hates all of this. this entire bloody experience, the worry and fear and anger, the need to find her friends, her charges just as important as the tadpoles and the absolute. if only they could go back to before...but when things are fated, they happen anyway. she should know better than to argue with the stars. (the gods, though...the gods will get her ire.)

❝ great, ❞ she says without enthusiasm, willing the small flame of starlight in her hand brighter and biting the inside of her cheek when it flickers just the same. perhaps she is not the best company, but none of them are at their best, right now. had they met in the two rivers, back when things were normal, she would have been less protected by the thorns she has had to grow around herself. ❝ hopefully the last light has earned its name. this darkness wishes to consume us. ❞

and like for a starter from any muse! please specify (either muse(s) or just fandom is also fine!)

in the years of her near-imprisonment at the hands of her maker, his but never in the way he truly wanted, amalia learned to shield her thoughts. she kept herself hidden and a mask turned to the vampires of society, none of whom she'd have trusted with tying their own shoelaces, let alone who she really was. who she is. elinor is nothing like those people, and she wants, so badly, to be able to take her (to take anyone) at face value, but amalia has not survived by being careless. most certainly not with her life.

❝ people like ourselves more than most. this is a lonely life. ❞ but she will take this lonely freedom over the company of a man she despised. her life is her own, now, and amalia does not need help from anyone. she has always been satisfied with her own company, and trusted none but herself to get things done. desire, though? perhaps she does, indeed, desire a friend.

she crosses one leg over the other, resisting the urge to fidget. ❝ you'll have to forgive me, ma'am. i've not had the best experience with...well, most vampires, to be frank. ❞

" you don't have to do anything you don't want to. " he is quick to reassure her, a life without being able to touch things without information being jabbed into your cortex... still so interesting. " i will remind you, however, if you do feel like touching anything, i'll be there to catch you if it proves too much. i'm stronger than i look. " his reassurance is accompanied by a smile.

he takes a deep breath, followed by a contented sigh. " you feel that, rustling around in your lungs? artificial air, thousands of lightyears away from any planet with a breathable atmosphere, but identical to the air on earth. progress, the inexorable march of humankind. " finds himself a bit lost in thought for a moment, brought back to reality by miri's worries. " my coat is very special, miri. " he takes a moment, sighs. " you never really know how stupid something sounds before you say it out loud, do you? " he walks over to her, " it's my coat, it has travelled with me on every adventure... it likely reeks of the time vortex. i'm surprised touching it didn't knock you out. you're stronger than you know, i think. "

❝ i bet you say that to all the girls, ❞ miri says, running a gloved hand over some kind of table with flashing images on it, a blue picture of what she imagines is this station floating above it, visible and yet...nothing when she runs her hand through it, just air. ❝ they can just make up air outta nothing? ❞ she doesn't know what a lightyear is, but thousands of 'em sure seem like a long way, or time, or whatever it is, and it's slightly concerning that the only thing protecting her from suffocation are these walls. glass or metal or some substance she's never heard of, how can they be enough?

the thought makes her stomach twist and she doesn't want to keep thinking about it, so she turns back to the table, slowly pulling off a glove. ❝ yeah? maybe i'll catch you when you swoon, doctor. ❞ slowly, she presses her bare hand to the table, the holotable as she immediately knows, closing her eyes as the information floods into her and then...clears, as though she has known what this is all her life. ❝ huh. hey, doctor, i didn't faint! ❞