#neqchallenge

              callidusxxtractatori:

au: breaking dawn

"Explain to me why it is more noble to kill ten thousand men in battle than a dozen at dinner."

au: marvel comics, black widow

"I’m one of 28 young ballerinas with the Bolshoi/I’m one of 28 Black Widow agents with the Red Room— The training is hard/The training is hard— But the glory of Soviet culture/But the glory of Soviet supremacy— And the warmth of my parents/And the warmth of my parents— Makes up for/Makes up for…"

Soviet Russia was no place for weak girls or their mothers.

Alice’s home burned down when she was a child. Her mother had refused to sell their small home or her late husband’s property so the men she’d turned away lit the flame. Alice’s mother was still inside. Soviet officials didn’t give it a second thought, a peasant with no standing, a fatherless child; she didn’t matter to anyone. Until a woman walked into the orphanage and changed her life forever. She was as elegant as a swan and as composed as a soldier and she offered Alice an escape.

She was taken to a home in Stalingrad where she was surprised to see other girls, both her age and older. All seemed to have the same look: anger, determination and strength. And Alice felt, for the first time, that she wanted that. She received training as a ballerina in the Bolshoi, rising in the ranks, until she was of age to become a member of the Red Room. It was her first night in Stalingrad that changed her completely, though. Alice promised herself that she would never be weak again. She would never be helpless, watching someone she loved burn– she would never fall prey to the violence of men anywhere.

Pacific Rim AU [ x x x ]

                                         "Today we face the monsters at our door." 

"I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I - how can you be the same person after that? ... I thought this would be better - that I would regain some control over my life.

But these thoughts won't leave me."

He's her Commander, she's the Herald of Andraste, and every day is waking torture without the lyrium to keep him sane - but for her?

For her he will rip his mind apart and piece it back together again if that is what it takes to keep their cause, to keep the Inquisition, alive. 

Because what use is lyrium, when a brave new world is coming into focus on the horizon?

“Don’t judge a man by what he says his ideals are, judge him by what he does. Look at what the Color Prince has done. They’re wrong, Teia. They’re liars and murderers. It doesn’t mean everything we do is right. It doesn’t mean our house doesn’t need a thorough cleaning. I just don’t think we need to burn it to the ground to do it.” 

Green drafters are few in number, but can be one of the most versatile of all of he drafters. The limits of this color luxin is limited only by the creativity of its drafters. A favored color for furniture and weapons creation having a green drafter on your side spells good things. 

Green drafters are a un-containable force. They do not disrespect authority but they are not prone to bend their will because someone in a position above them tells them to. They do as they please to further their own personal agendas and goals.

Despite being wild though many say that Green drafters are the more friendly and caring of the group. Able to adjust and mold themselves to most any situation or group dynamic being friends with a Green drafter is safer than being friends with a bichrome drafter.

Severus Snape never asked to be a drafter, and he never asked for his parents to ship him of to be taught under the rebel leader who calls himself the Color Prince. Nothing more than a tyrant throwing a temper tantrum, if you ask Severus. But yet, he stays. Why?

He's been through the training of the Color Prince's drafters and he wishes that on o one. He watches it corrupt and break the lives of those around him and he cannot stand it. They are training children for war and asking them to break their halos. Children are not weapons. 

So in retaliation, he fights back.

Firefly AU:

Born and raised on Ariel, one of the ‘Verse’s Ceneral Planets, Rodolphus Lestrange has always understood the inner workings of high society. His whole life he’s maintained a strong respect and loyalty for the Alliance, even serving briefly to fight against rebel insurgents in the Unification War.

Once the war ended, Rodolphus got a job as a federal marshal, and started rising quickly in the ranks. But after a stupid and costly blunder, he was sent out to work on a small border planet moon. It wasn’t until he stepped out of the spaceship onto the sunbaked ground, amongst ramshackle wooden buildings that Rodolphus realized how different things were out there. It was worlds away from the planets he’d grown up with. He knew how to talk at parties and comment on recent masterpieces of art and literature, not spit, curse, and ride horses.

Appalled that the marshals working out there deviated so far from the law, he thought them corrupt and had half a mind to report them. But after being robbed, beaten, and kidnapped (twice), he realized: out on the border planets all the rules change. And if he wanted to survive, he was going to have to learn them.

As long as there had been an end to any beginning…. they had ridden. 

Brothers old as brothers could be, cold as brothers could be, infinitely caring (at least in their own special ways) as only brothers can be. They were the final period on life… a punctuation mark on the entirety of human existence, and one day… on the entire world.

Pestilence loved the patterns. The simple repetition of mistakes that Humanity made over and over, never learning from them. It was a waltz he danced well, his older brothers as his partners, for their particular truths had predated his, not by much, but still enough for War to remind him that he was the baby. 

Raising his face to the skies, he sniffed deeply, running his bony fingers through his horse’s white mane. Tainted meat was hitting shelves in Peoria, mercury-ridden sushi was being served in Tokyo, industrial sludge had permeated the water table of a small German town in fatal amounts. Pestilence smiled viciously and pushed… exerting the force of his immortal will over these events, imbuing them with the toxicity of Poison Eternal. 

There was grace present as he slid down from his mount, gliding over grass that grew rotten and sick with his every step, pausing briefly to squeeze Famine’s skeletal hand (“eat something, brother. You’re just wasting away.”) before stopping next to his favorite brother, the one he loved more than he loved disease and poison, the one he had spent long eternities giving souls to; The Rider on the Pale Horse. 

Death.

"Before the sun sets I will gift you an even hundred thousand, brother. By the end of the week, a million." 

He was the oldest of them all, and the most inescapable. They all answered to him and he loved them for it. Pestilence thought a smile crossed that immortal face and that was enough for him. White cloak billowing clouds of poison behind him he strode back to his horse and mounted up, turning to face his family.

"Where to, brothers?"

War grinned, a smile of sharp knives and laughter that sounded like the clamor of so many bullets. Famine wheezed a chuckle out, black robes flattening themselves against ribs that jutted too far from skin drawn too tight. Death drew himself up tall, a cold sun beaming down on his face. His voice was quiet but final, every word a carving in cold granite, every pause a requiem. 

"We ride to the edge of eternity, as we always have. May all kneel before the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse."

Pestilence grinned and spurred his horse onward, feeling the wind draw every deadly virus and bacteria from his skin and spread it to the world. 

This was his life.

Death was his love. 

And he would give him the withered corpses of Humanity until they stood alone atop a mountain of bodies.