he is rage and ruin

@ofnegotiatcr​

DROPLETS OF RAIN STILL SIT IN HIS HAIR FROM THE MORNING— Within his clenched fist, the slender design of a pencil snaps. Anakin drops the splintered halves to the side of his desk, indifferent of their roll over the edge and consequent clatter on the floor, and switches the direction of his stare to the singular window of the laboratory space. Poor illumination makes no excuse for the dreariness of the room; of the ceiling lights, all but three have flickered out in recent weeks. The last had been four days ago, in which Anakin had grudgingly ignored its warning flutter of light until its death.

Q: How many engineers does it take to change a lightbulb? A: None. They’re all too entrenched in the apocalypse’s final days.

With a glower and an exhale, Anakin rises from his office chair with broad shoulders stretching aside. He jerks a handful of papers from the desk before fleeing the room, departing to the adjacent courtyard outside that flourished more with scraps of metal and machinery than it did flowers and weeds.

WE ALWAYS THOUGHT ALIEN LIFE WOULD COME FROM THE STARS.

SEATTLE, WA. EARTH. 2013. A COLLEGE GRADUATE TO BE.

TURNED HOMELESS DURING SOME OF THE FIRST ATTACKS.

HOW DOES A SINGLE ENGINEER TURN DUST INTO SHELTER?

ANSWER:

HE MOLDS & SHAPES THE WHOLE WORLD INTO HIS HOME.

SUCCESS HAD BEEN PROPHESIED FOR HIS FUTURE. Anakin Skywalker completed grade school two years early to enroll into university as a student of engineering. More than halfway into his program, scheduled to graduate the following spring, the Kaiju first attacked San Francisco. Tore the city apart and breathed their fire across every vulnerable fleck of land on Earth.

Through years of bending metal and scraps with his fingers, Anakin eventually finds the Pan Pacific Defense Corps. His introduction into the Jaeger Program accelerates his aggression against the Kaiju, though it is first by his engineering talent before he graces the interior of the pilot chamber several years later. He is unmatched in drift compatibility, used only in the rare moment when another pilot requires his presence in the absence of their previous co - pilot ( and it had always been by death, for retirement was mostly unheard of ). Though he is embittered and shamed, the Jaeger Program will not risk losing his mind, and so they endure his sharp tongue.

THE WORLD IS SHORT ON TIME. The pilots are few and the remaining Jaeger in disrepair. As the Wall of Life breaks apart and spills clouds of dust, the oceans shake and shake and shake.

BUT IT CAME FROM DEEP BENEATH THE PACIFIC.

THE SHATTERDOME, HONG KONG. 2020. ONE FINAL SHOT.

A WEARY MAN CLIMBS INTO ONE OF THE LAST JAEGERS.

HOW DOES ONE MAN FIGHT AGAINST DANGERS IN THE SEA?

ANSWER:

JOHN KEATS

the lavender in sunsets / flowers in the rain / sunlight slipping through clouds / lazy summer afternoons / the heavy scent of musk / flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books / fireflies on a cool summer night / being wrapped in fresh bed sheets / the ache of wanting what you can never have / dripping sunlight like gold / loving someone so exquisite / soft lips and soft whispers / fingers through hair / names of lovers carved in trees / broken glass / the insistence of being perpetually dreamy.

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

crisp winter skies with cold bright stars / mahogany wood / the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog / empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room / bruised arms reaching out into the darkness / cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol / a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered / a bad thunderstorm occurring at the end of a beautiful day / the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment / your favorite sweater / parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing / the contrast of blood against snow / a purple split lip oozing blood / black eyes fading to blue to pale skin / the butterflies of falling in love for the first time / the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries / the romanticization of self-destruction.

FRANZ KAFKA

the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future / decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there / the way not even light can escape a black hole / the rich smell of old books / delicate veins in the wrist / ghosts filling lungs / shattered bones / raindrops on the tongue / rusting metal / nostalgia that aches / the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head.

H.P. LOVECRAFT

the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave / pouring rain and mud / a child’s fear of the dark / thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never-ending ocean / the silence of three a.m. / ouija boards and urban legends.

JACK KEROUAC

the brisk pine air of being on a mountain / travels without a destination / those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory / screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive / coffee shops late at night / car rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark / naps spent in the sun / novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins / the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders / ignoring flaws and loving life / wind through hair / depression as fog in the brain / impossible ideals / a quiet sunrise / walks alone / when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe / dazzling people / open lands stretching out into infinity / falling in love with being alive.

EDGAR ALLAN POE

the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog / hollow bones / a preserved heart held in hands / twinkling stars above an old graveyard / the way everything turns to dust / silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom / self-inflicted flames / perfection depicted as a rotting corpse / death as bricks in the heart / lips barely brushing against each other / glassy glazed eyes / biting into a lemon / heart-shaped bruises / rotting flowers on a grave / dried blood and spilled liquor / the hush of dusk when it begins raining / the intimacy of a secret.

     winning a war. obi-wan hums an acquiescent but non-committal noise, caught between his usual warring inclinations: that anakin’s overconfidence is near-warranted by virtue of his accomplishments alone ( he is the chosen one, and if the council will not allow him to forget it, then neither, apparently, will he let them ), but ill-advised. it’s moments like these that obi-wan does not think a repeat of geonosis so impossible. privately, anyway. his eyes remain fixed forward, a wide berth from the glove masking gold, wires and servos. 

   ❛ if i didn’t know any better, anakin, i’d think you would prefer to work alone, ❜ he replies, a circumspect humor in his voice. it buys obi-wan time to navigate the question, more tightly loaded than an asteroid belt and requiring just as much finesse to maneuver. gaze tilting to regard his fellow general, his brother-in-arms ( his friend, above all else ), obi-wan notes anakin’s lour with a hint of self-deprecation, mouth curved even so. ❛ though perhaps i don’t know any better. that certainly would put the last decade in perspective. ❜

     anakin focuses on the negatives. he always has. obi-wan wishes the fortuity of working together once more would be enough ( more than enough, as it is for himself ), but he supposes it’s an obvious attempt at tilly fruit-coating a bitter pill: the council does trust him, but only as far as obi-wan’s word can outpace anakin’s recklessness. beyond that, they see the man who flouts their precepts left and right, cutting comms whenever the urge takes him, always on the move as though it falls upon the order to keep up. 

     obi-wan’s fingers smooth at a tussock of riverbank grass, the urge to scrub at his jaw great.

   ❛ — it’s not you they don’t trust. ❜ and his expression leeches its irony then, growing earnest. ❛ we cannot be too careful in reaches where the separatists have a stronger foothold than we do. you know this. remember what happened on falleen. eight jedi, lost. ❜ 

    obi-wan frowns, briefly. old grief, then fresh worry: does intelligence or prophecy win out in war? it’s not enough that anakin rushes out, panoplied in kismet and peerless skill. he’s yet one man, and the whole of obi-wan’s faith in him will not change that. ❛ would you invite the same fate for your troops? ❜ ( for yourself? )

ALONE? ANAKIN KNEW BOTH SIDES OF LONELINESS SINCE HIS DAYS ON TATOOINE. Within desert plains where even the moisture had been suckered dry, what was there, in the absence of life, to hear but the quietude of space? And in contrast, the disparity of Coruscant could not have been more staggering—the world groaned with endless life, unable to be muted even during the evenings of infrequent rain. Thus Anakin had felt these two powerful emotions, loneliness and overflow, with fast - changing thoughts vacillating throughout his preferences. He did not want solitude, nor did he chase the plentiful throngs of a crowd. Yet even more, just this once, than his desire for a single man’s attention came the want for recognition. Recognition for his progression as a Jedi, intuitive expertise so well - threaded in him that he had unmatched the development of many other Jedi received earlier on in their lives.

After all, when he had dedicated so much—his time, his strength, the wit of his mind—for a single purpose, would it not be expected for him to pursue the highest level of enlightenment? To hone the already distinct lines of his body? Life’s simplest needs could be arranged into a hierarchy of levels—Anakin would not rest, would not admit his satiation until he could stand at the top as though on a steep peak, glancing below the soles of his feet to everything that bent to his will.

But even so, no matter his sleepless nights or the sun - filled days spent with only an ignited lightsaber in his palm, HE HAD BEEN RESTRAINED. He had jumped for the Council when requested, had quieted his loud pride, and split his bleeding knuckles apart for the challenge of strength. And throughout it all he had kept his innermost possessions secret, clawing rightfully at his image of the respectable Jedi to keep younglings in awe, in spite of the incomprehensible desire to live with desire for the rare few that had glimpsed his heart—oh, what a sight! Then why, when Jedi lives dwindled in the war, could he not be accepted for the man that he was? The Jedi were neither plentiful nor omnipotent, which made the sting of their dawdling that much more insufferable.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Anakin contradicts himself, suddenly very much restless that the shoreline could not contain him. Yet even if he fell apart here, it would not matter with Obi-Wan so close.

𝐢, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭. ❜

@libertywept​

THE PITFALLS OF AN ARGUMENTATIVE MAN: remorse, a pride that does not sink, and the strain of a jaw held tightly together. He leaves the Jedi Temple with a hurried step, robes fluttering around his ankles, with the heat of his anger flushing across his face even by the time that he makes it to Padmé’s apartment. Anakin is uncontainable, often times the dormant volcano until it explodes and explodes and explodes, spitting ash and soot uncooperatively.

Meeting Padmé’s stare, there is but the voiceless contempt still tainting his tongue, withholding his words as he sits onto her couch. It had been an unforthcoming confrontation with Master Windu, their quarrel disastrously one - sided that mostly saw the younger Jedi scolded before several others. Anakin had obediently cited his wrongdoing, having betrayed his breath throughout their exchange, so as to spare further contamination of the Jedi Code.

And it did not leave him particularly thrilled, although he understood the minimal desire to soothe the sting in his core. Thus he had fled here, to Padmé’s calming presence that knew a brighter shine than any sun. He watches her, from underneath the heavy brows carved across his face, and bites the inside of a lower lip.