I'm soooo sick but this came to me out of nowhere so come get ya'll juice I guess
Corpse Bride basically but make it Eddie Munson
You smile as you look at your fiancé, Eddie. You're absolutely smitten with him, but he looks quite nervous about something.
"My love, are you okay?" You ask him, taking his hand, frowning when he flinched away from your cold touch, wiping grime off of his hand. You huff, he keeps doing things like that. "If you're so disgusted by me then why propose at all?" You ask with teary eyes, crossing your arms.
"I didn't want to marry you!" He says quickly, looking at you with fear in his eyes. Your skin, sunken in. Your hands, barely there except for bones, the ring hanging loosely on your finger. Your dress, a torn white gown. The exact one that you died in.
He should've known what he was getting himself into when he was in those woods, declaring his love for someone who wasn't there to hear it.
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Radioactive Eldritch Jedi
Okay so when I say radioactive. The Force is primordial and eldritch and the jedi (and any other force users of a comparable level) resonate with the echoes of this primoridal of-the-world-and-yet-not-the-world energy like your body when you’re so close to a marching bacd you can feel the drums in your bones and they’re not the music or the instruments, they’re only the echo thereof, but the echo of something from the depths that bore the universe is still A Lot.
And when you look at them. There’s teeth that aren’t there the next minute, you could count them again and again for half an hour and never get the same number twice in a row. And that’s not mentioning when their teeth don’t fit in their mouth, don’t match each other, when there aren’t teeth in their mouths but claws...
That’s just one element of their face which is one element of their body.
You can smell them, even the species that don’t have particularly good senses of smell though it is far more distracting for them. Something fresh with light or rotting with dark, herby or sea salty or citrusy or floral and threaded with sweat or blood or sex to suit whatever they’ve been doing and it wouldn’t be remarkable except they smell simultaneously like their species and like something else entirely in a way that is clearly but indescribably not caused by soap or perfume or oil.
There’s a resonance in their voices. Something like there’s a drumbeat in their throat, like they’re speaking with the vibrations of a song you’ve always heard without knowing it, but always perfectly understandable. The sound of jedi singing in harmony with feeling has reduced cities to tears of joy or tears of pain, blood dripping from their ears in mirror of their tears.
Don’t get me started on their shadows, on the way they move in the dark
And they’d be leaking this strangeness 24/7 except they keep themselves so tightly shielded, not only hiding themselves so that they appear uncanny and not terrifyingly Other (they’ve been there time and time again and it is a problem. There are Consequences) but also keeping any of this force-energy-resonance leaking out into the world. Places where force sensitives have lived a long time thrum like a pulse, are touches with the energy of generations of force users relaxing enough to let their shields lower and their selves to leak and brush the walls and tables, etching their presences into the place like fire into wood, and when this touches people it changes them.
Not immediately. Not quickly. It can take months for anything to change and this is why jedi keep their shields maintained, because if you’re fully shielded nothing will happen, and this is part of why attachments are risky, because the emotion can affect the shields can change the one you love, because to say you love a jedi is not the same as accepting all that they are and being willing to change along with them because you can’t dodge that forever, and saying you’re willing to do this isn’t the same as being willing.
The changes aren’t quick, and not as Eldritch as the jedi, but they are permanent and definitely Other.
When shields crack or break, when a jedi lashes out with the force, it brushes an imprint on everything around them (those with any kind of vision skills can find this difficult or comforting to deal with, like a too-large gulp of hot tea) and a few times on the same thing doesn’t matter. Genuinely. Repeition is an entirely different matter.
War is hell.
War is hell, and the jedi are holding on to each other for support, clinging interlocking arms, but they’re scattered around the galaxy and it’s so hard to actually reach each other.
Sometimes to know you’re supported isn’t enough. Not when you can’t reach their shoulder to lean on, for just a moment.
And the clones are going through hell with them, are dying around them, and they reach out to support the jedi who are doing their best not only to help them survive but to help them live in a war that wants them dead for a senate that doesn’t care and the jedi recognizes them as people so they reach out and the jedi can’t help but reach back.
The clones catch them when they fall, love them in different ways each as sure as the tides, and the jedi relax into it without realizing. Their shields crack over and over again because war is hell, but they also find them relaxing them, instinctively and unconsciously, because so little is certain but the clones’ willingness to go to hell and back for them is one of them and they feel safe.
And the echoes of the force that resonate in the heartbeats-nervepulses-bloodflows of the jedi leaves imprints on the clones that rises like paint added layer by layer and it changes them.
The clones don’t have a childhood of familiarity to fall back on, much less the shielding techniques to keep them looking “normal.” What they have is legions of brothers willing to support each other come hell or high water or unending clankers and jedi who at first beg their forgiveness for changing them (because it wasn’t supposed to happen and because they like how they are but everyone already sees them as strange and to beg forgiveness for making them like them is many jedi’s first instinct) then teach them how to hide it when they need to and the comfort of singing together, their voices ringing through their ships in tune with the thrumming in their blood, bone-deep.
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