Chapter Text
If anyone knew you, then they knew that you were a Star Wars fan, and a hard-core one at that. Your first clear memories were of Star Wars; you grew up with the films, hell, you practically lived off it. You owned more merchandise than was probably healthy; however, comparing your merch collection to your obsession with a particular character, you figured that to any sane person, the collection actually looked normal.
When the latest Star Wars film, The Force Awakens, had been released, your obsession took on a whole new level. You had been completely and utterly absorbed by the Knight of Ren, eyes wide and lips parted whenever he was on screen. It was something that you couldn’t quite place, however, you never gave it much thought (in your opinion, Mark Hamill was - unfortunately - just a little bit too old for you; Adam Driver, however . . . Yup, he was just right . . .).
It was around that time that things started happening.
It had started out small, minuscule, at first. So small that you barely noticed – after all, why pay attention to a dream that felt like déjà vu? You had shaken it off, however, when the feeling of déjà vu took a twist (that twist being seeing things happen before they happened), you started to notice. After an anxious internalized debate, you had expressed your suspicions to a friend – a mixture of concern and curiosity tinting your voice when you did – however, they had laughed you off, murmuring something about how you were so obsessed with Star Wars; ‘Maybe it’s the Force’, they had joked, waving their arms in the air in a display of mystery.
Their teasing, though a slight sting, put you at ease; you were being silly, and besides, the events that you had seen in your dreams were nothing of particular importance, nothing more than a workmate not being in the next day, or that you had ran out of bread. Small things, insignificant things, things that could easily be chalked up to coincidence.
It was later on, when your mind had been put at ease, that more things started happening.
It had started with the thought of ‘my alarm clock needs to shut up’, as you lay face down in bed, a pillow crushed to your ears as the wail of your alarm sounded from the other side of your room. The night before, you had made the effort to put it there, figuring that if you had to actually get up to turn it off, then you were much more likely to wake up on time. It didn’t strike you until after you had relaxed your death-grip on your pillow, when you had just started to drift back to sleep, that the alarm had been silenced, though your sleep-fogged brain tossed out the explanation that the battery must have conveniently died.
When you rolled out of bed, half an hour later to get ready, you had glanced at the clock out of habit, only to realize that it was still working, the LED’s flashing the correct time to your confused face. You had shrugged it off, though it still lingered in the back of your mind, only to hit you full-force not an hour later when your empty glass of juice suddenly refilled at the thought of ‘ugh, I need more juice’.
Needless to say, you were scared shitless, and had taken the day off with the hope of figuring out what the fuck was going on.
And then another day.
And another . . .
Until, on the fourth day of more weird shit happening at a mere thought, you decided that enough was enough. You had already scoured the web, desperate for answers, only to come up with phrases like ‘telekinesis’ and ‘magic’. You had scoffed initially – magic? Seriously? – however, when nothing else seemed to fit the situation (after hours of contemplating whether or not you had simply gone mad), you accepted that must be what was going on. Right?
Going off on that assumption, you delved into the internet again, and after clicking on maps accidentally, you paused in your search for answers. There, on the map, not even a full mile from where you lived, was a store labelled ‘Star Child Magic’. You had stared for a full minute, breath held, before nodding stiffly to yourself, the decision made.
Yup, you were going to the magic shop.
You had checked out the site before leaving, and, from what little experience with this you had (which was none) you figured that it was pretty legit. You hoped it was pretty legit – for a private reading, or whatever it was that you were going for, it cost a lot.
When you arrived, palms sweating and breaths shallow with nerves, you stood outside the door. Peering through the glass, you glanced about, the words ‘are you actually going through with this?’ bouncing in your mind, before you wiped your damp hands on your denim-clad thighs, took a deep breath and entered. A bell chimed overhead, and your head jerked up with a muffled yelp at the sound, your wide eyes catching sight of an array of dream-catchers that hung from the ceiling. Incense that hung in the air, thick and heavy, making you choke on a cough as you moved deeper into the empty shop, to the back, where a sign simply said ‘readings’.
There was no door, though strands of beads hung in the frame. After a quick scan of the shop behind you, you parted them with trembling hands, poking your head in and flitting your gaze about anxiously before your body followed, stepping into the smaller room. It was dark (darker than the main room, which was only lighted by candles and crystal ornaments that lit up with the aid of an LED), and you squinted as you shuffled in, biting your lip when you realized that you probably had to book a – what were you here for? A sitting, an appointment, a ‘reading’?
Should you step out, go to the main desk and wait? And what about payment, was it upfront or paid after? Most likely upfront payment, you considered. It’s most likely a scam to catch out people . . . People like me. You glance over your shoulder through the curtain of beads, unsure, though a wispy shriek escapes you when a light flicks on. You whip around, eyes wide as your body slips into a defensive pose (something that you had learned for both obvious and other purposes; it was always good to know how to defend yourself, and the other, somewhat secret reason, was because you wanted to fight like a Star Wars character – that fact was something that you would never admit aloud).
However, when your frantic gaze settles, your body immediately goes lax. There, sat at a low table in the center of the room, was a woman. She was older, around sixty, and the soft wrinkles in her skin were highlighted by the gentle white glow of the crystal ball in the center of the table. “Come, sit, my dear.” She murmurs with a smile, gesturing to the pile of cushions on the opposite side of her, across from the table. You glance over your shoulder once more, even though you know that you’re the only one in the room, before sucking in a shuddering breath and shuffling over to sit down.
“My name is Agatha.” She introduces herself, her smile not once wavering. “And you are?”
“M-me? Oh . . . Oh! I’m uh, I’m Y/N . . . “ You force out, fingers finding each other to twist together in anxiety. What the hell do I say now?!. “I, I . . . I need your help, well, advice, I guess, with . . . With, uh, magic?” She inclines her head slightly, eyes slipping closed for a second before reaching across the table, fingers twitching in a ‘come hither’ fashion.
“You’ve come to the right place, my dear, for I have the ability to sense such things.” Okay, then . . . “Place your hands in mine, my child, and I shall give you the information that you seek.” Biting the inside of your cheeks, you curse yourself mentally as your hands tremble, strengthening in intensity when your skin meets hers. “Close your eyes, Y/N, and open your mind . . .”
You nod, uncertain and inexperienced, yet follow her instructions, fluttering lids slipping closed as you try to ‘open your mind’. At first, you’re unsure by what she meant, and a frown has your eyebrows dipping together as frustration seeped through you. A few tries later, and you took a deep breath, deciding to try and see what you were doing. You envisioned a box, which represented your mind, and imagined taking off the lid, revealing the contents.
Heat rushes to your cheeks when you look inside the mental box. It looked like a packing box, the contents filled to the brim with Star Wars, from merch to actors to literal scenes from the movies, silently playing as you flipped through them like images on a screen. You were too busy mentally assessing the contents of the box to hear Agatha gasp, and you were too concentrated to feel her grip on your hands tighten.
“Oh my . . . I . . . I’ve never felt magic this strong . . .” She breathed out, and you peeked an eye open in curiosity when her words slipped into your mind. Her eyes are closed, though it’s as if she is staring at something – wait, your . . . was she looking into your mind?
Without a thought, you slapped the lid back onto the box in your head, and she jolted with a gasp, almost wrenching herself away from you before she swallowed and forced herself to relax. “It’s okay, my dear, just relax . . .”
It took you a moment of studying her features to abide, your eye slipping closed again as you cautiously re-opened the box, dipping a hand in to pull out one of the scenes, as if it was playing on a screen.
“That’s it, Y/N . . . Study what you’re holding, explore it . . .” Agatha coached, and you frowned, wondering what she could mean. You started to do as she said, tilting the screen in the hands of your mind, only for your attention to be caught by another scene – a scene aboard the Finalizer, in the dark halls. No, not a scene, just an image . . .
An unexplainable surge of curiosity tugged at you, and the hands of your mind tilted the image, a finger reaching out to stroke at it in wonder. The texture of the walls looked so realistic in your mind’s eye, the chromatic finish polished to perfection and reflecting dark light. Your breath caught in your throat though when your finger actually felt the wall, cool and metallic against your skin. You jolted, a yelp escaping you in shock, though you pushed through and touched it again, a breath of awe escaping you when you felt the metal again, rather than the warm grip of Agatha’s hand.
She said something, voice tight with concern, though you were too intrigued to focus on her words. Instead, you placed another finger against the wall, and then another, until your entire hand was touching it, palm flat against the cool surface. You pushed experimentally, lips parting at how solid, how real it felt, and then, just like that, the whole world shifted.
It was unexplainable, inconceivable, however, one minute, you were staring down at an image in your mind, studying it with your mind, and then the next moment, without a hint of warning, you were there.
You’re frozen as you stare at the wall. You can see your reflection (something that was not there in the image a moment before), can see how badly your body is trembling. Your eyes twitch down for a second to see your arm, which connects your torso and hand together – a hand that was pressed against a wall within the Finalizer.
What the fuck.
Meanwhile, on the control deck of the Finalizer, a specific Force user stiffened, face going blank as he felt the explosion of energy within the Force.