this story has four different iterations I'm running with, but this is the one where the OC is not a force user and it's endgame kylo x OC

TW: a brief mention of s*icide in the excerpt

Basic Info

Name: Marcy Winters
Age: 24
Species: Earthling
Occupation: graduate student
Education: MSE in Electrical Engineering; BSE Mech E/EE double major

Story

A spaceship lands in a forest next to a rural university that Marcy attends. She has just graduated after 3 semesters (winter ceremony) and was out with friends in the snow when she witnessed the "crash" and went looking for survivors. In the process, Marcy is abducted by alien lifeforms and forced to work on the ship as a packager of contraband items. After a few weeks, her captors' ship is caught by the First Order, and she is interrogated for the criminal activities she was forced to be apart of. The FO is largely unsympathetic to her plight as an Earthling and abductee, lightyears from home, and they put her to work as a technician.

Personality

quotes, Devil, and pretty image green, hogwarts, and power image quotes, life, and survive image aesthetic, harry potter, and hp image Image by Hey, Nice Marmot fiction, good, and morgan freeman image
Marcy is an adaptive, calculating survivor, white-knuckling both her last mental tether to sanity and her hope that her plans to get back home are, one day, successful.

Excerpt

Day 92. Diary Entry. A Thousand Lightyears Away, a Heart Beats.

Life, it seems, has achieved its new normal. Like any change which uproots oneself, the dust eventually settles. It would make sense that, despite the lack of real gravity, things still fall into place, sooner or later.

I’ve developed routine, a sort of reluctant yet powerful order crafted out of the chaos. I tell myself that it is perfectly human, perfectly normal...that it helps me survive this new world I’ve come to know so unwillingly.

Fear begets fear. Power begets power. I willed myself to beget power. And it wasn't long before I actually wasn't afraid, which was progress. I knew that if I allowed fear to overtake me, my mission was doomed.

And yet, there is guilt. It sits in my chest and balloons open my ribcage when I become idle. After work, there are thoughts. Not good ones. I’m caught between wondering if I should cling to hope, out of this self-righteous need to be a winner, or to accept the cynical conclusion, which part of me knows is the answer rought by a supposedly-intelligent mind. So far, I am careening on the edge, ready to fall one way or the other with the slightest push.

The issue is…only I can give the push. For a war, things are rather quiet. I cannot wait for the decision to be made for me. It will never come. Or I will be blown up in a silent explosion in the vacuum of space, still no decision made, and at that point, it would hardly matter.

FN knows a bit about me, my situation, just enough for us to silently bond over the fact that our choices have been ripped from us by the FO. Silently, I emphasize, because Big Brother is real, and he takes the form of cameras and droids and mind-reading space wizards with red, hot flaming Cheetos as swords.

TK, FC, RC…I recognize them as people who have grown up in the cult that is the FO, and yet I would still tentatively call them more than acquaintances. Even now, I have difficulty writing the word ‘friend’, because it feels as though I am giving up on my former Earthling relationships. Like I’m losing something, or surrendering. Even if ‘friend’ in the context of this war tends to mean ‘the persona I sit down and gossip with at lunch’.

Then again, maybe that is a real friendship.

Assimilation has brought me both relief, in that I have viable relationships, and yet also much shame. How could I possibly stop referencing the FO—and all of its employees—as ‘other’, after all the pain it has caused me (and countless others, it seems?) But how can I expect to live and stay sane if I don’t?

Maybe I should feel grateful that my form of Stockholm Syndrome is still so mild.

Even further, maybe I should thank my lucky stars the psychological phenomenon exists, because if I don’t escape in a timely manner, suicide will be a viable option. And then I’ll surely never get home.

I have an idea of what Earth may be. After diving into the virtual encyclopedias this galactic authoritarian regime has to offer, one still stands out over my scrutiny. There have been false positives in the past, but none that have withstood this much cross-referencing thus far. I find myself clinging to fragile hope which can be eliminated by a newly written line reading, ‘The societies are sparse and largely nomadic’ or ‘the planet cools progressively with each year’.

Hopefully, I won’t find any such contradictory evidence for this one.

Never in my life have I studied with such motivation and vigor. Interest has long left me, this is more of a duty. To myself, to my family, to those I’ve left behind who probably curse the police for finding no leads.

And, also, to prevent the buzzing in my head. I’ve realized that boredom is more likely to kill me than even Kylo Ren. Books were always the world I could lose myself in when the one I was actually living in became too lonely or harsh or difficult to bear. I know the word for it, the stigma behind it: escapism.

Whatever gets you through the day, I suppose.

I think back often to tales of women trapped in basements, who spent decades pandering to their abductor. Some of them escape on their own, though I heavily doubt the plans were dated as long as their stay. It is likely the opportunity arose, and they took it.

How long will I be waiting before a possibility of escape presents itself on a silver platter, just like for those fortunate individuals?

How likely is my success if I must craft it for myself?

Do I have the will to do such a thing? The nerve? The patience, the conscientiousness?

Is it enough to say that I must have them, and therefore I will?

I don’t know.

I just worry the hope will drive me insane by setting me up for a bigger fall than my mind can handle. You know what they say about hope…it breeds eternal misery.

The End

carrie fisher, gif, and Princess Leia image