And Having Writ, please go crawl into a hole and die
Why do fic writers insist on doing this to Chekov? WHY?! I admit it; I write OC romances for the original Enterprise crew now and then, but none of them are as Mary-Sue-tastic as this one. Her name is Guinehfara, she's eighteen years of age, flies her own ship and has ROYAL PURPLE EYES. I understand that some aliens could have unusual eyes... but aren't these hyperbolic authors aware that that is the most Mary-Suish colour know to the fan fiction world?
My dearest fiction-endurers, I regrettably bring to you the vomit-inducing love story thing entitled And Having Writ. Angels and ministers of grace defend us.
Guinehfara maneuvered her freighter, Avalon, out of warp. Just outside her viewscreen Jevailla's brilliantine rings pulsed iridescent red, orange, purple, electric blue, and molten gold against the onyx sky.
She owns a freighter. Called Avalon. That's not Mary Sueish at all. I also like how many descriptive colours are crowbarred into one sentence. I guess she couldn't think of any descriptive words for the colours orange and purple. Just as well, really.
Ensign Pavel Chekov sighed to his friends. Lt. Nyota Uhura, Lt. Hikaru Sulu and Dr. 'Bones' McCoy smiled gently in agreement.
I get why Uhura and Sulu are there, but as far as I'm aware, McCoy is not a Close Personal Friend of Chekov. Also, it's interesting that the diverse group doesn't include Scotty, the only person on the ship most likely to tag along with Chekov if it means getting off the ship for a drink of scotch.
"A ting of beauty is a joy forewer, is it not?" responded Chekov.
Oh God, the badly transcripted accent rears its ugly head. Even for Chekov's exaggerated Russian accent, the representation is pretty bad.
Suddenly Chekov slammed down his drink down and shuddered, his handsome face darkening with anxiety.
The author remarking on Chekov's handsome face totally doesn't make her OC look like a self-insert Mary Sue.
Chekov's attention suddenly shifted to the Outer Limit's entrance, facing the central promenade, just as a human girl walked by. A very petite girl who appeared no more than 12, she brushed her knee-length tiger-striped hair behind her shoulders nervously.
That hair's gotta be a bitch to brush. Also, tiger-striped? And I'm concerned that she looks no more than twelve, and yet Chekov, aged twenty-two, is attracted to her. That's not weird at all.
She used this gesture to surreptitiously glance behind her. Without knowing why, Chekov dashed toward her. After a few moments, his confused companions followed suit. Just as Chekov reached the entrance, two figures in floor-length hooded gray cloaks approached the girl from behind.
I know why, Chekov - the Sue is made of magnets. Flesh magnets. You didn't stand a chance.
Chekov reached them just as the taller one, a Romulan male, lunged for the girl. As Chekov grabbed the would-be attacker's left arm, the tiny female tapped her turquoise-blue metallic neckband. An electronic hum resonated as a forcefield surrounded her.
How can he tell what they are? They're wearing Floor Length Hooded Gray Cloaks™; they are hidden rather well. Also, the Sue has her own forcefield. I wish I had one - maybe the badfic wouldn't hurt so bad.
The tiny female stood agape, breathing raggedly.
I'm sorry, she what? She stood... open? But the forcefield... *refuses to think of the alternative in such a story*
Chekov started to touch her arm and offer help, then remembered her forcefield. "Could you turn ov the forcefield, please?" She stared at him with uncomprehending royal purple eyes such as he had never before seen. The purple stare so surprised him that he gawked for a moment. "Please, little girl, could you turn ov the forcefield so ve can help you?"
But he's already started touching her arm, shouldn't his hand fall off or something? Also, Chekov seems to be going a little Jervis Tetch on us. Purple eyes, huh? Never seen that before, how utterly creative and original. *dies a little with every word Chekov says*
Suddenly her purple eyes flashed with anger. "I am not a child! I am 18, with two PhDs, three Master's degrees, and seven technology patents including this personal forcefield!" Yet she belied her denial status by petulantly stamping her tiny little foot to punctuate her statement.
Oh, it's okay everyone, she just looks twelve. Not only that, but she's insanely intelligent, and did we mention she's really little?
Chekov visibly resisted the urge to rattle her tiny little teeth. "Apparently you don't want help!" He spun away as his ever-ready anger surfaced.
Just in case you didn't catch that, the girl is very small. Miniscule, in fact. Even her teeth are little. Has Chekov become a spinning top?
Dr. McCoy tried to assuage the angry Russian. "Pavel, she's just in shock and terrified. She was nearly kidnapped. She doesn't realize what she's saying." He patted her arm. "Isn't that right, missy?" He flashed his most friendly Southern country doctor smile.
Sweet!Gentle!McCoy? Where did you come from?! I mean, he'd be nice to his shocked patient maybe, but being nice to Angry!Chekov isn't Canon!McCoy at all. If the Sue has it off with the doctor as well I'll snap her neck.
"I'm all right now," she insisted. She visibly forced her features into an unrevealing mask. "I apologize for my inexcusable outburst. I was simply - disconcerted," she stated in an oddly flattened unemotional tone.
Ohhhhh, I get it now; she's just a really decorative Vulcan!Sue. I think.
McCoy harrumphed. "Oh no, now you sound like Spock! And you're not even a Vulcan."
Oh, so she just acts like a Vulcan. That's a lot worse. Can't really imagine such a pantomime "Oh no!" escaping the good doctor like that, either. And he seems to assume that she knows who Spock is.
The girl nodded and smiled faintly. "Please call me Fara, as my friends call me."
I'm gonna call you "Mary Sue", as everyone here will call you.
Her purple eyes seemed to glitter like the rainbow-ring-draped starfield outside their viewport.
Super!Special!Glitter eyes. JUST NO.
"Because allowing people to know how you feel can be dangerous. Some will try to manipulate them. That, too, is human." She scowled slightly, then her expression returned to its neutral mask.
"Not eweryone...." He whispered as he leaned closer to her and impetuously kissed her.
That was fast, Chekov O_O Then again, you are a mini-Kirk. But still, FAST work.
He was slightly surprised when she responded, though hesitantly. Then he kissed her again.
Why so surprised, Chekov? She's a Sue, it's her job to fall in love really, really quickly.
"Tell me about yourself. You are obviously Russian. What city are you from? How did you wind up in Starfleet?"
In this fic it couldn't be more obvious if he kept a dancing bear and played Tetris all day long.
"I grew up in a very small town, Watala, in what is now the Southeast Quarter. My mother was mostly Celtic, Scot-Irish and varied European ancestry. My biological father mostly descended from French and American Indian heritage. My mother and stepfather, in fact the whole town really, were New Fundies - New Fundamentalists, that is. Do you know much about that so-called 'religion'?"
Oh, here we go... Her mother is a result of years of clubbing in London and her father from a Frenchman's holiday to an Indian Casino. And to add insult to injury, she has a stepfather, and her parents - no wait, everyone - is a fundamentalist! Fun times.
"I am a very dangerous girl, Pavel. I am a high-IQ, high-level telepath, with other unusual abilities, and no particular willingness to be a helpless guinea pig in their experiments. Nor will I help them create telepath soldiers or spies. Pavel, I am telling you all this because I trust you to keep an open mind and to do the right thing, regardless of your Starfleet brainwashing."
What the? WHAT?! Starfleet do what now? Telepath soldiers? Couldn't they just train up a bunch of telepathic aliens? There are plenty of those in the series.
"Virst, I am NOT brainwashed! I am Starvleet, yes, but I am an officer willingly, because I believe it is an honor. I believe Starvleet vill help the people of the galaxy --" As she appeared to be about to interrupt, he held up his own hand in a 'stop' gesture. "BUT -- I feel you are in danger; I have zeen people try to kidnap you, and I belief you suspect who is doing so and -- maybe -- you suspect vhy. I can tell you are wery intelligent and I belief you are telepathic. I ... felt ... someting right before I virst saw you. I don't understand vhy you could suspect Starfleet or the United Federation of Planets. But SOMEVUN or SOMETING is trying to kidnap you. I vant to try to help you. Please belief zat." He clasped her small hands in his.
What's that, Chekov? Timmy got stuck down a well?
"Yes, Pavel, we are all human. But my people are dramatically different. Maybe we're a step forward in human evolution. Or a step outside human evolution. Maybe we're an evolutionary dead end. Or maybe we're the modern version of the platypus -- some bizarre mutation. I honestly don't know. I honestly don't care."
Oh I get it! It's like X-Men, except stupid.
"You do not mind if I try ewasive maneuwers to spare your ship from some of the veapons' impact?"
Evasive manures? Is that like trying to avoid this fic?
His chocolate eyes flickered with inner fire.
He needs to be careful with that, or his eyes will become fondue.
There's a lot more, but I'll spare you it, but you may read on. It is, however, at your own risk.