Look, I love this show. It is one of my favorite shows of all time. I grew up with it. It is brilliant in every single way. That's all you need to know about my thoughts about Futurama. After the news that Futurama is yet again being cancelled, I felt a strong desire to review a few Futurama fanfics. Now, I don't want to review anything too awful today (mostly because I couldn't find anything incredibly bad, or even really painful to read). So, I'm going to do something a little different.
I will be looking at a few different fanfics: some interesting, some different, some with issues, certainly, and some absolutely worth something. I know I'm usually pretty cynical and jaded about the writers that are featured on here. Hell, there are times when I can be downright nasty. But some fanfictions are deserving of both time and praise. Some are not horrid. And some can even *gasp* be good!
I started this blog as a response to the bad fanfictions, but sometimes my heart (three sizes too small) claws out of me and starts writing on its own. It wants to show that there are some fanfictions worth everything. Some can be brilliant. Some can be amazing. And some can be really silly. The three I have featured today are all rated M, and none of them deserve to be. They are all brilliant, with no hints of graphic depictions of sex, violence, or the like. That's not why they're good, but it certainly doesn't hurt either.
My thoughts, suggestions, and fixes will be in black. The fanfics will be in blue. Anything else will be in red.
We'll be starting with the two chapter "Darker, Darker" brought to us by El Cuero.
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| This gorgeous realistic Leela is brought to us by frankreyes. |
Part I
Dark city streets. A smog choked sky. And the lights. Oh, the lights. Glowing, screaming. The neon symbol of an era doomed. Signs that sell love, signs that sell lust. Mankind's most primal desires boomed at him in shining Technicolor.
Sex!
Flesh!
Fast cars!
Not necessarily in that order. In a time when the sin of humanity must be spelled out merely to make it's
"its"
existence known in a dying world, who was safe? Ax anyone, they'll tell you they're scared. And why wouldn't they be? Earth is a planet where no where
"nowhere"
That's a baffling misspelling.
is free from man's poisonous influences. Life and death are blurred when sheer nature is swiftly being replaced by technology. As it's
"its"
mother rots beneath it, New New York is a primordial lake of the damned, screaming their maddened cries, which are quick to fall mute amongst the rest. One writhing insect amongst a million. All the while the lights, uncaring and tempting, glow in the haze of the hot blooded night.
Despite the few mistakes, I like this one a lot right now. It has some purple prose, but I can get behind that.
"Oh, the lights." sighed Leela observing her homeworld from her apartment window in a tired, sorry state.
The days had grown worse for her, in the land where she never truly felt belonging. Work was hard and unceasing. Insomnia had begun to set in, bringing with it mood swings and her newfound nihilism. Her regular cynicism had developed into an uncaring, unforgiving phase which she did not recognize herself slip into. Night seemed to last forever in the grip of her insomnia. In fact, her sleep deprivation was eroding her ability to think straight, making the former confident captain a vague shadow of her former self.
Insomnia. Insomnia. Insomnia.
She repeated the word again and again, slipping in and out of consciousness without realizing it or even giving a thought to how the time was passing. Each night became a never-ending quest to sleep, to remove herself from this disturbing state of mind and enter a world where all was black and gone. Or perhaps now, her vision had skewered. She feared she was giving way to her poisoned minds
Use the possessive here: "mind's."
dark wish, and was viewing the world in a way so foul she wished to sleep simply to rid herself of it.
She could no longer tell whether she was thinking this in her sleep or as she lay by her window, awake. In a world she was now a stranger too,
"to"
how could she possibly tell reality from dream?
A strand of purple hair fell across her unblinking eye. She stared at it, sensing something was not right. Her suspicions were confirmed as the hair liquefied in front of her, spreading out into a pool of rot and snaking towards her as some living liquid. As it grew it puffed out, evolving into a gruesome organism. The skin blackened, and the face was a pincushion of horns. The horrible serpent groaned in a pained way, as though contemplating the agony of it's
"its"
own existence. She tried to move, but could not. No sound escaped her lips, but for a soft moan. With horror she felt her scalp sting the liquid trickled off and slither to face her, hissing in a manner most grotesque.
"Delectable", it whispered without lips, each word spilling froth from what could only be called gills in it's
"its"
sides, "A fine specimen. Let us indulge the creature with thy touch."
Screaming in her mind Leela could only lay there in terror as the creature slid down her throat and explored her innards, finding it's
"its"
Look, at least there's consistency with the wrong use of "it's."
way up her brain stem. Taking over her mind. A physical remainder of her insomnia. Her insomnia, taking her over. Draggin' her down a dark vortex, the light at it's
"its"
"Its" is possessive, "it's" means "it is."
Stop using "it's" as a possessive. It is not one.
opening growing dimmer, and dimmer.
"No!" shrieked Leela, leaping bolt upright out of bed. She was greeted with silence, save Nibblers
"Nibbler's"
quiet snores. A cursory glance out the window proved it was morning. Turning to the television she realized she had left it on all night. A black and white screen informed her that she was watching "THE OUTER LIMITS, in which Robert Culp is physically transformed by 'The Architects of Fear!'"
She flicked the TV off and sighed. She could barely find her footing as she stood up out of bed, and twice she nearly walked into the walls. Each night's insomniac hell was taking it's
"its"
It's going to keep happening, and I'm going to keep pointing it out.
toll on her mentally.
Outside was a world she despised, within her came fear. Fear of what could become of her if she did not cure her illness soon.
The sun shone blood red through the black smog, and the lights below were switched off for another day.
Wow, this is a rare feat. This is a very well-written fanfiction. I'm impressed. While there is no real story to speak of, the imagery is well done, the grammar well-written (for the most part), and the characterization believable. My complaints should be obvious.
El Cuero, I'm taking you seriously as a writer, but please figure out what possessives are and fix your mistakes once you do. It's maddening to know that as good a writer as yourself has made such rookie mistakes.
Anyway, on to Part II!
Darker, Darker
Part II
Sy'relh9. A fearful planet. A planet that was ominous no matter how you observed it.
I'm not feeling this sentence. It doesn't fit with the tone of Part I.
A planet where black rock rose into huge pinnacles, like pointed dark towers. Where a dark mist shrouded the base of the rock towers completely. The only breathable air contained in a cavern underground. The Sy'lehhk cavern. Haunt of the Nygh, a devout religious folk known for their occult rituals and fascination with the texts of Bolef. Leela was not familiar with the writings of Bolef, and could not care less about the Nygh and their madness. But as she strode beneath the pinnacles of Sy'relh9 with Fry following in her midst, Leela could not help but feel fear tingle at the back of her neck and creep down her spine. She could not deny that the towering stone pinnacles gave her the sense of being tiny and insignificant in this untamed world, and by extension, the universe. She was just one of billions of ants, all crawling between the cracks, no individual seeing the bigger picture. If one even existed. End game? What end game? Insert another coin and keep on playing. The game goes on, man! The game goes on and on!
This paragraph is both overlong and of questionable quality. While the story it is telling is perfectly acceptable, the writing seems to have a marked decrease in quality from Part I so far. It seems both more casual and less intense.
"Oh God," she said aloud, like a woman possessed, "such dark thoughts."
Leela doesn't sound much like Leela here.
Fry's voice echoed from the mist behind her.
"Leela?"
Fry was carrying on his shoulders a crate of Lief herb and typically, Leela would be more than happy to hear the sound of his voice.
She- she would? Huh-what?
But without sleep and without patience, every word he spoke became an annoyance.
Isn't that normal? Even while they're dating?
She did not answer him, hoping that if she were to ignore him, he would desist. He did not.
He's Fry. He doesn't know the meaning of "not being annoying."
"Leela?" he called again, voice muffled from within the helmet needed to survive outside in Sy'relh9's poisonous atmosphere.
"What?" she replied with a forced tone of calm.
"You said something back there, didn't you?"
Controlling her irritation she replied in the same calm tone.
"No, haven't said a word."
Yet still he persisted.
"If you say so."
Leela did not respond. The opening to the cavern was close. A deep chasm, the descent was lit only
by primitive wax candles lining the inner walls. Elaborate carvings along the walls depicted leviathans and colossi rising from the ocean, like the titans of Greek myth. Descending unto the pit was surreal, like a nightmare of falling, with no end in sight. Behind her came the soft thud of Fry's footprints,
No. "Footprints" is not the correct term. "Footsteps" may be appropriate, but "footprints" make no sense here in context.
the only reminder that she was not isolated in this strange world. As the mist around him dissolved into nothingness, Fry tentatively removed his helmet. Leela did the same upon hearing Fry inhale.
Uh... Leela? This is Fry. You shouldn't follow his lead. He is a moron.
"The only air on the planet," Leela grinned broadly, the ability to breathe naturally lifting some of her fear and sour mood, "Suck it up, Fry!"
"Maybe once I've got this weight offa' my shoulders." he muttered, straining under the crates
POSSESSIVES!
mass.
The deep slope led to a place that was miserable and sick. Homes were crudely built huts of stone, and livestock lay, barely breathing, on their sides. The base of the caverns carried on for a long way, and perhaps five hundred stone huts stood, barely room enough between each to walk through, with not a soul in sight. The altar at the town center was where they had been told to place the crate. They were required to leave as soon as possible thereafter.
"Well," groaned Fry, dropping the crate onto the altar's stone base, "This is kinda' creepy."
Leela nodded in silent agreement. Occasionally she thought she heard a whisper, or saw the flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, but surely she was mistaken?
"Let's go."
Leela turned to face Fry. His voice was strange, and upon seeing his face she noticed something wrong. A fear in his eyes.
She placed a palm on his cheek.
"It's alright. We're going home."
She turned, only to come face to face with a sneering she-devil. Leela became paralyzed in shock. The old Lady was nude, with deep cuts across her skin and wounds within the flesh of her skull. One eye was milky white like marble. The other left only an empty socket. Her sneer contorted into a grotesque grin and she grabbed Leela by the shoulders, speaking in the voice of a reptile.
"No sleep! No sleep!", she sang,"The girl gets no sleep. Little one eye. Little girl, all alone and afraid. Afraid of the world, afraid to sleep. Afraid of herself."
I think I've had this happen to me during one of my own bouts of insomnia...
Leela opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out.
"Little girl, no sleep. The drugs don't work do they, little girl? They do not put little girl to sleep, do they?"
Leela slapped the woman's hand away and rose up.
"Do not call me a little girl."
The woman merely snorted.
"But you are a little girl. Little girl, no sleep. I see things. Inside you. Inside your soul."
Leela slumped back down, hypnotized by the womans
PO-SESS-IVES.
voice, absorbing her words and unable to deny them.
"You have something inside you. Inside your soul. Another little girl. But not a silly little girl like you. Nasty girl. Wicked girl. A beast, deep within you, darker, darker. Darker, darker."
Mouth agape in astonishment Leela registered only barely the feeling of being grabbed by Fry, and dragged running. As they ran together the woman's voice grew into a high pitched wail.
"Darker! Darker! Darker! Darker!"
Okay, this is slightly creepy.
"Fry, am I different?"
The ship was now light years away from that hideous world and the godforsaken cave. Neon galaxies zoomed past at impossible speeds as the ship shot towards Earth.
"Yes." Fry answered honestly, looking Leela in the eye.
She was taken aback, her earlier irritations replaced with an all-devouring fear.
"Fry, have I hurt you at all?"
A painful lump emerged in Fry's throat as he fought back tears.
"You drift off into this
"these"?
fantasy worlds, you, you get mad for no reason at all. You scare me Leela."
An awful, overwhelming silence engulfed the room. Leela's eye became red with tears, and she placed a hand gently on Fry's chest. Tears trickled down his cheeks and hit the metal floor with echoing clinks. Leela spoke softly.
"I will get better. I will sleep tonight. And when we wake up, everything will be different."
She wrapped her arms around him, and responded by doing the same, resting his head on her shoulder.
"You don't need to be scared anymore."
Awwww
Now, despite my best efforts to be a cynical bastard, I can't be with "Darker, Darker." While it may not perfectly capture the dialogue of the show (or the tone), it does a good job at being its own separate thing. It is well done for the most part. While I have some gripes about the overall fanfiction, the story, the quickness of it, etc., I can't deny that this is fairly well written and easily the best fanfiction I HAVE EVER READ.
Full disclosure: I was looking for something good under a "Mature" or "Adult" tag on purpose, just to see if I could. The fact of the matter is, I found very few bad ones worthy of any notes, and found some amazing ones to feature instead.
I chose this one because I actually enjoyed reading it, and I really wish the author had written more. Again, it is not perfect, and some of the worst fanfictions I have read have contained much better grammar and understanding of the use of possessives. That should not discourage you, El Cuero! You have a great mind for storytelling, especially with your wondrous uses of imagery and description. Taking a mostly silly show like Futurama and giving it a darker spin is both clever and ingenuous.
I have to both recommend you as an author (provided you improved the grammar and would be willing to write things out more fully) and recommend this story as something I can hold up in high regard. Thank you for writing something that was actually worth my time.
Now, I would like to share one more thing about El Cuero. It is their bio-thing on fanfiction.net: I am the El Cuero. Lovecraftian horror spins it's wicked webs through all my work, as well as my mind. I am insane and most hate Fan Fiction, including my own. The work on this site is some of my worst and I do not endorse reading it or getting within three feet of it.
And now, for an uninterrupted fanfic. I will cease writing now except to introduce coldangel omega (or coldangel1) and "The Morning."
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| By Avatarium. |
The Morning
A short Futurama fan-fiction by coldangel1
I awake through layers. Warmth, then softness, and inevitably the intrusion of light, pale and fresh, that lances across the city into my spartan room, to fall upon my bed, upon me… upon the person that lies beside me.
My eye opens wide in realization of that presence alongside; that unfamiliar pressure weighing down one side this bed I never share with anyone. My breath catches.
Who?
I look slowly across the sheet at the familiar face, eyes closed; the crooked nose and quaint overbite. He has a corner of my pillow in his mouth, chewing it absently as he slumbers, and at another time I might have found that amusing or endearing. But instead my heart hammers.
What happened? Oh Lord, what did I do?
Gently, so as not to wake him, I peel the cover up to confirm my suspicion. My nakedness glares up at me accusingly, as does his; our bare skin, soft and pink, side by side… in my bed. The warm tingle of fulfilment in my nethers and the fingernail marks upon his flesh both offer further verification.
What have I done?
Memory begins to glitter on the tiles of my mind like the fragments of a shattered vase. The pieces slowly begin to reassemble. There was the opera, the cybernetic Satan… the hands. He gave up the hands for me. I remained; when everyone else left, I stayed with him – his innocent gratitude had shone from his face, but it wasn't a favour – I wanted to stay. Images fall into place; I remember the simple and beautiful piece he played – he and I, together. And although my conflicted mind recoiled from that brazen outpouring of devotion, I could not help but clasp my hands to my breast and weep in joy… in love.
No, not love… Don't think that…
I look across at his sleeping form again; the unpretentious lines of his face speak of candid honesty. No capacity for untruth could be fathomed.
I have one eye. The world to me is flat planes without depth; when I see a person I know intuitively that there is something missing from the image, hidden dimensions beyond my perception, always something more… just out of reach. But not with him… I sense that I see him as he really is. Of course he can't be a two-dimensional cartoon, but I know that what I see is all there is – there are no hidden agendas or nasty surprises lurking behind corners of his soul. Everything is there, laid flat, laid bare. He is what he is… and after living through deceit after betrayal after deception, that blameless simplicity is like a pitcher of crystalline water in the desert.
So why am I afraid?
More memory. After the opera… we walked together, hand in hand, in companionable silence. I was comfortable, content… and, despite his audience's response, he seemed to be as well. He seemed happy, happier than I'd seen him in a long time. An image flashes in my mind's eye – myself reaching up to loosen his bowtie for him… before leading him toward a quiet bar for a celebratory drink. Just him and I…
We got drunk, I realize, chewing my bottom lip. We got drunk and came back here and then… and then…
I slept with Fry.
"Oh no," I whisper to myself, and at the sound he stirs beside me, mumbling something about grasshoppers and acorns in his sleep. I watch him closely, and more images from last night fall into place – his lips pressed against mine, his body pressing against mine… and me pressing back, just as hungrily; breathless and encouraging… wanting. I remember myself yielding to him willingly and the look of dazed joy upon his face as I called out his name; I remember the feeling of him inside me…
I close my eye. Not in shame – for I am not ashamed. Not in repulsion – for he does not repulse me (far from it). But in anguish… anguish for the pain I will cause him. For the best part of four years I have evaded his advances, pushing him away gently… and not so gently… encouraging him to move on. But now, to lose my resolve and open my apartment, legs, and heart to him… how can I now expect him to accept my inevitable rejection; the brush-off, the 'let's be friends' speech? I can't – it isn't fair, he doesn't deserve it. Last night was selfish; I wanted something and I took it, in a moment, detached from all consideration of the future
I allowed our desire to rule us and now he will think that we…
…No, that can't happen.
I cannot be with him, I know that. I've always known it. For all his openness and loyalty, he is unambitious, unintelligent, unhygienic, unscrupulous, unmotivated, un... everything. He can't provide for me, be a husband… or a father…
But still…
I might consider slipping away if I wasn't in my own house. Perhaps I could leave for work… but today is Sunday. Beside me Fry mumbles and turns over onto his back, his foppish orange hair falling in tangles. He will be awake soon, I realize as I stare sidelong at him, and there will be no time to stall, to ponder delicate evasions.
I should get dressed, but as I begin to gently slide from the bed I hear him murmur my name, and I stop as my heart threatens to break. How can I do this to him? How can I keep hurting someone I love?
Love… again, that word.
I look back and he is still asleep, peaceful and happy. My best friend in all the Universe, the man who opened my eye to the world and made me a whole person, the man who would die for me a thousand times over. He is an extratemporal anachronism, unlike anybody I've ever known, and his friendship means more to me than life itself. Perhaps that's the real reason I refuse to commit to him… romance to me is associated with a long chain of disappointment and heartache, nothing like the connection I share with him. It's so different… something pure and wonderful, and I shrink in terror at the idea of changing it, of making him another lover who will hurt me, haunt me, who I will never want to see again.
But he wouldn't do that…
How do I know for sure?
Because he's Fry.
A confusing swarm of contradictions, fears and desires, swim through my mind. I sit up and run my hands through my hair, no longer consciously perturbed by my nakedness or the telling sensation of completion between my thighs. What the hell is it that I really want?
Stability, of course.
A desire for things to stay the same. That's just fear of change, the fear of loss. But I fear nothing… at least I don't think I do… and I know that there can be no gain without risk. But is this risk too great? What if I lose him, my friend whom I love, this man around whom I have built walls of excuses and judgements to keep insulated from the inner sanctum of my heart?
I can't…
I can't lose him. I'd die if I lost him…
But I won't. Except by my own actions.
My eye widens at that thought. Of course… he would never leave me. No matter what happened. It's Fry after all.
So what's the problem?
Good question. Through all the years and all the hurt, my defences have become autonomous subroutines, operating independently without input or consent. And it's been so easy for me to pretend a justification exists, to make such shallow superficial excuses and maintain the quiet comfortable status-quo.
At the end of it all, I see the truth of the matter finally and completely – I am a coward.
"Leela?"
I gasp in surprise and turn to face him, forgetting to cover my bosom (there would be little point now). He is awake, propped up on his elbows, watching me with worried eyes. He sees my conflict and fear, and he knows what's going on in my mind… but he isn't offended or annoyed, only concerned for me. I love him all the more for that.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly, and at last I realize that I am. I really am.
I nod and smile, feeling a tremendous weight detach from my soul. "Yeah," I murmur. "I'm very okay." There will be no more hiding, no more fear.
"You don't… regret this?" Fry asks with nervous restraint that I find adorable.
"For a moment I thought I did," I admit truthfully. "But then I realized something…"
"What's that?"
"That I'm an idiot." My smile widens and I lean close to him. He grins sheepishly and encircles me with his arms.
"So," he whispers, "happily ever after?"
I answer him with a kiss.
END.
Well, that was all kinds of gorgeous. Hell, it's practically canon. Look, I don't often say things like this, but that was superb. Coldangel1/omega, you have a talent for taking two breathtaking characters and fleshing them out even further. I don't even care about the ship or anything like that. I simply enjoyed the writing, your take on the characters, on Leela, and on how poignant a silly cartoon about the future truly can be when put in the right writer's hands. Please, continue to be as awesome as this fanfiction shows that you can be.
And...
Okay. We've come to it. The final fanfiction. Of course, I can't go out on anything other than something... uh... not so great, I guess? It's not the worst thing ever though, so our positive feelings about Futurama fanfic writers shall continue on ad infinitum.
This is "The wierdest of the wierd" by Kyle curse.
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| This is how I picture Kyle curse. |
This is my first story for Fanfiction. Im might not be that good at Comedy and Romance but i hope you like it.
Kyle curse, as long as this doesn't involve necrophilia, rape, graphic and unrealistic depiction of sex and violence, sex of minors, incest, or a twelve year old trying to write actual porn and being proud of that accomplishment, I think I'll like it. Actually, me picturing you as that adorable dog up there makes me like this fanfiction so much more in hindsight.
Chapter 1: The dilivery.
(Also, there is no Chapter 2. I don't know if I can live my life with this kind of cliff-hanger.)
This story starts at the P.E quarters.
Profeser:
I- I seem to be seeing some kind of... spelling error...?
"Good news who the hell you all are. You will all dilivering to Mato 4."
Fry: "Why do we need to diliver a bag of crap?"
Profeser: "Your not not bender but leela is."
Wait.
"Your not not bender but leela is."
One more time?
"Your not not bender but leela is."
Okay, just needed to get that off of my chest. I think the "Profeser" just called Fry "not bender," but... well, but nothing. That's what just happened to the best of my understanding.
Leela: "What! Profeser. I cant diliver all by myself."
"Leela, stop your complaining! Your going to diliver these packages!"
Profeser: "Well now you can. Fry you are teaching 30 dilivery boys."
Fry: "What! Why?"
My thoughts exactly. Fry is a known moron. Why would he teach anybody?
Profeser: "And bender. you are baby sitting a talking cute teddy bear called Jo."
Bender: "Why!"
Profeser: "... Off you go and do the work."
I like how the "Profeser" ignored them all.
Fry is now at the lounge teaching the students." <--Errant quotation mark.
Fry:" Well im your new teacher for the rest of your schooling. I name is Mr F but you can call me Fry."
"I name is Mr F..."
I think... I think I love this fanfic.
The students were very angry and sad exept one boy who was exited.
He was exited so fast.
Fry:"Well our first rule of dilivery boys is to never get tips."
One hour later...
Bender While banging the door :"Fry open this door now im dying to wacth T.V."
Fry:" Ok Class dismisted.You may go home now."
I now have a new favorite word.
All of the students ran out exept the exited boy.
He was entranced.
Ba-dum-tish.
Boy:" HelloMr Fryi need help with my rules."
Fry:"Ok the first rul..." Got interupted
Is that like Girl, Interrupted?
Boy: "Ok but... I...like you."
Fry:" Well thanks but what way do you meancause i dont know what what your sayin."
Boy: "I like you"
"I get the feeling you're trying to tell me something." Fry thought.
Fry:" Ok. Just go home."
"Get out of here, kid. I want nothing to do with you even though I have no problem with you liking me."
This is an amazing dialogue.
Bender breaks the door douwn and jumps on the couch and wacthes T.V.
Bender: "How was your first day of school Fry."
Fry: "Well... A kid likes me. But what does that mean?"
Bender:" What! Thats the worst thing. The kidd loves you!."
No, he clearly stated "like," Bender. You are jumping to conclusions.
Fry paused for a minut and bender jumps out of the couch.
Bender:"Fry is Gay Fry is Gay hahahahahahaha!"
"Not that there's anything wrong with that!" Bender screamed a second later.
Leela comes in.
Leela:"Whats going on?"
Bender:" Fry has a new boyfriend "
Fry:"What no i dont. Theres a kid in my class that likes me, but i dont like him."
"Which is easily seen by me telling him to get lost."
Leela:"Ohh sparks, I cant wait tilli write this in my secret diary."
Cliff-hanger! What will happen nex- oh. Right. There is no Chapter 2.
And I wanted to know where that errant quotation mark's Sancho Panza was! Darn it!
Anyway, that one was fun too. Rated M. I expect it's because- no, you know what? I have no idea. Maybe the idea of one possibly having a gay person hit on them is considered mature these days. Or maybe- just maybe- Kyle curse is slightly confused.
But you know what? That's okay. I was neither offended by the content nor by the horrid spelling and grammar. While it was no picnic to read, I will say it's still a billion times better than a well-written necrophilia fanfic. I enjoyed it, and if that's the worst Futurama has to offer, than we're going to come back to these whenever I'm feeling down from now on.
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