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Fics written for Queer Fest in '14

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It was Friday, the fish were singing up in the trees, the moon was low in the night sky, and Philip J. Fry was preparing a sumptuous dinner for his girlfriend, Leela. There were so many small things to attend to that he faked a ‘pulled groin’ to sneak out of work early and pick up supplies. By the time the sun was setting behind the tallest skyscraper of New New York, he’d stirred her up a meal and was fit for a particularly hungry princess army. He’d managed some thick – though dubiously acquired – bugalo steaks and fries, and had been in the process of pouring glasses of boxed wine into glass jelly jars when Leela arrived.

She didn’t have to knock anymore – that little problem had been solved by giving her a key – but the kiss she gave his cheek was still an awesome surprise.

“Do you need any help pulling your groin?”

He definitely wasn’t dating her for her delicacy. “Heh. Let me finish heating up these beans and you can pull it for me.”

“Good. The walk here worked up an appetite,” she said. “I had to outrun five muggers and a couple of zombie bell ringers!” She went about icing the wine and helping him finish up plating the dinner.

Fry was determined to make this a special date, and his corner drug store cutlery and cuisine showed he meant business. When they were crouched low around his cardboard dinner table eating ramen and plastic tubs of Mom’s Old Fashioned Pudding, Fry started thinking about how lucky he was.

He had an amazing girlfriend. A perfect girlfriend. An amazingperfect girlfriend who was dripping beetle pudding all over his tablecloth.

He had been staring at her for just long enough to trigger Leela’s concern. “Sorry,” she gurgled out, wiping the back of her mouth against her palm. “Do I have a wing in my teeth?”

He shook his head. “I was just thinking about how great you are.”

She grinned. “Aww, that’s so sweet.” And Fry still thought she was perfect, beautiful and great – even as she wiped her mouth on the back of her palm.

“It’s the truth,” he said. “You’re the best girl in the whole galaxy!” he reached for his coat pocket. “I don’t have a lot to give you, but there’s one thing you can always count on me to do – love you as much as any man has ever loved any deadly sewer mutant.”

Leela gasped. “You love me as much as Rosanne Barr’s head loved space borg Tom Arnold?”

“Twice as much! I love you as much as Zoidberg loves garbage!” he reached out for her hand and kneeled. “Leela, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, no matter what year we live in, or what time it is. You’re always there for me, blowing on my soup when it’s hot and killing all of the bedbugs before they bite me or try to hold me for ransom. You’re the best girlfriend – but you’re too good to be a girlfriend…you should be my wife.”

“Fry,” she said, “before you go any further, I’ve got something to confess.”

He gave her a worried look. “Is the buggalo meat giving you the heaves?”

“NO! Fry, there’s something I’ve been hiding about myself, something I’ve never told anyone before!”

Fry gasped. “Do you have an extra eye? Is it in your hair?!”

“NO, you idiot!” she crossed her arms against her breasts. “I’m bisexual.”

“Oh,” Fry said. Then a dirty grin lit his features. “OH…”

She gave him a shove. “You don’t have to be disgusting about it.”

“I won’t be! I’ll be chill! Icy chilly cool!” He stayed silent, still holding her hand. “So will you?” he wondered.

“Oh! Oh yes!” she cried out. “I’ll marry you, Fry!”

Fry let out a ‘whoo hoo’ and slid the ring onto her finger. They paused together to admire it. “I fought a raccoon for that diamond.” He said.

“It’s nice,” she said.


It was another Friday night in New New York, which marked yet another casual date night for Leela and Fry at the Planet Express Building. In Fry’s case that meant trying to pick up a bottle of General Sisyphus’ old-fashioned Whiskey By Product without Bender swiping and glugging it all down first, and in Leela’s case that meant convincing Fry to take her outside to enjoy the warm summer evening. He packed them a picnic lunch and took them to a park (not Central Park, he insisted – a NICE park). The provisions were scarce enough that he had to buy them hot dogs, but he managed to make it back to the blanket swiftly as humanly possible, before the condiments were stolen by hamburglers.

Leela was so distracted by the fol de roll that it took her ages to notice that Fry seemed uncomfortable. He squirmed when she asked him what was wrong. “Nothing,” he insisted. “Just…thinking.”

“Don’t! You’ll give yourself an aneurism?”


“A brain-hurt.”

“Ohh,” Fry said. He kept watching Leela – and the track of her eyes – and said, “Do you ever get distracted by really pretty girls.” She slapped him. “OW! Not me, you!”

She rubbed her palm against her thigh. “Fry, I’m not interested in anyone, no matter how beautiful he – or she – or they – or it might be!”

“But she’s a beautiful tomato!” Fry whined.

Leela followed his sightline and eyed said passing tomato. “She’s pretty saucy,” Leela said. “But I bet if you squeeze her she’ll break into a million pieces. I like my friends a little more durable.”

“Hey!” They were, naturally, speaking of a quite literally lovely tomato – with the legs of a showgirl. She turned toward them, seeds spattering into the ground as she talked. “Buncha wise guys getting fresh! Don’t make me get my hubby!” She yelled over her shoulder. “Honey, catch up!”

A very tall ketchup bottle with legs and arms rushed over. “Who’s putting the squeeze on my sweetie?” He smacked his head against a nearby tree, turning his head into a jagged crown of broken glass. “Who wants some?”

Fry and Leela fled from the scene, rushing hand in hand to the safety of the nearest shelter. “See what your jealousy did?” Leela panted.

Fry replied, “can you blame me?”


They collapsed together in the safety of a bus shelter. “Fry, your ridiculous paranoia almost got us killed. Why are you suddenly going insane in the membrane?”

“Because you’re so pretty. And so are all sorts of women!” Fry said. “Why would you want to stay with me when you can be with somebody like one of them?”

“Fry, how many times do I have to tell you that me being bisexual doesn’t change how I feel about you?! No one else has saved me in the way you have – and nobody else ever will.” She hugged him – then twisted his ear. “So stop being a paranoid dork about it.”

Fry pulled away, rubbing his ear. “Okay. You won’t kick me like that in bed for this, will you?” he asked weakly.

“We’ll see,” she said, and patted his cheeks.