Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Fillmore: Substring	By : Thesus Category: +1 through F > Fillmore! Views: 4680 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the cartoons of Disney Studios, nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Substring
- 2-Not The Real Thing
- 1
- 2
Act One: All We Hear Is Radio Folsom
It was a normal day at X. Well, almost. Ingrid wished it was a normal day. Crossing the east lawn on her daily trip to school, Ingrid Third, genius, former Public Enemy #1 and juvenile deliquent, now the reformed brains behind the acclaimed X Safety Patrol, grimaced. It wasn't the weather - beautiful, blue, and warm on this October day, or the classes, but rather the noise.

All we hear is Radio Folsom, Radio Folsom, Radio Folsom!

All we hear is Radio Folsom, Radio Folsom, Radio Folsom!

Principal Folsom, we love you!

Ingrid winced. "I can't believe this is happening." The song wound on as she navigated the busy corridors of X. "Morning, Vallejo". She waved as the door to Safety Patrol HQ swung shut behind her. Dumping her bag on the desk, she glanced over to Fillmore's empty seat and tried to distract herself from the blaring of Radio FLSM, the newest addition to Minnesota's airwaves. Email was empty, and she was briefly running through the news when the homeroom bell rung, silencing FLSM until recess. The assembled Safety Patrollers simultaneously rose in a spontaneous ovation to the silence following the bell.
Vallejo grinned, brandishing a mug of extra-strength cocoa at his troops. "All right, people. Settle down. Lesse...Fillmore's missing? Anyone seen him?" No sooner had the words had escaped the commissioner's mouth when Fillmore barged in. "Sorry, man, business was legit, kay?" Vallejo sighed. "Whatever. Anyway, it's a slow day, folks. Let's hope it stays that way. Library fines, mainly. Tehama, can you?" The Hawaiian import sighed. "Only temporary, I promise. Until O'Farrell's replacement shows."
There was a quiet moment in the office. The eccentric and clumsy officer was tragically killed in the line of duty last month, and the cops had only just finished the inquiry that had been held into his death. Long story short, there was still a prominent empty desk in the middle of the office floor.
The silence dragged on for a few seconds, when the sound of static cut through the air. Surprisingly, FLSM had not started broadcasting again, but rather the office television had gone snowy. Usually used for soundlessly displaying school announcements, events, and activities, it was now hiccuping loudly. "Anza, check the one in the hall outside." Joe nodded to Ingrid, jumping quicking from his desk to stick his head out the door. "Yep, that one's gone too."
Speculation had just started among the middle-schoolers about the possible causes of such an outage when the static was abruptly replaced with a strange image: a series of concentric squares, connected with a pair of diagonal lines that transected the corners of the squares. "It looks like...a square cobweb?" There was general agreement on this point. Cornelius piped up: "But what does it mean?"
Vallejo pointed his mug vehemently toward the screen. "And that, folks, is the question of the day. I have no doubt that Folsom is going to be wondering about this is no short order. Prowl the halls, people." "I guess we don't got nothin' else, eh?" replied Fillmore. "C'mon Ingrid, we have patrol this morning." Third nodded. "Let's hope it's nothing important." With a nod in reply, the pair headed out.
"So, Ingrid, what's on today's schedule?" "Ugh. We're supposed to check out a poetry recital? I hope it's not as bad as I fear." Cornelius chucked. "Probably going to be worse." Ingrid grabbed her face in mock despair. "I went to one of these last year. Brace yourself."
The duo meandered into one of the smaller auditoriums on campus where an 8th grader was perched at a lectern, sonorously reciting what the powerpoint slide behind him announced as "Llyfr Taliesin - In Praise of Owain. Taliesin was a 6th century Welsh poet, one of the first in recorded history."
It wasn't long before the pair was reduced to yawns. Fillmore, unsurprisingly, grew bored quickly. Motioning to a dark corner in the back of the room, he winked at Ingrid. "Not here! On duty, remember?" "What, you think this is interesting?" "No..." "Well, why not?" Not waiting for an answer, Cornelius slowly dragged his reluctant partner to the room, pushing her down to the floor. Lying on top of her, they began to kiss, rolling around passionately on the carpeted floor as the unknown Welsh words soared over their heads.
This wasn't overly new, but the infatuation hadn't reached the stages of being old, either. Not even close. After a few verses of liplock, Fillmore pulled away, and staring directly into Ingrid's olive eyes, pushed her head away. Grinning, he maneuvered her hands toward his groin, nodding encouragement. "Here? Are you insane?", Ingrid whispered. Her partner simply continued to smile, forcing her hands to massage the bulge in his pants.
Ingrid mentally turned the situation over in her head. This was obviously not a good idea. On the other hand, she was talking to her crush, her boyfriend, and her rescuer. Worming her lithe fingers towards Fillmore's cock, the genuis girl slowly extracted his manhood. Stroking it softly, she failed to register the complete surprise plastered on Cornelius' face.
Given his surprise, what follows should not surprise an attentive onlooker, were there any. Ingrid Third's warm hands ran softly up and down the pulsating shaft for only a few seconds before her ministrations produced the end result. Warm spurts of gooey cum leapt from the brown manhood, draping themselves over her raven hair and pale features, the last drips dripping onto her slim fingers.
"Oh, shit. Sorry Ingrid, I didn't mean...". He paused. His partner was licking cum off her fingers and swallowing it. Watching, mesmerized, he stared as she proceeded to tease the sperm out of her hair with her fingers and swallow it as well. "What?", she said, looking up. "Do you have any other ideas? It's not like I can walk out of here with it all over me, right?" Fillmore started. "But...".
Boom.A series of explosions rocked the small amphitheatre, cutting off Fillmore's words. The pair jumped up to see clouds of smoke roiling towards the ceiling above the lectern - now rendered to pieces, the jagged stand remaining in position. "Oh shit." "Please, don't make a habit of that. I preferred 'snap'." The conversation took place even as the pair vaulted chairs towards the centre of the carnage. "Isn't it justified today?" "True."
After seeing the speaker to infirmary with multiple lacerations and a broken arm, the pair came to a quick conclusion: the explosion was caused by a simple remote-control device that had been concealed in the lectern. Nothing fancy. But no clues, either.
A sound grated from behind. Stiletto heel on a piece of wayward metal. Fillmore turned. Folsom had just entered with Vallejo and Raycliff in tow. "Oh shi- snap." "FILLLLL-MOOOORE!" The shout was followed up with some generic accusations of incompetence and a threat to turn HQ into a sushi bar. Same old.
"Well, Fillmore. Let's hope you're faster at solving this than you are at shooting off. At least I'll be able to help you with both, right?" Ingrid smirked. Fillmore grimaced. "Do we have anything?" "Nope."
The dectective duo took a last slow look at the ruined room before walking into the hallway, each deep in thought.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Fillmore: Substring