the roadrunner and the coyote

Only true convention veterans will remember

Yaoi paddles

Praying your parents don’t see anything weird when they’re dropping you off

Yelling “buttscratcher” and at least 10 people yelling back.

Org XIII cosplayers as far as the eye can see

“The Game”

Free Hugs


The banning of Glomps

The paranoia of cosplaying Sauske, Naruto, Sora, or Riku because you know someone has a Yaoi paddle and they’re watching your ass like Wile E. Coyote watches the Roadrunner

Homestuck invasion

Not being able to cosplay or enjoy One Piece without some asshole screaming the 4Kids theme at you

Cat ears

Seriously how did Yaoi Paddles stick around for so long? You would never get away with that today. You’d probably go to jail for that behavior


arizonacoyotes: @roadrunnersahl Captain Craig Cunningham dropped the puck at our last game of the year. Thank you for being such an inspiration. #CunnyDid

Waiting - Peter Parker

Relationship: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: The reader is concerned about Peter coming back to her after fighting crime all day. This causes her to think of the night they started talking and forming their bond.

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, a sweet kiss

Words: 4480

A/N: This is my first imagine so please be kind. It is a bit long but PLEASE bear with me. I worked hard on it.


The regular writing is present time

The slanted writing is a flashback

Enjoy my loves <3


Waiting. It’s an agonizing feeling. To expect outcomes of situations that you have no idea how to decipher or understand.

You weren’t patient, you never were and you couldn’t be now. Especially not now, at a moment like this.

But, yet, here you were, still waiting.

The remaining question: How will this all end?

11:37 p.m. the clock presented.

Exhaling a frustrated sigh of defeat, you roll over on your mattress, eyes burning of fatigue. Your body craved desperately to drift off, into the land of slumber where you could escape your thoughts, your worries, your fears but your stubbornness remained tall and strong-like a cement wall.

How could you sleep when he was still out there?

You gaze out the tall window that was feet away from your bed, its glass sprinkled with raindrops from earlier precipitation. Outside, it led right out to the fire escape where he would usually arrive to slip into your room. Gazing out the window now, you reminded yourself to buy some plants and flowers to add some beauty outside your window. You’ve been meaning to do it for weeks now.  

As you kept staring, you search for a looming shadow or listen for a delicate tap against the glass, anything that signaled that he was here. That he had come back to you, that he was safe. You could never truly sleep soundly unless you knew for certain that he was okay.

Who were you waiting for?

Peter Parker, that’s who.

A.K.A Spiderman

A.K.A your best friend    

A.K.A the love of your life

Your head buries itself into your soft pillow as you think of him, your cheeks warming as you picture his tousled chocolate locks, sparkling brown eyes and heart thumping smile. The damn kid made you feel like the zoo escaped in your stomach whenever you locked eyes and you hated/loved him for it.

You both met last year, when you moved to Queens as a sophomore. At the time, Peter was identified as “The Dude You Had 30 Second Small Talk with in Chemistry Class” and those “conversations” you two shared were rare, usually right before your teacher started her lecture.

Like, the occasional: “Hey, did you read the chapters last night for Chem?”

Or: “Your poem in the literary magazine was real good, Y/N!”  

Or, ironically: “I saw Spiderman swing above me on my way to school… coolest thing I’ve seen all week!”

But, sadly, you both merely classified as acquaintances to one another.



Last Year, Halloween at 11:37 p.m.

Your eyes bore into the back of your friend, Jess, her lengthy golden hair whipping from side to side as she sprints to the door ahead. You didn’t bother to keep up with her, no matter how freezing your body felt in the frigid wind. The brisk air whips against your stockings in a brutal manner and it was then, that you wish you wore pants to this party instead of your moderately short black dress. It was practically November. You trudge through the decaying grass as you cut through the lawn, arms crossed over your chest, crunching leaves under your Doc Martins.

Reaching the door, were are welcomed with a gust of warmth along with the scent of sweat and weed.

“Ah, refreshing…” you mutter under your breath, while rolling your eyes.

Scanning the perimeter for Jess, you spot her by the stairs, many feet away, chatting with her other friends. Anxiety kept your feet planted by the entrance as you watched them speak to one another. Her friends were not your own, only strangers that you glanced at politely in the in the hallways or had exchanged three words with during your month at Midtown. Despite your discomfort, you walked on toward them, mentally giving your anxiety the middle finger since it had kept you from doing so many other things in your life.

You’re only two steps into walking forward until Jess turns and dashes up the stairs, as if she were the roadrunner and you were the coyote.

What the fuck…

Huffing out in frustration, you make a beeline to the snack table close by, not in the mood to follow her again. You didn’t even want to be here in the first place, you weren’t going to follow her around like a lost puppy.

She’ll be back. She can’t leave me alone at a time like this…

Your mind attempts to reassure you but it didn’t ease the rapid thud of your heart.

You could do this, but not alone.

Fifteen minutes later, you were still attached to the table as if it were your best friend. You occupied your time by looking down at your phone, chomping on chocolate pretzels and frowning at anyone who gave you an amused smirk.

Right then, a group of upperclassmen made agonizing eye contact with you a few feet away. The girls attempted to be discreet about their staring but failed, the giggles they tried to hide with their hands giving them away. You glare into their posse circle until they get intimidated and look away, embarrassed.

You sigh out sadly as the last stare glances away. The brave face you masked on before the party was faltering into a look of pure insecurity.

You thought you could be brave.

You thought you could handle this but the anxiety was overpowering you.

Why the hell where you still here? What was the point?

You had your doubts coming here but Jess had begged you to come, had encouraged you, had basically dragged you here and then left you alone. Alone. At a party. After she promised to stay with you all night. It was social suicide, especially due to the situation you were in now. Clenching your fists in anger, you started for the door until a familiar face stopped you.

Sweet relief seeped within your chest.  

“Hey! Curly Twirly!” you call, grinning, as you spot Michelle’s curly, wild hair from afar. That was the nickname you had given her yourself. She was the first friend you made at school, having been assigned together for an activity in one of your classes. She always managed to make you laugh in the dullest situations and although she’d never admit it, the walls she built over her exterior seemed to crumble whenever you two spoke.

She was wearing an orange shirt with the word ‘COSTUME’ printed on the front. You smirk at her irrefutable wittiness. Why the hell didn’t you think of that?

Her head turned toward you at the sound of her nickname and that was when you noticed the unsettling look of agony in her eyes. You only caught a slim glimpse of that look until she masked it with a plastered smirk. Something was up, you knew because the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Y/N, thank the Black Widow you came to this lame ass party…” she calls.

You widen your eyes at her sentence, getting caught off guard. Even though you two were friends, M.J. never said something like that to you before or…anyone really.

She approaches you, gazing at your outfit with extreme focus.

Spectacular costume, Wednesday Adams is one of my role models.” she smirks.

You were dressed in a black dress with a peter-pan collar, black stockings, Doc Martins and had tied your hair into two braids. Boom. Behold, your costume.

“Shocker…” you say, the sarcasm clear in your voice. If Wednesday Adams were a real person, she and M.J. would be BFF’s.

“I’m surprised you’re here…” she admits, swiping a plastic cup from the beverage table and filling it with punch. The punch was obviously spiked, the cup she filled reeked of alcohol- vodka probably. You cringe as the cup comes too close to your nose for comfort, the intense scent still making you sick to your stomach.

“I thought people were still giving you shit?” she asks, sipping her beverage.

“They are,” you admit. You roll your eyes but not at her, at the assholes around you who continued to talk about you in front of your face.

“Yet, you still came?” one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows arch.

“I wanted to prove that they couldn’t get to me, but I don’t think I’m fooling anyone…” you truthfully confess.

You wished so badly to not give a shit, but you did.

“Hey…” she nudges her shoulder into yours. “You fooled me…”

You smile graciously. She had been one of the few people who didn’t judge you based on that stupid video.

“Besides,” she huffs, frowning. “Fuck what other people think. They don’t know jack-shit about you…” she continues. “This is just another ‘Midtown Mini Drama’. It’ll be forgotten in a week.”

“Thanks M.J…” you mumble. “God, I’d so rather be in bed with a book right now…” you admit, shamelessly to her. You knew she would understand, the girl had her nose in a book 24/7.

“Amen, sister.” she mutters as she tips her face back, draining her drink down in a one gulp. You cringe instantaneously, again, nearly tasting the bitterness in your mouth as you watch her. You were glad you were sticking to you lemonade and pretzels tonight.  

“What the damn hell?” M.J. bluntly utters, causing you to snort in amusement. Your eyes followed to where hers were fixated- the entrance of the party to where Ned Leeds and Peter Parker were standing.


“Twice in one month? That’s monumental.” you murmured in her ear as you both continue to gaze at the spot the two boys were standing. It was true that they didn’t come to many parties, only attending one bash weeks ahead of time that a girl named Liz had hosted.

You study the costumes of the two boys and notice both dressed as Star Wars characters. You recognize Ned to be Obi Wan Kenobi with his white tunic, white pants, belt and brown robe along with Peter as Darth Vader, dressed black from the neck downward and the iconic mask he held in his hands.

You smirked at their choice of attire, these dudes where hella cool.

As they linger throughout the monumental house, they came upon the snack table several minutes later where M.J. and you were still standing. They approached you as M.J. was gulping down the spiked punch as if she were dying of monumental thirst while you were inhaling the snack table like you were a vacuum on supersonic mode. (Especially the chocolate covered pretzels. Yum.)

Peter locks eyes with you and graciously delivers a soft smile when you have about six pretzels in your mouth. Embarrassed, you cover your mouth with the back of your hand and give him a wave with the other. You realized at that moment, under the neon flickering lights how cute he really was. Why you noticed now? You had no idea.

“Evening, ladies…” Ned suavely greets as he approaches MJ and you with Peter by his side. You swallow the pretzels painfully, not having the chance to chew every single one as you prepare to speak.

“Hey guys,” you smile, brightly. “Having fun?”

As the two boys begin to reply, M.J. cut them off.

“I wouldn’t decipher this party with the word ‘fun’.” she quips, her tone laced with boredom.

“That’s because you’re still sober…” you tease, mimicking her past action by bumping your shoulder with hers.

“This is why I keep you around…” she smirks, once again.

She turns away from you and the boys, back to the table to refill her cup, yet again. You stare at her, growing even more worried and mentally cursing yourself for the sentence you had just said. This was already her fifth cup.  Why was she drowning herself in alcohol? You wouldn’t be as concerned if she was a regular partier but this behavior wasn’t normal.

“What are you doing?” you ask, stepping slightly closer and setting a hand on her shoulder.

“Getting shit-faced.” she responds, blankly. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at parties?”

“She has a point…” Ned adds, from the side. You spot Peter hit him in the arm with your peripheral vision.

“You know what I mean…” you whisper in her face. “Why are you drinking so much? Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” she bites, her eyes narrowing. “Leave it alone.” she harshly whispers.

“MJ, talk to-”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Y/N.” she barks at you over the music, glaring at you with so much intimidation it made you feel small and insecure. “Just, leave me alone.” she continues, the same cold tone latched within her words. She never spoke to you that harshly before.

Usually, for you, whenever you got into an argument with someone, you were quick witted and decently sly but as for right now, you were speechless.

It was harder to stand up to your friends rather than your enemies.

Before you had the chance to regain the strength to argue back, she whips around and stalks away to another room, taking her drink with her. You watch her back until it disappears and release a sigh. You desperately wanted to go after her but you didn’t want to smother her and possibly get her even angrier at you. She obviously didn’t want to be near you, hence her walking away…

The music begun to kick in to a louder beat, muffling the voices of other party-goers surrounding you. You could barely hear yourself think, the pounding music thumping throughout the walls was distracting. The room felt even more clustered and full, causing you to sweat and pull at the collar of your dress.


You whip your head to your right to where Peter was standing, closer than he was before. He was staring at you, pure curiosity swimming in his orbs. His eyes- so gentle and welcoming, looking at them had you feeling calmer. He was the warm fire in a rainstorm.

“What?” you dumbly utter. The damn music was causing your hearing to dysfunction, it was drowning everything out, even your own damn thoughts.


The words were hard to understand over the bumping but you could read his lips. You smile sadly at him. He was such a sweet guy, he barely even knew you and here he was, asking that question. He could have easily walked off moments ago, escaping the awkward banter between you and Michelle but here he was.

“Yeah, thanks.” You nod, smiling gratefully. “I should probably just give her space…”

He mimics your nod, agreeing with you. You glance at your surroundings and realize Ned was nowhere to be seen. Huh, where the hell did the dude go?

“–Seventy three?” You heard the number he mumbled but once again, you didn’t hear the full sentence.

“Sorry, what?” you laugh, awkwardly.

“Did­–? Seventy three?”

Ugh, this fucking music. It wasn’t even a good song either…

Clenching your jaw in frustration, you exhale. You wanted to chop the DJ’s head off.

“WHAT?” you yell, leaning in closer toward him, so close that you could see the purple and pink hue of his lips. (They looked soft…)

“DID. YOU. DO. CHEM. YET?” he bellows. His voice and face was still friendly even when he was screaming in your face. He was talking about the chemistry homework that had been assigned. You were to read page seventy-three in your textbook and complete the five paged packet that was due Monday. You haven’t even started yet.

“Oh!” you realize. “Uh…no, not yet.” you confess, yelling, slightly ashamed since Peter probably already finished it. That kid was an absolute wizard with anything science related. He had the highest grade in class, no doubt. He nods in understanding, looking away then back to you again, as if he wanted to say something.

“I–I can give it to–”

“Do you want to go outside?!” you yell, interrupting him. You would be able to hear everything he said to you out there. Besides, the pot in the air was getting stronger, giving you a headache.

He only stares at you, blankly.

“WHAT?” he shrieks.

You already get the answer you need. You turn around, latching onto his wrist and lead him out the door with you. You felt your cheeks grow hot at the sudden gesture, you just grabbing him and leading him away but you couldn’t deny the giddy pound in your chest.


Lifting your head up from the pillow with sonic speed, your eyes blink rapidly. You zero in on the time displayed on your cable box that rested on your dresser.

2:34 a.m.


You had fallen asleep.

Breathing heavily, you struggle to remain calm. You stumble out of bed to your window, leaning your head against the cool glass. You gaze out, scanning the fire escape as if he would magically appear in that moment. Peter has never been this late, ever.

What if something happened?

You stand motionless for a moment, the light patter of rain against the roof and the pounding drum of your heart the only noises you could hear. Scrambling for your phone seconds later, you dial the digits you have ingrained in your brain.


Last Year, Halloween at 12:41 p.m.

“So?” you ask, leaning in slightly closer towards him in curiosity. “How was your first drink?”

“Terrible…” Peter winces, scrunching his face up in the cutest way possible as he crumples the plastic cup in is fist. He gulped down the whole drink in one sitting and you were impressed since this was his first time drinking. He had gotten some punch in the house before coming outside with you.

“Tastes like piss, right?” you ask.

“Like piss…” he agrees.

You giggle like a child as he stares off into space, blinking slowly and gazing off in wonder, a dazed look on his face. One of your eyebrows arch.

“Oh my god…” you breathe. “Are you already buzzed?”


“Maaaybe?” he gets out, his voice slightly high-pitched at the end, making you cackle like a hyena.

“You are such a lightweight, you’re adorable.” you gush.

The words sprang out of you and it caused a small blush to ignite across his cheeks. Peter glances down at his high-tops bashfully, a tiny grin lacing his lips. While looking at him, you painfully resist the urge to leap in front of him and squish his cheeks with your fingers. God, he was so cute.  

“Um–I–I…uh…” he stutters.

“Peter, calm down.” You smile. “I’m just teasing.” Your body shakes with laughter again at his painfully awkward stuttering.

You and Peter were currently sitting side by side against a tree outside the house. Although there was still a slight chill in the air, the temperature outside had gotten slightly warmer, leaving you refreshed and cool.

Some others from the party even came outside as well, one pair came out to lay on the lawn to stare at the stars or some came just to walk around in the cool air and drink with their fellow friends.    

It had been about half an hour since you two had been hanging out with each other. You talked about school or the randomness of your daily lives. During those 30 minutes, you came to learn that Peter was a total cinnamon roll and you adored the way he talked to you.

As you glance toward the monumental home, you are reminded of M.J. The agony in her eyes, her strange behavior, the excessive drinking.

“I should check on M.J…” you say, out loud.

“Good idea,” Peter nods. “I’ll come with.”

You rise from the grass quickly and look down at Peter in amusement, who seemed to be struggling to stand. You giggle painfully to yourself as you help him up, both of your hands gripping on his surprisingly muscular biceps. Damn, what was he hiding under all those layers?

You steady him as he rises.

“Thanks, Y/N…” he flushes.

“Anytime,” you grin.

As you start to walk up the lawn, toward the door, a heavy arm slings over your shoulder, halting you. The monstrous weight nearly pushes half of your body downward and a horrid stench of body odor slaps you like whiplash as it emits from the strangers armpit.

“What the fu-” you speak out, scrunching your face up in annoyance and disgust. You nudge the body off you and turn to face the unknown male.

He’s stocky and much taller than you, with dark hair and a lazy smile. He held a beer bottle in his big fingers and was dressed as a Yankee baseball player.

“Can I help you?” you angrily spit. You didn’t like being touched by guys you didn’t know. Who the hell does?

“You don’t remember me?” the tall boy grins, taking a step closer toward you.

You take a grand step back, too grand however, because you collide into Peter’s chest. With this amount of proximity, you get a whiff of Peter’s scent- laundry detergent, pine and deodorant.

Sweet mama, you could sniff that boy all day like a flower.

“You really don’t remember me?” the random tall boy asks again, snapping you back to reality.

“Clearly.” you snarl, not in the mood to deal with any self-righteous pigs tonight.

“Y/NNNNNN!” a girl shrieks into the air in excitement, causing you, Peter and the stranger to jump in horror. Seconds later, two arms sling over your shoulders in a crushing hug, forcing Peter to back away from you. Hot vodka breath fans in your face and you shut your eyes painfully, cringing.

“Where have you been?” Jess laughs in your ear while she squeezes you painfully.

“You tell me,” you flatly reply, frowning at your friend that had abandoned you all night. You shrug her arms off your shoulder. “You’re the one who ditched me.”

Her eyes roll in annoyance, making you even angrier. “Don’t be so dramatic…” she mocks.

More people linger around the tree that you and Peter once occupied alone. Most of these people were Jess’s friends and some were random strangers. They all circulate around you, making you uncomfortable. You catch Peter standing side by side among them, looking timid himself.

“Whatever,” you huff. “I’m leaving.”

“What? No!” she begs, her manicured fingers latching onto your arm. “I got Brandon to come and see you!” she explains, excitedly.

“Who the hell is Brandon?”

“That’s me, Hot Stuff.”

You glance over to the stranger who had put his arm around you. Brandon gives you a wink as he nudges Peter to the side as he steps closer to you and Jess. You only stare at him, unfazed by his comment but suddenly able to recognize him.

You remember who he was and it made you want to slap yourself with a cactus.

Because you were such a drunk idiot last weekend.

“What are you anyway?” he utters, looking at your costume up and down. “Some goth bitch?”

You don’t even try to hide the irritable glare on your face.

“I’m Wednesday Adams, you moron.” you bite.

You see Peter grin shamelessly behind Brandon. In attempt to hide the laughter that lingers behind his smile, he covers his mouth with his sleeve.  

“Woah, chill.” Brandon’s thick eyebrows raise in shock. His stunned reaction only lasts a fraction of a second until that annoying, careless smirk appears on his face again. He stares down at you with interest, giving you the impression he’s most likely wondering what you look like without your clothes on.

“You’re kinda feisty, aren’t you?” he slurs.

“To self-absorbed assholes? Yeah.” you swiftly reply. “Keep testing me and I’ll get even meaner.”

Everyone around you snickers at your snark. From the sidelines, you see Peter’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets in flabbergasted shock. He doesn’t care to hide the laugh as he lets it out with ease. It was a lovely sight to him, watching you roast this drunk buffoon in front of you. You were so sassy, so…irresistible.

“Y/N!” Jess bellows.

“What?” you ask, innocently.

“Stop embarrassing Brandon…” she scolds.

“He’s embarrassing himself, I’m just mocking his stupidity.”

Holy shit, you needed to be stopped.

“Um, okay…” Peter pipes up, stepping to the side of you. Everyone in the group whips their head towards him in shock, they didn’t even notice he was there.

“We should get going…” he mumbles as he grabs onto you elbow and leads you away from everyone and to the house.

“She’s my DD!” Peter awkwardly calls toward the group.

As the two of you walk across the lawn to the door ahead, you realize Peter still hasn’t let go of your elbow. His face leans in close to yours.

“You’re dangerous…” Peter whispers into your face, only he’s smiling when you look over to him.

“Am I scaring you, Parker?” you beam, unable to hide the amused smirk from spreading across your face.

“A little.”

“You still have time to run away, right now.” you teasingly warn.

“I–I don’t want to…” he manages to reply, fumbling with his thumbs as he looks down toward the ground.  

The two of you stop in front of the entrance of the party, both of you standing on the doormat, your shoulders touching.

“So,” you start, “We grab M.J. and I drive you both home? Sound like a plan?”

You don’t bother for a reply from him, your fingers latch onto the door handle but his voice calling your name stops you.

“Y/N…” he sighs, finally making eye contact with you.

“Peter…” you tease, breathing out his name like he did yours.

“If–If…I wasn’t drunk right now…” he states, slowly, looking down at his feet. “I’d kiss you.”

“O–Oh!” you squeak, squeezing the door handle in bewilderment. That was absolutely the last thing you expected him to say. You knew it may be true because there was no way in hell Peter Parker would say something like that to you sober.  

“W–Would you?” you attempt to joke, grinning ear to ear in excitement and closing your eyes, making sure this wasn’t a dream.

“Yes…” he breathes next to your ear, you could practically hear the soft smile in his voice.

Without thinking, you lean in, capturing Peter Parker’s lips in a sweet peck.


“Hey,” you speak shakily into the phone, your voice trembling erratically and embarrassingly. “Call me as soon as you get this, okay?” You squeeze the phone in a deathly grip as you struggle to keep breathing. You hang up before you get pathetic and start crying like a goddamn baby on the phone.

The tears start to roll down your cheeks with speed, similar to how the rain slides down the glass of your window outside.

Maybe you were getting worked up for nothing but how were you supposed to know? How were you to know what happened out there?What happened to him?

You stare outside the glass motionless, blankly, numbly.

There was nothing you could do now, only wait.


Part 2???

Meep meep and the American Dream

I was discussing old cartoons with a few friends and the Roadrunner and Coyote came up. I mostly remember the Wile E. Coyote as being an inept desert dog whose increasingly absurd attempts to catch the Roadrunner often ended in painful, slapstick fashion. A classic bad guy vs. good guy tale where the good guy always won. Then I went back and watched some of the cartoons, and I almost found myself identifying with our canine villain. 

I started to wonder if the Roadrunner and Coyote weren’t an allegory for the pursuit of the American dream. The Coyote tries and tries, but he never quite catches the Roadrunner. It’s supposed to be theoretically possible, but how often does it really happen?

American Dream

Average Americans

Now, I get that the Coyote is trying to kill the Roadrunner and eat him, so it’s hard to be sympathetic when you look at it in the most literal terms. But symbolically, it’s a lot more interesting. 

This cartoon was created by Chuck Jones, who based the Coyote on a passage from Roughing It by Mark Twain, in which Twain described a coyote as “a long, slim, sick and sorry-looking skeleton” that is “a living, breathing allegory of Want. He is always hungry.” That sure sounds like the description given to a lot of poor Americans by wealthy conservatives. Give an inch and they not only take a mile, they start expecting it. Let them catch up to you, and they will eat you alive. 

The Coyote just wants dinner, he’s not asking for ownership rights to the desert and all the Roadrunner’s offspring in perpetuity. But at every turn, he fails in spectacular fashion no matter how hard he tries and no matter how much he risks. 

Often poor people are accused of not working hard enough, being innovative enough, or taking enough risks to achieve the American dream. But they do. Unfortunately, people who have scored their slice of the American pie forget just how much luck factors into the equation and are all too eager to call anyone who fails incompetent or lazy. 

But just look at the lengths Wile E. Coyote is willing to go to.

Hope he has health insurance. Who am I kidding? Of course he doesn’t have health insurance. He’ll show up at the emergency room expecting a “free handout" (where “free handout” means he’ll want to not die)

Not only does he fail, his failure literally comes back and punches him in the face for good measure. Or blows up in his face, as seen below. 

If that isn’t the perfect allegory for trying to make it in America, I don’t know what is. 

And maybe we could say this Coyote just isn’t savvy enough or hardworking enough to be successful in his pursuit of the Roadrunner, or maybe he just doesn’t want it enough. I mean, after all, look at how he uses this catapult. 

The Coyote loves being crushed under the weight of his own dreams of not starving to death.

But when we see just who made the catapult, it starts to make a lot more twisted sense. 

One would almost think the whole system was rigged against the Coyote or something. 

Eventually it gets so bad, the Coyote doesn’t even immediately recognize the Roadrunner when it’s right in front of him, staring him in the face. It scares him, that’s how broken he is. 

But the Roadrunner still exists and the Coyote still chases him, because what else is he going to do? Many wealthy conservatives often falsely equate success with morality, like anyone who was legitimately trying couldn’t possibly fail, and that’s just not true. It’s definitely possible, likely even, to throw everything you have into crawling out of poverty and only end up worse off than you were before. 

Meep meep. 


My humanized Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner went through a few different variations!

I ended up choosing a male Wile E. and and female roadrunner because it just seemed to work! But I love the other designs as well D:

Fanfic writers! Character Shippers! Createve souls! Send me some cool stories to read based off of any one of these drawings and I’ll draw you something awesome!! Pretty please!! 

How do they know each other? Where are they going? When is the meeting taking place? How do they REALLY feel about each other? YOU TELL ME!!

Send me your writings or tag the story with #IzzyWileERoadContest

Feel free to use whatever picture that goes with your story when you post!

I cant wait to see what you come up with!


Title: Beep Beep and Daffy Duck - Tricky Treasure Trail

Series: Boys’ And Girls’ MARCH OF COMICS #397

Characters: Road Runner, Wile E Coyote, Road Runner’s 3 sons

Creators: unknown

Year: 1974 1970 by Warner Bros Inc

Publisher(s): Western Publishing

  • 1)   Beep Beep The Road Runner - Tricky Treasure Trail – 14 pages (reprinted from March of Comics #351 1970) 
  • 2)   Beep Beep The Road Runner - Puzzles - 2 pages

Synopsis: The Beeps go to the ocean where they find a pirate map. Wile E. has followed and helps them build a boat to sail to the treasure island.

Good/Bad: This is a great little comic. Tiny and short.

Daffy Duck is featured in the title, and on the cover, but is not in the story or puzzles. 

Hey, to anyone in the Baffy/Pevester/Looney Tunes fandom, I'm writing a fic!

It’s an acting group AU, and it’s mainly about Baffy, but I’m going to include a few of other ships in it too, one being Pevester! ^^

And it isn’t just about the romantic relationships- It’s going to focus on the characters friendships and family dynamics ^^ ((it’s also heavily inspired by Sing-))

Only two chapters are up right now, but I’ll post an update whenever there’s a new one!

The fic is here >>> x