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 Posting a reply to post #19585

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19585 No.19585
Autosaged?! I trow not!

Original thread: >>17853

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Repostin' the kink meme.

I think this thread needs moar porn.

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From today's fandom secrets. It doesn't reflect my point of view tho.

I don't think there are enough people who chip them to warrant that secret. Also, my guess is this person doesn't use their brain for thinking.

is this thread....dead? *whimper*


Not quite yet. I have a fic in the works and I'd post from the Zland Kink Meme, but idk if the writers would be down with that.

Give it time, good anon. Give it time.


It's about ZOMBIEland. Undead, if you please.


My apologies. I'll try to get it right from now on.

possible write/drawfag here
give me ideas and i will try to deliver...this thread can't die it can't it's a thread about motherfucking zombies
help me out you guys, yes.

Tallahassee gets cornered somewhere by zombies, and Columbus has to bust him out. Victory sex!

Or Columbus just has lots of wet dreams about Tallahassee.

Or, I don't know... gay zombies.

I wish I had ideas for you fellowfag. But alas, I am a writefag who can't come up with ideas. I only want to write schmoopy vaguely depressing fic, and I've run out of ideas. On the other hand you could just check the kink meme for inspiration?

Tallahassee overhears Columbus talking in his sleep during an... interesting dream. He brings it up in an inopportune time. ;D




Tallahassee and Columbus have crazyawesome shower sex when they desperately need to get clean.

Oh yeah bb.

Whatever man, we just need some content up in here. :|

10 Puns (1/2)
By the time it was over, Zombie Massacre #271, Columbus was left splattered in blood and panting for breath, careful enough not to inhale any infections that might stem from the decapitated, mutilated corpses below him. Grasping a deep breath from his nose, he slung the bat over his shoulder and looked at Tallahassee, also painted with six kinds of foul-scented something. Tallahassee nodded sagely, giving Columbus the go-ahead to get one more broken skull in before they raided the pharmacy, and Columbus took to it like a man on a mission. One loud crack finished it off, broken skull; brains splattered, blood coating the bottom two inches of their shoes, snot and spit and whatever the fuck is inside an eyeball, everything.

A deep breath in, Columbus listed the bat close to his face and inspected the morbid concoction coating the implement, dripping down slower than time, and he smiled, sideways glance at Tallahassee.

“And I thought my headaches were bad.”

Tallahassee grinned along with him, just as sick and twisted and jaded in mirth, and let out a gruff bark of laughter.

“That’s fucking sick, kid.”

“Yeah,” Columbus admitted plainly, wiping his bat off on the apron of the once-proud grocer now reduced to a decapitated, bloody mess of a cadaver. They continued on, Little Rock on their heels and Wichita off in some other aisle, picking out things to hoard inside their rat’s nest of a car. Little Rock picked candies, predictably, while Tallahassee and Columbus thought long-term and gathered medicines, food of actual nutritional value, and odd supplies when they found them. Wichita was left to collect defense and weaponry where ever she could find it.

“What the fuck?” Columbus turned to see his older comrade stooped over and perplexed by a large, red can.

“What is it?” He wandered over and peered as well.

“Canned… bread.” A pang of nostalgia popped in Columbus’ chest, but it quickly died, like childhood dreams. He grabbed the can from the work-roughened hands and searched the label, prying memories from the familiar food and brand.

“Yep. Canned bread,” He said with confidence, basking in the mediocre glory of knowing better than Tallahassee, “My parents bought this all the time. Our pantry was full of it.”

“Any good?”

Columbus paused in thought, then carried swiftly on, “Well, I wouldn’t say it was my bread and butter…

Little Rock chuckled from few feet away while Tallahassee just snorted, barely pushing an amused smirk from his face. Columbus nibbled his lower lip, also shoving away a grin, though one of pride.

“What’s it good for?” Tallahassee stole it back, handling the can with the care of an ape. Columbus didn’t stop it. The can itself didn’t hold a special memory for him.

“Food. I guess people just bought it for the apocalypse or whatever.”

Tallahassee’s eyebrow quirked, eyes flicking to Columbus, “Guess we’ll be needin’ it.”


Columbus joined up with Wichita a few minutes later, pulling out hard and blunt objects where they could, taking anything that might vaguely be useful (because if anyone could kill a Zombie with a squirt gun the size of a shoe, it would be Tallahassee). Wichita pulled out a collapsible lawn chair sporting offensively bright colours. Hokey. She smiled and set it up.

“Just what I always wanted,” She said, kicking back and watching Columbus hoard supplies.

“Sitting down on the job?” He barely looked up, but yet another smile appeared when Wichita laughed, broken and flighty, at the corny joke. It was obvious, really, but anything would make her laugh these days. The signs of crumbling sanity? Well, that just made Columbus feel back at home, and he could live with that feeling.

He wandered back over to Little Rock, little miss sunshine herself, as she almost resorted to climbing the shelves to reach a bag of potato chips. Columbus smiled and reached for her, admittedly resorting to tip-toes, but the bag was down either way and Little Rock was wearing the biggest grin.

“Thanks, man.”

“Salt and vinegar? Really?” Columbus furrowed his brow at the odd taste so seemingly adored by the little elf of a child. If the elf had the cynicism of an 80 year war veteran.

“I love this kind; my mom ate it all the time when she was pregnant with me,” she shifted the bag in her arms, “It makes me feel good.”

Columbus nodded, not missing a beat, “Well, when the chips are down.”

Little Rock snorted, shoved a fist at his stomach, and marched off with her newly-won prize with a smile that could light the way on the darkest night. Columbus felt good; proud and funny. But somewhere in the back of his mind he registered a soft growl from the other aisle and a narrowing of eyes. When he tried to find it again, it was gone and he went about his business, cleaning out this disused CVS for good.

The raid was successful, all things considered. Sugarless gum for Little Rock, bottle of wine for those of age, and Columbus with a new feeling of superiority that blossomed from his little streak of corny jokes and idiotic puns. Whether groaning or laughing, the others enjoyed it, so Columbus stayed on his game, shooting off his routine whenever the chance came, aiming to make the others forget that Hell of a world they lived in. That, and self-glorification.

Suffice to say, Columbus’ charming talent lost its zeal after the ninth or so pun.

The car was dead silent after that and a whole five seconds passed before Columbus tried again, irrelevantly, “C’mon, is this a car full of the undead?”

The car screeched to a stop, everyone jerking forward painfully, but only three cries of pain or surprise sounded. Columbus looked up to the driver’s seat where Wichita was glaring bullets into him. Before he could speak—God no, don’t give him that chance—Tallahassee’s door in the back opened and soon so did his. All at once he was yanked from his seat and tossed down onto the side of the road, dust exploding up from the neglected land. He coughed, choked, and listened to the car screech away.

“Mother fucker!” Columbus squeaked, climbed to his feet as fast as he could to… to what? Chase a fucking eight-cylinder? Idiot. Dusty, aching a little, and crushed like an origami crane in a wind tunnel, Columbus set his jaw and set to walk off in the very same direction as that car of traitors speeding away.

Except he didn’t because strong, sure fingers were clenched on the neck of his hoodie and pulling him back sharply until he landed hard against a solid body. Frozen in fear, Columbus didn’t have to look up to know who stayed behind with him. Question is why.

“Told Wichita to be ready about those puns a yours,” Tallahassee growled and his grip didn’t waver for a second, “Figures you’d latch onto that of all things.”

“Wh—you told her to leave us!” Columbus raged, more angry than scared now. All those guns, that food, that medicine, lost to two girls he didn’t trust, never would trust, never will trust.

“Told her to drive couple miles an’ circle back.”

“You trust her?!”

“Took all the tampons,” Tallahassee nodded backwards at a pile of pink boxes, “She’ll be back.”

Columbus crinkled his nose at that, slightly disgusted, but it didn’t last long. Tallahassee had a reason for all this, and he could bet his last pair of boxers that his reason was punishment and the punishment would be painful, if not lethal. Sure as he thought it, Columbus was spun around and pulled close to death, staring into Tallahassee’s eyes, flashing blue with anger.

“Now, ont’business,” He growled, eye contact unwavering, “You seem to have forgotten your comedic hierarchy, Columbus, and let me tell you you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel with your ‘routine’.”

“Wh-what, you’re going to kill me over puns?!” Columbus wriggled and squeaked, more terrified of Tallahassee than ever before. No protection, no weapons, and no witnesses. It’d be so easy.

“No, I’m not gonna kill you, ya little girl,” Eye roll, “You’ve been grating on my nerves from the second I met you, but Hell if I’m locking myself up with those little bitches with no relief.”

Something got weird when Tallahassee said ‘relief’. Columbus noticed it, beyond a shadow of a doubt; his eyes closed for too long, a long breath, fingers clenching so much tighter on his sweater. If he weren’t struck speechless with so much fear, he would have been struck speechless from shock.


10 Puns (2/2)

“Now,” the fear came back with a flash of blue eyes, “Your punishment. You remember way back when you was a little spit-fuck and your mom woulda washed your mouth out with soap for sayin’ something bad?”

“Uh,” Columbus swallowed, “I… no. Sh-she never did that.”

Tallahassee snarled, “You saw A Christmas Story, didn’t ya?”


“Well then, we’re on the same page. But if you’ll notice, we don’t have any soap. Some luck, right?”

“Y-yes. Sir.”

“S’okay though, because ole Tally has thought up a back-up plan that’s gonna solve both our problems.”

Columbus’ eyes widened, “Wh-what problem?”

“Ah,” he grinned. So bad, so bad, “My problem’s of a more personal nature. See, I ain’t got laid in over 6 months and I’m feelin’ a little lonely. So. Guess what you’ll be washin your mouth out with?”

Columbus yelped as he was forced to his knees, and though he fought back valiantly, Tallahassee was, is, and always will be stronger. Before he knew it, he was face-to-crotch with the man, staring at a bulge he wished he had noticed before now. Panic was a key word, and though it violated Rule #1—Don’t Panic—Columbus began to anyway. He struggled, yelping and trying to push away, but Tallahassee got a hold of him and pushed his entire face against his groin. Fuck, it was warm and Columbus could feel it on his face, breathing it in—Oh God was he really??—and getting firmly acquainted with a part of Tallahassee he never thought he would meet.

“Look, Columbus,” Calm and straight-faced as ever, fuck him, “You’re just fighting the inevitable now. You’re in trouble and I’m horny as Hell, so either you’re getting my dick in your mouth or your ass. No way out, my friend.”

Columbus mumbled something against the bulge.

“Right. So. Mouth or ass?”

He managed to look up at Tallahassee, even with his head being so forcefully pushed against Tallahassee’s groin, “My choice?”

“Your choice.”

“…Mouth,” Columbus sighed reluctantly. He felt a twitch, how could he not?, from beneath the denim.

“Alright, then, get to work,” there was just enough lax in Tallahassee’s hands that Columbus could pull back from the jeans, thankful, but he knew the reason why. He was to do everything in this, as punishment for himself, as a reward for Tallahassee.

The button was difficult to pop, what with Columbus’ stuttering fingers and the pressure to do this all before Wichita got back. Biting his lip and exhaling slowly, he got the button out and the zip down, revealing boring grey briefs that left way too little to the imagination at the moment. Columbus saw the entire outline of Tallahassee’s erection beneath the cotton, already collecting a small damp spot near the tip and fucking Hell Columbus was breathing way too loud. Shit, shit, shit, no. He was attracted to Wichita, her soft curves, her dark eyes, her ass, not this disgusting, rough and tumble redneck that was effectively raping his mouth.

He had his mouth to Tallahassee before he could stop himself, sucking him through the briefs and already drawing quick pants from him. No, he shouldn’t be good at this. Shouldn’t like this. Shouldn’t enjoy the little breaths or the way he can almost taste him behind that elastic cotton—

“Enough teasin’,” Tallahassee growled gruffly, almost bucking against Columbus mouth as he stared up at him, just stared, with wide, warm brown eyes and his fucking mouth was still open and sucking him through his briefs—fuck, “Fuckin’—just do it. ‘S punishment.”

Punishment, maybe,” Columbus grinned just long enough for Tallahassee to shove him back, pull his underwear down just far enough for his cock to get out, then force his head back, muttering swears and threats. Columbus took it in stride, slowly taking Tallahassee into his mouth as well. He choked a little, teeth grated sensitive skin, eyes watering, jaw already aching, and before he could stop himself, his nose was pushed against the hair on Tallahassee’s belly; he’d taken him in as far as he could possibly go and didn’t even choke. Why? Columbus didn’t know, but he never really had a gag reflex. So he guessed it was lucky now, what with all those fucking sounds Tallahassee was making now.

“Fuck, what,” He panted, hands fisted tightly in too-long curls, “How—shit, kid. Fuck.”

Columbus swallowed weakly, feeling Tallahassee’s erection twitch throughout his mouth and, fuck, fuck, his own hips may have bucked, just a little. So not fair, so not cool. It was wrong and unfair, the way he was starting to actually enjoy it—no. No, he was not enjoying this. This was rape. This was torture. This—shit, what was that?

Columbus pulled back, gasping and staring at Tallahassee’s cock, wet from his spit and dripping precum. Ah, that’s what that was. Bitter and foreign, but somehow similar; Columbus’ eyes flicked up to Tallahassee’s face for a brief second before pressing his lips to the head of his cock, sucking lightly. Tallahassee gasped, swore, pulled on his hair like he didn’t give a fucking shit how much it hurt. Columbus shuddered and took him back into his mouth, sucking inch by inch until his nose was once again pressed to Tallahassee’s lower belly.

“Damn,” Tallahassee gasped, fingertips grazing down over Columbus’ ears; surprisingly intimate, “Kid, you’re way too good at this. You—fuck. Why didn’t you fucking—ah. Tell me? Shit… yeah, you’re definitely doing—ah, ah, fuck! F-fuck!”

His hips bucked forward sharply, pushing deeper into Columbus mouth with force. Columbus gagged, tears building up in the corners of his vision, and fuck, he couldn’t breathe. Fuck it, he wasn’t caring anymore, because Tallahassee’s hands were on either side of his face and Columbus’ hands were on Tallahassee’s hips, pulling him in as deep as he could, sucking hard like he was some sort of cock-starved slut and moaning with Tallahassee, even when the man barked his name, almost angry, pushing his hips against Columbus’ nose and cumming hard in his mouth. Columbus closed his eyes, groaning loudly and sending vibrations through Tallahassee and making him swear loudly, incoherently as his orgasm subsided.

“God. Fucking. Shit,” Tallahassee panted, leaning forward over Columbus, drawing his head away from Tallahassee’s groin, “You—ah. Ah, shit, fuck. Fuck, just fuck.”

Columbus nodded vaguely before letting a bit of residual semen dribble out the corner of his mouth, staring wide-eyed at Tallahassee as he tucked himself back into his jeans. Tallahassee’s eyebrow twitched at that single line of jizz trailing from Columbus’ mouth.

“D’you swallow?”

“Mm-hm,” Columbus nodded, licking at his lower lip absently.

“Fag. Hoped you like it.”

“Mm?” His eyebrows drew together, concerned and curious.

“You’ve got a cock-sucking talent, my friend,” Tallahassee pulled him by his sweater and dragged his thumb over his mouth, “And now that I know it, I’ll be taking advantage.”

“Uh,” Columbus swallowed and dutifully accepted Tallahassee’s thumb pushing into his mouth.

“Yep. ‘Nother reason to keep you around yet, kid.”

Columbus shrugged at that, not sure if he should feel more pride or fear in this fact. Either way, he could hear Wichita pulling up just then and pulled Tallahassee’s thumb from his mouth before either girl, he was sure, could notice. They made their way back into the car, Columbus to the front, Tallahassee to the back, and without a word, Wichita started back off down the road.

“So he let you have it?” She eventually asked, dark eyes glancing to a guilty-looking Columbus beside her.

“Yep,” he answered shortly.

“It wasn’t anything too bad, was it?” Little Rock asked from the back, shooting Tallahassee a condemning look. Tallahassee passed it off with a slight growl.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Columbus looked back at both backseat passengers with a hint of a smile, “I didn’t find it too hard to swallow.”

That last line. Ffffffuck. But jesus fuck that was hot. I love you, writefag. Write more

I lold so hard writefag. I have a personal cannon that Columbus has no gag reflex (something about being sick a lot as a kid and having to swallow a lot of horse pills and shit and just never having a problem with it) so seeing someone else write that is like sunshine.

>Little Rock, little miss sunshine herself
I see what you did there.

>>19751 >>19754 >>19755

This is why writefag writefags. I'll try and keep up the glory, if you guys don't mind that they all turn into fuck-all stories and that they may take a long time to write. But I'm so glad people liked it.

Anyway, yeah, keep on keeping on with the porn, guys. Can't do it all myself [not in a timely manner, anyway]


fffff fapping and loling

2 Hours and Change

2 hours, forty-one minutes, six seconds.

Columbus forced out a short breath as Tallahassee sped along a bumpy road, not entirely oblivious but intentionally neglectful. Columbus bit his lip, shifted, and closed his eyes. Full, full, full. Desperately, his eyes went to the digital clock in the dashboard, praying for some warp of time or misfire of circuitry to provide relief.

2 hours, forty-one minutes, twelve seconds.

He wasn’t allowed to groan. He wasn’t allowed to do much of anything except wait and suffer, occasionally making conversation only when spoken to. It was a Waiting Game of pure torture, and it wasn’t about to end any time soon. Huffing a whiney breath, he shifted again and crossed his legs—No, no, very bad. Never do that again.

“How’re ya hangin?” Tallahassee glanced away from the road to Columbus, a smirk lurking in his voice. Columbus threw a scowl, tempted to say a snarky “I’m not”. Tallahassee knew very well that Columbus had been hard for almost three hours now... Christ.

“Asked you a question,” He growled and swerved the car just-so to really bump that Thing around and… shit. Columbus groaned, loudly, head tilted back. He really couldn’t help it; he tried, tried so hard to keep it in but fuck, that stupid plug or dildo or whatever Tallahassee shoved in there just shifted and… shit.

2 hours, forty-one minutes, thirty-six seconds.

The car jerked to a halt on the side of the road and Columbus didn’t have to look to know Tallahassee was fucking furious with him. But he did anyway, one eye winking open to peer at the face of death. Yeah. He was angry. Columbus slowly relaxed from the seat to the car-door, trying to slip away into and out through the door, because that would be the only thing to save him now.

“Oh Keeper of the Rules,” Tallahassee began, slow and mocking, “Pray tell me what makes you think you can just up an’ moan whenever you want?”

Columbus flinched, gnawing his lip before looking back at Tallahassee, praying he could pull off the Kicked Puppy face he’d heard so much about. Almost worked. Tallahassee’s expression had softened for the merest fraction of a second to reassure Columbus that yes, he was safe. They were playing. Tallahassee wouldn’t actually hurt him; not now. It was all role-play, plain as that. Columbus relaxed a little.

“I… I’m not allowed to moan,” He finally admitted, head bowing with shame, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Interesting!” Tallahassee sat back looking wildly at Columbus, “See, that’s what I thought too. But there you go, moanin’ away. ‘S real peculiar, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Columbus insisted, lower lip almost quivering. His voice got soft and shy by the time he spoke again, “It… just feels. Good. I tried to stop it…”

“Hm. You may have a point.”

He looked up, eyes wide with hope, only to be crushed when he saw Tallahassee’s snarling smirk.

“Oh my,” Columbus said shortly, eyes widening as Tallahassee loomed over him, smirking and reaching for his pants, button first then zipper, pulling jeans past his hips, underwear long gone and ditched to the trunk. His erection, dark with neglect and need all at once, lay heavily against his stomach as Columbus leaned far back, spine curving sharply as his torso was pushed down and his hips pulled up and ample for Tallahassee’s reach. He swallowed thickly, watching rough fingertips trace over his erection, then his balls—so fucking tight and ready to cum—then down to his asshole, stretched and sore and—fuck.

Columbus nearly went cross-eyed at the feeling of the plug being pulled from his ass; it was ribbed and thick, felt amazing inside him as well as coming out. He panted, grasping at the seat and the headrest for some sort of leverage, when Tallahassee pushed it back in with significant force. His entire body jolted, he yelped—high-pitched and bitch-like—and, God help him, he was so close to coming. Had been for nearly three hours.

2 hours, forty-four minutes, nineteen seconds.

Quick, deft work of Tallahassee’s wrist had the plug turning and twisting inside of Columbus, making him pant breathy moans and buck his hips hard. He was so close, maddeningly close; his eyes were fluttering closed, rolling back in his head as he panted heavily through a too-open mouth and gasping something that was almost Tallahassee’s name. The tip of the plug pushed hard against his prostate, making him arch his back hard and cry out, strangled, needy, desperate.

It stopped.


He watched Tallahassee stare down at him placidly, like he was thinking about something sort of important, but not terribly relevant. Columbus watched, eyes-wide and dick twitching, aching for release, as Tallahassee glanced blandly at him and gave him a mute once-over, like he was checking some nameless girl out at the beach. Fuck that. Columbus wiggled, pushing his hips closer to Tallahassee, but alas, the older man was lost in thought and Columbus had to wait it out.

Seriously, fuck that.

He grunted and took hold of his dick, jerking quickly and dry as a fucking bitch but he didn’t care, because he was finally going to cum, finally, finally—

“Son of a bitch!” Columbus snarled, hand clenching on the seat as the other was halted and lifted away from his erection. Tallahassee was back, eyes flaring with anger and possession and Holy Hell, that was really hot. Columbus moaned brokenly, gripping Tallahassee’s shoulder hard with his free hand.

“Sorry to leave you there,” Tallahassee quirked an eyebrow ironically, “You know what I’m doing, right?”

“Giving me a stroke?” Columbus panted back. Tallahassee barked a laugh before leaning evermore forward, pressing his forehead to Columbus’, hat pushing up over the two of them. Columbus closed his eyes, whimpered, and waited.

2 hours, forty-nine minutes, three seconds.

“Just testin,” he promised quietly, “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

“I’m dying,” Columbus whispered hoarsely. His hand curled against Tallahassee’s neck, bringing him down for Columbus to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“I know,” a hand was kneading his thigh, but it did less to comfort him and more to drive him out of his mind.

“Then come on,” He pleaded again, deafeningly quiet inside the cold, silence car, “Come on.”

Tallahassee smiled while refusing to meet Columbus’ eye line, nuzzling along the side of his face to nip at his ear. Columbus gasped, writhed, and was rewarded with Tallahassee’s hands doing their job, pumping the plug in and out and jerking him off, dry, dragging, and perfect.

At 2 hours, fifty-five minutes, zero seconds, Columbus came with a howling cry and a dramatic convulsion, and yeah, Tallahassee was right.

Totally worth it.

Shaking like a leaf and trapped beneath Tallahassee, so hard he was digging into Columbus’ thigh very painfully, Columbus closed his eyes and puffed out deep, sated breaths. Eventually (2 hours, fifty-seven minutes, six seconds) Columbus regained breath, patting Tallahassee’s shoulder and pushing him up.

“Okay,” He nodded, shuddering as Tallahassee removed the plug and discarded it to the back, “Okay, you were right. Just never do that again.”

“In-deed,” Tallahassee drawled, swallowing and adjusting himself in his pants. Columbus fixed his pants, ignoring the tacky texture inside his jeans, and watched Tallahassee. Hard as a rock and hiding it poorly. Columbus frowned.

“Look, man, I can—“

“I’m good. Thanks.”


“Nope,” The car started up and off they went, “You’re making up for this one later.”

Columbus gave up, hands in the air in exasperation, but what could you do? Tallahassee was Tallahassee was Tallahassee. Sitting back, Columbus watched the clock tick away, losing count of the miles inside his head.

3 hours, zero minutes, five seconds.

That was when Tallahassee threw the car back into park and tackled Columbus to the other side of the car.

So much for self-control.


Oh my. :D

Okay last night at a Halloween party, my friends totally saw a Gay Tallahassee walking around, shirtless, with Hot Pants on.

I feel this should be drawn/fic'd about.


AH MAN. I was at the wrong party!

I did see Hannibal Lector in a Ghostbuster costume, though, which was cool.


I saw an Ozymandias make out with a Nightcrawler. Never realized I needed that in my life...

and you didn't take pictures???

All I saw was an Old Gregg...

Hm... seems while shooting, Harrelson was arrested for possession of weed. And somehow, that only set production back a day.

Ignoring the latter effect, what about some Stoned fics? Not necessarily the scene in the 90210 section, but how about the boys stumble upon a crazy bag of craziness?

Fun ensues.

File: 125746668817.jpg-(314.14KB, 800x983, Zombieland_by_RobD4E.jpg)

Just to keep in on the first page long enough for me to work out a fic. C'mon guys, we can't let this get double-tapped.

“Leave it to Murray to have every CD ever made,” Wichita muttered while fingering through yet another endless stack of albums along a similarly endless wall. She clicked her tongue and pulled out a Jackson album, lovingly entitled ‘Bad’. Wichita smiled fondly at the case, thumb running over the leather-clad image of a once handsome man. Nostalgia forgotten, she removed the disk and pressed it into the stereo just opposite the wall of CDs. Dial up, track selected, Wichita pushed her sweater from her shoulders and snapped her fingers with the beat.

Alone in the room, she lost herself in the music of her childhood; hips swaying, head bopping, finger snapping, and arms swinging in a practiced choreography, inspired by Michael himself. She laughed and sang as she danced, so lost in the song that she didn’t notice Columbus or Tallahassee standing in the doorway until the song faded away into a brief silence. She was caught, hair mussed and out of breath, and Tallahassee just laughed. Damn him.

“Ho shit, someone found themselves a little Jackson,” Tallahassee laughed and sure enough, if only to condemn her more, the album started back up with a quick, erratic beat that Columbus started tapping his foot to subconsciously.

“He was the king,” Wichita countered, flicking her hair into place, “What’s wrong with you? Don’t like Jackson?”

“I like him fine,” Tallahassee said, an edge of mockery behind his tone, “Like others better.”

Wichita bit the end of her tongue, watching with dark eyes as Columbus mouthed the words and moved to the wall filled with CDs. She tapped her finger against the power button to the stereo and the music died away. A quick look to Tallahassee said her good-bye, thanks a lot, and she clicked out of the room in a huff. Door slammed closed, Tallahassee huffed as well.

“Little bitch doesn’t know how to have a fucking conversation,” He growled, mostly to himself, half to Columbus, “Now what are you looking at?”

Before he could say a word, Tallahassee plucked the album from Columbus’ hands and announced a loud, critical, “Owl City?”

Columbus snatched it back, “I just wanted to listen to Fireflies, okay?”

“Oh sure, fine, listen to Fireflies,” Tallahassee rolled his eyes and stomped to the other side of the room where a large, velvet-covered chair was waiting for him. Creak and groan, he settled in; click and whirl, Columbus pushed the CD in. Chaotic music started up, quiet and simple, and filled the room like those ten million fireflies.

Tallahassee couldn’t believe his eyes.

Columbus swayed in front of the stereo, smiling like God knows, and watched nothing while he sang along. And something about those lyrics—too high for Tallahassee, perfect for him—changed him from a twitchy little spit-fuck to, God willing, something happy and confident as fuck-all, and when he hit those low, dipping notes, he’d turn, just like planet earth would, slowly, if Tallahassee could believe it. That first turn made Columbus aware of him, however, like a sticky-note reminder but he didn’t care. He grinned, singing as loud as that stereo and stepping lightly—foxtrot, sock hop—because he still wasn’t quite sure of his footing. But he could believe, in himself and planet earth turning—yes, hello—slowly, that he was right where he needed to be.

He approached Tallahassee, slightly nervous but mostly grinning, and Tallahassee watched, wide-eyes, while Columbus sang and swayed and his arms swung awkwardly, because he was still Columbus. He hated goodbyes and got misty eyes whenever people left or when they had to stop, because he was lonely and fuck, he was still smiling because it was true and Tallahassee just couldn’t understand that. Not fair. And just as he kept singing, Tallahassee considered this bizarre dream of reality; perhaps it wasn’t happening and he was in the back of his hummer, and nothing had happened and—

I’d like to make myself believe,” Columbus sang, head swinging side-to-side, “That the planet earth turns. Slowly.

And over again, spinning and laughing and looking at Tallahassee like fuck you, I’m happy. Spinning, spinning, spinning; Tallahassee covered half his face as he watched, half-embarrassed for him, half-confused. Why hadn’t it stopped long ago?

Because my dreams are bursting at the seams.” Gone. The song was gone and so was that grin, but it’s not like Tallahassee doubted anymore. His teeth grated over his finger, his eyes flicked over Columbus’ reddening face that still grasped at a timid smile and. Fuck.

“’S cute,” He managed to say, throat suddenly husky and dry. He nodded to the stereo, “Another.”

Not a request, no sir. Columbus swallowed, smile flickering, but did just what Tallahassee said and picked another CD, another band, another song. A familiar twang alerted Tallahassee of down-home relations, and he wasn’t disappointed. Toby Keith, so self-obsessed and maybe a little ironic, sang and bitched too quick to hold onto, but Columbus stumbled with it and made up for half-remembered words with quite a show, and Tallahassee had to laugh.

You know talking about you makes me smile,” Columbus grinned, jabbing his fingers into his cheeks, “But every once in a while! I wanna talk about me, wanna talk about I, wanna talk about number one oh my me my!

What I think.” Tallahassee provided, grinning.

What I like.” Columbus canted his head.

What I know.” Tapped his head.

What I want.” Point to Tallahassee.

What I see!” Point to Columbus. Grin.

Columbus threw his arms up in the air, “I like talking about you, you, you, you, usually. But occasionally! I wanna talk about me!

Tallahassee laughed. Surprise, surprise, the kid can do country. He can run with it and pull it off and fuck, he was something watch, too. Spunky little thing he was when he wasn’t thinking too hard about this or that or the other. It got Tallahassee thinking, maybe a little too much, of things he really shouldn’t think, but how could he ignore the pleas of that swaggering behind right in front of him? Maybe “pleas” was too strong of a word, but really. Really. He tapped his finger to his chin, smile twitching, and waited for the big finish.

I wanna talk about me!” Columbus belted, arms out and out of breath, “Oh me.”

“Bravo,” Tallahassee nodded, snarly-smirk firmly in place, “How about another dance?”

Columbus, high from fuck-all adrenaline and the approving attention, started for the wall of music, only to be halted by a firm ‘uh-uh’ from Tallahassee. Confused turn, eyebrows knitted, Columbus’ mouth hung open for a second.

“I want a different kind of dance,” Tallahassee—grin, grin—licked his lip. And oh, that hard-won confidence died away, leaving a shaking, flustered twenty-something in its wake. And God, how he shook, waiting on Tallahassee to condemn to some shameful booty dance, sure, or maybe something slow and jazzy—Tallahassee could just picture it now, that round ass rolling slowly over his lap, rocking with a snap and a pop of that drum beat. Yes, yes.


“Hey guys,”

Fucking fuck, it was Little Rock. Tallahassee shoved his knuckles against his teeth and bit, because damn it, now he was thinking about Columbus giving him a fucking lap dance and Little Rock was in the room and gabbing and bouncing around like a little wind-up toy, pulling out some pink and poppy CD and shoving the disc into that stereo. Tallahassee, God help him, just wanted Columbus on his lap. That’s all. Really. He growled quietly, eyes shut and ears blocking out the loud, loud beat pulsing from the speakers.

He opened them again and God help him now, was Columbus actually dancing with Little Rock to Miley Cyrus’ inane little voice—thank you, God, that she did not know how to use a shotgun, else she’d still be among them. But. If he really, really, really tried to forget just who was polluting the airways right now. Well, maybe this song had a little catch to it. And how could he resist pushing himself from his seat when those two were singing so loud, so fucking proud, even with these slightly ridiculous lyrics being… okay, fuck, they were good and he couldn’t really deny that anymore. So he put his hands up to that song and nodded his head like—

“Yeah!” Little Rock laughed, pogo’ing.

Moving his hips like—

“Yeah!” Columbus grinned, hips bumping to Tallahassee’s.

He laughed, nose scrunching with reluctant enjoyment, hand scruffing that ridiculous Jewfro as the music played and they laughed and Little Rock sang—of course she knew the words. And fuck this song for being so catchy, for making him dance like this and twirl Little Rock around, for making Columbus shake it like that, for making them all so fucking happy. Fuck Miley Cyrus.

He laughed, shook his head—cowboy hat long gone, stolen by Little Rock and sported by that very girl—and shoved Columbus aside. Nothing mean, just playing around to this wild, energetic song that got him riled up and Little Rock giggling and Columbus—why hello—shoving him back just as hard, cheeks red and grin clearly painful by now because he hasn’t smiled for this long in what feels like years. Another shove back, laugh, Little Rock spinning and hopping, nodding her head like—

“Ha!” Columbus barked, driving at Tallahassee until he doubled over and collapsed to the floor.

Moving her hips like—

“Hey!” Tallahassee shouted, laughing, struggling with the sudden ball of energy above him, kicking and rolling; Little Rock bounced, giggling into Tallahassee’s hat and watching just long enough for the song to end, then she was gone, running off to tell Wichita, probably, or to raid the pantries. Point is, Tallahassee and Columbus were rolling and wrestling like two kids with a lot of energy and no place to put it.

Tallahassee’s first clue to stop was when Columbus’ head smacked against the corner of the stereo and he went cross-eyed for a moment, but Columbus kept it up, laughing and struggling to hold Tallahassee down and not really thinking anymore, because he never got to do this sort of thing before—no friends, psychotic parents—and fuck, he just wanted to be a kid again. Tallahassee let him win on that merit alone; panting out laughs as he fell limp against the ground and Columbus sat on his stomach, giggling breathless laughs and holding his wrists down to his neck. It didn’t hurt, it couldn’t hurt, and Tallahassee laughed again.

And then Columbus leaned down, quietly asking, “When was the last time you were this happy?”

Tallahassee shook his head, smile never wavering, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” Columbus dipped his head down and, without another word, kissed the corner of Tallahassee’s mouth. Tallahassee could feel his nervous breath against his cheek, puffing erratically from his nose because of heartbeat and nerves. His smile disappeared when he turned his head and his mouth brushed Columbus’, half-open and entirely scared but he kissed him back like he meant it—God knows he did—with his hands clenching on Tallahassee’s wrists. It was slow and nervous and wet and messy, with Columbus writhing on top of him and Tallahassee drawing up his legs to brace him. Even above the music—still Cyrus, fucking Hell—Tallahassee could hear only Columbus; his breath, his nails scraping Tallahassee’s hands, his clothes shifting as his body move above him, the wet, soft pops whenever their lips parted. Eventually, one of those sounds became a soft moan and the feeling of a hesitant tongue laving over his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” Tallahassee breathed, fingers clenching to nothing, hands still braced together at his neck by nervous, shaking hands, “C’mon, let me go.”

“Yeah,” Columbus’ hands clenched and let go, bracing on Tallahassee’s chest and maybe, just maybe squeezing a little from nerves—those fucking nerves. Tallahassee grabbed the back of his head, curls still too long, and brought his head down, sucking on his lip and pulling his hips down to his. Firm, round ass, just like he thought, and God, he wanted to fuck it hard. Columbus groaned, his hands moving to Tallahassee’s shoulders and arms, not quite sure where to be but liking it all the same. He whined, high and bitch-like in the back of his throat, when Tallahassee’s tongue pushed into his mouth and his hands clenched hard, his legs spread wide across Tallahassee’s waist, and he bucked.

“Ah-ha, fuck,” Tallahassee nearly laughed, breathless and giddy and suddenly grabbing greedily at either ass cheek and fuck, firm. He panted heavily against Columbus’ cheek, whispering naughty things and heavy swears, hips rolling up to grind with Columbus. He whined, shuddered, and answered with his own haphazard thrusts.

“Unh,” Columbus moaned, “Ta—I…”

“Shh,” Tallahassee swallowed, fingernails digging against Columbus’ jeans, “’S fine, fine, c’mon…”

“I’m gonna—“Columbus shuddered hard, biting onto the side of Tallahassee’s neck this side of painful.

“Guys, seriously?” Suddenly they heard Wichita, and Columbus realized that he wasn’t just on the edge of orgasm anymore. He froze, still straddling, still biting, and listened to Wichita’s boots clunking over to them. He barely felt Tallahassee breathing under him and part of him realized, well, maybe he should stop biting his neck. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. Slowly, he relaxed his jaw and pulled back, looking just enough over his shoulder to see Wichita, tall and looming, looking down on them with the most disapproving look Columbus had ever seen (even compared to that one time his mother happened to check under his bed and—)

“Alright, get up,” Tallahassee grunted, sitting up and essentially dumping Columbus off of him. Fine, fine; Columbus scrambled away, patting himself down as a distraction from his still persistent erection. No time for that now, he and Tallahassee were about to be reprobated to Kingdom Come by Wichita. Yipee.

For a long moment, all Wichita did was narrow her eyes at the two of them, which was frankly scary enough (at least for Columbus). She then took another minute, shook her head, and punched Tallahassee in his chest. The older man grunted and stumbled back, glaring daggers and bullets and fire and pain at Wichita but his stare was met with dark, narrowed, disapproving eyes.

“Like I give a fuck that you two can’t keep it in your pants,” She bit, venom evident, “Just do it in the fucking bedroom or where my sister can’t find you fags, okay? Nobody wants to see that shit.”

She stormed out and they followed obediently, Tallahassee absently growling and rubbing his chest. Columbus glanced up to him, worried and confused, but Tallahassee looked back, smiled a little, and threaded his fingers in the curls lying too thick on the back of his neck. Columbus smiled, lip bit, and kept following Wichita out.

I say Hey I'll be gone today. But I'll be back all around the way. It seems like everywhere I go. The more I see, the less I know. But I know one thing; That I love you. I love you. I love you.

I love you.


I didn't like how Wichita was made into a fag-hating bitch for the sake of the buttsex. She's a cool chick, guys. :<

>>20585 True. She's not all that bitchy, but she probably has a right to considering her little sis could've come in on the gay sex.

You must be new to slash fanfiction. People do that shit all the time if there's a female character in the series, especially if she's in a relationship with one of the popular-to-slash male characters. See also: Uhura in most new!Trek slash fics.


In my personal opinion, no, Wichita is not cool. She is completely devoid of personality and serves little purpose past antagonist and obvious love interest. I tried to like her, but after 3 viewings and careful study, she's entirely flat and stock character.


That's what I was trying to get across, but with maybe too much swearing. Idk, I know my sister would freak the fuck out (if i were twelve. which i'm not).

Less developed, maybe, but that doesn't mean she's a huuueg gayhater. Also, I doubt that Little Rock would have just stumbled in and they wouldn't have noticed.

No one was saying that she hated gays. Mentally substitute Tallahassee with a girl ( I know, I know... ) and you would still have a very foul-tempered and mouthed Wichita. The issue was the inappropriateness, not The Gays. At least, that was how I understood it. I'm not the author, though, so I might be wrong.


Like >>20601 said, I wasn't trying to imply she hated gays. She was just enraged because they were going at it where Little Rock could easily walk in, and she's probably still angry that she got essentially "kicked out" of the music room only to find this is what became of it.

All in all, it's fanfiction. Get over it.

Prompt: After a long, bloody zombie brawl, Columbus and Tallahassee desperately need to get clean. The rush and fight for the first available shower leads to awkward (but hot!) shower sex.


Brownie points if Columbus "drops the soap"

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Fund it, someone! I'm tired of writing Zland fic after Zland fic -.-

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An idea gone very wrong. So very, very wrong.

Gah, After the Sunset! I watched that movie like three times just for Woody Harrellson/Pierce Brosnan. And the background porn. I love the Bahamas. XD

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I'm so sorry. :,|

Look what you've done! My mind can't help but think that there needs to be some Tallahassee/Columbus/Columbus/Columbus/Columbus now.

I don't think Columbus has that much chest hair, to be honest.

lol no he doesn't. aahhh. I didn't know how to shoop it out.

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Secretly, Rule #1 is not Cardio.

It's Porn.


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Look what I found. Cheers.

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Here, have some porn I've worked on all night.

Fuck you all if you let this thread die.
Things we need more of: Fics. For the most part. I'm totally willing to supply all the sexy drawings.

Damnit, I still can't draw these faggots. ILU gaiz.

Also, current ficfag, going to go see the movie again, we'll see what happens.


Samesies. If y'all have prompts, I can take 'em in the theater with (...that sounds dirty) and spin some fic in my brain for later writefagging.

I still like that prompt from earlier.
About some guy crossing the paths of the gang and he is just as badass as Tallahassee but is nice.... I am thinking like a knight is shining armor kind of personality.
At first Tallahassee couldn't give less of a flying fuck, even though the girls clearly are over the the moon about new guy. That is, until the new guy starts hitting on Columbus. And by hitting on Columbus I mean he like opens doors, gives him little gifts, holding his hand when they go someplace scary.
At first Columbus just thinks the guy is a weirdo but eventually it gets him blushing which is when Tallahassee is like TIME TO FIND A WAY TO LEAVE YOU ON TH SIDE OF THE ROAD!


or Tallahassee is tired of Columbus being like "cardio blah blah blah cardio", who needs cardio when you kick so much ass?
So Tallehassee shows columbus endurance by fucking him all night long. And I mean , all night, first he uses his mouth, then his fingers, then he fucks him hard and rough, then slow, then in different positions, then he fucks him hard again, then he doesn't move at all but just stuffs up Columbus, then fucks him rough again, then fucks him leisurely.
Create your own wondrous combo.

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Holy fucking shit if someone writes this I might die from happiness and I came.
The prompt itself is making me glee. shit shit someone write this please aahh.

I offer Tallahassee riding on a segway for this and so much drawn porn. SO MUCH.

My prompt is something to go with this
'cause hot DAMN.

...thinking about doing this one because it is really almost too good to pass up. might combine it with >>22228 too, because they're great


lol not porn but how awesome would it be to actually kickass and kill zombies on one of those things?

Because every time I see someone on these things at the beach or the mall I just think 'look at that slapdick'


herray! :D

It’s not like they hadn’t done this before. No, Columbus was a frequent flyer on Air Tallahassee Buttfuck. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t been in this position before either. Columbus enjoyed each and every way Tallahassee decided to fuck him to kingdom come, and reverse cowgirl was just fine with him.

Tallahassee insisted on keeping it cowgirl.

But this was new. It was new when Columbus found himself stuffed full with Tallahassee and on top of the hood of their newest get-away car; sleek, black Cadillac with a big white three painted on either side. It was exciting—the exhibitionism. Though no one was around to see them, Columbus still felt an electric thrill buzz through him with each thrust and roll of their hips. He groaned and leaned back against Tallahassee, breathing hard against the man’s cheek. He was so close to coming and he hadn’t even touched himself yet; just riding Tallahassee’s cock as hard as he could. Large hands skirted over his naked chest, rolling his nipples and groping where Columbus would have breasts.

Then they heard a groan from some 10 yards off, and it wasn’t a good groan. All motion stopped, save for slight involuntary twitches, as the two scanned the surroundings for their visitor. Two zombies emerged from behind shrubs, watching and drooling some bile-ish blood.

Columbus couldn’t breathe. On one hand, he was closer to orgasm than he’d been in a good long time, but on the other, zombies. Motherfucking zombies creeping towards them before breaking into a convulsionary sprint that would no doubt end in some sort of bloodshed. He turned out to be right on that note, because not a second after that thought did one zombie’s head endure a small explosion before the body crumpled to the ground like a sack of—

He was moving. Not the zombie, Tallahassee was. One arm around Columbus’ narrow waist and the hips behind him rocking again, Tallahassee was actually fucking him and shooting a fucking zombie! Infuriated, Columbus turned to give Tallahassee an earful but he was cut off by another round being emptied into a crazed cannibal’s skull. With the shots came punctuated thrusts and stars behind Columbus’ eyes. Fuck it. If Tallahassee got off on killing zombies—BANG—then he could just learn to deal with that. It was sick—BANG—and kinky beyond belief, but whatever settled the redneck’s fragile nerves had to be good.

Lucky for him, more zombies emerged, and with each shot the rhythm increased. By the time six corpses fell, Columbus was jerking and bouncing in Tallahassee’s lap from the force of the thrusts. His eyes had long since rolled back from the harsh pleasure, leaving him blind to the slaughter but smelling the blood and musk around him, hearing each explosion too close, tasting his own blood from a split lip, and feeling Tallahassee pound into him harder than ever. He gasped raggedly, nails digging into Tallahassee’s naked thigh, and barely gasped his warning—

“I’m gonna…!” Too late. Columbus’ back arched hard against Tallahassee’s chest and he cried out a wordless shout, coming hard and nearly blacking out. Tallahassee’s thrusts became erratic and stressed, prolonging the intensity of Columbus’ orgasm until the older man climaxed as well, deep inside Columbus. He ground deep and barked out a short, deep groan into Columbus’ tangled mop of curls.

Columbus shifted and stretched against him while Tallahassee focused on breathing. He inhaled deeply against Columbus’ neck and chuckled when he felt the kid’s arms stretch back and around his neck. His hands felt over his pale torso and Columbus uttered a small, shaking whimper of oversensitivity. He was squirming fussily by the time the work-roughened hands reached his inner thighs, caressing his flagging cock and feeling it twitch uncomfortably.

Columbus kept gasping and jerking away, kicking out and being a general handful to deal with. Tallahassee kept at it; kissing his neck wetly and sucking hard while his hands massaged over Columbus’ too-sensitive groin.

“St-stop!” He finally gasped, twisting away, “Tallahassee!”

“Too much, spitfuck?” Tallahassee teased, purring in a low voice.

“Yes!” Columbus threw his head back, “Stop!”

“Come on,” Tallahassee breathed against his ear. A harsh shudder ran straight through Columbus’ body to his toes. The flexed and clenched sparratically.

“N--!” He choked, slamming a fist down on Tallahassee’s thigh. It was too much, too much, and it somehow felt like a coil was being tightened inside him. He felt dizzy and worn-through, but hands kept working him until—

Fingers dipped behind his balls, touching against where both he and Tallahassee were still connected. Columbus gasped and slammed his thighs together, effectively trapping Tallahassee’s hand. It only went further; working up into Columbus and alongside his own dick, stretching Columbus too far.

Columbus gasped hard, shuddering. He drew his thighs up to his chest and his ankles crossed, locking Tallahassee’s arm in completely. The flush on his face was deep and misting with beads of sweat. He was suffering with sensory overload, barely able to breathe or hear past his own heart beat pounding in his ears. A finger found his prostate and Columbus grunted loudly with a screwed up and pained expression. His fist slammed on Tallahassee’s thigh again and it was sure to bruise by now.

“Wh’th’FUCK!” Columbus barked when he felt the finger push against his prostate again, “Tall—!”

“Oh shut up,” Tallahassee grunted. His wrist twisted hard against his balls and the fingers pushed hard and deep until Columbus’ body shook and he snarled out a second, dry orgasm. His body briefly convulsed, though soon enough he was gasping and lying limp against Tallahassee; legs spread wide and exposing.

“Ha’e… you,” Columbus sobbed into Tallahassee’s neck, “Th’… fuck.”

“Yell at me later. Best two orgasms you ever had; and you can go to the bank with that,” He told his fussy partner as he maneuvered both of them off the hood and carried Columbus around to the trunk. Columbus was half-dead and dizzy when he was settled in the back seat. He didn’t seem to mind his ongoing state of undress, falling asleep as soon as Tallahassee set him down.

Briefly, in his loss of consciousness, Columbus was aware of the older man watching him sleep and dressing simultaneously. The moment was uncharacteristically endearing; almost enough for Columbus to wake himself and ask Tallahassee to join him in a post-coital nap. The moment was ruined, however, by yet another shotgun blast and another crumpling body.

Again, nothing new.

holy shit I haven't even seen this fucking movie, and I haven't been following these threads, but I saw the beginning of that post and had to read the rest and UM YES MORE PLEASE GODDAMN hhnnnng

my brain melted my ears

no blame is put upon you, because honestly, kind writefag had me at "Air Tallahassee Buttfuck."

..........Pssst...........Here's a prompt, because I can't do this justice.....AND REFUSE TO LET THIS DIE.

So Tallahassee and Columbus find a larger store somewhere and raid it, splitting up respectively to get the items on their grocery list, you know, jerky, gardening tools, other manly manly things that Tallahassee would need, and Columbus goes to get his Purell and clean shoelaces and other not-so-manly items....

Off on the manly side of the store, Tallahassee thinks he hears something...stops...listens...nothing... Repeats this a while later, wondering what's taking Columbus so fucking long....

And then he just hears a scream....

Off course, with his bad-ass skillz, he gets over there pronto and finds his bitch.....

Being made another man's relief.

Because a same-sex rapist survived the apolcalypse as well and fucked the living daylights out of Columbus.....

And Tally's gonna have to pick up the pieces of his little spitfuck, and make that rapist wish he had become a zombie.

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Not slash but I did this last night.

Pretend Tallahassee made him wear it and he liked it?
There's barely any artistic content here so I figured I'd offer some. You'll take it and you'll like it.

Sir, I know you from somewhere else entirely and had no idea you were on here. You just got extra credit.
Also, I saw it last night. And I liked it.

Well thank you!
Hooray, extra-credit!


I do! Surprise!


What happened to your nose, little boy?

Noses are for squares.

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It's so pink and purple I don't even. Here's a belated New Years gift to you guys.



Also daw's and also perv's


dat panty

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large bulge + thigh-harness-holster = FAP


The holster thing! gaaahhhhhh I love that thing forever. Combined with briefs and his bedroom eyes, this is amazing. fff Happy trail.

Were'd all the writefags go? Been a while since one posted.

Also, bump for this prompt

Every Fucking Time

It was the twentieth truck that really set him off. Before, it was all a hilariously cruel joke that Tallahassee would never get his Twinkie. Sure, once at Pacific Playland, but that didn’t make up for the fact that four months was too long to go without spongey yellow deliciousness. And the trucks were literally littered over the burnt, bloody highways, for some reason, so temptation and failed promises were great and many.

So the twentieth truck. It was more of a gag, really, because Columbus and Wichita had checked out half an hour before and were disappointed to discover more Snoballs. Every fucking time. Columbus enjoyed coconut, but this was getting ridiculous. To stir up a little life in the somber foursome of survivors, Columbus and Wichita decided not to tell Tallahassee about the location or contents of this truck. As such, the man was more than thrilled with this find.

But he was furious when the cushy, pink, chocolate-coconut treats poured out instead of logs of sponge and cream.

That’s how Columbus found himself slammed in the back of the truck with an enraged redneck on top of him, shaking and swearing and screaming at him like it was his fucking fault. Columbus went limp—his only method of defense—as Tallahassee took out his rage on him. His head snapped round hard when Tallahassee all but bitch slapped him, the resulting pain leaving him stunned and unresponsive for too long for Tallahassee to handle. Columbus was shaken again but with an edge of hysteria behind it—Tallahassee was worried, God bless him. Muttering frantic bargains with God if he didn’t kill the kid, God, fuck, why did I, why did I—

“Ow, ow, ow,” Columbus whined, finally struggling when he came to. Tallahassee stopped shaking him, sighed relief and praised his lucky stars that Columbus’ neck hadn’t broken.

“I’m not nearly that fragile,” he muttered, blushing as Tallahassee’s hands brushed over his stomach, hips, chest, wouldn’t stop anywhere for too long. Columbus felt his eyes flutter shut with Tallahassee’s mouth on his throat and his hands pulling his too-big jeans down. There was little time for pleasantries or what was what, so Columbus had to make do with a slightly pushed up shirt and mostly pulled off pants. He had to deal with his pants hanging off one leg and his briefs somewhere on his mid thighs while Tallahassee sucked hard on his neck where it wouldn’t show and wiggled spit-slicked fingers way too deep inside of him and he shouldn’t be moaning but—

“Oh God,” He choked, head thrown back and hands on Tallahassee’s shoulders. Snoballs crinkled in their wrappers beneath his head, mixing with Columbus’ desperate and open-mouthed gasps as he fucked himself on Tallahassee’s hand. Not fair, the man should be inside of him; Columbus shook his head forcefully no and pushed Tallahassee’s hand away and out.

“C’mon, fuck me,” Columbus gasped, red-faced and half-crazy from the danger of being fucked in the back of a Hostess truck. He stopped, reflecting on this odd situation, but forgot it all when he felt Tallahassee pulling him into his lap and kissing him hard enough to split his lip, but the good kind of pain that made Columbus wrap his arms around Tallahassee’s shoulders and ride him hard and deep.

It didn’t, couldn’t, last too long. Half a dozen sloppy, sucking kisses and haphazard thrusts pushed Columbus over the edge. He bit hard on the back of his hand to stay silent; half-moon teeth marks left behind and welling up with blood. Tallahassee grunted quietly as he came—no big shout or snarl, just how Columbus would prefer it. But it was years before either man could distangle himself and leave the musky, sweaty truck that housed their solitude. Columbus clung, desperate and aching, until he could move.

Both dressed and left the van. Columbus felt a Snoball pelt the back of his head but didn’t turn to pick it up.

Fucking Snoballs.


:D yay it isn't dead yet.

That said that was pretty hot thanks!

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You writefags are awesome. Just thought you should know.

Short and hot. nnnngghh gonna read it again.

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Yes indeed, more please

omg what!!? wha

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Sorry for the repost, but look! It's better quality and has extra gay stuck in there.

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Just some gen crap. I haven't been drawing much lately, but I have some nice ideas. Don't worry guys. It's coming.

Yay moar!

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I promised more. Here is more! Now to work on another.

Oh GDI I was going to let you guys know about the Zombieland twitters I found with that last drawing.

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Just when you thought you were safe


That's perfect. Oh gosh <3

I love Tallahassee's face.

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I'll just leave this here.

In tonights performance, the part of Brooklyn will be played by Michael Cera. Enjoy.

The Unexpected Consequences of Fucking Brooklyn

Surviving in Zombieland is hard enough without worrying about getting laid. I usually don’t. But after a while, a guy gets… well, he gets. Backed up. And I never understood that as thoroughly as I do now; constantly half-hard and unable to get these fucking thoughts from my head. Everyone’s entitled to fantasizing, I get that, but this is nuts. This is just plain ridiculous. Just looking at Tallahassee is enough for me to lose my fucking mind. It’s ridiculous.

The only good thing about this is that Brooklyn seems to share my affliction. All those awkward touches between the two of us should be some sort of flirtation, right? Not exactly conventional, but we never had a chance for conventionality. We met him in the middle of a town-spread fire and had to save him from suffocating. Asthma. We could only be so lucky.

Brooklyn is thin and reminds me of a bird; an awkward, soft set, blond bird with huge blue eyes. He mostly squeaks when he talks, but that isn’t a lot anyway. I mean, besides bed-talk. He talks a lot then, but it’s mostly just small complements. Little things. I don’t do much better than that; mostly focusing on how in Hell we’re going to get away with fucking when Tallahassee is but a thin wall from us. Brooklyn’s quiet enough, even with his hiccups of complements and tiny swears, but we fumble around messily, barely tearing off clothes before we try and kiss again, but fuck shit, that was his chin, elbow in my side, awkward squishing against each other before we stop and—

“Columbus,” Brooklyn pants, high and whiney, sitting up, “This is ridiculous.”

“Sh-shut up,” Columbus doesn’t fair much better, sitting back and trying to catch his breath from their awkward skirmish.

“No, look,” Brooklyn pushes himself up from his elbows, “You—“

“I know what I’m doing!” Columbus bites and shoves Brooklyn back on the bed. He’s hot and bothered, briefs tented almost painfully, relief prolonged for far too long to allow for rational thought now. He smashes his lips to Brooklyn’s, teeth clacking loudly, Brooklyn yelping. Columbus grinds meaningfully down against him and they both moan, finally, and forget just how thin the walls of this motel happen to be.

Brooklyn doesn’t have a choice in this; Columbus guides his hands to his ass and makes him squeeze. Brooklyn bucks hard, breaking the kiss and trying to reason with him. He wants to be the good guy.

“Columbus! Look, look, we don’t—“

“Stop talking,” Columbus interrupts. His hands are shaking when they begin to pull his briefs off, down his thighs. He wishes he never wore underwear; because of it, he has to get off of Brooklyn and kick them down as fast as he can before Brooklyn tries to reason with him again. If he didn’t need to have his brains fucked out, he swears he would just roll Brooklyn over and shut him up with a very firm fuck. As it is, he’s dying to bottom, even if it means bottoming from the top.

Thankfully, Brooklyn has given up on complaining and accepts Columbus, kissing with purpose and pushing his body to Columbus’. Ohio moans softly, arm wrapped around Brooklyn’s waist, rutting messily against him and groaning when their legs tangle and he ends up grinding down against his thigh.

“Oh, shit!” Brooklyn squeaks again, breathless. Columbus bites his neck, groaning pathetically and rolling them over so he’s on Brooklyn’s lap again.

“Damn it,” Columbus practically growls, “We don’t have any lube…”

“Or condoms,” Brooklyn rubs the back of his hand over his cheek. Columbus shrugs.

“I’m… well, a virgin. So.”

“Same,” Brooklyn chuckles awkwardly. His hand curls against the side of his head, almost aloof with his awkward smile. There is a small moment between them, when Columbus wishes he had something better to say than fireflies or what he would call sage advice, but just as he opens his mouth to speak, the door opens.

Just then, Columbus realizes it’s almost 4 am.

Tallahassee is angry.

Tallahassee is tired.

Neither boy can speak—embarrassed and terrified—but then Tallahassee stomps over to the bed so they can both see the dark circles under his eyes and appreciate the fact that he’s sacrificing his precious few hours of sleep so the two of them will shut up. Tallahassee says all of this barely inches from Columbus’ face before shoving him off of Brooklyn and crawling on the bed. It’s then when Columbus notices that Tallahassee’s shirt is long gone and wonders if he always sleeps like that; he’s too distracted with these thoughts to prepare for Tallahassee’s mouth on his neck and suddenly being pulled into his lap, and he yelps like a bitch when it happens. Past that, he can’t help but moan and hold on tight and rock against him.

“You bitches are so fucking girly, I’m surprised either of you got it up,” Tallahassee growls when he pulls away from Columbus’ neck and narrowly avoids a kiss, “Uh-uh.”

“But,” Columbus pants, so hard he can barely think, he just wants to kiss and be fucked by Tallahassee until his brain explodes.

Tallahassee glares hard and spins him around until he’s on his hands and knees, watching the window on the other wall. He can see Brooklyn is his peripheral; he’s watching them with no small amount of lust nor awe and tentatively stroking himself to the sight. Columbus jolts when he feels fingers push into him, but it isn’t long before he’s rocking back as hard as he can on them and panting short yelps when the fingers spread him just right. For the good of his sanity, Columbus barely realizes the transition between being finger fucked and actually being fucked by Tallahassee—when the fuck did he get hard?

“Princess,” Tallahassee grinds out, motioning to Brooklyn, “Get your skinny ass over here.”

Columbus watches him crawl over awkwardly, not quite sure how to be in this situation, but fair enough, Columbus is new at this too. Tallahassee seems to have a handle on it, which is scary, but Columbus forgets to care when he forces Brooklyn to kiss Columbus and starts fucking him hard. The kiss deepens when Columbus leans back against Tallahassee—new angle—and pulls Brooklyn with him. Brooklyn moans, tongue flicking over Columbus’ mouth, his hand fumbling to take a hold of him and stroke him, because Tallahassee had said so.

“C’mon, Ohio, don’t be so fuckin—“ Tallahassee thrusts hard to make his point, “Selfish.”

He decides that it’s only fair and begins jerking Brooklyn off harder than he means to. Before he knows it, Brooklyn is bucking against his hand, short whines filling his mouth, and Columbus realizes that there seems to be another hand on his dick besides Brooklyn’s. He breaks the kiss, looking down and seeing that Tallahassee’s hand had joined.

“Fuck!” Columbus just barely manages to shout before his body seizes, his hips buck hard, and he comes over Brooklyn and Tallahassee’s hands.

He’s inches from passing out, so Tallahassee takes over. One arm secures Columbus’ hips before really fucking him as hard as he can, the other hand jerking Brooklyn until he comes, shouting with a broken voice. Tallahassee eventually finishes off, groaning so low that it’s nearly a growl, and Columbus thinks he might come again, just from that. He doesn’t but he wishes he could.

He wakes up the next morning naked and holding onto Brooklyn with one arm looped behind his neck. Brooklyn drools in his sleep. Columbus licks his lips, smiles, and sits up. Brooklyn rolls away while Columbus grabs his briefs and leaves for Tallahassee’s room.

“Hey,” He pokes his head in the door, only greeted by Tallahassee hissing.

“Get out.”

“Thanks for last night,” he ventures closer, biting back a grin at the sight of a well and truly fucked Tallahassee trying to sleep; ass in the air, pillow over his head, hands clenching on pillows or sheets.

“Get out.”

“I’m just glad that it was you,” Columbus shrugs, “Preferred to lose it that way.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“And you’ve got a great dick,” he bites his lip, grinning too wide from messing with Florida.

“Thank you and get the fuck out.”

“And I was wondering if you could do it again.”

No. Get the fuck out.”

“Blow job?”

“Get the fuck out.”

“Hand job.”

“Get the fuck out.”

“… Tallahassee.”

“Get the f—“ Tallahassee jolts hard when he feels the hand smack across his ass, but Columbus sprints out too fast before he can even get mad. Tallahassee resigns to ignore it and sleep.

Pay back later.


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Ungh. That's fucking hot.


The thought of Tallahassee having to travel with the two biggest woobies ever makes me laugh so hard. Also, unf. So hot.

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Happy (late) Valentines Day~


/r/ing a sequel with Tallahassee giving Columbus a heart-shaped box... full of zombie bits.


Late but thank you for that.
Now i'm spamming them with my nonsense XD

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Autocomplete is my best friend

Hey bros I wrote a fic.

Title: A Twinkie that Needs More Filling
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tallahassee/Columbus
Warnings: Slight weight gain on Columbus' part. Nothing major.
Word Count: 3400
Summary: Tallahassee softens Columbus up for his own dastardly purposes.

awww, old thread is no longer there. ):


Workin' on it! :D

Rofl! What the Doctor didn't know, was the Master wrote that.


It really amuses me that you responded to the wrong thread

would anyone mind reposting stuff they might have from the old thread since its inaccessible now?

Title: Nut Up Or Shut Up
Rating: PG
Pairing: Tallahassee/Columbus
Warnings: Post-Zombie apocalypse, character death, written like a letter
Word Count: 374

It’s almost all the way back to normal now. It’s almost like none of that bullshit actually happened. The girls come over every now and then. They usually just call. Little Rock is growing into a fine young lady. Wichita is engaged to some guy. Their wedding is in a few months. She asked me to give her away. Guess I will, considerin’ I’m the closest thing to a father she has now.

I found a little place in bumfuck nowhere Pensacola, Florida. Didn’t feel right settling in Tallahassee after everything started going normal again. Yeah, I still go by Tallahassee. Fuck the weird looks I get. My old name just doesn’t fit anymore.

I look at that stupid scrapbook you made after you found that Polaroid camera sometimes. Back when Zombieland was in full swing. I’ve added a few more pictures. The new house, the girls. Stupid little things you would take pictures of. Little rock gave me that video she shot with the video camera she found. I thought it was idiotic to take video of shit in Zombieland. I mean, who was gonna watch it? Kinda glad she did in the end. I get to see your dumb face and listen to you babble like you do did do. It’s nice.

Oh, there’s a new addition to the house. I was heading out for groceries one day when I noticed this cat curled up on top of one of my truck’s tires. I must have scared him because the motherfucker scratched my hand all to hell and ran off. Got back to the house an hour later and he was hanging around on the porch. I got him to come inside after offering food and shit like that. So yeah, I got a cat now. He’s real jumpy and nervous. Reminds me of you. Named him Columbus. He likes to sleep on my chest at night and loves belly rubs.

It helps, having him around, as stupid as that sounds. I’m just glad not to be alone, I guess. The house is small, but it feels huge sometimes, when I’m lying in bed at night and thinking of before you…

I miss you, but hey, nut up or shut up, right?

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i think this mighta been based off the shit going on with the character twitters

grabbed from piratehatter @ deviantart

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hey, this isn't mine, but I found this in rule 34 and this thread needs to not die. >.<

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in case this hasn't been posted yet
(I wasn't here for the first one, unfortunately.)

bumping because i finally saw this movie. anyone have stuff from the first thread they'd like to repost?

or hey, new stuff, new stuff would be rad. humphrey, puks, beat, you guys still around?

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Who is this I spy?

(I know it's a bullshit pop-media thing, but the thought is something mighty tasty.)

Still around. Rewatched the movie finally. And I think somewhere I have a half-written fic... All the oldstuff is writefaggotry though and it's all on the LJ so IDK if I should repost or not? If so then I can.

Please re-post! In all these years I still can't figure out how to navigate LJ.

And guess who found a fic she never posted to LJ... I haven't re-read this all the way through because I think it might be awful...

“You know uh, you never answered that question.”

“Kid, what are you talking about,” Tallahassee started laughing almost as soon as they started drinking, and he can’t seem to stop. Probably because Columbus is making a damn fool of himself. He’s not the best orator when he’s sober, but when he’s drunk he starts sentences in the middle and usually has more pauses and ums inserted in them than actual words. It’s like he’s verbally creating a ransom note, takes awhile for him to find the right words in the magazine and they’re not all the same font or size or color.

“The one about, uh, you know. When we were in the truck, it was like, boots, and then you never answered.”

Tallahassee reaches across, grabs the bottle currently living in Columbus’s fist and takes it away, nominally to down some of it, but mostly because he thinks the kid might die of alcohol poisoning if he keeps it up. Messy, that. Not really something that Tallahassee was aiming for when they stumbled upon the bottles in the trunk of a car, old and expensive and someone wanted to save them apparently more than they had wanted to save their own lives. Tallahassee had laughed, a little evilly, and hoisted the box into the back of their own car, Columbus pretending to be exasperated but smiling that little smile that seemed to accompany most of Tallahassee’s unique behaviors.

“I still don’t have any idea what yer talkin’ about.”

“Yes you do! Yes you do it was, you know,” he waved his hands around wildly and nearly fell off the bench. Drinking in the park made Tallahassee feel like he was 15 but it was there and so they’d stopped, the truck still running to give them enough light to see by and a row of bottles lined up like they were going into battle, “When you asked me about when the last time I had made fucking and then I lied, you remember. And then even though I lied so good you never answered.”

Tallahassee laughed again, shoulders shaking and one hand pulled up to his forehead as he figured out exactly what the fuck Columbus was trying to get at. God, he really just did say made fucking. No whiskey for Columbus, remember that for the future.

“Oh man, really? Haha, brother, you are a weird sonovabitch when you’re drunk. Actually you’re pretty fuckin’ weird most of the time.”

“That’s not an answer. It’s not fair because,” points his finger then accusing, “You made me answer and I did so it’s like, Indian Giving. Actually that’s not a nice thing to say, I guess, judging a whole race of people based on something that never actually happened?”

Tallahassee has his hand that’s not holding the bottle covering his mouth now, trying to side the smile, except that the corners of his eyes are crinkling and he’s letting little huffing noises out of his nose so it’s not all that successful.

“I’m not racist though, it’s just a thing that, uh, people say. A saying. Anyway, yeah, still, you’re like, never answered.”

Chuckles again, the hand slides down his face and Tallahassee can’t believe he’s actually going to answer, but alcohol makes him a bit maudlin, so he does, “Awhile. Since before Buck was born. And anyway, I only asked you because you was so wound up. Explains a lot.”

Columbus is quiet for a moment, has this real thoughtful look on his face, the one where he does that pouting thing with his mouth. Tallahassee takes this time of unexpected silence and takes a deep drink out of the bottle again. Of course that’s the exact time that Columbus decides to hope his goddamn mouth again.

“Do you want to?”

And Tallahassee chokes, hand flying back up to his face as he tries to get the bottle settled down without it falling over, a harder task with the burn of liquor in his throat and coming up his nose, making his eyes water as he coughs.


Columbus asks again, slower and louder like Tallahassee actually didn’t hear him, “Do. You. Want. To?”

“I heard you the first time, you,” takes time to cough again, grinds the back of his hand into his eye, “what the hell kind of question is that?”

“A pertinent one,” and Tallahassee is giving him this look because did the kid really just manage the word pertinent with what must be half a gallon of assorted liquor in his body?

“It’s a stupid question.”

“Nu-uh,” completely undermines his earlier eloquence with a single, childish noise, “because if you do then we can.”

“We can what?”

“You know,” and Columbus’s voice gets all low and conspiratorial, and Tallahassee has to lean forward because Columbus is too, and the two of them started doing shit like this, this tendency to be on something like a similar wavelength ages ago, “make love.”

And Tallahassee pushes himself back so hard he actually does fall off the bench, makes it look like he jumped, of course, because unlike Columbus he’s not an uncoordinated idiot. Scrambles a few extra feet backwards in case the kid is contagious or something.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” edge of hysteria.

“You know!” Columbus is so out of it he’s completely lost sight of context, “if you want to we can do it!”

“Boy, do you even know what the hell you’re talking about?” and Tallahassee’s voice is the edge of strangled because goddamnit. Just… goddamnit.

“Yeah! Going twenty toes or something to Jesus, sorry, I don’t remember them all, you know a lot of innuendo, and did you know that? Like, I thought I knew some but man.”

“Kid, you are drunk.”


“You are drunk and you are not thinking straight and you’ve got to be ten kinds of too fucking drunk if you think I’m gonna have this conversation with you.”

“But we’re already having this conversation,” and his fingers are twined together and shifting against each other on the top of the table and Tallahassee is watching them and wishing like hell he could stop.

“No, we’re not. You’re going to crawl into the back of that big fucking truck right now, and you’re going to sleep it off, you understand?”

“Is that a no then?”

“Columbus,” an edge of a threat and the kid’s on his feet pretty quick, wobbling slightly.

“Okay okay!” and makes his way to the truck surprisingly unaided.

The click of the door closing and Tallahassee starts breathing again, enough to swear under his breath. Walks back to the bottles on the table and starts to put them back in the box. Hand wraps around the whiskey bottle and throws it, hard, against a tree. Hops up on the table in one smooth move and kicks the shit out of the remaining, unopened liquor and swears roughly, booze and glass littering the tabletop and clinging to his boots. Knows he’s too goddamn drunk for this shit when he flops back down onto the bench and leans back against the table, looking up at the sky and breathing, deep and even and trying to get himself back under control.

“Fucking kid,” he growls, because he doesn’t want to have to have this fucking internal battle at all. Fucking kid who screws up everything. Shoulda kicked him out. Goddamnit, fucking hands.

Finally gets himself mostly back under control, drags his hand across his face a last time, steeling himself for battle before he gets up and heads back to the truck, opens the driver’s door and glances into the rearview mirror where, thankfully, the kid is sleeping, on his side and curled into the back of the seat, leather stuck to his face. Huffs out a breath before closing his own door quickly and quietly, ready to be back on the road. Glad there’s no cops, for once, because he’s driving pretty drunk. Actually has to take it slow.

The next morning Columbus is hung-over like no one’s business, all headaches and puffy red eyes and pale skin. Looks like a zombie and sounds like one, groaning because it’s a bright and beautiful sunny day. And Tallahassee’s feeling vindictive so he’s got the stereo cranked and is singing loudly and lets the kid fucking bear it for half an hour before he pulls over at a corner store, goes in with a shotgun because it’s louder and kills the two zombies inside with ease. Columbus stumbles around to the pain pills and bread and water and all the other things he hopes will fix the situation. Tallahassee remarks on all the grossest food in the store, they’ve got canned meat and nacho cheese and shit son, are those little greasy frozen sausages still good.

“Very funny, haha, I get it, stupid lightweight kid,” Columbus mumbles, a bit annoyed but mostly just hurting.

“Damn right stupid kid.”

“You know it wasn’t my idea.”

“What?” and Tallahassee wishes he could get rid of the hint of panic in the question. But Columbus is too hung over to catch it anyway.

“Getting drunk was your idea, not mine. I am just along for the ride, Santo Panjowhatever, you know.”

“Shut up and take your damn pills you whiney little bitch. You’re going to have to drive soon.”



And Columbus ends up driving from just afternoon until after dark, by noon he’s mostly better, and by the time Tallahassee wakes up at sunset he seem just fine, humming under his breath.

“Feeling better princess?”

“No thanks to your snoring, but yeah.”

Tallahassee laughs, a couple of short syllables. Shifts upright in the seat and cricks his neck. Thinks of how much he misses beds, for a minute.

“You know,” the kid’s still looking at the road, seems calm enough except that his grip on the steering wheel is tight, “You still never answered.”

“Huh?” and Tallahassee has genuinely put it out of his mind. He was pretty drunk and it’s been a day and he’s had some sleep and it is barely a memory anymore.

“You never answered,” and Columbus licks his lips quickly, teeth clinging to the lower one for a second, nervous this time and all of a sudden Tallahassee gets it.

“You were drunk.”

“I’m not drunk now.”


“And I’m not a kid,” and he’s got this look on his face, a line between his eyebrows and his lips turned down and he’s upset, “I just. I don’t know, I just-“

“Kid - Columbus, if you can’t even say it then you obviously don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sighs, rubs his face, tries to get his head straight because he just woke up and it’s too early for this.

And Columbus shoots him a quick look out of the corner of his eye, re-tightens his hands on the steering wheel and misses his liquid courage, “Uhm. I, I like you. Like, I don’t really get it but whatever, it’s there, and if you wanted to, I don’t know, lower your standards I wouldn’t object. Fuck, uh, I would be pretty happy, actually.”

Lower my standards?

And then Columbus is looking away again, face turned just far enough away from him to be avoiding. Eyes flicking back and forth between the road and the not-quite-magnificent view out of the driver’s side window.

And Tallahassee’s shifting in his seat, sitting straighter and giving Columbus this dangerous look, “So what, you think you’re not good enough for me?”

“Ha, I have no illusions of, you know, how I am. I just, I don’t know.”

“Kid there’s something wrong with you, you are fucking all kinds of nuts, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do,” an edge of bitterness.

“You honestly think I’m going to give you a pity-fuck?”

And the words hurt more than Columbus thought they would, because Tallahassee can make anything sound as bad as possible.

“Stop the fucking truck.”

And he does because he’s learned that what Tallahassee says, goes. Pulls over and puts the car in park, expects to be thrown out and Tallahassee reaches over and turns the keys, and now it’s so fucking quiet you could hear a pin drop, or at least the slightly uneven breathing of the both of them.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is up with your self-e-fucking-steem, but I don’t fuck people I don’t like,” Tallahassee growls, the dangerousness is still there, just under the surface.

And Columbus looks like he might cry, like he’s taking these words to heart and they hurt. Which is probably why he flinches when Tallahassee gets a handful of the kid’s shirt, the collar and cotton, and moves in until he’s got one knee on the center console and is leaning over the kid, whose eyes are wide and a little panicked, until he can feel his breath on his face. Columbus is making what Tallahassee has come to think of as the kicked-puppy face, which is just, god, unfair, braces the hand that isn’t tangled in fabric against the driver’s side window and kisses him. It’s a little awkward, he doesn’t have a hand free to guide Columbus’s face to where it belongs, and it’s been a long time since he’s done thing, and it’s not like the kid’s had much practice. Can feel his eyelashes against his face, when the kid’s eyes finally drift closed, when he pushes back slightly with this broken little noise.

And Tallahassee’s hand untangles from the shirt and slips behind the kid’s neck to pull him a little closer, and Columbus’s hands move, finally, from lying uselessly on his lap to wrapping around Tallahassee’s arm and back. Is surprised when the kid moves against him and slides his tongue, shy, against Tallahassee’s mouth, which makes him growl, because god, he wasn’t really expecting that, and press further in, pushing and claiming and occasionally bumping teeth because it’s still a little awkward. Pulls on the kid’s lower lip slightly when he leans back again to breathe. Columbus is looking at him, all shocked and pupils blown and breathless, which is a good look on him. Tallahassee watches the kid, the rise and fall of his chest and settles back into his own seat, a little winded himself.

“Look, I’m going to make this very clear to you. If I didn’t like you, you wouldn’t be around right now. And if I didn’t want to touch you I wouldn’t. So quit pretending you’re some little fucking spinster and get your ass over here before I have to drag you.”

“Oh,” Columbus manages, blinking slowly before scrambling across the seat, all elbows and awkward. Tallahassee grabs his hips as soon as they’re in reach and pulls him onto his lap easily, getting his legs firmly between Columbus’s thighs, and silently cursing bucket seats as he pulled him back down for another try at getting it right. This works a little better, because Columbus has got his hands firmly positioned on either side of Tallahassee’s face, which leaves Tallahassee’s hands free to travel to all sort of interesting places, gets one of them up under the kids shirt, slides his thumb across the soft skin it finds there, and the other one presses firmly into one of the kid’s thighs, kneading slightly, causing Columbus make interesting little noises into his mouth, the muscles of his stomach fluttering. Pulls away to breathe again and ends up moaning into Tallahassee’s neck when he is pulled closer. Tallahassee’s hands on his ass bring him forward until Columbus's knees end up wedged respectively between the seat and the door and the seat and the console. Then he presses into Tallahassee all need and want and please. Makes Tallahassee press his forehead into Columbus’s collar bone to catch his breath, hands sliding back up under the shirts again, certain that there are too many layers here. Only Columbus is like, fuck, impatient and grinds his hips into him, and Tallahassee’s hands get distracted, leaving the shirt pushes up half-way and abandoning their current job to venture back to the kid’s ass again, pulling him closer and grinding up in response, biting lightly at the small amount of bare skin the shirt isn’t covering, just below his neck, and Columbus is muttering into his ear and his own hands are finding their way around, under Tallahassee’s shirt and behind his back and he’s trying to get closer than was physically possible, so he growls at him again, “Hold on just a fucking second, okay?”

Gets his hand to the front of the kids hip and has his jeans undone in record time, while the kid watches all wide-eyed and breathless. Uses the other hand to encourage the him to kneel so he can get his pants slid down a little, and Columbus’s fingers dig into his back with just the slightest edge of panic. Tallahassee murmurs soothingly into the his chest and strokes him once, makes him basically double over with a sound like he’d been punched in the gut, one hand pressing down on his shoulder and trying to keep himself from collapsing. Tallahassee takes this time to get his own pants undone, has to lift his hips to get them off and the kid shakes against him as he presses up, and when he collapses back into his seat Columbus follows, gasping obscenities and gripping painfully into his arm. Tallahassee can’t be bothered to care, licks along the kid’s neck as he gets arm behind his back and pulls him closer until he can feel the kid hard against him, gets his other hand wrapped around them both and then slides up and Columbus is panting and whimpering and burying his face into Tallahassee’s neck, pushing against him, hands finally letting up a little pressure to slide back underneath his shirt, to pull his chest closer and leans his head back far enough to kiss him again, all open mouthed and messy and raw.

Tallahassee’s keeping a steady pace; ages of fucking practice making the kid come undone. One of Columbus’s hands winds its way down his back and across his stomach, brushing against his hip before gripping, hesitant, fingers nudged against Tallahassee’s, making his breath catch, and the man groan and scratch his back as he pushes. After that all bets are off and they’re both barely hanging onto the edge, pushing and grabbing and panting roughly, and Columbus is right fucking there, just at the edge, stuttering thrusts, uneven and barely controlled when he comes, panting open mouthed on Tallahassee’s neck, clinging desperately, and that sets Tallahassee off. He thrusts hard, hand still working, making Columbus twitch and shake and it doesn’t take long before he follows the kid into lah-lah land, presses his face under Columbus’s jaw, scrapes his teeth on the edge and tries to get his breath back.

“Hah,” Columbus finally manages, collapsed boneless against Tallahassee, both arms wrapped around his neck, “gosh.”

“Gosh?” Tallahassee’s hands are on the bare skin of his hips, thumbs rubbing little rhythmic circles as he tries to get his heart-rate back to normal. He’s sticky and sweaty and damp and really wishes he could care.

“Well, fuck, maybe.”


“My leg is cramping.”

And Tallahassee just laughs, shoulders shaking and grinning, asks, “Did someone forget to limber up?”


Good sexing but it was the last line that got me. LOL IRL!

And cross dressing porn never got put on LJ either so...
Columbus/Tallahassee, crossdressing; It was an absolute mistake to allow Little Rock and Wichita to play dress-up with him. He's not sure he wants to know where they found the panties.

It was a mistake.

His whole life was filled with them. In fact, almost all of the decisions he’d made through the course of his life could be written off as mistakes. There was that one time when he decided to, instead of going out for baseball, learn to play the tuba. There was his 13th birthday when he tried to kiss Jenny McFrancis, who, as it turned out, had a mean left hook. There was the day he decided to download Warcraft, and the time he decided to major in English. Those two weeks of Boy scouts. But this was pretty near the top of the list. To be fair, he’d just sort of stumbled into it. His best friend when he’d been little and still had friends had been the next door neighbor girl, so he wasn’t unfamiliar with this experience. However, it is important to note that some things are more acceptable when you’re five. More acceptable and less kinky, he was pretty sure.

But they’d ended up in this house, a big fucking thing because Tallahassee had a moral code, which didn’t contain many morals but seemed to require that he either go big or go home. Nut up or shut up. It was a nice place, and they’d found surprisingly little trouble when they cleaned it out. It was no Mansion Del Murray, but that only meant that there wasn’t any chance that Columbus would shoot anyone famous and beloved, so he wasn’t going to bitch. Tallahassee still hadn’t really forgiven him for that. The house had made him a little sad, at first, though. A family had lived there. A pretty pink bedroom, another in purple, one with pale blue walls. A master bedroom with a comfortable lived in feeling. They figured it out from the clues, the rooms and the pictures on the walls. Three sisters, a mom and a dad, a dog. Two cats, at least, maybe at different times. A cage in the youngest girl's room that probably had contained a hamster. Tallahassee’s eyes went cold when he’d seen the first picture, and he’d pushed it flat against the table, no one else mentioned it. After a bit, though, they got used to it. There was hot cocoa mix in the cupboards and a stock of gummy bears, there was even an unopened bag of Doritos and a pile of soda cases that impressed the lot of them. Wine in an honest to god wine rack, with dates and names and fancy little designs and fancy crackers.

So they’d settled in without too much trouble. Tallahassee had laid upside-down on the couch and played with a DS while Columbus ate and the girls raided closets. Eventually he got a call from upstairs, and though he considered ignoring it, there was an immediate follow up to the call, a sassy ‘don’t pretend you didn’t hear us’. He’d sighed long and stood up, unfolded his legs while Tallahassee called him a total bitch with a little snicker and obeyed.

The girls were upstairs, wearing new outfits with Charlie’s angel’s poses, model faces, too many accessories. He smiled at them, told them they looked great. Wichita explained that they’d gotten lucky. One of the girls had been her size; one of the others was Little Rock’s. It wasn’t all good, though, and she drew a face as she explained that the best clothes didn’t fit either of them.

“Really? But neither of you are, uh, you know,” realized he almost suggested that they were too big for some other girl’s clothes, flirting with danger, “I would think they’d fit someone.”

“Maybe,” Wichita answered, a little cryptically, grabbed his wrist. Little Rock giggled, uncharacteristically youthful sounding, like a real kid. It gave Columbus a bad feeling.

And he’d been right. The clothes were too big for either of them; the girl who owned them had been tall, far taller than either of the girls. The whole thing had come about rater unexpectedly, a hair band pushed through his curls. The happy, encouraging looks of the girls who’d become his family. He couldn’t help but appease them, they weren’t happy often enough. Which is how he ended up here; hair band still in place, tasteful makeup that Little Rock had scolded him for almost ruining, a shirt with a low neck and poofy sleeves that he’d been informed was “princess cut” (that’d almost stopped the entire process but unfortunately he hadn’t acted fast enough), a skirt, too, one that wasn’t nearly long enough he was sure made of a few thin, weightless layers with some sort of lacy pattern, and barefoot because as tall as this girl was she didn’t wear size twelve’s, and of course he was blushing all down his face and neck, and pretty sure his knees were blushing too. Embarrassed as all hell as Tallahassee stood in the doorway and gave him a surprised but otherwise inscrutable look, leaning against the doorframe with his eyes locked firmly on Columbus. Little Rock and Wichita shot each other looks, apparently deciding they were going to get into trouble if they stuck around and slipped by him, something about making dinner and seeyouguyssoonokaybye.

“What are you doing up here?” Columbus finally managed to ask, strangled sounding.

“You guys were up here for awhile, thought there mighta been trouble, and I was bored. Didn’t mean to interrupt your girl time.”

“Oh shut up,” Columbus snapped back, still totally red, grabbed the headband and pulled it off with both hands, slapping it down on the table and avoiding looking at the other man with laser-like force as he grabbed the edge of the stupid shirt, prepared to strip in front of someone (despite years of crippling locker-room anxiety) if it meant that he avoid further cross-dressing-based ridicule. Worked too well, actually, because he’d managed to completely miss how Tallahassee ended up directly in front of him, fingers latched around Columbus’s wrist like a vise, stopping him from pulling the shirt up. Columbus just about shit himself, because Tallahassee was right there looming and know your exit wasn’t helping him because there was a great big redneck between him and said escape route and Tallahassee had closed the door what the fuck.


“Problem?” Columbus managed to choke out, trying to take a step back and failing because there was a table there, gripping the edge of it with his unfettered hand and hoping that Tallahassee couldn’t feel him shaking.

“Not really,” he answered, looking completely untroubled as he kept his grip on Columbus’s right wrist and grabbed the left, pinning them both deftly against the table, all up in, if Columbus was capable of thinking this way, his grill, too close for comfort and distressingly cool, as if he did this shit every day. And Columbus recognized him as a predator, a lion.

“Oh, well then, maybe you could, uh, you know, uhm.”

“Nah,” Tallahassee shrugged, “got something better in mind.”

And apparently he did, because he slipped his leg in between Columbus’s without hesitation, pressed his body forward and bit at the bare expanse of Columbus’s neck.

“Ah! Uhm, what are you-“

“Shut up,” Tallahassee growled, let go of his wrists, which would have been a relief except that his hands found new occupation, sliding his fingers up Columbus’s skirt a couple of inches, making him gasp, before sliding them back down and hooking under his thighs, hoisting him smoothly up onto the table (it was a Vanity, he thought. Stupid thought! Who gave a fuck!). And his hands stayed on his thighs and his thumbs ran teasing little circles while he bit and kissed at the bare skin under Columbus’s ear, and suddenly it became ever so clear that Tallahassee had a thing for this. Whatever this was.

“Uhm, Tallahassee?”

A low growl, pulled back enough to give Columbus a look, annoyed, impatient, “What?”

And Columbus was struck speechless for a moment, because he realized that even though Tallahassee was wearing a pretty typical expression for him, he had a blush running across the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheekbone and his breath was unsteady and his hands on Columbus’s thighs were shaking ever so slightly and, fuck, “I’m sitting on a hairbrush.”

Tallahassee sighed, exasperated roll of his eyes, and stepped back enough to let Columbus adjust himself, move the shit he was sitting on and get his arms into something like a comfortable position. And Columbus didn’t object when he stepped forward again and slipped his fingers up under his shirt, just made a little noise and dug his fingers into the man’s arms and tried to breathe deeply. Didn’t work too well, because Tallahassee shifted his mouth to meet Columbus’s and kissed him, fingers moving up onto his chest, over his side, down to the curve of his back to pull him forward again. Slid his hands out from under the shirt and down the skirt, pushed up again and swore roughly, “Fuck kid, really?”

“Don’t ask,” Columbus panted slightly, would have blushed if he wasn’t already red-faced, and buried his face in Tallahassee’s neck so he didn’t have to see the look on the man’s face, because yeah, really, panties. The boxers were too long, couldn’t put the skirt on over them, could he? It made sense at the time. God stupid stupid.

“Fuck,” Tallahassee groaned into his ear again, apparently he didn’t mind, pushed the skirt up far enough to slip his fingers over the top of the panties, pulled them down, Columbus whimpering at the slide of fabric and shift of temperature, surprised himself because he was sure he should be able to get hard when he was this embarrassed as Tallahassee worked on leaving a mark on his shoulder, all suction and wet. Dug his face out of Tallahassee’s neck without much prompting, not surprised by how rough the whole thing was, at how their teeth occasionally bumped uncomfortably and how his nose pressed firm. Pulled apart to breath and Tallahassee’s hand left him momentarily, the other one pressing into his stomach and burying his nose in Columbus’s hair, breath hot in his ear. The hand was back, and Columbus had to gasp and cold, slippery fingers got under his skirt fast, probing and seeking, finding what they were looking for and Columbus had to throw his arms around Tallahassee’s neck and hide his face in them, swallowing hard, remembering the fucking lotion, and he was going to smell like spring fucking flowers again because, god, Tallahassee had over-long, talented fingers that pursued their goal without mercy, pushing deep, stretching and curving and finding what they were looking for so hard that Columbus had to bite his arm to stop himself from yelling, pretty sure he didn’t want Wichita and Little Rock to come running. Realized that, besides the panties, he and Tallahassee were still fully dressed, and wasn’t that just some kind of dirty. Moaned into his arms as Tallahassee kept at him, protested slightly when he pulled out and it was embarrassing but it made Tallahassee swear, all barely controlled and hot. And Tallahassee pulled back slightly, which broke Columbus’s embrace, made him realize that Tallahassee wasn’t quite as clothed as he had thought, made him more nervous, eyes flickering to the man’s too-pale ones. Breathed deep once before Tallahassee was close again, pulled Columbus forward, pushed his legs up slightly, silent encouragement as he pressed forward, licking long the edge of Columbus’s jaw, hot, slick pressure and trying to breath, half-hiccupped and wrapped his legs around him, fingers digging hard into Tallahassee’s shoulder blades. Whimpered as Tallahassee forced his way in.

“Fuck Ohio, fuck,” licked his neck again, pushed deeper, and Columbus agreed silently, pulling himself closer to Tallahassee, could feel the very edge of the table, dangerous close as Tallahassee pressed flush against him and sighed.

Columbus bit his lip, felt the burn and stretched and it was strange but it wasn’t bad. It hurt a bit, but it was also a little great, a strange balance. But then Tallahassee’s hand was on his dick and suddenly it seemed more than a little great, tightened his legs and swore as Tallahassee pushed into him, fucked him on the table, on hand stroking him long and slow and the other digging into his upper thigh, bruising by inches as he fought for closeness, and Columbus clung to him like he would fall, gasping as Tallahassee urged him on with teeth and tongue, found what he was looking for and pressed harder and faster and less even, heat curling and knotting in Columbus’s stomach, scratching Tallahassee’s back as he scrambled against him, so fucking close, gasped for air and Tallahassee kissed him hard, eyes shut tight and twisted his wrist and lost his rhythm and bit his lip, came hard and Columbus couldn’t help but make a little noise, grind forward, ruin the nice girl’s clothes pretty thoroughly.

Tallahassee pulled back, just enough, and Columbus collapsed against him, gulping in mouthfuls of air and shaking slightly. Tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed adequate, “Fuck me.”

“Yeah, well, you were fighting dirty.”

Laughed, shaky. Made it back downstairs in his own clothes eventually, and Wichita and Little Rock saw the cut on his lip and a bruise on the wrist that peeked out from under the sleeve of his sweatshirt. They shot Tallahassee a dirty look which he ignored, under the impression that they’d gotten in a fight.

Probably better they thought that. They really didn’t need to know the truth. Ever. They also didn’t need to know about the skirt tucked into Columbus’s bag. Or the panties.

holy fuck how did i miss this

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