#zombieland 2 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

veinsandknuckles · 15 days

Text

It's a bad life if you don't weaken, pt 9 (Tallahassee/Reader)

pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7 (explicit) pt 8

Out of all the morning after-breakfasts Tallahassee had ever had, this might go down in his personal history as the most uncomfortable one. Columbus had at least had the decency to leave almost as soon as Tallahassee had come in, but the stare he’d subjected him to before he refilled his coffee and headed out the door would’ve been enough to unsettle anyone. Tallahassee couldn’t exactly decipher that look, but it did seem clear that there’d have to be a serious talk sometime in his future, one way or the other. That’d be something to look forward to...

Little Rock could never be trusted to take a hint so he didn’t risk trying to shake her. The kid could get very clingy for someone who insisted she was too cool to care and he could tell by her way of talking that the more he tried to exclude her, the sooner she’d challenge him or demand he tell her why. At least she was busy bragging to him about all the symptoms of her hangover, half of them made up, and didn’t seem to have enough attention to spare to read the room. She was never one for leaving an uncomfortable stone unturned, and any time she paused and looked at him, he braced himself for being questioned on his body language or his relative quiet.

If only he could act natural. Kid around like usual, slip in a hint about what had happened to catch your attention and make it appear like he felt it was no big deal.

And you... he couldn’t read you. You’d drifted over from the dishes to sit across the table from him, which was a good sign, but you barely looked at or spoke to him. You were clearly embarrassed, and that was no surprise, but what else were you feeling? He wanted to see you smile at him - and he realised then how often you had smiled at him before, sometimes cheeky, sometimes shy, but always real - but you just pecked at your food and sipped your drink and shot him the occasional quick glance.

With a sinking feeling, he realised that, right now at least, it actually mattered. What you thought and felt when you saw him again, it mattered. Tallahassee helped himself to some crackers, coffee and canned fruit, working on autopilot without knowing what he did.

What had happened to him? You were cute, sure, you were a lot less annoying than most people he’d met, but why the hell was he so unsettled by all of this? The two of you hadn’t ‘made love’, you’d fucked - there’d been no tender sighs or unbroken eye contact, ‘feelings’ hadn’t been mentioned by either of you, other than the ones of the flesh.

And you’d done the right thing by leaving before he woke up. In any other situation, sneaking out like that would be a pretty unequivocal signal - if he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would’ve woken up early to sneak out himself. So why did it bother him?

True, he’d had nothing much on his mind besides you for well over a month, but what else was there for him to think about? It’s not as if he could ignore you, you were the only woman around. Given the circumstances, it couldn’t possibly count as obsessive. And yes, technically he had dreamed about you every other night, but that was only because half the time the two of were literally drifting off in each others arms, huddling together for warmth.

It must be the hangover fucking with his head. It hit him like that sometimes and then it usually took him until noon to stop going over everything he’d said and done when he was drunk, even if it was no more stupid and inappropriate than what he said and did when he was sober. What was it Columbus’d called it? Oh yeah. Hangxiety. Damned stupid expression.

Still, knowing the cause didn’t make those impulses go away. He felt it now: his hand itched to reach over and hold yours. Give it a squeeze, hope you’d squeeze back and give him the smallest signal that everything was still normal between you.

Ghost a finger over your wrist and see if he could make you shiver again... Jesus, this was pathetic.

“...you look sick.”

“Huh?” he managed. Yep, Little Rock was staring at him now. Great.

“You look like you’re going to be sick. If you are, you should just go ahead and get it over with. You know, like you always say... better out than in.”

You were glancing his way again now, waiting for him to smooth this over.

“That’s just the sight of your face on an empty stomach, kid.”

“Uh-huh. Good one.”

“I guess none of us can recover from a party like we used to,” you said with an apologetic little smile. Shit. By now it’d be too late to backpedal and pretend like Little Rock had imagined it.

Tallahassee sighed and took a deep drink of his sour, black coffee. He’d been so sure he’d be able to play this cool, shrug this off, treat the whole thing like just a bit of harmless fun, and he was doing a miserable job at it. But even that wasn’t true, was it? The truth was that he hadn’t thought about the consequences at all, good or bad. It hadn’t mattered as long as he got to have you, to the point where he’d forgotten that there’d actually even be an after. And instead of getting you out of his system, now the old familiar pressure was building in him again faster than it ever had and all he wanted was to hurl Little Rock head first out through the kitchen window and then pull you down to the floor.

And until he could have you again, he wanted you to smile at him, hold his gaze instead of slipping away, let him skip all of this awkward shit, skip the talking stage and let things be okay. Oh, he was fucked.

He cleared his throat. “I dunno. I’ve definitely had a lot worse.”

There it was, a flicker of a smile. He had to bite down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from grinning with relief like a complete idiot.

Little Rock watched him with narrow eyes and Tallahassee quickly shoved an entire cracker into his mouth. This way, if she questioned him again he wouldn’t be able to respond.

#tallahassee #tallahassee x reader #zombieland: double tap #zombieland #zombieland 2 #my fics #I think this needs editing #woody #just a short one this time #but I think the next part might need some more work

5 notes · View notes

lovecatnip · 2 months

Text

Zombieland 2

2019

#Zombieland 2 #horror movies #jesse eisenberg #woody harrelson #abigail breslin #emma thompson #avan jogia #rosario dawson #luke wilson #bill murray #thomas middleditch #zoey deutch

3 notes · View notes

lvcygraybaird · 2 years

Photo

ZOMBIELAND: DOUBLE TAP (2019)

Welcome to Zombieland. Back for seconds? After all this time? Well, what can I say, but thank you. You have a lot of choices when it comes to zombie entertainment, and we appreciate you picking us.

#zombielandedit #horroredit #zombieland 2 #zombieland2edit #zombieland: double tap #zombieland double tap #zombielanddoubletapedit #tw flashing gif #movieedit #moviegifs #mygifs #mygifsets #myedits

120 notes · View notes

thedreammweaver · 2 years

Text

These bitches are both autistic and I love them

#I feel like they had a healthier dynamic than Columbus and Wichita #Madison zombieland #Columbus zombieland #zombieland 2

53 notes · View notes

crybaby-writings · 1 year

Text

top 10 best horror/comedy series:

1. zombieland

#♤— ash tries #the best of the best #zombieland #zombieland 2 #zombieland double tap

5 notes · View notes

architectureforsuicides · 2 years

Photo

Zombieland: Double Tap (Ruben Fleischer, 2019) Eisenhower Parkway Bridge Macon, Georgia (USA) Bridge over Waterville Rd & 7th Street Type: beam bridge.

#zombieland: double tap #zombieland double tap #zombieland 2 #ruben fleischer #2019 #eisenhower parkway #flyover #macon #Georgia #USA #waterville rd #7th street #beam bridge #bridge

3 notes · View notes

todayontumblr · 3 months

Text

Tuesday, January 30.

Dry as a bone.

What is it that's so dry, exactly? Easy: one Mr. Bill Murray, the man with the happy-sad face and the deadpan delivery. A true eccentric, a true enigmatic, and an offbeat icon of the silver screen. He also once told this particularly beautiful story about how art saved his life, which is always worth telling, and retelling if ever it is needed.

#today on tumblr #bill murray #ghostbusters 2 #ghostbusters 1984 #80s movies #harold ramis #art #movieblr #zombieland #garfield #wes anderson

164 notes · View notes

emmellas · 4 months

Text

"emma stone doesn't have range" oh she most certainly does but YOU don't have a valid point !!

264 notes · View notes

goryhorroor · 2 years

Photo

horror + middle fingers

2K notes · View notes

veinsandknuckles · 14 days

Text

It's a bad life if you don't weaken, pt 10 (Tallahassee/f!Reader)

pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7 (explicit) pt 8, pt 9

When you stepped out into the sunlight Tallahassee took your wrist in a firm grip, as if worried you’d slip away. Columbus watched the two of you walk past him, saw you heading for the barn and slunk back into the house without a comment. You hoped he had the sense to keep Little Rock distracted long enough for the two of you to get through... whatever this was.

Tallahassee unlocked a shiny new padlock on the barn door and shoved the door aside wide enough for you to squeeze through. “I checked the barn yesterday. This is the only way in or out...”

Oh yeah. Zombies. For a moment there, you’d forgotten all about them... how typical that the threat of an emotional mess could seem so much more urgent than the threat of actual, literal death.

“I trust your judgement,” you replied, laughing nervously at the fact that you really did almost trust him, and slipped in after him.

It took some time for your eyes to adjust to the gloom in there. While you looked around to get the lay of the land, Tallahassee walked over to a dilapidated truck half hidden beneath tarpaulin and kicked the tires without much enthusiasm. Then he turned to you with a look so serious your heart sank.

“I just... had to get you alone,” he said. If he’d reached for you as he said it, it would’ve been a lot more comforting, but instead he leaned back against the truck, lifted his hat a little to scratch at his head and seemed to have done and said all he meant to for the moment.

You took a step closer. “You’ve got me,” you replied, almost too quietly to be heard.

Tallahassee smiled without humour and gave you a look that seemed to ask, “do I?”

“Listen,” you added quickly and forced yourself to keep moving, as if standing right in front of him and right within his reach neither frightened nor excited you.

You gently touched his arm and surprised yourself by keeping your touch and your voice steady. He felt so warm...

Press on. You had to press on and make everything feel as safe and as normal as possible, as quickly as you could. This tension and uncertainty was unbearable.“I know last night was... sudden... and I don’t know how you feel about it, but...”

His eyes searched yours so intensely you almost lost your nerve. His jaw was clenched and he breathed deeply, steadily, as if willing himself to stay calm. It seemed almost like he was about to speak, but he decided against it and waited for you to say your piece.

“It doesn’t have to get weird.” You let your gaze drop, then followed his example with a sigh and leaned against the truck. You needed the support, especially since he didn’t seem in a hurry to reassure you. “We’re all stuck together, something like this was kind of inevitable one way or another, right? It’s human nature.”

“Right. Human nature.” He sighed. He sounded... frustrated? Tired? Relieved? Even though you didn’t dare look at him right now, you knew he wasn’t looking in your direction either. “Still, I reckon we should... talk this out or whatever, since we are stuck together. Not like you can quietly slip away and pretend you’ve lost my number.”

“No, I guess not...”

“So. What now?”

You swallowed and tasted metal. You weren’t sure what you’d imagined, but it wasn’t this. He seemed so calm, so withdrawn, as if you’d met up to decide how to contain a problem, not start something together, even something casual... “What do you want to happen?”

“I... I don’t know. I guess the smartest thing would be to pretend like nothing’s changed, but...”

“...What?” You turned to look up at him. The sunlight found its way into the shed through the gaps between the planks, and a ray fell across his face so you could clearly see the shifting tension beneath his skin. He was right here with you, a sort of handsome, definitely attractive man; beneath all his bullshit you knew he was kind enough when he needed to be. He’d proven over and over that he was on your side. Did it have to be so much more complicated than that?

When he turned to look at you again you felt as helpless under his gaze as you always did. Could he still not tell the effect he had on you?

“Well...” he finished, voice gruff. “I don’t regret it. That’s all.”

“Neither do I.”

You got a smile for that, if a small one. “Could’ve fooled me, the way you took off...”

“Oh.. I was just trying to avoid a scene.” You edged a little closer, and when he didn’t move away you leaned your head against his shoulder.

With a deep breath in, he put his arm around you. You knew you hadn’t actually established anything, but the closer he pulled you to him the less it seemed to matter. It’d always been a struggle to think clearly when he was near... Now that you knew what he could do to you, what he would do to you again if you let him, that confusion was stronger than ever, and if it should scare you, you were still beyond caring.

It felt as if he was affected, too. A few moments floated by, and he tried and failed to sound casual as he asked “you think you’re ever gonna want to... do it again?”

“Any time you like.” And you could feel him shiver.

“...You might regret saying that.” Tallahassee kissed the top of your head. “So we’re gonna keep this thing casual, then, I take it?”

You couldn’t quite read his tone of voice, but what did it matter? The relief that he wasn’t looking for a way out made you feel warm and bubbly. You only wanted it to last.

“Sure. Casual and discreet, I guess.”

He snorted. “Alright. I’ll just have to keep my hand across your mouth next time, then.”

Oh God. Now it was your turn to shiver. “That works for me.”

#tallahassee #tallahassee x reader #zombieland: double tap #zombieland #zombieland 2 #my fics #woody

3 notes · View notes

saga-jihen · 4 months

Text

Artwork of Lily Hoshikawa from the Houkai Gakuen 2 x Zombieland Saga Revenge collaboration.

#Zombieland Saga #Houkai Gakuen 2 #Gun Girls Z #Zombie Land Saga #ZLS #Lily Hoshikawa #collab art

104 notes · View notes

crybabycunt · 5 months

Text

(as they're about to split up on a mission)

Yelena: Don't do anything that I wouldn't do. You get what I'm saying?

Kate: Not really, no.

Yelena: Dammit, Kate.

(yanks Kate by her arm)

Yelena: Stick close to me.

#bishova #bishlova #yelena belova #kate bishop #hawkeye #black widow #funny #crack #incorrect quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #marvel incorrect quotes #yelena belova incorrect quotes #kate bishop incorrect quotes #bishova incorrect quotes #bishlova incorrect quotes #source: zombieland 2

81 notes · View notes

thedreammweaver · 2 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Zombieland (2009 2019) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Columbus/Madison (Zombieland) Characters: Columbus (Zombieland), Madison (Zombieland), Wichita (Zombieland) Additional Tags: Break Up Talk, Arguing, Angst, Marriage Proposal, Self-Esteem Issues, Hurt/Comfort Summary:

The problems between Columbus and Wichita become too much and Columbus breaks it off to be with Madison.

#Columbus zombieland #madison zombeland #zombieland 2 #madison x columbus

2 notes · View notes

cringefaillosersummit · 6 months

Text

Round 2 - Group 1A

Submission notes under cut. Some submissions had notes others did not:

Minamoto Sakura

Literally been a loser all her life. Became depressed and apathetic. When she finally got her life together again, she got run over by a truck and fucking died. Also, she’s the only one of the zombies who’s not LEGENDARY, and she continuously gets bullied by Kotaro. Cringefail Queen <3

(SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1) She failed at everything she ever attempted (got sick when she had the lead role in a play, sprained her leg 3 years in a row before a relay race, got distracted on her way to her high school exams and couldn’t focus so she got low scores) until she finally gets hit by a truck immediately after leaving her house (she was on the way to mail in her submission for an idol audition). THEN she gets turned into a zombie except she loses her memory until she gets hit by a truck AGAIN (she never looks both ways when crossing the street rip). She loses her zombie memories but gets her human ones back only to remember that she was the ultimate cringefail loser who never succeeded at anything she tried in life. Also (SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2) her former classmate is the one who revived her and she cant even tell who he is when his entire disguise is a pair of sunglasses.

Operator 6O:

she talks about getting into astrology then immediately says she thinks it isn't real because she got an awful fortune. there's unskippable dialogue where she calls the protagonist and sobs about getting turned down by a girl she liked. she even dies

#pathetic woman showdown #pws round 2 #tournament poll #zombieland saga #minamoto sakura #nier automata #operator 6o #6o #nier 6o

46 notes · View notes

quirkle2 · 3 months

Text

who wants zombie au writing. don't answer that ur getting it anyway (1.6k words)

His shoes knock against the old flooring of the house, wood creaking under rubber soles that slide over the woodgrain. He drags them a bit, lifts his limbs up no more than he strictly has to, and they lead him to the nearest sittable surface.

The couch is old and dusty and has likely gone untouched for months, much like everything else nowadays, so he watches the thin cloud of dust billow off the cushions largely with disinterest. He collapses into the fabric heavily, feels the whole thing scoot back an inch and hit the wall behind him. The sound echoes, carried by lifeless rooms, while he unceremoniously drops his backpack to the floor by his feet.

The breath he lets out is slow and methodical and born of pent up muscles, aimed at the ceiling where he rests his neck against the back of the couch and relaxes every limb one by one. It’s a process he forces himself through, if only to rid the constant ache beneath his skin.

Slow, sweeping footsteps meander around the room in front of him, and Ritsu angles his gaze down from his craned back position to look at his brother. He wanders, like he so often does—seemingly aimless, but there’s something procedural about it that he’s convinced he just hasn’t figured out yet.

Shigeo’s empty eyes crawl along the hearth of the fireplace, explosions of ash sprayed out across the red brick. His head tilts up to trace his attention around the angular lines of the television, hung on the wall and screen grey with dust. He flits back and forth between the roundness of the bricked mantle and the sharp edges of the screen, like he’s taking notes.

Shigeo paws the television. Four lines of muck are cleared. The zombie blinks, paws at it again with dusty, curious fingers. Ritsu watches him make a mess of the television screen in silence, blinking tiredly.

He almost closes his eyes, but he fights against the urge and moves his fingers down his lap to reach for his bag. His middle hooks around the loop at the top and he lugs it up and into his lap, where he unzips it and peers into the shadowy contents.

Ritsu fishes out the water bottles. He finds the one with the messy R scribbled along the cap in sharpie and takes a big swig of it. It’s warm going down, constantly insulated in a bag of old, sweaty clothes. He feels like he can taste the odor in it, but it clears the grain in his throat from stomping all over dirt roads today, so he’s still grateful.

He holds out the one labeled S to Shigeo. “Thirsty?”

Shigeo looks at him from where he’s crouched down to the floor now, inspecting the soot along the hearth. Unfortunately, he sees handprints in the black already, and when his brother reaches a hand out to take it, his palm is covered in soot.

He lets him have his fun and settles his own bottle back in the mess of tangled clothes and rolls of bandages. Ritsu rakes his fingers through their stock with no real purpose—he knows exactly what’s in here, and none of it is useful.

They’d been searching all day; Ritsu doesn’t really know how far they’d walked, but it had to be a lot of miles. In and out of stores, up and down empty houses, weaving between warehouses—they didn’t really stop for a break. Not when Ritsu can hear Shigeo’s stomach from here and he himself has shaking hands. They can’t afford a break.

Nothing, though. Not a single goddamn thing worth taking. A settlement must have come through here long ago and swept the highway. They’re in the countryside, where houses are spaced out acres from each other and there’s entire cow pastures between properties. And yet every house they’d seen and entered provided nothing.

Ritsu stares into the negative space in his bag where there should be supplies. His stomach cramps and if he smells another whiff of that godawful sweaty, bloody sweatshirt he still carries, he’s going to throw up bile.

He leans away from the open pouch, eyes wandering to his brother who draws… something into the soot of the hearth. His water bottle sits on the floor, abandoned and still unscrewed. Ritsu leans forward with great effort and a grunt, leaning over his bag to grab at the top of it.

It takes him two tries to get Shigeo’s attention, and one more for an answer on where the cap is. It’s then placed in his palm, covered in soot and also saliva. Ritsu swallows down the nausea that rolls up his throat and wipes it off with his frankly already disgusting sleeve, and screws it back on.

He leans back again, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes rest, and he listens to the very subtle swipe of his brother’s hands across brick. There’s birds outside, chirping, and even though it’s still very much a common occurrence, Ritsu cannot help but feel nostalgic about it.

If he ignores the awful hum of silence, and the distinct lack of an electric thrum throughout the walls, and the fact that this is a stranger’s couch and not his, he can almost imagine normalcy. He can almost say this feels like those quiet moments after school, when he settles on the couch and scrolls through his phone in a house that only holds him and his brother because their parents simply aren’t home yet.

He can almost hear the creak of wood from Shigeo walking around his room upstairs. He can almost tap his fingers on the couch cushions to the pattern of his brother making his way down the steps. He can almost hear the fridge opening, and the sound of milk being poured into glass.

Almost. But Ritsu listens to sharp silence instead, and he tries not to think too hard.

He drifts for a while, feels himself truly sink into the couch and let the cushions claim him, and he thinks about nothings because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose it. He carefully sifts through the nothingness of his mind, through the passing thoughts that have no bearing, and he focuses on that, on the lack of substance. His head is too full of things that have too much substance.

He misses boredom. He tells himself he misses boredom—the complete insubstantiality of it—because if he lets himself think of what he really misses, it’ll drive him insane.

The cushions move, and Ritsu peels his eyes open and lets himself get pulled from liminal mindspace. The cotton in his head recedes, and he blinks, and then he’s swiveling his head to look at his brother who sits in the cushion right next to him.

His hands and the cuffs of his hoodie are smothered in black. Shigeo sits hunched, gaze still wandering even when there’s not much decoration in this house to look at. He studies the off-white walls, the chips in the paint, the holes drilled in where there maybe used to be photos hung.

Ritsu gazes at him quietly, chest instinctively rising and falling to match his brother’s rhythm. He watches the expansion there, under his hoodie, in the subtlety of the folds and the way they warp over the movement. It’s slightly quicker than what he’s used to, but Ritsu knows his brother’s heart rate is much slower. He’s felt it before. He’s listened to it before, with his ear against a chest.

Ritsu’s attention moves to his eyes, and the heavy bags underneath them, and the paleness of his pupils and the ghostlight of him underneath that. He stares into them, looks for stray, familiar thoughts that might enter his head. Looks for old memories that might shine through in the form of recognition when he sees furniture layouts, and candy wrappers, and ads for soda.

Ritsu looks for it all the time, that glint of familiarity. And he finds it, sometimes. And really, he thinks that’s keeping him going more than food ever will.

Shigeo turns his head, and looks at him. Sometimes, when his brother looks at him, there’s not much there. No substance, no anything. And Ritsu finds it a bit evil that he craves silence in his own head, and yet noise in Shigeo’s, and often times it is the other way around.

His brother looks at him now, though, with that comforting recognition. That growth of the pupils, that softening of the hard edges of his face where unknown stressors have gotten to him. Ritsu wonders what zombies get stressed out. He figures it’s the same deal with humans, considering they’re largely alike.

Ritsu wonders if Shigeo knows he’s sick. He wishes he could ask him. He wishes for a lot of things. Silence in his own head is one of them.

Ritsu swivels his head away and stares at the ceiling, if only to force the thoughts to pause. He studies the popcorn ridges above them, traces the peaks with his gaze. It calms him, gives him something to focus on. He looks for patterns in the shadows they make.

Shigeo shifts next to him. And then he shimmies down, settles into the cushions, and plops his head right down on Ritsu’s shoulder.

Static roars in his mind and his heart stammers. Ritsu swallows the lump in his throat but that just makes it bigger, so he clamps his mouth shut and breathes carefully through his nose.

The tears cut through the grime on his face. He plops his own head down against his brother’s, and lives in the noise.

#qkwrites #zombie au #hi <3 #why am i nervous to share this . jayshut up #just to be clear this isn't going to be a full fic #i don't ? believe in my ability to write a Good zombie apocalypse story #at least one in a novel-like layout yaknow #partly bc i know i'll struggle w the logistics and consistency #but also bc i haven't seen a whole lot of zombie media before #i've never watched the walking dead i've never seen any of the popular zombie movies or shows #i think i watched zombieland 2 once ... the one with woody harrelson and thatone guy #uhm. he looks a bit like michael cera but he's Not michael cera. im not crazy he Does resemble him #jesse eisenberg there it is #but that's.the extent of my experience with zombie things #so i!!! wouldn't know if im just making overdone cliche shit #i prolly already am.this concept is prolly old news. i wouldn't know i don't fucking watch zombie stuff VGEAIYVA #idk.my confidence for this isn't there so im not makin it a fic even tho i kinda want to #but i do still wanna write them. so any zombie au writing will be in little micro-scenes like this <3 #some of em might be bigger than others idk yet. we'll see #i Thought i could call this a drabble. but then i learned that drabbles are literally supposed to be exactly 100 words #this is . notthat GVIYEAGVA #ritsu kageyama #mp100 ritsu #mp100 shigeo #mp100 mob #shigeo kageyama #i feel bad putting this in the main tags but.i mean it Does pertain ....#not the mp100 tag tho . iwon't do that to u

23 notes · View notes