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i wish we were able to talk about women's rights without someone mentioning how much they do or don't want to have sex with them. i don't care if you're a lesbian Stop finding worth in women purely from their perceived attractiveness
"I think women should not be expected to shave for societal respect / to avoid discrimination" "yeah🤤 i love bush" ok well that's not what we're talking about is it.
i hate how many posts about trans women deserving respect always devolve into "I love girldick" or "trans rights but I don't want to date a trans person" because that's entirely unrelated to the topic at hand. you should not respond to feminism with "YESSS I loveeee you because I see you as nothing but a sex object" you people sound like other men I get stuck talking with that end up saying "free the nipple so I can see boobies in public" and thinking they're feminists. why can't we just respect women regardless of your attraction to them or not. why does it need to be brought up in every conversation regarding their rights
visual is for vibes only, reader's appearance is nondescript!
pairing: season2!shane walsh x fem!reader
summary: the longer you’re out here, the more your husband slips away
warnings: marital conflict/heated argument, emotional neglect, mentions of canon-typical violence, death
word count: 1.6k
a/n: twd has really put me on a writing kick lately, everyone rejoice!!!
You hadn’t paid it any mind in the beginning.
Shane had always been your rock. He had always been the one to call the shots, even before the world had gone to pieces, so you hadn’t thought twice about it when his walls had started creeping higher after the outbreak.
He was a little shorter with people now. Quicker to snap. He counted every can of food that came into camp and divided it equally and insisted somebody was always on watch.
Sometimes he’d go hunting before sundown and wouldn’t come to bed sunrise.
But you never held it against him.
If anything, you admired him for it.
Somebody had to keep everyone alive. Somebody had to stop your little group from dissolving into fear and panic the second things went wrong.
Shane had never been afraid of making the hard calls.
Besides, no matter how rough the day had been, how many arguments you’d gotten into, you always found your way back to each other.
He still reached for your hand whenever you crossed the road, even though the only cars left on the road were your own.
And you still brought him something to drink every morning. Water now instead of the coffee he’d always preferred, but the gesture remained all the same.
Those things seemed so inconsequential but they were little reminders in themselves that no matter what happened, you were still his and he was still your Shane.
So, you told yourself that Shane was no different than anyone else. That he was learning to cope with a new world and grieving how things used to be, in his own way.
But after Otis, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Whatever had happened out there had pushed him over the edge.
He never spoke to you about it but you could see the change in him clear as day.
He was quieter and he smiled less and less as days went by until they disappeared altogether.
Sometimes you’d catch him staring across the fields surrounding Hershel’s farm, and you’d have to call for him three times before he’d blink, and that distant veil lifted from his eyes when he looked at you, like he’d only just remembered where he was.
One evening, after he’d come in late, you’d heard the tent flap go and the soft grunt of your husband as he tied it shut again.
“Long hunt?” you mumbled from where you were already buried up to your neck in blankets.
“Something like that.”
The thud of his clothes hitting the floor as he stripped filled the tent.
You sat up on your elbows and had to stop your eyes from widening.
His head had been shaved so close to the scalp that he’d littered the sides of it with angry little nicks. Tiny speckles of red mingled amongst the remnants of his dark hair.
You’d held each other’s eyes for far too long.
He looked terrified, waiting for your reaction. You were just as terrified by what it had made you realise — it was only a matter of time before you lost him completely.
If you hadn’t already.
You wished you’d noticed sooner.
Maybe then things wouldn’t have become so hard.
The change had been so gradual that you couldn’t pinpoint where your husband had ended and this new version of him had begun. Every day he’d seemed that bit harder to reach, until one morning you’d woken up and realised you couldn’t remember the last time the two of you had had a real conversation.
Some days, in your darkest moments, you found yourself wishing he wouldn’t come back from a hunt.
That maybe the others would come back to camp, and he wouldn’t be with them.
Or maybe he’d fall ill and let himself be vulnerable for you, even if only when he was an inch from death.
Not because you actually wanted him dead.
God, never that.
But you were so tired and you weren’t sure how much more you could mourn a man who was still alive.
You felt sick every time you thought about it. You hated yourself for doing so. But you couldn’t help but feel it was the merciful choice.
It had all come to a head when Shane had stumbled in late one night.
It was well past supper time.
Everyone else had eaten hours ago. You hadn’t. You’d waited for him.
The plate in front of you had long since gone cold.
So had his opposite you.
And he’d just ducked through the tent flap without so much as looking your way. Too busy filing away his hat and boots.
He didn’t notice you at first.
He shrugged off his jacket, set his rifle carefully against the wall of the tent and rubbed a tired hand over the top of his raw scalp.
Only when he turned did his eyes finally land on you and the plates.
His expression softened, “Baby, you ain’t eaten?”
“Was waiting for you.”
He sighed, crossing the tent in two quick strides and shaking his head, “Why the hell would you do that?”
Your eyebrows snapped to your hairline, “Because you’re my husband.”
He shook his head again, never once meeting your eye, “You should’ve eaten.”
He gave your wrist a squeeze and leant over you to take your plate, “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” you replied stubbornly.
“Bullshit. I know you,” he laughed bitterly, “When’ve you ever not been hungry?”
You didn’t answer.
He scoffed, already slipping into some shoes to make the trek up to the farmhouse, “I’ll warm this back up.”
“You don’t need to. It doesn’t matter.”
He stood up straighter, frowning at you.
“Course it matters. You haven’t eaten, baby.” he set the plate back down, instead letting his thumb brush absentmindedly over your knuckles.
You looked up at him, saw the worry behind his dark eyes, and could’ve cried.
For the tiniest second, you saw your husband.
The man who’d loved you since you were both kids, who used to make you breakfast on your days off because he knew you never bothered to, who’d drive halfway across town to get you an ice cream on a hot day.
And you couldn’t understand it.
How your husband was there, and then just as quickly, he wasn’t. He hadn’t looked at you like this in weeks.
“Stop that.” you shook your head.
He has the audacity to frown at you with concern. To make his voice go softer as he said, “Stop what, baby?”
You laughed bitterly, tears pricking at your eyes and wobbling your voice.
“Acting like everything’s alright!”
“Now, I ain’t-“
“Like you’re alright. When everything is…”
Your words died off as they left your throat.
Shane waited.
“Go on. When everything is what?”
“When everything is so… so fucked!” you groaned in frustration, gripping the sides of your head and willing yourself not to break down.
His eyes went cold.
“Fucked up?” he repeated, squinting at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “You’re callin’ this, what we got here, fucked up?”
“Yes!” you sighed frustratedly, wiping your eyes with clenched fists.
“Far as I can see, you’re breathin’. You’re safe. Ain’t nobody in this camp gone hungry for days. Doesn’t seem fucked up to me.” he gestured around the tent, “We’re alive. That’s what matters.”
“No!”
The word leapt from your throat as you groaned. He still didn’t get it.
“No, Shane. That is not the only thing that matters! There is more to life, you-“
You threw your hands up helplessly.
“You’re never even here anymore!”
Shane barked out a humourless laugh, taking a step back and pointing his finger at you.
“Lemme ask you somethin’, then.”
His voice had grown a dangerous edge that you’d never heard directed at you before. You bowed your head.
“If I ain’t here…” he jabbed a finger against his own chest, “Then how’re you still alive?”
He took another step closer, “Who keeps this place in order?”
His breathing grew heavier.
“Who’s pullin’ watches when everybody else is asleep?”
He lowered his face until it was beside your and whispered;
“Who’s makin’ the supply runs?”
He snatched your plate up off the table.
“Who’s puttin’ this food on the damn table?” he roared.
His grip slipped.
The porcelain hit the floor and exploded into a hundred speckled shards. You flinched.
Tears rolled down your cheeks as you crumpled in on yourself, turning away from him.
“Do you hear yourself?!” you screamed angrily through your sobs.
He was scaring you now.
He wasn’t in control.
“This ain’t you,” you sniffled, cradling your own head, “I don’t know what’s happening to you, but we can figure it out. We always figure things out.”
“Please.”
Your voice came out weak from where it was tucked beneath your knees.
“There ain’t nothin’ to figure out.”
You lifted your head, willing any God out there to let your husband hear your pleas.
“Shane…”
“This is the way things are. I’m just the only one who’s accepted it. I don’t need no fixing,” he spat, throwing his jacket over his shoulder.
“Shane, are you kidding?” you laughed weakly before your eyes widened, “You’re really just gonna ignore all of this… What are you-“
He pulled back the tent of the flap.
“Where are you going?” you tried to sound strong but it came out a whimper as you wiped your eyes, “Shane!”
“‘M going for a walk.” he muttered, shoving the flap back down.
All you could do was fall apart as you realised that the Shane you’d known was there, but he didn’t want saving.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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summary: you're joel miller's apprentice and he's started taking a liking to ya.
tags: no outbreak, READER IS FTM, reader is in their early twenties, reader is also a smoker lol, joel's in his thirties, slowish burn, age gap
a/n: wooo my third tumblr fic!!! umm I noticed a SEVERE lack of joel x FTM reader fics which is truly dissapointing, so here's an attempt at one!!!! pls be nice LOL
w/c ≈ 2k
[masterlist]
Joel was already in your booth when you pushed through the door—the old ripped up one, tucked against the back wall near the kitchen.
He glanced up over the rim of his mug as the door jingled.
"There he is. Thought you got lost."
Your coffee was already sitting across from his, cream exactly the way you liked it.
The place smelled like burnt coffee, fryer grease, and syrup. Somebody had fed a few quarters into the old jukebox, filling the diner with low country music that mixed with clattering dishes from the back.
"Hey, you." You said, not even touching the menu. You didn't need it, you already knew what you wanted.
The waitress wandered over with a pen and pad on stand by before you even settled into the booth.
"Y'all want your usual?" she asked.
Joel answered before you could.
"Yeah."
You'd only been apprenticing under Joel for a few weeks, but lunch at Ellie's had already become part of the job. Some days you'd eat before heading out. Other days you'd stumble in afterwards covered in drywall dust, arguing about whether or not that doorframe was uneven or about a deck tint.
But you weren't new to this.
You'd met Joel through Tommy, who had gotten married to your cousin Maria the previous fall. Tommy had seen your work. A kitchen table you'd built for your mother, the shed you'd helped build with your uncle. You were capable, sure, you just needed the experience to go with it. Which is where Joel came in.
You started apprenticing in May. The pay was decent, the work kept your hands busy, and the schedule fit around your night shifts at the gas station.
Joel probably had a decade on you, if you had to guess. Maybe thirty-two or thirty-three. He was handsome, definitely, but you hadn't dared to make a thing out of it. You caught yourself looking a little longer than you probably should whenever he laughed. Not that it happened often.
There was no point entertaining the idea anyway. Dating was complicated enough as a trans man living in a town where everybody seemed to know everybody else's business. Throw in the fact that Joel was your boss, and the fantasy died pretty quick.
"You coulda told me about that traffic." You said, clutching your coffee cup. "I-10 was so backed up that I just pulled into the grass and turned around."
Joel snorted. "You know that's illegal, right?"
You shrugged and reached into your pocket, pulling out your wallet before dropping it on the table. "Didn't get caught, though."
"Miracle, considerin' who's behind the wheel."
You frowned. "I've never hit anything."
Joel lifted an eyebrow. "Jeremy's mailbox."
"That mailbox was already leaning."
"I bet." Joel said, taking another sip from his coffee cup.
Joel always had this half-smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth whenever he looked your way, like he was holding back a comment he'd already decided wasn't worth saying. Sometimes it made you wonder if he'd already figured you out. Every now and then he'd study your face for just a moment too long, or catch himself looking before glancing away. Maybe he was just thinking. Maybe he was trying to remember measurements for the next job. But you couldn't help but feel like maybe, just maybe, you'd let too much slip through the cracks.
You weren't embarrassed about it, hell no. You just knew the way cisgender men around here could be, especially considering that you were in a male dominated career. You were a man, a capable man, you'd proven it time and time again. But you didn't want any trouble, not with Joel, and not with any clients.
After wrapping up your late lunch, the two of you ducked out the door. You stopped near the threshold, retrieving a battered pack of cigarettes from your pocket. You pat two out onto your hand and after propping one between your lips, you offered Joel the other.
"Dunno why you always ask," Joel shook his head and raised a flatten palm.
"M' trying to be thoughtful, old man." You rolled your eyes, cupping your cigarette with one hand and sparking your lighter with the other.
Joel frowned slightly.
"Wind's kickin' up."
He stepped around you like it was a given, putting himself between you and the breeze.
You didn't notice until your lighter caught on the first try.
"Still oughta quit that." He said, both hands in his pockets and his boot mindlessly kicking at the dirt.
If only you hadn't heard that a million times before.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"So is drinking."
"Quit that."
Joel exhaled through his nose. "One of us has got to have a little sense."
"I'll be alright, I think." You took a slow drag, blowing smoke off to one side.
"I'd like to see ya with all your teeth in ten years."
"Oh, I bet you would." You snickered with a shit-eating grin.
The corner of Joel's mouth twitched before he could stop it. He covered it by folding his arms across his chest. "...Don't flatter yourself."
"Too late."
He shook his head, looking away toward the parking lot. "You're impossible."
"I've been told."
"By me."
"Mostly by you."
Joel sighed, though there wasn't much irritation behind it anymore.
"Okay, okay," you relented. "I've been trying to taper off, if it makes you feel any better."
Joel was quiet for a spell.
"...Good."
It was such a simple answer that you almost missed it.
Joel wasn't the type to fuss over people. If anything, he usually kept whatever he was thinking to himself.
Which made it all the stranger that he seemed to care whether you quit smoking.
You chose not to think too hard about why.
(Three months later)
"No— It has to be an inch and a half. No it'll be too short for the— I understand, Mr. Fischer, but we'll be there in less than ten minutes. Let us figure it out." You held your phone to your ear with one hand and the wheel with the other.
"Yes, I'm driving."
You sighed.
"...No, Joel isn't driving."
Beside you, Joel slowly turned his head.
"No, sir, I haven't hit any mailboxes since then."
Joel quietly covered his mouth with one hand, as he twisted the volume button down on the radio.
"Alright, we'll see you soon. Seeya."
You slowed at a stop light and groaned, letting your forehead fall against the wheel.
"Don't."
Joel looked out the windshield. "…Wasn't gonna say anything."
You glanced over, "Liar."
"Reckon that mailbox is more famous than our entire operation, here."
You grimaced, starting down the road again as the light turned green. "Not my fault everyone and their mother saw it."
"Tommy didn't see it."
"No, but he still makes fun of me for it."
Joel leaned back in his seat. "...Told him to knock it off."
"You what?"
He shrugged, like it wasn't worth talking about.
"Joke got old."
You smiled to yourself.
"...Didn't know you were in my corner." You said, almost sarcastically.
Joel was quiet for a moment, watching the road roll by outside the window.
"...Something like that."
You stopped at the first gas station on the way. The sign was a big faded metal piece hanging in the window that read "JESSE'S PIT STOP, open 24 hours!"
You shouldered through the glass door, Joel a few inches behind you.
It was the kind of mom-and-pop shop that hadn't changed in twenty years. Dirty linoleum with a foot path worn through the aisles and little displays of vapes and cigarettes on the front counter. The air smelled faintly of gasoline, burnt coffee, and stale cigarettes. Somewhere overhead, a fluorescent tube buzzed loud enough to make your head start to ache.
Joel meandered off toward the coffee station while you made for the coolers, though you caught him glancing your way every few seconds.
Two men occupied the far aisle. They both sported leather, grease-stained boots and patched vests. One of them glanced up as you walked by before returning to whatever he'd been looking at.
You reached into the cooler and grabbed the closest can you could find.
As you backed out, you noticed one of the men hadn't moved. With plenty of room behind him and plenty of room beside him.
He watched you anyway.
His elbow drove into your shoulder as you attempted to squeeze past, despite there being more than enough room.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joel straighten from the coffee machine.
"Asshole." You scoffed under your breath as you started towards the front counter. The man didn't seem to like that.
The man stopped and slowly, he turned around.
"What was that?"
You kept walking.
"Didn't say nothing."
You set the energy drink on the worn laminate counter with a dull thunk. The elderly cashier glanced up over his wire-rimmed glasses.
"N' can I get a pack of Marlboro Menthol Lights, please?" You pointed towards the rack behind him. "Right there."
You flipped your wallet open for your debit card, leaving it splayed on the counter while you dug through the sleeves.
Until, movement caught your eye. The man from the cooler stepped up beside you, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours.
You frowned.
There was plenty of room and his gaze wasn't on the cigarettes.
It had settled on the open flap of your wallet.
You snapped the wallet closed, but it was too late.
The corners of the man's mouth curled into a smug grin. "Hm."
"Anyone ever teach you to mind your own business?" You asked, slapping your card on the counter and shoving your wallet into your pocket.
Goddammit, why was this asshole looking for trouble?
"Excuse me, sir, I'm not sure that ID belongs to this young man." The man said, sneering. "What, you snag that from your mommy's purse while she wasn't lookin'?"
The man behind the counter sat the cigarettes down, but made a face like he'd thought better of it and sat a hand on top of them, slowly drawing them back towards him.
"Oh come on, dude." You sighed and pulled you wallet back out. "Here, it's my ID, I'm [early twenties]!" You plucked out your driver's license and held it up next to your face. "See? It's my license."
"Is there a problem…?" Joel stepped in beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
It wasn't dramatic or anything. But it was enough to force the biker to take a half-step back.
"No, sir, I just ain't sure this ID belongs to this young man. I mean, clearly the picture is a woman," The leather-clad man said, resting a hand on the counter.
Stuffed between the two, you sighed, crossing your arms.
"The ID is his and it's none of your damn business." Joel said flatly, narrowing his eyes at the man.
"You stickin' up for this chick, Miller?" The man scoffed.
But before Joel or the man could say anything else, you jabbed an accusing finger at the man.
"I'm a grown man and I don't need your permission to buy a pack of fuckin' cigarettes! Now leave me the hell alone before I call the damn law!"
The man traded one last stare with Joel for another second, but Joel didn't move.
"...Alright, alright," the man muttered, raising both hands as he backed away. "Hell."
He bumped the other biker with his shoulder.
"Let's go."
The bell over the door jingled as they disappeared into the parking lot.
And the gas station fell silent again, other than the soft hum of the drink coolers.
Joel yanked his wallet out of his pocket, pulled out two crumbled up five dollar bills and dropped them onto the counter.
"Sorry, Joel…Didn't realize he was with you…" The gray-haired clerk murmured, taking the bills with a shaky hand.
Joel didn't acknowledge the apology. He just quietly took the cigarettes, nudged the energy drink toward you, and jerked his head toward the door.
"C'mon."
You followed him out the door wordlessly.
He didn't raised his voice. He didn't threaten anyone.
He'd just walked into the room, and somehow that had been enough.
You wondered what it was like to carry that kind of weight. To end an argument with nothing more than your name and a look.
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