A Look Into The Firearms Used By The WLF

i’ll come over with my telescope and nerd out about space and physics #autism

thank you @gardengnosticator ᡣ𐭩

i don’t have any other mooties that i wanna tag but any of you can feel free to add onto this 🫶🏼

sleepover ! pick a jellycat, pj set, blankie and some slippers 💤😴💕

i’ll go first !

big pressure tags (not really)

@slut4megantheestallion @bibi4exe @gardengnosticator @pricesgirl 🫶🏽

“abby shouldn’t have tortured joel/abby should’ve made it quick” have you never considered maybe she (and the rest of the salt lake crew) wanted him to experience all the pain he caused at saint mary’s? not just her dad’s pain or her own grief but everyone else’s, too?

just wanna mention that mel and owen were never “wife and husband” or even engaged either though. not sure where that narrative comes from. and he and mel hadn’t seen each other in weeks/months by the time the boat scene happened between him and abby, where he had her under the impression he was leaving mel.

🗣️: "...Abby’s bad because she 'stole' Owen from his wife and child"

but if you look at the characters so narrow-mindedly, here's what happens: Abby, Mel and Owen were childhood friends (information from the official artbook).

Mel was a close friend of Abby, which is confirmed in the note lies in Abby's backpack in the chapter "Zoo". moreover, Abby arranged for Mel to become an apprentice to her father, the best surgeon in Seattle, where she studied, and after Jerry's death she became a good doctor.

how did Mel repay? as soon as Abby started having a hard time, and her personality began to split due to an unbearable desire for revenge, when even her closest person ended a relationship with her, Mel... began a relationship with Owen. despite the fact the breakup was clearly not Abby's initiative, and she NEVER stopped loving Owen.

so Mel's bad, then? NOTHING LIKE THAT !

since Abby's relationship with Owen was over, and Abby clearly no longer focused on them openly (after the breakup, she started things in the gym much more, because what else could she do in her free time except read and train), why would Mel suddenly think abt Abby's feelings when she has her own?

it’s the same with Abby. continued to love Owen all the time, she felt disappointed and jealous, seeing that her lover listens so sensitively to Mel's "wishes" (decorating the aquarium for Christmas). with her trauma, which literally destroyed her personality, i’m sure she had some kind of hypersensitivity too. why was she obligated to think abt Mel at the moment when Owen first opened up to her completely, expressing everything that he had accumulated over the years?

i can talk abt Owen for a very long time. in the Christmas flashback at the aquarium (where, btw, he decorated all aquarium for Mel), he sincerely wanted to distract Abby from the desire for revenge, so that she would finally relax and live at least one evening without the thought that she needed to kill someone. it’s all just for Abby.

each of them is selfish. everyone thought first of themselves, and not abt any moral principles. just like real people do. and that's why i love tlou - the most "humanized" characters, which are incredibly interesting to analyze from each side.

i hope people will stop making scapegoats of Abby, Owen and Mel, and finally get into their stories 🙏🙏

omg smut with wife!abby or new mom!abby as a new part to your pregnant partner au pleaseee

your writing is gorg 💍💍

abby x reader smut | modern au

pussydrunk!abby | wife!abby | mom!abby | mdni pls

It was late. Quiet.

The baby had finally gone down after a long, fussy stretch for the first time in what felt like days. It was one of those nights where every creak of the floor threatened to undo hours of careful rocking. The apartment was still, bathed in the soft amber of a hallway nightlight, baby monitor low and steady, nothing but the soft hush of late-night calm as I had finished washing my face and stepped quietly into our room.

Abby was already in bed, lying on her side, one arm curled under her pillow, hair still damp from the quickest shower of her life. She looked up when I entered - and something in her eyes softened. Like the tension in her shoulders eased just from seeing me.

I stood in the doorway, backlit by the warm glow of the bathroom light. My dark hair was brushed out, wavy and still a little damp, wearing a sheer robe, barely tied. Beneath it, a bralette and matching lace underwear, delicate and pretty and nothing like the loose layers I'd been living in. My midriff peeked through the soft fabric, skin warm from the shower, still marked by everything I’d been through - but glowing. I looked at Abby like I was waiting for her to say something.

Abby opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"She’s asleep." I mumbled, stepping forward, one hand lightly holding the edge of the robe.

"For now," Abby murmured. But her voice was quiet. Almost wistful. She let out a breath. "You're-" She stood up, slowly, like approaching something sacred. "Jesus, babe..."

"I thought maybe..." I hesitated, suddenly unsure. "We could just... be close. If you want."

"If?" Abby crossed the room in three steps and cupped my face in her hands. "I've wanted you every day since the minute she was born. But you've been healing. And I didn't want to-"

"I'm ready," I whispered. My eyes were soft, shimmering with nervous anticipation. "I missed you."

Abby leaned in for a kiss— carefully at first. Not hesitant, just gentle. Like she was afraid I might break if she held on too tight. But I leaned into her, hands sliding under Abby's tank top, palm flat against the firm warmth of her stomach.

Abby let out a sound she didn't realize she was holding back. A low, helpless noise, born from days and weeks of touching each other only in passing— quick grazes, a shared blanket, a forehead kiss before one of us stumbled off to soothe a cry.

Now, she had me here. All of me. And she didn't want to rush a second of it. Her hands found my waist, her thumbs brushing over the soft swell of my hips, the gentle curve of my stomach, the place our daughter had grown. And for a moment, Abby just held me there, forehead to forehead, breathing.

"You're so beautiful," Abby said, voice thick. "I don't even know how to tell you how much I-"

I kissed her again, deeper this time, and Abby felt herself fall. Her hands slipped under the robe, tracing my back, adoringly slow.

Abby's eyes stayed locked on mine as I guided her to the bed. The sheer robe sliding off my shoulders and onto the floor like mist, leaving nothing but soft lace and warm skin in its place.

I sat back against the pillows, legs folded beneath me, the bralette clinging lightly to the curve of my breasts, lace framing the swell of my hips— and Abby just stared. Not in a hungry way. In an admiring, aching one. Because I had always been beautiful to her, but now, there was something even more profound. Something that made Abby want to fall to her knees.

She climbed onto the bed slowly, like she was afraid of breaking the moment. She slid her hands beneath the bralette and slowly lifted it over my head, revealing my soft, full chest which had changed slightly since the baby, tender in ways it hadn't been before. Abby's breath hitched. Every inch of skin revealed was like a rediscovery, familiar and new all at once.

My body had been a machine these last few months: lifting, feeding, rocking, enduring. I’d stopped seeing myself as someone touchable. But in Abby’s hands, I felt wanted. Not just needed.

Her fingers brushed over the curves with impossible gentleness, as if she were afraid to touch too hard. "You're... fuck, you're gorgeous," she whispered. She bent to kiss the inside of one breast, then the other, her lips trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses. "I've missed touching you."

My head tipped back as my breath shivered out. "Then touch me."

Abby didn't need to be told twice. She took her time, smoothing her palms down my sides, feeling the new softness of my stomach, the slight give beneath her fingertips. Her lips brushed every new mark, every changed place, not out of pity or reassurance, but awe. Because my body had done something extraordinary. And it was still completely hers. "This... this is where she grew," she said quietly, kissing just above my navel. "You did something incredible. And you're still the most beautiful thing l've ever seen."

I let out a soft sound— quiet, breaking, like it cracked something open in me. My thighs shifted, opening slightly, and Abby moved down, easing my underwear off inch by inch. She didn't rush, didn't dive in like she was desperate. Instead, she kissed her way down my thighs, her hands cradling them like they were something sacred.

When she finally pressed her mouth between them, I gasped. Not from surprise, but from how slow Abby was, how intentional. Every flick of her tongue, every pause to breathe against me, was wrapped in devotion. She wanted me to feel worshipped. To feel loved in the most tangible way possible. And I did — my body arched toward her, breath coming in soft, desperate gasps as Abby worked me open with nothing but her mouth and hands, murmuring things between kisses: "You're perfect." "I missed the way you taste." "I love how soft you are."

"You feel so good," I whispered, nails curling gently at Abby's back.

"I want you to remember this," Abby murmured, her voice unsteady. "That you're still you. You're still mine. You're everything."

When I came, I did so with a whimper and Abby's name on my lips, hips trembling, thighs tightening around her shoulders like I didn't want to let her go. Abby held me through it, slowing only once I had sagged back into the pillows, eyes half-lidded, lips parted in stunned silence. She crawled up beside me, pulling me into her arms, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "You're everything to me," she whispered. "I've never been more in love with you," she whispered. "Not even close."

I reached down, threading our fingers together over my heart. "I didn't think I could love you more. But then I watched you become her mom. And now it feels like there's not enough space in my chest."

Abby didn't answer at first. She just held on tighter. Then she whispered, "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Both of you."

We kissed again, deeper this time — the kind of kiss that said, I'm still here. I'm still yours. My hand slipped under Abby's shirt, feeling the taut muscle of her back flex beneath my fingers. I didn't say anything, but Abby could feel my intent in the way I shifted — the way my thigh slid between hers, the way my hand curled behind her neck and pulled her closer. When Abby guided my hand between her own legs, I touched her like she was made of glass, and I finally understood exactly how much Abby had needed me.

Abby let her shirt be tugged up and over her head, not bothering to hide the sharp little intake of breath that escaped her when my hands touched bare skin. It wasn't rushed - it was slow, deliberate. My fingertips mapped the lines of Abby's body like they were familiar and brand new all at once: over the swell of her shoulder, down the valley between her breasts, across her stomach where muscle tensed under touch.

"You've been doing all the heavy lifting," I whispered, my voice low and intimate. "Let me take care of you."

Abby swallowed, not trusting herself to speak, just nodded and let herself sink into the feeling of being seen.

I kissed her collarbone first— then the spot just under her jaw, then the hollow of her throat. My mouth was warm, slow, loving. I shifted us gently so Abby was flat on her back, thighs spread slightly with me nestled between them, pressing soft kisses along her sternum, her ribs, the inside of her arms. My hands framed Abby's waist like they belonged there.

And when I finally slid my hand down between Abby's thighs, it was with exquisite care. "You're already soaked," I whispered, my breath brushing Abby's ear.

Abby's eyes fluttered shut. "Been like that since you walked in."

I let out a breath of laughter, but my touch was anything but teasing. I took my time, fingers stroking gently, parting her with practiced ease. Abby's breath hitched. Her hips arched slightly, but she didn't push, she let me lead.

I curled my fingers just right, slow and sure, and Abby let her head fall back with a low moan.

"Right there?" I asked, mouth brushing her cheek.

“God… yeah. Just don’t stop.”

I didn't. I kissed Abby's shoulder while my fingers kept working, each stroke slow and purposeful, the rhythm steady. My free hand laced with Abby's and pinned it gently beside her head, our rings brushing against each other.

When Abby came, she did so with a quiet, broken sound, her muscles tightening, breath catching in her throat, body shuddering under the weight of it. I didn't let go until the tremors had passed. Then I kissed her softly, until her breathing slowed and her body relaxed completely into mine.

We lay there for a while, warm and quiet, legs tangled together under the sheets, the weight of the night still wrapped around us like a second skin. Abby's hand idly stroked my side, fingertips tracing every curve and dip, memorizing me again.

Abby's fingers found the softest stretch of skin on my waist and traced over it slowly, admiringly.

I shifted slightly, stretching with a soft hum against Abby's chest. "You're staring."

"I am," Abby said, no shame in her voice. "Can't help it."

I turned her face upward, a teasing smile curving my lips. "You already had me once tonight."

Abby looked down at me, eyes dark but warm. "Once isn't enough."

I opened my mouth to respond — but the words got caught in my throat when Abby leaned down and kissed me slowly. There was no urgency in it now, just something molten and patient, like she had all the time in the world and wanted to spend every second on me. When Abby rolled us gently, guiding me onto her back again, there was something admiring in the way she looked at me - like I was something sacred.

I smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Greedy."

"You love it."

"I do."

She kissed her way down my chest, lips brushing softly over each breast, taking her time with the curves, the softness. Her hands slid along my thighs, coaxing them apart slowly, and my breath hitched in anticipation.

Abby paused, her mouth hovering just above my center, eyes flicking up. "Okay?"

I nodded, voice gone. "Yes."

Abby took her time. She started slow — just a soft, open-mouthed kiss, then her tongue followed, languid and purposeful, tracing long, deliberate strokes that made my hips twitch. Abby's hands gripped my thighs, keeping me steady but never forceful, grounding me.

I moaned softly, one hand sliding into Abby's hair, my fingers curling there as Abby buried herself deeper, her tongue moving with precision and devotion. She didn't rush— she savored it, changing rhythm only to keep me right at that edge, never letting me fall too quickly.

"You taste so good," Abby murmured between strokes, her voice low and rough. "I could stay here all night."

I whined, not from the words, but from the way Abby said them, like she meant it with her whole soul. I writhed under her, my thighs beginning to tremble from how slowly the tension built.

Abby flattened her tongue and pressed in deeper, drawing out a sound from me that was almost a cry. Her lips sealed over my clit again, sucking gently before teasing again with the soft tip of her tongue. I arched, body tense and wanting. "I can't," I whispered. "Abby-please-"

"Shh," Abby said, her voice gentle, almost amused. "I've got you."

She kept going until I was coming again, my body quaking under Abby's mouth, back arched, fingers pulling tightly in her hair as I came with a sound that felt pulled from somewhere deep.

I was still catching my breath, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling in slow waves — but Abby wasn't done. She hovered above me, eyes dark with something deeper now - not urgency, not just desire, but need. The kind that came from somewhere rooted. She leaned in again and kissed my inner thigh, then lower, just once - soft, adoring. She looked up through her lashes, gaze soft and still heavy with want. My chest was rising and falling in slow waves, the flushed skin along my sternum dotted with faint kisses Abby had left behind. Her hair was messy, lips swollen, eyes glassy.

My breath hitched. "Abby-"

"I know," Abby whispered, already easing her fingers gently along my slick skin again. "I know. Just one more. Let me."

My hand found her shoulder — I could've said no, could've tugged her back up — but I didn't. I let her. My legs parted instinctively, my body answering before my words could.

Abby dipped down again and this time, there was a different rhythm. Not rushed, still gentle, but hungry. Her tongue moved with more pressure now, sliding through the wet heat and circling my clit in slow, perfect strokes. She didn't tease— she worshipped. Devoted.

My body responded immediately, thighs already trembling again. I tried to stay quiet— I always tried, but Abby knew me. Knew exactly how to coax the sounds out of me. The way she sealed her mouth and sucked gently, the firm, deep rhythm of her tongue, the heat of her breath against already sensitive skin - it was too much.

"Abby-fuck, I-" my voice broke as my hips jerked, overstimulated but still craving more.

She didn't stop. She pressed her palms to my thighs, holding me open, steadying me as her mouth kept moving. Her eyes flicked up briefly and she saw my head thrown back, hair damp against the pillow, lips parted in disbelief. And it broke something open in her. She let out a low groan into, the sound vibrating through my core. "You're so fucking perfect."

And then I was gone, falling apart beneath her for the third time, legs shaking violently as another orgasm tore through me, more intense than the last. I cried out, high and broken, hands fisting in the sheets, the sound half lost in a gasp that bordered on a sob.

Abby didn’t stop right away, only pulling back when my body jerked with every touch, breath coming in shallow pants, eyes brimming with tears from the sheer overwhelm of it. She crawled up slowly, carefully, and kissed my shoulder, my neck, my cheek — lips soft, hand gentle against my flushed skin, easing me back down with tender kisses.

"You're okay," she whispered, brushing damp hair back from my face. "You're okay. I've got you."

I let out a breath that turned into a laugh - small, dazed, a little shaky. "I think you killed me."

Abby smiled, brushing her thumb across my cheek. "You're still breathing. Barely."

I curled into her, body limp and spent, my limbs draped over Abby like I didn't want to let go.

Abby pressed a kiss to my temple. "You didn't see yourself. You looked... gone."

My lips curved sleepily. "| was. You ruined me."

Abby's smile deepened, her voice softening. "Good. That's the goal."

We stayed wrapped up in each other, skin on skin, every breath synced as our pulses slowed again. And even in the silence, Abby couldn't stop touching— tracing the lines of my hips, the softness of my stomach, the stretch marks I barely noticed but Abby loved.

"You're beautiful," she whispered again, her voice rough with emotion.

I turned my head and nuzzled into her shoulder. "You really think so?"

"I know so." Abby cupped my jaw, guiding my eyes back up. "You carried our daughter. You're stronger than l've ever been. And l've never loved you more than I do now."

A quiet smile ghosted across my lips. "I love you too. Even when you hog the blankets."

Abby snorted. "It was one time-"

"It's every night," I laughed, kissing her again, a little smug now.

Abby rolled us gently, just enough to wrap me fully in her arms. "Whatever."

I tucked my face into Abby's neck, content as she listened to me breathe, letting myself feel all of it. The love, the exhaustion, the return to my own skin. The way Abby never let me forget who I was. And for the first time in weeks, we didn't listen for the baby.

thank you my love!! sorry this took me a minute to get back to, it’s finals week but i swear a proper part 3 is coming, here’s a little smutty little part 2.5 if you will ᡣ𐭩

more smut here and previous chapter of this fic here

this isn’t entirely proofread because i’m half awake so forgive any errors, i’ll come back and edit later if needed

not now sweetie, mom’s getting really annoyed by the way some so-called “femmes” on here treat and talk about butches like we’re only here to serve them as kink, sex, money and physical labor dispensers.

we’re people too, with feelings and wants and needs. we need protection, we need nurturing, we need the humanity so many others fail to grant us. we turn to femmes for that humanity when the world takes it from us.

you’re not protecting us when you’re asking us to throw our personhood away. you’re not protecting us when you project an unrealistic idealized version of butchness (read: sanitized masculinity) onto us of some short-cropped, perfectly muscular and suave persona with a bottomless wallet. you’re not protecting us when you ask us to go against the very morals that form the makeup of our identity.

don’t forget the dynamic goes both ways.

Abby Anderson

Rip those big beautiful muscles 🥲

my personal abby headcanons ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

soft!abby, wholesome!abby, character analysis 𑁤

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

⟢ Her favorite color is pretty obviously green, but not just any shade. It would be that deep, lush forest green. The kind that looks almost velvety when the light hits it right. A muted, natural tone, reminiscent of forest foliage or moss after it rains, or the way pine trees look at dusk. Earthy, grounded, alive. It fits her: strong and calm, but also quietly vibrant. It's the color of resilience and growth, things she's learned to nurture in herself. Maybe it reminds her of early morning hikes alone, where the world is still and her mind finally quiets. Or of those summer days when she'd sit outside with a book, before her dad dragged her along on another adventure. It’s nostalgic and rooted in something meaningful.

⟢ Her love language is acts of service, she loves taking care of her partner. She won't say "I love you" outright, and grand romantic gestures aren't her style, but if she cares about you, you'll know by the things she does. She'll fix the door that's been sticking in your apartment without saying a word, leave your favorite snack where you'll find it after a long day, or show up unasked when she knows you're hurting. Her affection is practical, grounded. Rooted in effort and presence rather than sentimentality. She's the type to remember small details you thought she forgot and act on them in meaningful, quiet ways. If she really trusts you, she'll share a part of herself she usually keeps hidden- an old story, a vulnerable thought, softness in her voice. Abby's the kind of person who'll notice you're out of shampoo and restock it without saying a word. She expresses love through actions: cleaning your glasses, packing your lunch, warming up the car on cold mornings. She doesn't make a big deal out of it-it's just who she is.

⟢ I think she would appreciate/prefer curvier women. She’s not afraid of a fuller figure. That preference makes perfect sense for Abby, her physical strength paired with emotional gentleness, and her attraction to contrast and depth. There's something very grounded and emotionally moving about the idea that Abby, with her strong, capable presence and quiet nature, would be drawn to someone with a softer, curvier frame. It adds to that "protector" dynamic she subtly embodies, in a way that balances her. A kind of mutual softening. She would probably admire her partner’s body in the same way she admires a good novel — quiet admiration. Noticing how your body curves when you stretch, the softness in your arms when they're wrapped around her, the strength in your thighs, how soft your stomach is when they're lying in bed. There's something about the combination of a curvier build and emotional openness that would both ground and unravel Abby, like it gives her permission to relax, to be vulnerable, to feel. And maybe she has this quiet pride about it, too. Abby strikes me as someone who finds beauty in the realness of people. Lived-in bodies, strength in softness, comfort in closeness. She loves that your body feels like warmth, like home - and she would never want you to feel anything less than wanted in it.

⟢ Motherhood was never something Abby imagined. Not in the traditional sense. Pregnancy, baby showers, the domesticity of it all—it never felt like her. But caring? Protecting? That's in her bones. She'd be the first to kneel down and fix a kid's scraped knee or teach them how to throw a punch. She doesn't talk about the future often, doesn't dare picture it too vividly-but sometimes, when the world feels quiet, she wonders if she could build something safe. Something like home. Abby never really pictured herself as a mom-not because she doesn't care, but because she never saw a version of it that looked like her. Growing up, “motherhood" felt tied to things she couldn't relate to. Domestic softness, conventional femininity, the assumption that women were supposed to want it. And the idea of pregnancy? That's a hard no. The physical vulnerability, the loss of control-it's not something she wants for her body. But that doesn't mean she's closed off to caregiving. She already lives it in quiet ways. She makes sure her friends get home safe. She bandages cuts without thinking. She checks in when someone's been too quiet, making sure that they eat enough. She's protective, even if she doesn't call it that. “I can barely take care of myself." But if pressed, she'd admit she's not against the idea of raising someone, just unsure if that life fits her. She'd worry she wouldn't be enough. Or worse, that she'd mess them up. She's great with kids but insists she isn't, she’ll deny it every time. Children gravitate toward her calm, steady energy, and she has a soft spot for them (especially the shy ones).

⟢ Abby would naturally switch between dominant and submissive roles depending on the moment. Intimacy isn't about dominance in the traditional sense-it's about trust, safety, and connection. Abby might appear more dominant because of her physicality and presence, but emotionally, she's surprisingly tender and receptive. Sometimes Abby will lead-grounded, steady, protective-and other times, she'll melt under her partner’s touch, especially when initiated with quiet intention. It's fluid, balanced, intuitive.

⟢ She likes to leave love letters and sweet little notes. Words aren't her first language, not when it comes to vulnerability, but when she writes them down, they come out softer, more honest. Writing gives her the space to say what she means without the pressure of getting it perfect on the spot. She can think it through, let the emotions settle, then put them into something real and lasting. It's not constant, Abby won’t shower you with them, but when they come, they feel earned, like a piece of her heart is being offered in this quiet, precious way. She probably tucks them into books or leaves them around your room. A crumpled napkin in your backpack with a half-written poem. A sticky note that says "Drink some water. I mean it." followed by a doodle of a cat face. A slip of paper tucked into your notebook that says "You looked pretty when you laughed today. I didn't know where to put that, so here it is."

⟢ Abby knows the library shelves by memory. The spine worn classics, the quiet fiction no one checks out anymore. She has a dog eared notebook tucked into her backpack where she keeps a running list of titles she wants to find next. Independent bookstores are her soft spot-she lingers in them like they're sanctuaries, trailing her fingers along book spines like they might whisper something to her. She reads like it's the only way she knows how to breathe.

⟢ If you asked her sexuality, she'd shrug. "I like who I like." That's it. No big declarations, no need for clarity. She's comfortable in her skin, comfortable not being boxed in. She's had relationships with men and women, but women are the ones who linger in her memory. The softness, the strength, the complexity. She doesn't overthink it. She just follows what feels right.

⟢ She would gladly read to her partner until they fall asleep. She has a low, steady voice that makes even the most complex writing sound gentle. She'll read aloud while her partner lays curled up against her side, half-listening, half-dozing. Sometimes it's poetry, sometimes it's a dense classic she's re-reading. She never comments when you doze off mid-sentence, she just marks the page and keeps going.

⟢ Abby has no shame when it comes to food. You blink, and half your sandwich is gone. She'll look at you mid-bite and ask, "You were done, right?" She doesn't waste anything, doesn't get weird about sharing and will eat off your plate if you let her. In fact, sharing food is her version of casual intimacy. She doesn't say "I like you" outright, but she'll finish your fries like it's a form of trust. She's the type to finish everyone else's scraps like some human trash can. Can't finish your food? Fork it over. She's not picky and takes all the extra protein she can get. It's a leftover habit from growing up around tight resources-and now, it's just her way.

⟢ I envision abby as being one of those people who's always naturally warm, human furnace vibes, great for snuggling. She’s the kind of person you instinctively lean into on cold mornings, Your hands like icicles until they’re pressed against Abby's back or sliding cold toes under her leg. Abby would groan dramatically, pretending to protest. "You're trying to kill me" — but secretly loves it. She'll complain about it every time, but she always adjusts to make room, letting you burrow into her side like it's the most natural thing in the world. She gets hot easily at night- despite this, somehow she still ends up hogging the blanket every time (canon, see post boat scene). She sleeps sprawled out and somehow tangled in all the bedding. You would wake up practically clinging to the edge of the sheet while Abby's burritoed in the rest of it, looking entirely unbothered and warm as hell. I would tease her about it every time. "You're such a thief." Abby, eyes still closed, grumbling, "No l'm not." "You're literally wrapped in three layers." "Coincidence."

⟢ She gives the best hugs. Not the polite kind. The real kind-the ones that feel like you're being held together. Strong arms, slow breath, maybe even a hand that cups the back of your head if you're really upset. She doesn't hug often, but when she does, it's wholehearted. No half measures. People don't forget them.

⟢ Her and Lev take care of stray cats on Catalina Island in their free time. She's got a soft spot for the ones who don't trust easily. The scarred-up tom that won't come close, the tiny one that hides behind the dumpsters. She leaves food out, builds little shelters when it gets cold, takes the injured ones to the infirmary when no one's looking. The other fireflies joke she and lev have a secret army of alley cats. She pretends to be annoyed, but they’ve named every single one.

⟢ Her dad used to braid her hair when she was younger, now she does it for practicality but also because it reminds her of him. The braid started as a habit. Tight and utilitarian, keeps her hair out of her face when she's working out or running drills. But on some days, the ritual of it feels heavier. She remembers his hands, clumsy but gentle, how he used to say, "Hold still, kiddo, I'm almost done." She doesn't talk about him much, but the braid says everything. It's grief and comfort, muscle memory and love.

⟢ Just for funsies, I think her birthday is in January and she has a: - Capricorn Sun: Abby's grounded, serious, and resilient core. She's hardworking, responsible, and reliable, she probably feels safest when she's doing something useful or taking care of someone else. She values loyalty deeply and is slow to trust but steadfast once she does. Her practicality and stoicism come from here. - Aries Moon: Her inner world is impulsive, intense, and fiercely emotional. She likely feels things very strongly but doesn't always have the tools to express it, leading to her occasional emotional shutdowns or sudden reactions (like anger when scared). This is where her brave, protective nature shines, she'd throw herself into danger without a second thought for someone she loves. It also contributes to her dry, blunt humor. - Cancer Venus: Soft, nurturing, tender. She shows love by taking care of you. Making sure you're fed, walking you home, giving you her jacket in the cold. But she's cautious and slow to open up, protective of her heart. Once in love, she's affectionate in small, meaningful ways. She craves emotional safety and might feel overwhelmed by intense vulnerability, but she's deeply loyal and incredibly gentle with the person she loves.

⟢ She’s terrible at taking compliments, always brushing them off with a scoff or a change of subject, like kindness directed at her is some kind of mistake. She never sees herself the way others do, she’s her own harshest critic, quick to downplay her strengths and dwell on her perceived flaws. But beneath the guarded exterior and the self doubt, there’s a quiet strength and depth to her that few ever get to see. She's also terrible at asking for help. She'll power through illness or injury until someone forces her to rest. When they scold her for not speaking up sooner, Abby just shrugs like, "It wasn't that bad."

⟢ There’s a wall around her, one she built over years of disappointment and betrayal. Getting close to her isn’t just about persistence. It’s about proving, time and time again, that you’re not like the rest. She watches everything, quietly, measuring your every word and action, waiting for the catch. But if you make it past the defenses and show her you’re genuine, patient, and unshakably loyal? She’ll fold you into her world like you’ve always belonged there. And once you’re in, she’s fiercely protective. She’d risk everything for you without a second thought, even if she never says it out loud.

medstudent!Abby is my roman empire apparently. And YES, this is me illustrating every hc I read out there

Guys idk how to say this but stop hating Owen sm 😭 he’s literally one of the most sympathetic and level headed characters in the game. Like just bc you like Abby (or Mel?) doesn’t mean you can’t try to understand him. If it wasn’t for him, the rest of the SLC wanted to kill Ellie and Tommy, he’s the only one that spoke up to save them. He’s gone through similar traumatic experiences as Abby but chose a different path. He’s Abby’s foil line Dina is to Ellie. He tries to support Abby and understand her but she’s ultimately too caught up in her revenge goal that their relationship crumbles. they have a strong relationship too and their method of joking with eachother is deprecating and teasing eachother, and getting mad on her behalf doesn’t make much sense either. They have their own backstory and way of affection that Abby isn’t even mad about, she giggles and smiles at all of Owen’s jokes. Abby clearly cares about him throughout the game even writing that letter to him. Just writing him off and dumbing him down to Abby’s trash male love interest never sits right with me because he has a purpose in the story and he’s a great and layered character.

I have so much to say. Essay on how Abby is the least "bad" person in tlou I love everyone in these games but like she gets dissed so hard