The Last Of Us 2 - Blog Posts

manny setting you and abby up on a blind date, even though you’re “just friends” 𓂃⊹ ࣪ ˖

──────

“You owe me,” Manny said, tossing a towel at Abby as she finished a set.

“For what?” She chuckled, catching it midair. She was trying to drown him out and finish her workout, but he was making it damn near impossible.

“That patrol I covered for you last week? Come on. One drink. One dinner. I set you up with someone cool. Trust me.” Manny grinned, leaning up against the barbell rack.

“I hate when you say that,” she muttered, wiping her face, rolling her eyes as she glared back up at him.

Manny clutched a hand over his heart. “She’s smart, funny, not annoying. You’ll actually like her.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He held up his hands. “Just… be at the mess hall tonight. Eighteen hundred. I promise you’ll be glad you went.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s gonna suck. I don’t wanna waste my time.”

“Come on, hermana. If it’s awful, I owe you a week of patrol coverage.” Manny replied, unfazed as he reached out to shake Abby’s shoulders.

Abby sighed, pressing the towel against the back of her neck, trying not to smile. “Manny. You say that like your word means anything. If it’s awful, I’ll lock you in the supply closet myself.”

“You’ll thank me later,” he said with a wink, finally walking away and leaving Abby to finish her routine.

── .✦

I sat on the edge of my bed, unlacing my boots, when a knock hit the door. I opened it to find Manny already leaning on the doorframe with a ridiculous grin.

“No,” I said immediately.

“Oh yes. You’re going out tonight.”

I squinted at him, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of ‘out’?”

“Blind date,” he said. “Before you say no—they’re solid. Bit serious, but big heart. Strong as hell.” He shrugged. “I figured that’d be your type.”

I hesitated, wary. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. Just dinner in the mess at eighteen hundred. You need to get out more.” He smiled, poking me in the ribs.

“Is this some kind of prank or something…?” I groaned, rubbing my forehead.

“Do I look like a man who plays pranks?”

“Yes, actually you do. Because you are.” I respond smugly, pushing him out of the doorway.

He snorted, turning away. “Just go. Please.”

── .✦

The mess hall space within the stadium had once been a cafeteria, now dressed up with mismatched linens and strings of warm lights that someone (Manny) had hung with care. It wasn’t fancy, but he tried. Like everything else we’d built here.

I sat at the table first, my knee bouncing restlessly with barely contained anxiety. I hadn’t asked for this. Manny had cornered me this morning, and then again during rounds, spun something about “someone thoughtful, serious, into books,” and I’d caved out of equal parts curiosity and peer pressure.

Abby walked in two minutes late, her hair swept back into a quick braid, and a clean shirt on. I did a double take, standing up from the table. She immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw me. We both stood there for a second. Confused. Suspicious.

“…Hey,” I said slowly, stepping closer, a bit cautious.

“Hey,” Abby echoed, her brow furrowing.

“Wait. Are you here for…?” I looked around the room slowly.

“No way.” Abby let out a low laugh, running a hand down her face. “Manny?”

“Yeah. Manny said I had a date.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then both broke out into a fit of soft laughter, something easy and fond settling between us.

“Oh my God,” Abby mumbled under her breath, shaking her head. “That bastard.” We both laughed.

“So we’re each other’s blind date… cool.” I sighed, thinking about heading back to my dorm.

A moment passed between us. Abby rubbed the back of her neck. “You wanna just stay? Make it dinner anyway?”

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “We’re already here. Might as well enjoy it.”

We found a quieter table near the back, away from the louder patrol squads trading stories and jabbing each other over canned chili. The mess hall wasn’t exactly candlelit, but under the dim overheads and faded posters on the wall, the space felt a little more intimate than usual.

“Guess we’re already past the awkward first impressions.” I muttered, gesturing to the chair across from me.

“Guess so,” Abby said, sitting down. “He’s a real piece of work.”

I smiled, a little soft, a little teasing. “I would’ve said yes if you asked me yourself, y’know.”

Abby’s ears turned a little pink. “Maybe I will next time.”

“Next time…” I mumbled to myself, fingers wrapped around my mug. “So, this isn’t a date.”

“Definitely not,” Abby agreed, a little too quickly.

“Just… two friends being tricked by a mutual idiot.”

“Exactly.”

We both smiled, but something hung in the air. Quieter than laughter, a little heavier than coincidence.

“Well, if this was a date, it wouldn’t be the worst.” I said softly.

Abby looked up. “Yeah?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

Abby grinned. “Then maybe I’ll pay next time. Stadium rations and all.”

Dinner was simple. Lentils, rehydrated steak, and overcooked carrots. Whatever passed as a meal these days. Abby glanced down at her plate. “Luxury...”

“Don’t be a snob,” I teased, poking at my own food with a fork. “It’s got… protein?” I shrug.

“And seasoning that tastes like the floor.” Abby mumbled, her lips tightening.

I laughed softly, and Abby looked up at the sound, catching the way my eyes crinkled slightly when I smiled. The awkwardness melted fast. We already knew each other’s tells, each other’s quiet humor. We ate while talking about patrol rotations, about the book I had picked up from the trading post, about how one of the younger recruits had nearly shot their own foot.

“You clean up nice, by the way,” I added, trying to be casual but sincere.

Abby glanced down at her plain black t-shirt and jeans. “This is… me trying.”

“It works.” I answered warmly, taking a bite of my carrots.

Abby watched me for a second longer than she meant to. “You don’t look too terrible either.”

I raised a brow, amused. “Wow, what a charmer.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t usually do the whole date thing.” She responded, her voice going a bit quiet.

“Neither do I,” I said, voice softer now, a bit more honest. “But this doesn’t feel… weird. Not with you.”

Abby was quiet for a minute, her jaw working like she was chewing on a thought. “Yeah. I was kind of relieved when I saw it was you.”

“Same,” I responded, leaning forward and nudging her boot lightly under the table. “Way better than some sweaty patrol guy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Abby huffed a laugh, finally relaxing into the conversation. “He played us. Got you to go, got me to go, and left us here like it’s some romcom setup.”

“Joke’s on him,” I said, softly. “You’re not bad company.”

There was a brief pause, not awkward, but full. Warm. I tilted my head slightly. “Have you ever… thought about it?”

Abby blinked. “Thought about what?”

“Me and you,” I mumbled softly, picking at my food. “Not seriously or anything, of course. It’s silly.”

Abby’s throat bobbed with a quiet swallow. “Maybe. Once or twice.”

I looked down at my plate, smiling into it. Neither of us said anything for a long moment, just the clatter of trays and distant conversation around us filling the space.

Then I said, teasing again, “If I’d known it was you, I might’ve actually brushed my hair.”

Abby gave me a playful glance. “That’s how it always looks.”

“Shut up,” I said, laughing again.

Abby grinned. “You look nice. Always do.”

My cheeks flushed at her compliment, and I tried to hide my smile behind my fork.

The “date” label faded, until it didn’t. The air shifted after the shared cookie we agreed to split “because it’d be a waste.” Abby handed me the bigger half without thinking. I paused, looking at the cookie, then at Abby. “You didn’t even fight me on it.”

Abby shrugged. “You like the soft center.”

There was a moment of silence. My brows softened just slightly. “You remember that?”

“I remember a lot about you,” Abby said, quiet now, then took a sip from her tea as if to cover it.

I looked down at the cookie, then broke off a piece and passed it to Abby. “Split the soft center, then.”

Our fingers brushed. Abby’s jaw flexed slightly, a muscle twitching.

“This still isn’t a date,” I murmured, my eyes flickering up to hers.

“Nope,” Abby said, eyes on her hand.

── .✦

We slipped out of the mess hall and into the open walkway, the stadium quiet in the way it only ever was after curfew, when most had gone to their bunks and the air was left to echo through the old corridors. The moonlight slanted through the upper windows, casting soft pools of light that guided our way. Abby walked a little slower than usual. The air between us felt different. The denial a little thinner. Glances a little longer.

“You didn’t have to walk me back,” I said, hands in my pockets, voice gentle.

Abby shrugged one shoulder. “Figured I should, since I’m such a great date and all.”

I smiled faintly. “Oh, so it was a date?”

Abby smirked but didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

We reached the hallway that led to my room. I paused outside my door, looking up at Abby. Her gaze softened a little in the low light. “I had a good time,” I said quietly.

Abby nodded. “Me too.”

For a second, it felt like neither of us knew whether to linger or say goodnight. My hand hovered over the door handle, but I didn’t turn it yet. Abby glanced down, eyes flicking briefly to my lips, then back up.

I gave a soft, teasing smile. “Goodnight, Abby.”

Abby’s voice was lower than usual when she replied. “’Night.”

But she didn’t go right away. She leaned in, barely brushing her shoulder against mine.

“Meet me in the greenhouse tomorrow afternoon?” She asked.

I nodded, just once, eyes soft. Abby’s smile returned, quiet and sure. I slipped into my room, closing the door with a quiet click.

Abby stood there for a few seconds longer than she meant to, hand curling and uncurling at her side. Then she turned and walked away.

Inside my room, I leaned against the back of the door and let out a slow breath. My heart was still thudding. Not hard, just steady, like it was trying to tell me something. I crossed the room to my bed and sat on the edge, absently untying my boots. The bracelet on my wrist— a rough one I’d braided weeks ago, caught the light. I tugged it off and held it loosely in my hands, thinking.

Outside, Abby’s boots echoed softly as she walked. She wasn’t headed straight to her room, not yet. She took a detour, climbing the narrow stairs that led to the rooftop, where the wind hit harder, cleaner. She braced her forearms on the railing and looked out over the dim lights below.

She thought about the way you had smiled tonight, less guarded, more present. She thought about the warmth of your laugh, the way their boots had bumped under the table and neither of them had pulled away. She thought about what you had asked — if she’d ever thought about them. Abby stared out into the dark, muttering to herself. “More than once.”

── .✦

The greenhouse was tucked away on the far end of the stadium, lit by golden strips of late afternoon sun through weathered glass. The scent of damp earth lingered, the soft buzz of insects in the corners barely noticeable over the creak of the old door as I stepped inside.

Abby was already there, crouched near a planter box, inspecting a cluster of overgrown tomatoes. She looked up when I entered, face unreadable at first, then softening in that way I had started to recognize as being just for me.

“You found it,” Abby said, straightening.

I smiled and closed the door behind me. “You’re not as hard to find as you think you are.”

Abby gave a small chuckle and leaned back against the wooden frame of the planter, arms folded. I came to stand beside her, letting the silence settle for a moment. Out here, away from everything, it was easier to breathe. “Didn’t know you liked plants,” I said.

“Yeah, my dad used to have a greenhouse,” Abby replied, glancing at me. “It’s quiet. No one comes out here much.”

I nodded. “Except when they want to disappear.” We stood there for a minute. Then another. And when Abby tilted her head to look at me, something shifted.

“About last night…” Abby started, voice a little rough around the edges.

I shook my head gently. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, I…” Abby paused. “I liked it. More than I thought I would.”

My heart thudded, hard. I took a step closer, close enough that our arms brushed. “You mean the steak or the part where we almost had a date?”

Abby exhaled a laugh through her nose. “Both.”

We turned to face each other more fully now, my gaze lingering on Abby’s mouth, then flicking up to meet her eyes. “I think,” I said slowly, “we might be bad at pretending we’re just friends.”

Abby’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I think you might be right.”

Neither of us moved, but the air between us felt electric. Then, carefully, almost like testing gravity, I reached out and laced my pinky through Abby’s. Not a full handhold. Just a small touch. Abby looked down at our joined fingers, then back at me, and gave a single, subtle nod.

“Okay,” Abby said, her voice softer than I had ever heard it.

“Okay,” I echoed, my thumb brushing lightly over the back of Abby’s hand.

── .✦

We left the greenhouse as the sun dipped behind the far edge of the stadium, casting long shadows and staining the clouds with streaks of orange and violet. The walk back wasn’t long, but we stretched it out without saying so. Steps slow, close, unhurried.

“You’re quiet,” I said eventually, my tone light, coaxing.

“I’m just… thinking,” Abby replied. “Trying not to mess this up.”

I looked over at her. “There’s nothing to mess up yet.”

Abby glanced back, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yet?”

I grinned. “I mean, unless you’re planning on vanishing into the barracks and avoiding me all week.”

“No,” Abby said quickly, too quickly. She scratched the back of her neck. “I’m not. I liked being with you today.”

My expression softened. “Me too.”

We reached the hallway that split off toward the living quarters, quiet except for the hum of generators and the occasional far off clang. Abby slowed near my door, lingering as if uncertain whether to say goodnight or something else.

I leaned against the wall beside it, looking up at her. “You’re really not gonna kiss me yet?”

Abby blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I… didn’t want to rush you.”

“That’s considerate,” I said, voice low and playful. “But next time, don’t overthink it so hard.”

Abby stepped a little closer, close enough that I could smell the faintest trace of pine soap and sweat on her collar. Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Next time?”

I reached out and brushed a speck of dirt off her sleeve. “Mhm. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a second, it looked like Abby might lean in. Her gaze lingered, jaw tightening just slightly. But instead, she gave a quiet breath of a laugh and pulled back, eyes warm. “Goodnight.”

I smiled, pushing the door open behind me. “Goodnight, Abby.”

The door clicked softly shut, and I stood still for a heartbeat. Then two. Then three.

The quiet hum of the hallway just outside my door buzzed in my ears, my pulse louder than it should’ve been. I stared at the handle, lips parted, heart thudding.

To hell with it.

I yanked the door back open and jogged barefoot into the corridor, scanning until I saw Abby’s back, just a few paces down, slow moving, like maybe she wasn’t quite ready to leave either.

“Abby,” I called softly.

She turned.

She didn’t have time to say anything before I was in front of her, reaching up, fingers curling into the collar of her jacket, eyes searching hers for half a second. Just enough time for hesitation to flicker. Then none at all. I leaned up and kissed her.

It wasn’t polished, but it was warm and certain. The kind of kiss that carried the quiet weight of something that had been building for a long time. Abby froze just for a second, startled, then softened beneath it. Her hands hovered at my waist, then settled there, careful, steady.

We didn’t pull apart quickly. It was slow, a soft press, a breath, then another. I stayed close enough that my forehead nearly rested against Abby’s. “I didn’t want to overthink it either,” I murmured.

Abby looked at me like the world had shifted a little. Like maybe everything would taste different tomorrow. “You didn’t,” she said quietly. “You got it just right.”

I smiled, slow and sheepish. “So… goodnight again?”

Abby nodded, brushing a loose curl from my cheek. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

This time, I didn’t turn away immediately. I lingered a second more, memorizing the feel of Abby’s hands still warm on my waist, before slipping back toward my door.

And this time, Abby didn’t take another step until she heard the door shut again.

happy mother’s day to my wife and mother of my kids ᡣ𐭩

pics: jordandefender & abbystanaccount

lev’s name also literally translates to “heart” so abby healed because she found her heart… cries

Abby didn’t heal by killing the man who killed nearly everyone she loved, her community of fireflies, her father, she healed by understanding why he killed everyone she knew.

She healed by finding and loving a child she didn’t think she would love and betraying people she once looked up to and abandoning everything she thought she knew for the simple love of someone who needed protection. She looked at Lev and finally understood that she would also kill everyone for this child who trusts her.

She looked at Lev and realized her father was killed because he stood between someone who couldn’t bear to lose the last person they loved and a vulnerable child. He was killed because of love. And that is what healed her, understanding why Joel did what he did, realizing that the reason she killed him was so close to the reason why he killed her father.

They’re the same. And if the Lev plot had happened before the revenge sequence, I certainly think she would have given up and stopped looking for Joel.

It’s important that it wasn’t revenge but understanding that brings peace.

Taking a female character who belongs to a non-majority group of bigger, muscular women in a video game and making her a very skinny person in the TV show adaptation of said video game is problematic and worthy of (respectful) criticism and I’m tired of pretending it’s not. Because the creators of the TV show said they specifically offered the actor who plays this character the part. She even said she didn’t even have to audition in an interview, she was offered the role with no audition for it. No hate to this actor, she’s amazing, she’s out here working, I don’t blame her at all. But they also did not have other actors (or if they did, very few) read for the part.

But I am so sick of people acting like the character’s original physique doesn’t matter. It DOES MATTER. Media has power, and purposefully erasing a part of a character’s physical identity that aligns her with a group of women who are either grossly misrepresented in traditional media or just cut out of it completely IS harmful. And the fact that they used her physicality to market the second game so heavily and then abandon it when the reception wasn’t good for the TV show is SO problematic. Bigger women are not there to simply be movement devices for your plot and aesthetic choices. People who are bigger matter, and having representation of bigger women fucking matters.

abby is actually the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen, her nose is so pretty and her eyes are perfect, she’s my queen 😭

hi 🩵 could you write how you hc abby's sexuality and why? what are the details in the game you noticed that support your hc? i love to think of abby as either pan or les, i feel like both could be her. but i feel very sad thinking she's straight :(. maybe someone like you explaining why they think abby is sapphic and using her personality to support your hc will help me out! kind regards :)

Don’t be sad about her potentially being straight!! She’s not explicitly stated as anything, so all headcanons are welcome and equally valid. My personal opinion is that Abby is pansexual or unlabeled, but regardless, queer. She strikes me as someone who doesn’t lead with labels or make her identity a point of definition—more of a “I love who I love” kind of person. She seems like someone who would fall for people who make her feel safe and seen. She lost her father young. She never had a maternal model. She grew up in a militant environment where vulnerability was dangerous. That means her emotional connection to others, especially romantic ones—is probably built slowly, from trust and shared experience, rather than immediate spark or gendered attraction. She’s not someone who’s chasing “the idea” of a partner, she’s someone who responds to the actual person in front of her. That also makes her more open to falling for people across gender lines, without needing to categorize it. That leads me to believe her sexuality isn’t rigid, and certainly not defined by gender.

She’s not shown being attracted to women, but the absence of that doesn’t mean anything. The game doesn’t give us any hints that she’s been romantically or sexually involved with a woman, but that’s probably because her story is hyper focused on revenge, grief, and survival. Romantic or sexual tension outside of Owen doesn’t really enter the picture, even in subtle ways. Her world is narrow and purpose driven. But she never really says anything heteronormative or dismissive about queer identity either. Through her emotional bonds we see that she connects deeply with people regardless of gender. She forms emotional trust slowly but completely. She’s drawn to connection and shared values. Her attraction and trust are built through shared experience. She doesn’t label herself, ever, and I think she wouldn’t feel the need to unless it became relevant. She has the emotional openness and grounded practicality of someone who loves people, not categories.

Her relationship with femininity, identity, and emotional expression is deeply shaped by both her trauma and her personality. Abby doesn’t perform femininity in a socially conventional way—not because she’s rejecting it, but because it was never central to her identity. Because she’s deeply disconnected from the “expected” version of traditional femininity; makeup, dresses, dainty behavior, emotional expressiveness on demand, she’s free from typical gendered expectations. Instead of trying to mold herself into it, she leans further into strength, practicality, and stoicism—which many queer women do when they grow up without a roadmap for softness that includes them. Since she didn’t have a mother to model that femininity, she was probably never taught or encouraged to engage with gender roles or a girlier side of herself. That left her with space to become someone shaped more by function, purpose, and self sufficiency than aesthetics or gendered performance. She made her own path, and it led her toward strength. That kind of emotional detachment from traditional markers of femininity often coincides with queerness—not because masc presenting women are automatically queer, but because a lack of socialized attachment to gender roles often opens the door for questioning everything those roles are connected to, including attraction and identity. Abby doesn’t feel like someone who needs to define herself by how she’s perceived. She just is.

The Owen relationship was real, but complicated. Abby and Owen were in love, and yes, there’s genuine chemistry and affection there. But there’s also a deep emotional misalignment, especially as time goes on. Owen becomes more idealistic, passive, and emotionally confused, while Abby doubles down on discipline, action, and keeping herself mentally resilient. Some people interpret the tension in their relationship as a sign Abby was never really attracted to him—just going through the motions out of obligation or comphet. But I disagree. I think she genuinely loved him, was physically attracted to him, and cared deeply. The boat scene (awkwardness aside) is reciprocated by her and it seemed like she wanted that connection in the moment. However, love ≠ compatibility. She loved Owen, but she outgrew him. I think that says more about Abby’s growth and trauma, not a reflection of her sexual orientation.

Could she be a lesbian experiencing comphet? Sure, it’s not impossible, I personally just didn’t read her that way, even as someone who has struggled with comphet themselves. Abby doesn’t show signs of resenting or disassociating from her relationship with Owen (in my opinion) just the circumstances surrounding their entanglement. She’s not passive in it, and she initiates physical and emotional intimacy. That doesn’t feel like compulsory heterosexuality, it feels like a real (but flawed) relationship that she outgrew, and possibly even a trauma bond. As badly as I want to see her with a woman, she could very well meet another man, fall for him and have a healthy relationship. That being said if they did make her a lesbian in part 3 (if we ever get it) I’d be ecstatic!

Abby is often misread—by both in world characters and players, as “too masculine,” “manly,” or even “unnatural.” That dissonance between how she looks and how the world interprets it could deeply resonate for a lot of queer people who don’t fit binary beauty standards. But Abby doesn’t apologize for her strength. She owns it. And that quiet defiance is queer as hell. She clearly knows that others see her body and think she looks “too masculine” or “unattractive,” but she never apologizes for it. She chooses function over appearance, strength over daintiness—not to perform, but because that’s who she is. She has self assurance in spite of being misunderstood by others and refuses to shrink herself to meet their standards.

Abby’s strength isn’t just for survival—it’s a core part of her self concept. Fitness isn’t just part of her job. It’s how she processes life. She builds her body with intention, as a form of control, agency, and emotional regulation. That kind of deliberate relationship with one’s body might mirror experiences, particularly for masc-leaning queer women or nonbinary people—who use physicality as both a shield and a sense of self in a world that doesn’t always see them clearly. Her muscles aren’t accidental. They’re a statement. They’re her armor, but also her identity. I do think Abby’s relationship with fitness, strength, and her body can be viewed as queer, even if it’s not exclusively so. In the context of the WLF, being strong is practical. It’s survival. It makes sense that she would train hard regardless of her identity, especially given her role. It’s not explicitly gay that she’s jacked and likes working out. But what those choices mean emotionally, and how they contrast with heteronormative expectations is. The way she uses her body as a vessel of identity, control, and love? That can absolutely be read through a queer lens—and meaningfully so.

How Abby interacts with Lev is so important. The way she immediately accepts Lev—no hesitation, no confusion, no need to ask questions, is incredibly telling. That kind of instinctive affirmation doesn’t just scream ally, it suggests lived empathy. She leads with respect, action, and emotional intelligence, especially when someone is vulnerable. And in Lev’s case, she never misgenders him, she defends him immediately, even against her own people. She doesn’t act like he’s “different.” She just includes him. This doesn’t automatically mean Abby is queer herself, of course—but when you combine this with everything else, it does start to look like someone who may have a personal understanding of what it means to feel different, unlabeled, or quietly shunned—and who maybe recognizes something familiar in Lev’s journey, even if they never talk about it directly. It feels like a silent kind of solidarity, even without any explicit confirmation.

This is subjective, but even her energy itself doesn’t seem completely straight. She feels queer coded in the way she carries herself. Not just because she’s muscular or rejects feminine norms (that alone isn’t a marker of queerness), but because she moves through the world in a way that doesn’t seem gendered. She’s not very verbally expressive, but she uses physicality as a language—training, protecting others, touching carefully, fighting hard. That embodiment of love, grief and control through action is a deeply somatic and queer way to navigate the world, especially when words don’t feel safe or available. Abby feels deeply, but she doesn’t always name or process her feelings in real time. That could mean her understanding of her own sexuality might not even be clearly labeled, even to herself. She might not ever stop and ask herself because her emotional compass doesn’t run on theoretical self definition. It runs on who makes her feel safe, connected, alive. It’s fluid.

All of this builds a strong case for Abby being queer in essence and practice, even if she’s never labeled that way in canon. So while it’s totally valid for someone to read her as straight, gay, bi, pan, or questioning, my take is that she’s pan or unlabeled queer, with a deep capacity for connection that transcends gender. It just hasn’t been fully explored yet because her story arc was focused on trauma, redemption, and survival—not identity.

i hope that answers your question, sorry it took me a minute to get back to you. if you read this far thanks for stopping by! 🤍

clingy!abby who sets an alarm 5 minutes early before work so she can snuggle before she leaves

clingy!abby always sitting on the same side of the booth as you when you go out to eat

clingy!abby always wrapped around you from behind, her head on your shoulder

clingy!abby who’s hand is always in your lap

clingy!abby pressing kisses to your temple whenever you’re around other people

clingy!abby who always wants to just go home and cuddle

clingy!abby sipping from your straw and sneaking food off your plate

clingy!abby living in an “i ❤️ my gf” shirt

clingy!abby playing with your hair and telling you how beautiful you are

clingy!abby always pulling you into her lap, tangling your legs together

clingy!abby always knowing what you need before you even have to ask

clingy!abby stopping by to see you on your break and bring you lunch (with a little note slipped inside)

abby anderson’s music taste

aside from what people may assume, abby actually canonically is a really huge fan of classical music and jazz! combining that with her quiet, introspective personality and the emotional depth she hides beneath the surface, i think she’d be drawn to modern artists who feel soulful, instrumental, and emotionally grounded. music that sits with you rather than demands your attention, and probably a bit niche rather than mainstream.

here are some modern artists i think abby would like:

Laufey, Ólafur Arnalds / Nils Frahm, Hiatus Kaiyote, H.E.R, Daniel Caesar, Norah Jones, Jorja Smith, Faye Webster, Leon Bridges, Hozier, Frank Ocean, Cigarettes After Sex, The Neighbourhood, The Marías, Agnes Obel, Mitski, Brent Faiyaz, Florence + The Machine, Phoebe Bridgers, Yebba, Deftones, Chelsea Wolfe