Ellie Literally Wrote In Her Diary That She Felt Guilty When She Didn’t Think Of Joel For Five Minutes

This but butchxfemme

the way so many of you guys act like abby is some mean ass dominating, degrading butch is crazy to me. did you play the game or just see a strong woman and assume…? she is repeatedly shown to be considerate, polite, gentle and caring. her anger filled grief is not her actual personality and i wish you guys would take the time to unpack that. idk if you’re just projecting your own fantasies onto her or what but wow

cowboy abs! this is actually my fav piece ive done in like. forever.

Team Seattle, Choose your fighter.

Real world jobs I think Abby could have:

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- Trauma Medicine / Paramedic. Fast-paced, high-stakes, and very hands-on. She's calm under pressure, physically strong, and already has knowledge and training. The intense, high stakes nature of emergency response would match her protective nature and ability to stay composed. Quiet competence, hands steady even when the world is shaking. She’s the friend who instinctively moves into action when someone gets hurt. She'd be incredible in a crisis: calm, efficient, and laser focused. But she might burn out if she never gave herself time to rest.

- Kinesiology / Physical Therapy / Athletic Trainer. She's strong, knows her anatomy, and likely has experience with sports related injuries. It also taps into her caretaking side, helping others rebuild strength and mobility is deeply rewarding for someone who thrives on quiet service. She works out five days a week, knows the body well, and takes pride in that. I can see her offering quiet encouragement and firm guidance. She'd be the kind of trainer who doesn't yell- just gives a firm nod and says "you've got this" in that quiet, grounding way of hers, and people would believe her.

- Firefighter (this one’s my favorite, clearly). It's physical, high stakes, community-focused, and demands a kind of calm in chaos resilience that Abby naturally embodies. She'd thrive in the structure and physical intensity of the job, while quietly being someone her entire unit relies on. She's a protector by nature. Abby doesn't just want to fix problems- she wants to prevent harm. She'd be the one charging into danger without hesitation, not for glory, but because she couldn't live with herself if she didn't. She's built for physical endurance. The training, the heavy gear, the demands- she'd meet them all head on. And her strength would be a source of pride, but also usefulness. She's not muscular for vanity; she wants to be capable. Even though she's quiet, she builds strong bonds with people over time. In a firehouse, she'd earn everyone's respect through consistency and loyalty, and be the one everyone counts on. She needs structure with meaning, a job with routine, clear goals, and tangible impact would give her direction and purpose. Abby probably lives with a constant hum of anxiety under the surface, fear of loss, fear of failure. Firefighting gives her an outlet: a place where fear fuels action, not avoidance. And the image of her coming home exhausted, soot-smudged, muscles aching, and still taking the time to help you wash the dishes or read with you on the couch? Swoon

- Bonus: Veterinary Medicine. She loves animals, has medical training, and is incredibly nurturing under that tough exterior. Helping creatures who can't speak for themselves could feel purposeful for her. She could also be an animal rehabilitation specialist, or even work in wildlife rescue.

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Abby feels like someone who wouldn't just be capable physically but would also have a deep sense of purpose under the surface. What do you guys think?

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 🫶🏽

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

an analysis on how abby growing up without a mom shaped who she is and her perception of femininity:

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Growing up without a mother meant her understanding of femininity, softness, and nurture came from absence. Without a maternal influence, she didn't have a guiding figure for emotional softness, or a role model for how to navigate vulnerability, especially in relationships. There was no one to show her how to be girly, no mother-daughter traditions, no one to teach her about motherhood. She probably doesn't even know her mother's favorite color or the sound of her laugh.

I don’t think it was something she resented, but it left an emptiness that Abby didn't quite know how to fill. She didn't have the maternal warmth or lessons that could help shape her understanding of her femininity or intimacy. Instead, her father's presence was both comforting and limiting, keeping her grounded but also confining her to a role she took on with no real guidance beyond her own instincts. Jerry did his best, but he wasn't necessarily equipped to teach her how to be delicate or to guide her through a nuanced understanding of herself as a woman.

Her dad was a gentle man, but also a bit carefree, often embarking on spontaneous adventures, leaving Abby to pick up the pieces and keep things running smoothly. She had to be responsible, mature beyond her years, and quickly became someone her father could rely on in ways that were far more profound than the typical parent-child dynamic. Abby had to grow into a caretaker role at a young age, though it came naturally to her, given that she was so deeply tied to her father's wellbeing. She still carried the weight of managing the practicalities of life in a way he didn't always feel compelled to. Because it was just the two of them, Abby's dad became her entire world - her role model, her compass, her constant. She inherited his pragmatism, his quiet humor, his hands-on way of showing love. But being raised by a single father meant Abby had to figure out her emotional world on her own. He was present, and loving, but not always expressive.

✮ This shaped how Abby expresses love: quietly, through action. Through showing up. Through fixing things, carrying the heavy load, remembering how you take your tea. Not because it was taught— but because it's how she learned to care.

Her relationship with femininity is self-defined. Without a maternal influence, Abby had to define her identity as a woman on her own terms. She doesn't perform femininity in conventional ways — and never felt pressured to. There was no one telling her to wear dresses or play with dolls, so she gravitated toward what felt good in her body. Sports. Climbing trees. Strength training.

Now, she finds beauty in the unexpected. She's not traditionally "girly," but she notices the details. She admires curves, softness, the kind of woman who owns her space — not because Abby feels lacking, but because she values what she didn't grow up around. It also makes her protective — of people who move through the world vulnerably, who offer gentleness without armor. She has a quiet reverence for that, like it's sacred. It made her pay close attention to the women around her. It's why she has so much respect for quiet strength, for softness that's chosen and not expected. She notices the small ways women hold space for each other — in friendship, in tenderness, in care — and sometimes finds herself wondering: Would my mom have done that? Would she have held my face in her hands when I cried?

Abby had to figure out a lot on her own, and she learned to keep most of her struggles to herself, fearing that her vulnerability might be too much for others to handle. There are parts of Abby she struggles to articulate because she never had the words growing up. It's why she turns to writing sometimes, and gets quiet when conversations shift too emotional too fast. Her grief isn't loud— it's woven into the fabric of who she is.

And yet, with the right person, she'd slowly find ways to let someone in. To speak about the silence. To share that old photograph. To admit, one night under the stars, "I don't know much about her... but I think you would've liked her. And I think she would've liked you, too."

In a partner, Abby would find someone who could teach her things her father couldn't, someone to balance out her tendencies to be over responsible and always holding things together. Offering Abby a softer, more emotionally open way to be, showing her that it was okay to sometimes not have all the answers, to let go of the burden of always being the one in control. A way for Abby to experience and understand the tenderness she had missed out on from her mother, forcing Abby to confront aspects of herself she had always kept at arm's length. Abby could begin to see herself differently, not just as the strong, reliable one, but as someone worthy of emotional care and tenderness, too once she allows herself to trust someone enough to soften.

for the ellie girls