Growing Tired Of The Toxic/abusive Abby Headcanons

ellie literally wrote in her diary that she felt guilty when she didn’t think of joel for five minutes and that’s why the entire theatre sequence just doesn’t work for me. that kid is traumatised and guilty for all the time wasted, for those conversations left unspoken. there’s already this insane time jump after joel’s death and you want me to believe that after witnessing his gruesome death, ellie is chirpy and excited about dina being pregnant. that entire sequence looked like a badly written comedy. ellie calls dina a burden because she’s put into a morally difficult situation. it’s not okay and you are allowed to be pissed at her. you are allowed to dislike ellie’s actions—but you know what they stem from. the show’s too afraid to make their own characters unlikable and it hurt the story as a whole.

ugh i kinda love leah, i wish she had screentime

Leah on patrol for supplies

i can die happy knowing i have the same nose as abby, now she just needs to give me a baby so i can pass on our genetics

abby doodles because she’s so prettyyyyyyy ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The Forest

I want Abby Anderson to give me the hardest most deep and intimate back shots I'll ever have then I want her to cuddle me afterwards

I just saw someone say that the rat king could be representative of Abby's greatest fear - a hulking monster rampaging through a hospital. As in a monster rampaging through a hospital and killing everything in its path. As in Joel (likely a monster in Abby's eyes) rampaging through the hospital and killing everyone in his path including Abby's father. And then a smaller enemy (the stalker) comes off of the rat king and she has to fight it once the main threat is dead and gone. The stalker representing how Ellie becomes a threat once the main enemy (Joel) is dead and gone.

Oh!

Are y'all okay? Are y'all like, allowed to be happy or are we just fine trying to find new ways to hurt people's feelings?

wholesome / soft!abby learning how to do things simply because she loves you. (modern au) ✿

━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━━

It was late, just past midnight and the apartment had gone still. You had gone to bed an hour ago, after gently insisting Abby didn't need to stay up finishing the laundry.

But Abby had stayed up anyway.

Not because of laundry.

Because earlier that evening, while brushing your hair out after a shower, you had said offhandedly,

"I've always wanted to learn how to do a proper French braid, but I can never get the hand placement right."

You hadn't meant it as a request. Just one of those things people say when they're sleepy and relaxed, idly untangling their hair in the glow of lamplight.

But it had stuck in Abby's chest in that quiet, persistent way things did when they mattered.

And now she was sitting on the living room rug, her laptop open in front of her, a tutorial video paused on a smiling woman holding a mannequin head.

Abby's fingers were wrapped awkwardly around a sad-looking practice braid made from yarn she'd pulled out of an old craft box. Her brows were knit together in deep focus.

"Under, over... no-under again? Shit."

She rewound the video, watching the woman's hands again. Her own hands were big, too clumsy, and this yarn was too slippery, but she was determined. You deserved something soft.

Something delicate. Something that said, I listen. I care. I want to do this for you.

Eventually, after the third or fourth video and countless redos, she got the rhythm. Her fingers started to move with more confidence, more grace.

It still wasn't perfect, but it looked like something.

Like effort. Like love.

She stared down at the wonky braid, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

A shadow appeared in the hallway- you, sleepy and wrapped in a blanket, blinking at the light.

"Abs? What are you doing?"

Abby froze. "I-nothing. Go back to bed."

You pad closer, crouching beside her and squinting at the yarn.

"..Is that a braid?"

Abby rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. "I was... practicing. You said you never learned, so l thought-maybe I could. So I can do it for you."

You stared at her for a beat too long, eyes glassy with the kind of affection that makes your chest ache.

Then you leaned forward and kissed her-soft, sleepy, so full of warmth it almost hurt.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured against Abby's lips.

𓂃₊ ⊹

Later that same week, you walked into the living room to find Abby half-inside the laundry closet, surrounded by the scattered innards of the dryer.

"Should I be worried?" you asked, setting your keys down.

Abby's voice echoed from inside the machine.

"Only mildly. It was making that squeaky noise again. I watched like, five repair videos. I think it's just the belt."

You squint at her. "You hate mechanical stuff."

"Yeah, well. You said you hate calling repair guys even more." Abby slid out, grease smudged across her cheek. "Figured I'd try."

You crossed your arms, trying not to smile. "I’m starting to think you can fix anything."

Later that night, the dryer spun without a sound, just the hum of warm air and fresh laundry.

There were no grand declarations. No elaborate gestures.

Just glue, orbit wires, a silenced squeaky dryer, and the quiet, steady rhythm of loving someone by showing up - over and over again.

When I’m insecure about my nose I remember that Abby Anderson has a nose like mine 😓🫶

NOSE TWINSSSS