alloftheimagines

[alloftheimagines]

Footballer!Abby as my first official art post!! Hope you guys like it!

[alloftheimagines]

To all the people who wanted to see Abby wearing a suit...consider this my gift to you 🙂‍↕️

[alloftheimagines]

[alloftheimagines]

okay i just watched the last ep of tlou and i am trying to figure out why this season is So Bad minus the obviously terrible writing so this is me working through this. if you don't agree, scroll on by unless you'd like to have a friendly discussion, which I am up for - i am trying to arrange my own feelings and possibly see how others relate. no arguing!! pls! i like to Think about things, not Fight about them.

the first couple of episodes were drawn out as fuck. watering things down, treating the viewers like we are not clever enough to get it unless they add these very pointless scenes that are very much "tell don't show" AND THEN the last episode is RUSHED. we go from beautiful, quiet, gradual 2x6, an exploration of joel and ellie's deterioration, to "ellie is over there trying to find abby. no wait, a sudden wave hath crashed over her and now she's over here with the scars, but it's okay, they won't kill her bc there is a sudden distraction. so what purpose does the scene serve? none. no worries she is back at the aquarium. oh, hey, there are abby's friends talking about things viewers cannot yet know about unless they played the game. oh, now they're dead. and one second later, there is abby ready to get her revenge." WILD!!!!! they did not give us time TO BREATHE. even if this is the way it happens in the game, this is not how tv shows effectively portray a narrative. it just isn't. there was no balance, no pacing, and we ONLY KNOW HALF THE STORY. which would be effective storytelling EXCEPT WE GET SEVEN EPISODES EVERY TWO YEARS, IF WE'RE LUCKY, WHICH MEANS WE WILL HAVE MOTION SICKNESS FOR YEARS TO COME.

WITH THIS POINT IN MIND, CAN WE CONSIDER THAT when the showrunners discussed why they cast kaitlyn as abby rather than someone physically similar to game!abby, they said it was because they had to make choices based on what works for an on-screen "drama" - which, first of all feels like implying that bigger/muscular women who are also skilled at acting simply don't exist (much in the same way they try to erase fat women, trans women, women of colour, disabled women, etc. by saying they just don't exist) but also IF THEY MADE A CONSCIOUS EFFORT TO SEPARATE TV SHOW DRAMA FROM GAME CONTENT, WHY DID THEY FUCK IT UP SO BADLY? it sounds like they actually just needed an excuse to justify casting ANOTHER skinny woman as a character who is Not Skinny. nothing new, nothing changed, but at least fucking own it. and as disappointed as i am about the physical aspect, i think the right actress could portray abby regardless of how big her muscles are, so when kaitlyn falls flat, it doesn't have as much to do with her physicality as people want to believe. abby is all anger, revenge, strength, fierceness: these things do not depend on body type.

the. narrative. choices. do. not. work. for. tv. the POV switches and where they happen make sense in the game. as players, we do not want to be thrown between ellie and abby's POV dozens of times when the focus on story, narrative, morality, themes, and PLAYABILITY is so clearly intentional and the choices have been made to immerse us as efficiently as possible. but guess what? in tv, you can actually tell multiple narratives at once without throwing us out of that immersion! it does not depend on the same qualities as with games! we become passive observers! but it is hard to passively observe any-fucking-thing they've done here. they rushed ellie's seattle narrative because they imitated the game's storytelling choices, while contradicting themselves by saying, when convenient, that their (bad) decisions were made to appease a tv audience - so, which is it? i don't think they know. i think that is the big big problem. possibly the whole point of the post, but that doesn't mean i'm done.

joel? in therapy? rugged, traumatised southern man? man who does not want to confront his past, his actions, etc? in therapy? you could not even get that man, or i dare say even most men, in therapy pre-outbreak, never mind in his fucking sixties post-outbreak, years after committing mass murder. and he goes there.... to not talk about the truth. catherine o'hara is like hey you're not telling me stuff, and he's like yeah i'm not gonna. even though he's made the effort to go sit on her couch. so is he just THAT bored in jackson? and he ALSO goes there after killing his therapist's husband..... REALLY? that doesn't feel like a good idea bestie. find another therapist mayhaps? have you considered journalling or yoga? if they wanted to do the therapy thing so bad (again, why?), they should have changed his character to reflect the possibility from season one. show there would be some hint of personal and emotional growth beyond the father-daughter dynamics. the man communicates in grunts. the man has murdered a lot of people and does not let himself consider that it might be wrong, because it's not in his best interest to do so. he is a father and that need to protect makes him immoral in this fucked up world and that's okay. we know he knows that - so why therapy? you CANNOT change well-known and well-loved characters in adaptations halfway down the line without putting better thought into it. be honest: did you just really need to put icon catherine o'hara somewhere? valid, but..... reconsider.

in conclusion, they needed to make a decision very early on and stick to it: are they staying faithful to the original content or not? is this show for pre-existing fans or a tv audience, or both, and if the latter, how do we make it so? how do we change it to do something different but still give fans what they hope for? controversial opinion: skilled writers and showrunners wouldn't find it this hard. yes, there is immense pressure in adaptations - but i can guarantee that most adaptations fail because these thoughts are not had pre-production. the nature of current tv, with the ever-looming possibility of cancellation, means that showrunners just aren't looking beyond season one. so even if we are lucky enough to get a renewal, it ends poorly. they did not plan for it. they have not created a beginning, middle, and end: only a beginning. now suddenly people want more, and how can we do it?

this isn't to say that the whole show was terrible. there were some beautiful lines. 2x6 was handled so well. "let me tell you something about my community" was gorgeous. i won't talk about dina/ellie because i think they fucked up the pregnancy storyline at least in the way the news is delivered

(okay i lied i'm gonna talk about it for the sake of the sapphics: ellie and dina went from a cutesie "what are we" situationship to "i'm gonna be a dad" - why was ellie so ready for that? in the game, ellie understandably freaks out and gets pissed that she was't aware of it sooner. in both instances, we have no indication that a fairly immature, revenge-addled 19-year-old is ready to have babies with the girl she thought was straight until 5 minutes ago) (sapphic romances deserve TIME. i think they got so excited about airing lesbian onscreen kissing, valid, that they forgot lesbians are actually people who might have some Thoughts about an unexpected pregnancy in the middle of war-torn apocalyptic seattle but idk what would i know i'm just a girl)

i dare say i even like how they expanded on mel's character in her dying moments but i also dare say that having two pregnant characters in a series and portraying both of them as glad they are having babies, especially when one is just 19 and in love with her murderous best friend, is a choice. i simply would not be having babies in the apocalypse, sorry. i know that this show is very focused on parental bonds and that is The Point but i do think there is something to be examined in the way motherhood is portrayed. we know of three women in this story who reject motherhood: sarah's mother, who i can't remember being mentioned at all; tess, who dies pretty early on and is talked about once after; ellie, who eventually ends up alone, but that is kinda the point. at least in the first two cases, there is a message here where the character is not really valued. this argument is flimsy but not not relevant? especially in the show. mel gets a way more heroic death here than in the game, as though being pregnant automatically means she deserved a better, more righteous death. she also gets to be a huge source of ellie's guilt. then, a big source of abby's redemption is even the way she cares for lev. the women in the show's narrative are, or will be, rewarded for upholding maternal values. oh!

ANYWAY that wasn't the point

what was the point?

it's 1am and i can't remember. i guess i'll finish up by saying that leaving the show after a terrible season is such a privilege. like hey i made this dumpster fire. someone else can fix it though. again, speaks to how professional these people are. men don't know how to clean up their messes mayhaps.

i'm sure there are other takes on all this and you're probably more correct than me. i think my biggest problem is that i played and watched around the same time, so the two versions clashed enormously. mostly i'm just sad to see one of the best pieces of media i've ever consumed go very downhill because of choices that needn't have happened.

oh one last thing. why did they have the WLF woman imply that isaac is in love with abby? why did they do that? that was weird. congrats on that, as some would say!

[alloftheimagines]

Free ask

Anesthesia | Platonic!Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader (platonic)

Type of fic: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Survival

Warnings: Graphic injury descriptions, medical content (field trauma care, surgery, stitches, anesthesia), blood, pain, mild swearing, panic response

Summary: A patrol goes wrong when a hidden wire trap injures both you and Abby. Severely wounded, you have to rely on Abby to get you both back to base - and survive long enough to see a surgeon.

PS: I’m very aware that this is not my best work but I think it’s worth a second thought at least, let me know.

——————————

You never saw the wire.

Abby had, a split second before it snapped, taut and gleaming in the light.

“Shit-!”

But by the time she called out, it was too late.

The thin steel cable whipped through the brush, a crude tripwire tied to a counterweight. Something rigged with tension and triggered by your boot.

You were walking point.

The force knocked you sideways, a white-hot pain slicing through your thigh and lower abdomen as the wire cut in deep, tearing through muscle. You hit the ground with a grunt that turned into a scream, blood blooming immediately in thick pulses.

Abby yanked her arm back with a shout—one end of the cable had lashed across her bicep when she tried to pull you out of the way. It left a deep gash making her arm shake. Ugly, but not crippling.

Yours was worse.

Much worse.

“Fuck fuck- don’t move,” she snapped, already moving toward you on instinct.

Your hands were shaking as you reached for the wound, but Abby shoved them aside. “Don’t touch it. You’re gonna make it worse.”

You bit down hard, eyes brimming with panic. The blood was warm and fast. So fast.

“I didn’t- see it-”

“I know,” she said through her teeth. “Wasn’t your fault.”

It took nearly an hour to get you moving again.

Abby had wrapped your thigh and hip tight with gauze and whatever clean cloth she had left in her med pack. The bleeding slowed, but didn’t stop. Your skin was pale, cold. Her own arm was slick with blood, but she refused to even look at it until yours was taken care of.

You were barely conscious when she lifted you.

She wasn’t much better off, but she gritted her teeth and got you both moving, supporting your weight with sheer brute strength and an iron will. She’d radioed ahead - but the patrols were too far out. No one could reach you in time.

So she dragged you back herself.

One kilometer at a time.

The WLF base came into view through a haze of noise and pain.

Guards rushed forward - but stopped short when they saw you both.

“Stop- stop there. We need to check for bites-”

“Do I look like I’ve been fucking bit?” Abby barked, soaked in blood, holding you up as you sagged against her.

You weren’t even standing by then. Just slumped over her side, barely breathing, bleeding through the wrap on your thigh.

“She needs a surgeon,” Abby snapped. “Now.”

One of the guards muttered something into his radio, but another approached with a flashlight, checking you both barely. “No infected marks - go!”

They didn’t ask again.

Within minutes, you were rushed into the base infirmary - an old small warehouse repurposed with clean tables, curtained dividers, sterilization trays, and an acrid mix of bleach and blood in the air.

Abby stayed with you the whole way. She helped lift you onto the table as two medics came in, one of them already snapping gloves on.

“She’s losing too much,” one said, checking your pressure and pulse. “Deep laceration, lower left quadrant. Abdomen and quad- shit, possibly severed muscle.”

“We need to operate,” the other said quickly.

“Now.”

“Is she conscious?”

“Barely.”

You didn’t register the cold of the table or the lights overhead and even just barely the sound of Abby’s voice nearby. Or maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

“Hey. Stay with me, alright? You’re gonna be okay.”

You wanted to believe that.

One of the medics was prepping a syringe.

“We need full sedation. This isn’t something we can field-dress - if we don’t go in, she bleeds out internally.”

“But we don’t have a stockpile,” the other muttered. “Only three vials left, and we don’t even have enough for two major surgeries-”

“She’s crashing,” Abby cut in, voice like steel. “You use it. You do it.”

A brief pause. Then: “Alright. Give her a full dose. Let’s open her up.”

They stripped your clothes off and disinfected the area with iodine while the anesthesia kicked in. You didn’t feel the scalpel enter, but your body jerked once - then went still.

Abby wasn’t allowed to stay in there during the actual procedure, but she waited outside. Pacing. Pressing gauze to her arm. Refusing treatment until they knew you were stable.

It took almost an hour.

They’d had to go in three inches deep, stitching muscle together manually, cauterizing torn vessels with a portable iron plate. A temporary drain was inserted near your hip, and they rigged a makeshift IV to replace fluids, connected to the last reliable bag of saline they had.

You didn’t wake up for another two hours.

When you finally stirred, the lights were dimmed. The room smelled like alcohol and sweat.

You were groggy. Disoriented. The pain came all at once - blunt, deep, not screaming but heavy. You tried to shift and hissed immediately.

“Don’t move.”

Abby’s voice was low. Tired.

You turned your head.

She was seated beside your bed, her arm stitched and bandaged. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her shirt still stained with your blood. Her leg bouncing up and down like it never stopped since she sat down. But she looked steadier now - seeing you awake.

“You’re alright,” she said quietly. “You lost a lot of blood. They had to open you up. Couple inches deeper and they might’ve hit an artery.”

You winced. “Did I- lose anything?”

“No,” she said. “They got to it in time. They put a drain in to help with the swelling. You’ll be out of it for a while. Pain’s gonna suck, but you’ll heal.”

Your lips felt dry. “You stayed?”

She gave a tired scoff. “You think I dragged your bleeding ass half across the map just to leave before you woke up?”

You let out the barest, cracked laugh. It hurt. Everything did.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

She didn’t smile. Not really. But her expression softened.

“You did good,” she said. “You stayed awake as long as you could. That helped more than you know.”

A silence passed. Heavy. But not fully uncomfortable.

“I’ll get them to up your pain meds soon,” she added. “You’re not out of the woods yet, but you’ll be alright. You’re in the clear now.”

You nodded weakly, tears threatening - but not from fear this time. From relief and pain.

You were safe. And Abby - bloodied, bruised, exhausted - was still there. Just like she’d said.

[alloftheimagines]

em dash = AI is so crazy to me. the em dash is my best friend. i couldn’t stop using her if i tried — and i would never try because i love her.

[alloftheimagines]

i need something beautiful and romantic to happen to me NOW

[alloftheimagines]

Hiiiii!!! I’ve never requested something before so idk how to do this but I was thinking of WLF Abby x pregnant reader. Where readers old partner was just the worst and still picks on reader even though they aren’t together and she avoids him at all costs. But Abby sees and starts to look out for her and just falls in love then boom baby comes and Abby and reader have their little happy family.

thank you SO MUCH for requesting this!!!!! i had to write the first part immediately. hope you enjoy! 🫶🏻

[alloftheimagines]

abby anderson | positive

masterlist

words: 2.8k warnings: 18+, pregnant!reader, hurt/comfort, discussions surrounding reproductive care including abortion, angst, supportive abby (she's gonna be a dad!), peeing i guess request: Hiiiii!!! I’ve never requested something before so idk how to do this but I was thinking of WLF Abby x pregnant reader. Where readers old partner was just the worst and still picks on reader even though they aren’t together and she avoids him at all costs. But Abby sees and starts to look out for her and just falls in love then boom baby comes and Abby and reader have their little happy family.

i'll make this multiple parts if you guys would like to see more!

Abby feels like she hasn’t seen you in weeks. Really, she saw you on patrol that morning, but you were hyperfocused on the task at hand, not up for your usual small talk. And then she saw you arguing with that asshole ex of yours, Dean, in the canteen, but by the time she was on her way over, you’d stormed off. You’ve been MIA since, and your relationship isn’t her business, but she's your best friend: she won't be able to sleep until she knows you're okay.

So, just after midnight, she searches the arena for you, food in hand because she’s worried you might not have eaten. You’ve haven’t had much of an appetite recently, and she wonders if maybe there’s something else wrong. Something she wants to fix if you’ll just let her. 

You aren’t anywhere. She checks the kennels, night watch, asks around all over. And then she thinks of that place you showed her a few weeks ago. A building a few blocks down whose missing walls allowed a beautiful view of the city, especially at sunset. You’d taken Abby there on the anniversary of her dad’s death, a place where the two of you could sit without your usual duties burdening you. And despite Abby’s grief, it had been one of the most beautiful evenings Abby had experienced in a long time, mostly because she'd never noticed how bright your eyes could shine in the sunlight, or how soft your voice got when you were tired and without your usual armour.

As predicted, there is where she finds you. You sit a little too close to the edge of the exposed building for her comfort, legs dangling over the side and silhouette lit by the waning moon. 

She breathes a sigh of relief, then whispers a “knock knock” to make herself known. She doesn't want to invade the place that is yours. Just wants to know why you're hiding.

You twist, and she sees tears gleaming on your cheeks. They break her heart. 

“Y’okay?” she asks gently. 

“Yeah, fine.” You wipe them away quickly, turning back to the view of the starlit city. Abby doesn’t dare sit so close to the edge, so she presses her back against the wall adjacent, getting a better view of you. You don’t say anything. For a while, neither does she. 

“Aren’t you scared of toppling to your death so close to the edge?” she finally asks, if only to get you talking. She risks a glimpse of the ground below, too far away from here, and hugs her knees closer to her chest. You must be four stories up, if not five, the office building tilting precariously in on itself. Vines eat at the walls and every so often, plaster cracks somewhere above, lightly dusting the two of you. 

You smile softly, but it doesn’t meet your eyes. Usually, you would tease her — Isaac’s biggest baddest wolf, afraid of heights? Last time, you’d held her hand after saying it, as though afraid she’d take it personally otherwise. Or maybe you’d just wanted to help her feel safe. It had worked. 

“Honestly, that doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world right now,” you reply now. 

Abby’s brows furrow despite the attempted lightness in your tone. “What did he say to you? I’ll set Alice on him. Or, better yet, I’ll kill him my fucking self.”

More tears. Yeah, she’s definitely going to do it herself. And she’s going to make it slow and painful, too. 

Honestly, she doesn’t know what you ever saw in Dean. Whenever asked, you always said it wasn’t serious, just an accident that kept happening, adrenaline-fuelled and convenient. You could have anybody at the base to blow off steam with after a fight, though. You choose him. 

When she is right there. 

When you don’t reply, just press your trembling lips together, she leans forward to take your hand despite the fear that the wind whipping through the ruined walls brings. When it comes to you, she’s already falling. Maybe it’s that she should be scared of. 

“Hey," she soothes. "Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Abby…” you whisper. 

“I’m here. What is it?”

“I think I’m pregnant.” 

She freezes, her eyes big and round and glued to your face. Those were the last words she expected to hear. Something inside of her sinks — maybe that last shred of hope that you might finally notice her as something other than a friend. 

“He told me… I thought we were being safe. He told me we were. He fucking lied.”

“Shit. That’s why you’ve been sick recently." She should have noticed. Encouraged you to get checked out. "How late are you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Your face crumples. “We’ve been so busy with the Scar shit recently that I haven’t been paying attention. It’s been… months since we were last together, though, which means I’m… I might already be…" You whimper. "Abby, I can’t do this.”

“Hey,” she soothes, shuffling closer, heights be damned. Her leg brackets your back as she cups your face, though really, she has no idea how to make this better. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re alright.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Your sob cracks her heart open. “He’s already made it clear that I’m in this alone.”

“No, sweetheart, you’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll be here, whatever you want to do.”

You clutch onto the arm she throws around you like it’s a life jacket and you’re sinking, the crook of her elbow catching your tears as you dip your head. She smooths down your hair, pulls you closer, closer, closer. You’re shuddering so hard against her that she thinks maybe you’ll be the one to send the building to the ground. 

“We can talk to Nora, right? See what our options are?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to… to even…” 

“I know. I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling. We don't need to decide right now.”

“I’m such a fucking idiot, Abby.” Finally, you turn to her. “I never should have trusted him. I never should have gone anywhere near him.”

“No. Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault.” Her other hand traces the knots of your back. She’s never felt this helpless before, like there’s absolutely nothing in the world she can do to make it right. It’s not likely that the medic tents have some family planning clinic going on. When people get pregnant in the WLF, they have a baby or lose a baby, but she’s never seen or heard of other options. 

Still, what she does know is that pregnancy tests still exist. Mel recovered a bunch from an old pharmacy on their last run together.

“How about we take this one step at a time?” Abby urges delicately. “We need to know for sure before we figure out the rest.”

“I’m not ready to go to Nora. I can’t.”

“You don’t need to. I know where we can get tests.”

Finally, you look at her, some hope returning to your gaze. It makes the fact that she’s shaking like a leaf above the city half-worth it.

Abby schools her expression to the calmest one she can muster, knuckle dipping over your brow to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Whenever you’re ready to know, we’ll do it together, okay?”

And for a moment, the fear wavers, moulds into something else. She thinks maybe she’s done something right, and thank fuck, because seeing you hurting so badly is killing her. She drags her touch over your cheekbone, down to your jaw, thumb resting gently on your lower lip. 

You lock eyes with her in the moonlight and decide, “I need to know now.”

She is more than happy to peel you away from the edge of the building, even if you are heading straight for another precipice. One she might not be able to follow you over — but she’ll sure as hell try.

***

Abby turns her back and leans against the sink as you pee. When you’ve lived together this long, modesty is no longer a thing, and that connection is maybe why she’s managed to get you home without breaking. When you’re done, you set the test down on the water tank and wash your hands, your hip knocking against hers. You look at her in the grimy mirror and see all the concern she has for you, enough to floor you. Of course, you knew you could rely on her. That she cared. 

You just didn’t know it could be this much. 

She doesn’t have to take this on, you think. It’s your mistake. Your problem to deal with. But she takes the pregnancy test and then your hand, leading you into the living area where you can sit on the sinking couch comfortably. The test is placed on the coffee table. You have no idea where she got it: likely stole it from medical supplies downstairs. 

“Do you ever think about having kids?” you’re brave enough to ask, if only to pass a few excruciating seconds otherwise spent in silence. “You’re weirdly good at this whole emotional support thing.”

Her freckled nose scrunches. “Not exactly on my list of priorities, but thanks, I guess.”

You can imagine it, though. A mini Abby running around base, inheriting all of her beauty and brute strength. Not now, not when she’s so young, but one day. You always think she’ll make a good leader, and she’s proven tonight she can be tender, too. Nurturing. She’d make a much better mom than you.

Abby clasps her hands together over her knees, eyeing the test. “I had a scare with Owen once.”

“Yeah?” You didn’t know that. She’d never told you. The two of you have been friends since the Fireflies, but closer in the last year or two. Being soldiers seemed to have the opposite effect than intended: it has buffed you down into something gentle, at least around each other. When there is a threat, you match each other’s fierceness, but at the end of the day comes gentle whispers of whether you want to shower first, or would you like the light left on or off, or did you eat yet? Cleaning blood from one another’s skin. Sometimes crowding into one bed because the things you see, whether Infected or Scars or the deeper tragedies of your past, can haunt. 

She toys with a hangnail as she continues: “I wasn’t ready, but I think it made me realise that one day I might be. It got me thinking a lot about how lucky I was to have been raised by my dad. He was so good to me. So kind, y’know? I’d like to be able to give a kid that same care.” 

You forget, for a moment, that your future is about to be decided by a thirty-year-old pregnancy test that might not even work, a soft smile curving on your lips. “They'd be a really lucky kid, Abs.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, face all soft edges. You’re one of the only people who gets to see her this way, not just the intimidating fighter Isaac favours. “I wouldn’t mind if it was yours I got to take care of instead. If you are pregnant, and you go through with this, I’ll help you. Through all of it. As much as you want me to.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You wouldn’t need to. You’re my best friend, and getting to love a tiny version of you… well, it doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You say that now, but what about when it’s screaming and pooping. And then…” You gulp. “What about when we have to keep it safe? Through war and the infected?” Your everyday involves watching families get torn apart, or stumbling across memories of people who no longer exist in ruins that used to be homes. You can barely handle the fear that comes with watching Abby throw herself on the frontlines everyday, never mind the one that might exist if you were to have a baby. 

But you know already there is no if. You don’t need the pregnancy test. You feel it. Bloated stomach, sickness every day, sensitivity to smells, body not yours anymore. The test is just the thing you need to accept it. 

Something that feels just a tad easier than before when Abby leans back to take your hand. “I can’t think of anybody who would protect their kid more ferociously than you. Jesus, you’ve done it for me more times than I count. When someone you care about is in danger, you know exactly how to save them.”

A warmth floods your chest. You love her and have never been more certain of it. In fact, you only started sleeping with Dean at all to get her out of your head, which didn’t work. It felt like you were betraying your friendship when you first started seeing Abby in that way, taking note of her toned body and husky morning voice. So you ran the only way you could, with a guy who was more than willing to put out. 

Maybe this is karma. 

“I don’t know if I deserve you,” you say. 

“Shut up,” she jests in a way only a best friend could. And yet you’re planning your future like you are suddenly more than that. Like her fate rests on that pregnancy test, too.

You look back at it. Suddenly it is not the most intimidating thing in your world. Suddenly, it is something that offers a flicker of hope in you. “Do you think it’s been long enough?”

“Yeah.”

You take a deep breath. She squeezes your hand. “Want me to do it?”

You nod. 

She picks it up, chest puffing out as she holds the test between you. You don’t dare look. Her lips part, eyes turning glossy. “Two lines. Positive.”

“Shit,” you choke out, and the tears begin again. You’re pregnant, and it isn’t just a guess anymore. It’s real. Everything you are is about to change. 

“Shit,” Abby agrees, showing you the test. The lines are clear as day. No denying them, just as there’s no denying all the ways you haven’t felt normal recently.

“God, I don’t know how I’ll do this.”

“You don’t have to,” she reminded. “You deserve to have a choice, so we’ll figure one out, okay? Even if I have to raid a thousand pharmacies.”

You’re not sure you want that. Your hand falls over your belly, just slightly rounder than it was a few months ago, trouser buttons stretched tighter. It’s going to take time to figure it out, but there’s warmth that wasn’t there before. You’re not alone in this the way you thought you were a few hours ago, and yeah, it’s going to be tough as shit, but…

But you look at Abby and see something that might be worth it.

She must sense it, because she tugs you close and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s too late to make decisions tonight. You wanna try to get some sleep?”

You don’t think sleep is a thing you’re capable of with your heart racing like this, but you nod. She helps you out of your jacket and slips off her pants to slide under the duvet before tugging you to do the same. Bare legs intertwine, the closest you’ve ever been, and your face sinks into her hard chest, counting her breaths to keep from spiralling. 

“He’ll want me to get rid of it,” you say. “He already told me that.”

“He doesn’t get a say. He’s a piece of fucking shit, and it’s your body.”

“If it was your choice… would you want this?” Your voice is small, perhaps hopeful. “Do you really want that tiny version of me?”

“I want you to be happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. If this could make you happy, in any world, then yeah, I’d want it. But it isn’t about me, sweetheart.”

“I think it is,” you admit, chewing on your lip. “I think the minute you told me I’m not alone in this, it stopped feeling like a complete nightmare.”

“You really needed me to tell you?” she murmurs against your forehead.

“It’s a baby, Abby. And you’re my best friend, not my…”

You wish she was, so much that you can’t even finish the sentence. 

She does it for you, voice flat. “Not your girlfriend.”

You hum. 

“Maybe not, but you’re… You’re all that matters to me,” she says. “I’d do anything for you.”

You bite your lower lip. “Thank you, Abby. I'm not sure I could handle this without you.”

“Always. Y’don’t ever have to thank me.”

But you do, and it will never feel like enough. By the time you fall asleep, morning light is already bleeding through the window — but Abby stays with you, making you believe that maybe you could find your way through this, even if you’ll be stumbling in the dark.

She’ll be your light.  

[alloftheimagines]

The Last of Us Part I & II

[alloftheimagines]

so tired I just considered writing a zombie au for abby and then…. remembered what the game is about

[alloftheimagines]

No. I’m not doing this. I’m not going to fight you. ABBY ANDERSON: THE LAST OF US PART II

[alloftheimagines]

I WANNA BE SAVEDDDD!!!!! saw a couple people talking about superhero abby and gahhsjjsjd..😵‍💫!!

[❤️taglist!! lemme know if you wanna be tagged for future fics & art!!!!]

@improbablynotpoppy @b1uecatt @siiri0307 @blissqful @mostsanefilmliker @ferxanda @futiledevices16 @moonylvs @angelynn-nicole @pariiissssssss @gardengnosticator @kikispool @reiaeri @just-a-ghostcat @mwahbabe @cucumbernimbus @neobangverse @xoxoaiyana @abigail-andersons-wife @jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw

[alloftheimagines]

i’m sorryyyyyy (I’m not) (I love pain)

abby anderson | stitches

masterlist

words: 1.8k warnings: 18+ angst, injury, arguing, mentions of death, no happy ending i fear, fem!reader, wlf!reader synopsis: abby is lost in her need for revenge. you are lost in your need to take care of her even when it hurts.

You don’t know why you still wait for her. Abby never comes home anymore, and if she does, it’s only so that you’ll stitch her wounds. Maybe it’s because it’s your birthday, and you have this silly sort of hope that perhaps your girlfriend will care. Maybe it’s because, despite it all, you love her and worry like hell that one day, she won’t come back. Or, worse, she’ll come back in need of more fixing than you’re capable of. 

Maybe it’s just because you want to fight with her, which is really the only way you get to talk to her at all anymore. 

It’s nearly dawn when Abby walks through the door to your shared room. You’ve been staring at the same light reflected from the stadium all night. You’re exhausted, and your shift in the medical tent starts in a few hours and you have only been able to come up with one explanation as to why this keeps happening: she doesn’t love you anymore. Or she doesn’t love you enough. 

And yet you pad to the kitchenette without looking at her as soon as you hear her unsteady gait. She’s hurt again. You’ll fix it again. 

Abby pauses, surprised to see you emerge from the couch instead of your bed in the corner. “Have you been waiting up again?”

A nod is all you can give her, especially when her voice fills with pity — because how sad is it that you are still here, clinging on to whatever pieces of her there are left?

It’s been this way for a few years now. You sat with her through the grief of her dad. Joined the WLF together. You thought it would be good for her to focus on this new regime, but then she started skipping breakfast to work out. Started volunteering for every single patrol she could. Started searching for the man who killed her father with a new, eerie hardness about her.

You return to the couch with the first aid kit, and she sits on the coffee table with a wince and a sigh. Her clothes smell like rain, blood, and sweat, and when you turn the small lamp on, you find that those things have mingled to create a sheen over her face and body. 

“Scars or Infected?” The cut on her arm, which she holds out to you, would suggest scars, but what would you know anymore? As long as there are no bites, you guess it doesn't much matter.

“Scars.”

“Is this it? Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

She barely flinches when you clean the wound with gauze and anti-bacterial. “No, nowhere else. Think I sprained my wrist in training, though.”

Her hand falls into yours, callouses rubbing against your palms, and you twist gently to see the faint bruise and swelling across the joint. Her fingernails are crusted in dirt and blood.

When you don’t reply, she frowns. “Everything okay?”

Honestly, you’re surprised she notices. “Hm.” 

She blinks, unconvinced. "I didn’t ask you to wait up.” 

“And yet I did.” You don’t know how you maintain your composure. Maybe you’ve given up, too. Your voice sounds flat enough that it’s a possibility, even if there’s a thousand knives in your stomach. Your motions are robotic as you prepare the needle and thread, ready to stitch up the gash marring her muscular, freckled arms. 

Abby leans her elbow on her knee, scoffing like you’re being pathetic. You think maybe she has begun to despise your presence in her life. Unlike Owen and the others, you haven’t gone along with all this like it’s normal. She’s become more killer than ever before, mowing down Scars like it’s second nature. There is no time for you, but there is always time for weight training and fighting. 

If you cared about her less, you might have thrown down the kit then. Told her to stitch her own damn wounds up. But you’re not like her. You can’t switch it off. 

She scours the room while you work, knitting her skin back together just so she can tear it to shreds again in the morning. A pointless exercise, but the only one you get to do with her. Her eyes snag on a bottle of wine on the breakfast counter. “Where’d you get that?”

“Sophie.” Another WLF medic — one who remembered. 

Abby’s eyes narrow. “Should I be worried that another woman’s getting my girl gifts?”

“Not if it’s your girl’s birthday. I think it’s sort of just tradition in that instance.”

Abby freezes. And maybe you dig the needle into her flesh a tad harder this time, pull the sutures a tad tighter. 

“Shit,” she says. “I… You should have reminded me.”

“Didn’t remind Sophie,” you can’t help but retort sourly. 

Her jaw clenches. “Baby…”

“I’m going to have this conversation with you once more, and then never again,” you warn. “I can’t keep talking to a brick wall.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, braid sloping over her hunched shoulders. “I know I’m busy right now. We don’t get to spend much time together. I swear, once this is over, once I kill Joel, everything will go back to the way it was.”

“I don’t think it will. I think you’ve forgotten how to sit still.” And then, because it’s four a.m. and you’ve been sitting alone with your thoughts for too many hours, you admit what you’ve been too afraid to. “I think you’ve forgotten how to love me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know that isn’t true.”

You snip the thread and bandage up the stitched wound, still so calm. Calmer than she deserves, probably. Maybe being a doctor is as instinctive to you as killing is to her. 

When you don’t look at her, she tilts your chin, pleading. “I love you. But until I take this guy out, I can’t focus on anything else.”

“It’s been years, Abs. You’ve let it take over your life.”

“Yeah, because he murdered my dad,” she bites out. 

“He murdered a lot of people’s dads.” You’ll never forget the bloodbath that Joel Miller caused. And yes, you want him dead to, but not if it means losing everything you are. Not if it means losing her to wrath. 

“And, what, we should just let him get away with it so that we have more time for birthday cake?” Abby pushes off her thighs to stand up, seeming to forget about her strained wrist all at once. “In that case, maybe you’re right. Maybe I have forgotten how to love you. Because the woman I fell for wouldn’t let something like this fucking go. And she wouldn’t sit here, asking me to stop.”

Your blood runs cold. Still, you pack up your first aid kit. Still, you force breaths in and out, steady, practiced. “I didn’t ask you to do anything. I know better than to try.”

“But you’re looking at me like I’m wrong. Like I’m sick. I’m not sick. I’m angry.”

“I’m angry, too.” You pluck the wine off the counter and unscrew it, taking a long swig. Fuck your shift, and fuck this conversation. You wasted your birthday waiting, but you’re done with that. It’s bitter, tart, and not at all pleasant. 

“We’re not doing this now. I’m going to bed.” Abby kicks off her boots and heads to her bunk, leaving you to stare back into that reflection again. The stadium is slowly waking up outside your room as night shifts end. It is so, so lonely that you want to run out and scream. 

“Okay. Guess I’ll get my next five-minute slot with you this time tomorrow, then.” 

She angrily unbuckles her belt and slaps it down on the floor. “You’re being an ass. Y’know, I was excited to come home and tell you that I got a fucking lead today.”

“That’s really nice. I was excited for you to come home, too, to tell me happy birthday. But I guess it’s on me for not reminding you.”

The sound she makes is mangled and bitter as she peels off her cargo pants and damp shirt. The light bounces off the planes of her back, casting shadows in the dips of her shoulders. She is so beautiful. And you understand why she’s changed. You do. You just don’t know where you belong in her world anymore. 

It’s enough to make you want to cry, so you wander to the kitchenette and pretend to be interested in the sink as Abby slides under the duvet. Your hands shake, finally, as you wash the blood from them. 

You sniffle, trapping a sob between your teeth. You can’t do this anymore. She doesn’t hear you, doesn’t see you. 

Except maybe she does, because a soft hand is suddenly on your shoulder. “Don’t cry. Please don’t fucking cry.”

Of course, that makes you cry harder. She pulls you into her chest, your back still pressed to her stomach, forearm braced tightly around your waist. Her nose grazes the nape of your neck as she shushes you gently, and there she is. The woman you love. Is this what it takes to get her to notice you?

“Come to bed, baby,” Abby begs. 

You don’t want to. Don’t want to fall asleep next to her knowing it’s all a lie. 

Abby sighs, breath fanning across your skin as you try to get your breathing under control. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I forgot your birthday. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll spend the day in bed tomorrow. You can take a sick day, and I’ll milk the wrist sprain, and it’ll be like it used to be.” 

It won’t. It never will be. But you want so bad for it to be true that you let her tug you to bed, let her tuck the duvet over you both and play with your hair. She peppers your neck and cheek in kisses, lips drying your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” she says over and over. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You bury your head in her bare chest, lids falling shut. “I’m just worried I’ll lose you to this need for revenge.”

“You won't. You won't lose me.”

“I want you to do what you need to move on, but you’re never here, Abs.”

“I know.” She pauses, tracing shapes over your spine. “Just let me chase this lead, okay? I have to. I can’t put it to rest.”

“What if you get hurt?”

“Then I have you to patch me up.”

“I mean hurt enough you can’t come back from it.” Your voice shakes. “You get so focused on the anger that I think you forget you’re not invincible.”

“I know. I get it. I do. Please, baby, just a little longer. I can’t do it without you.”

When her voice is this soft, you’ll agree to anything, so even though it kills you, and even though it isn’t true, you nod. 

Abby places a final kiss in your hair and whispers that she loves you. You fall asleep thinking she might mean it.

Only, come morning, she’s gone. And tonight, you will do it all again. Every night until one of you is finally ready to give up.

[alloftheimagines]

abby anderson | stitches

masterlist

words: 1.8k warnings: 18+ angst, injury, arguing, mentions of death, no happy ending i fear, fem!reader, wlf!reader synopsis: abby is lost in her need for revenge. you are lost in your need to take care of her even when it hurts.

You don’t know why you still wait for her. Abby never comes home anymore, and if she does, it’s only so that you’ll stitch her wounds. Maybe it’s because it’s your birthday, and you have this silly sort of hope that perhaps your girlfriend will care. Maybe it’s because, despite it all, you love her and worry like hell that one day, she won’t come back. Or, worse, she’ll come back in need of more fixing than you’re capable of. 

Maybe it’s just because you want to fight with her, which is really the only way you get to talk to her at all anymore. 

It’s nearly dawn when Abby walks through the door to your shared room. You’ve been staring at the same light reflected from the stadium all night. You’re exhausted, and your shift in the medical tent starts in a few hours and you have only been able to come up with one explanation as to why this keeps happening: she doesn’t love you anymore. Or she doesn’t love you enough. 

And yet you pad to the kitchenette without looking at her as soon as you hear her unsteady gait. She’s hurt again. You’ll fix it again. 

Abby pauses, surprised to see you emerge from the couch instead of your bed in the corner. “Have you been waiting up again?”

A nod is all you can give her, especially when her voice fills with pity — because how sad is it that you are still here, clinging on to whatever pieces of her there are left?

It’s been this way for a few years now. You sat with her through the grief of her dad. Joined the WLF together. You thought it would be good for her to focus on this new regime, but then she started skipping breakfast to work out. Started volunteering for every single patrol she could. Started searching for the man who killed her father with a new, eerie hardness about her.

You return to the couch with the first aid kit, and she sits on the coffee table with a wince and a sigh. Her clothes smell like rain, blood, and sweat, and when you turn the small lamp on, you find that those things have mingled to create a sheen over her face and body. 

“Scars or Infected?” The cut on her arm, which she holds out to you, would suggest scars, but what would you know anymore? As long as there are no bites, you guess it doesn't much matter.

“Scars.”

“Is this it? Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

She barely flinches when you clean the wound with gauze and anti-bacterial. “No, nowhere else. Think I sprained my wrist in training, though.”

Her hand falls into yours, callouses rubbing against your palms, and you twist gently to see the faint bruise and swelling across the joint. Her fingernails are crusted in dirt and blood.

When you don’t reply, she frowns. “Everything okay?”

Honestly, you’re surprised she notices. “Hm.” 

She blinks, unconvinced. "I didn’t ask you to wait up.” 

“And yet I did.” You don’t know how you maintain your composure. Maybe you’ve given up, too. Your voice sounds flat enough that it’s a possibility, even if there’s a thousand knives in your stomach. Your motions are robotic as you prepare the needle and thread, ready to stitch up the gash marring her muscular, freckled arms. 

Abby leans her elbow on her knee, scoffing like you’re being pathetic. You think maybe she has begun to despise your presence in her life. Unlike Owen and the others, you haven’t gone along with all this like it’s normal. She’s become more killer than ever before, mowing down Scars like it’s second nature. There is no time for you, but there is always time for weight training and fighting. 

If you cared about her less, you might have thrown down the kit then. Told her to stitch her own damn wounds up. But you’re not like her. You can’t switch it off. 

She scours the room while you work, knitting her skin back together just so she can tear it to shreds again in the morning. A pointless exercise, but the only one you get to do with her. Her eyes snag on a bottle of wine on the breakfast counter. “Where’d you get that?”

“Sophie.” Another WLF medic — one who remembered. 

Abby’s eyes narrow. “Should I be worried that another woman’s getting my girl gifts?”

“Not if it’s your girl’s birthday. I think it’s sort of just tradition in that instance.”

Abby freezes. And maybe you dig the needle into her flesh a tad harder this time, pull the sutures a tad tighter. 

“Shit,” she says. “I… You should have reminded me.”

“Didn’t remind Sophie,” you can’t help but retort sourly. 

Her jaw clenches. “Baby…”

“I’m going to have this conversation with you once more, and then never again,” you warn. “I can’t keep talking to a brick wall.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, braid sloping over her hunched shoulders. “I know I’m busy right now. We don’t get to spend much time together. I swear, once this is over, once I kill Joel, everything will go back to the way it was.”

“I don’t think it will. I think you’ve forgotten how to sit still.” And then, because it’s four a.m. and you’ve been sitting alone with your thoughts for too many hours, you admit what you’ve been too afraid to. “I think you’ve forgotten how to love me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know that isn’t true.”

You snip the thread and bandage up the stitched wound, still so calm. Calmer than she deserves, probably. Maybe being a doctor is as instinctive to you as killing is to her. 

When you don’t look at her, she tilts your chin, pleading. “I love you. But until I take this guy out, I can’t focus on anything else.”

“It’s been years, Abs. You’ve let it take over your life.”

“Yeah, because he murdered my dad,” she bites out. 

“He murdered a lot of people’s dads.” You’ll never forget the bloodbath that Joel Miller caused. And yes, you want him dead to, but not if it means losing everything you are. Not if it means losing her to wrath. 

“And, what, we should just let him get away with it so that we have more time for birthday cake?” Abby pushes off her thighs to stand up, seeming to forget about her strained wrist all at once. “In that case, maybe you’re right. Maybe I have forgotten how to love you. Because the woman I fell for wouldn’t let something like this fucking go. And she wouldn’t sit here, asking me to stop.”

Your blood runs cold. Still, you pack up your first aid kit. Still, you force breaths in and out, steady, practiced. “I didn’t ask you to do anything. I know better than to try.”

“But you’re looking at me like I’m wrong. Like I’m sick. I’m not sick. I’m angry.”

“I’m angry, too.” You pluck the wine off the counter and unscrew it, taking a long swig. Fuck your shift, and fuck this conversation. You wasted your birthday waiting, but you’re done with that. It’s bitter, tart, and not at all pleasant. 

“We’re not doing this now. I’m going to bed.” Abby kicks off her boots and heads to her bunk, leaving you to stare back into that reflection again. The stadium is slowly waking up outside your room as night shifts end. It is so, so lonely that you want to run out and scream. 

“Okay. Guess I’ll get my next five-minute slot with you this time tomorrow, then.” 

She angrily unbuckles her belt and slaps it down on the floor. “You’re being an ass. Y’know, I was excited to come home and tell you that I got a fucking lead today.”

“That’s really nice. I was excited for you to come home, too, to tell me happy birthday. But I guess it’s on me for not reminding you.”

The sound she makes is mangled and bitter as she peels off her cargo pants and damp shirt. The light bounces off the planes of her back, casting shadows in the dips of her shoulders. She is so beautiful. And you understand why she’s changed. You do. You just don’t know where you belong in her world anymore. 

It’s enough to make you want to cry, so you wander to the kitchenette and pretend to be interested in the sink as Abby slides under the duvet. Your hands shake, finally, as you wash the blood from them. 

You sniffle, trapping a sob between your teeth. You can’t do this anymore. She doesn’t hear you, doesn’t see you. 

Except maybe she does, because a soft hand is suddenly on your shoulder. “Don’t cry. Please don’t fucking cry.”

Of course, that makes you cry harder. She pulls you into her chest, your back still pressed to her stomach, forearm braced tightly around your waist. Her nose grazes the nape of your neck as she shushes you gently, and there she is. The woman you love. Is this what it takes to get her to notice you?

“Come to bed, baby,” Abby begs. 

You don’t want to. Don’t want to fall asleep next to her knowing it’s all a lie. 

Abby sighs, breath fanning across your skin as you try to get your breathing under control. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I forgot your birthday. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll spend the day in bed tomorrow. You can take a sick day, and I’ll milk the wrist sprain, and it’ll be like it used to be.” 

It won’t. It never will be. But you want so bad for it to be true that you let her tug you to bed, let her tuck the duvet over you both and play with your hair. She peppers your neck and cheek in kisses, lips drying your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” she says over and over. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You bury your head in her bare chest, lids falling shut. “I’m just worried I’ll lose you to this need for revenge.”

“You won't. You won't lose me.”

“I want you to do what you need to move on, but you’re never here, Abs.”

“I know.” She pauses, tracing shapes over your spine. “Just let me chase this lead, okay? I have to. I can’t put it to rest.”

“What if you get hurt?”

“Then I have you to patch me up.”

“I mean hurt enough you can’t come back from it.” Your voice shakes. “You get so focused on the anger that I think you forget you’re not invincible.”

“I know. I get it. I do. Please, baby, just a little longer. I can’t do it without you.”

When her voice is this soft, you’ll agree to anything, so even though it kills you, and even though it isn’t true, you nod. 

Abby places a final kiss in your hair and whispers that she loves you. You fall asleep thinking she might mean it.

Only, come morning, she’s gone. And tonight, you will do it all again. Every night until one of you is finally ready to give up.

[alloftheimagines]

more noir abby

[alloftheimagines]

thinking about abby having a medic girlfriend who is always patching her injuries up after patrols & reminding her to take it fucking easy. and then what if abby pushes her workouts too hard when she’s sick or what if the love of her life wants so badly to keep up with her that she ends up exhausted????? what then???????? what if abby is so so hellbent on getting big and strong for the sake of revenge that she becomes unrecognisable. that the anger she feels for joel and her desperation to seek justice is damaging her and their relationship!!!????

fine I will write it