Tlou 2 - Blog Posts

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! 🤍

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

she’s literally the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen in my entire life and i’m not even exaggerating.

photo from abbystanaccount ᡣ𐭩

she looks so beautiful i can’t

black nail polish, rock star Abby

when doves cry, do you hear them love?

summary. first fragment of your youth. cw. fluff? no, we only know angst over here, blood, guns, character death. you're thirteen here. wc. 1,992 cr. color code from elliesproperty on tumblr. notes. Sorry this took so long, my pc is still tweaking and crashing so often i got so pissed, i started tearing up bro. Anyway, at first this chapter was gonna have three flashbacks in this, which all three were going to be long asl I can just tell, but I thought separating them would be best, didn't wanna make you guys wait too long for this lol. I had a lot of fun writing about the reader in this chapter. I’m just going with the flow with this series tbh, I'm very new to this, this being my first ever series lol we’ll see how it goes. Ty to my sweet anons for the motivation, and I hope future chapters live up to your guys' expectations!! 01 / 02 / AO3

YEAR 2033. Dust built up through the passage of time had caked in the crevices of the wall's base moldings. Lavender-colored wallpaper torn, tattered, and riddled with bullets. Turning your gaze forward, four mangled infected corpses, toppled over each other, lay at the end of the hallway, filling the stale air of the abandoned apartment building with its offensive foul odor. Nature slithered and had made its way through the massive crater in the ceiling above the bodies, swallowing up most of the walls. The floorboard creaked and whined underneath their body weight, shoes leaving water trails in their stead. Overlapped sounds of wet, urgent footsteps, deep guttural groans, and the fast beating of your heart drumming against your eardrums only contributed to increasing your adrenaline. “Hold him–hold him for me.” An exhausted voice shifts your focus to your older sister, who's aiding in holding up the muscular man. Sticky sweat trickles down your throat and forehead, and thickened dirt is underneath your nails.

You nod your head, his weight pressing a bit harder down onto your smaller body, when she slowly removes herself from him. You pointed out your strength in keeping him upright when she moved away. Her head tilts slightly to be at your level briefly, and her eyebags are more prominent. “I have to see if this room is safe for us.” She muttered. Turning her back to face you, she unsheathes her pistol from the leather holster strapped to her thigh, holding it firmly in her dominant hand. She steps up to the door and opens it enough for it to be ajar. Her aim, guided by the wooden door, eyes examining every inch revealed to her the more she opened the door past the threshold.

She quickly glances back at you and your uncle, giving herself only a second before she finally pushes the door wide, her shoes falling and shifting with purpose around the apartment's brown wooden floor. The small kitchen on the right had a few cabinets and drawers open, seemingly void of any valuables. The living room beside it had a dark grey knit blanket settled below the wooden coffee table, peeking out from underneath, and the wooden bookcase on the left side of the door had books of different genres and interesting topics. You watched as she faded further into the apartment, your eyebrows knit together, vaguely tilting your head on the left occasionally to take in the environment being thoroughly investigated by your sister. 

A choked curse rumbling close to your right ear and the firm hold on your left shoulder tightening made you blink to look up at your uncle, his body in a state worse than yours. A puddle of blood that’d spread was soaked up by the gauze wrapped around his lower left abdomen, and shared sweat invaded your nostrils. “Uncle..” You whisper to him, anxiety etched into every fiber of your being. Witnessing your only father figure suffering tore your heart apart. “‘S alright, sweetheart.” His voice and demeanor, which you’ve known to be assertive and fearless, dimmed dramatically to being strained and fatigued. The hold you had on his waist grew tighter after he said that, left hand rising to tenderly plant itself on top of his rough hand that grasped your shoulder.

Shoes stepping on wooden flooring rose in volume, and the pleasing sight of your sister reappearing at the front door. “Everything’s good. Come on, I got you.” Softly-spoken, but the underlying stress upon her profoundly resonated between the three of you like an echo chamber as you all stumbled and groaned, leading him to the end of the hallway in the apartment, past the small kitchen and living room, into the disorganized bedroom. Its wide window displayed the afternoon view of the ransacked, vacant city riddled with rustic vehicles and grass overtaking the streets that were once a quarantine zone orchestrated by the military. It was sealed shut, and droplets of rain collided against the glass.

You both carefully lay your uncle down onto the messy mattress, your sister tilting her upper body a little, slim hands roughened from the difficult trials of the life they live now move to softly wipe the sweat trickling down his cheek, alongside the stray strand of hair out of its regular place. “I’m sorry, Uncle– I..” She lowers her head, staring at her shoes before sealing her eyes shut, and the bottom of her lip quivers. There was desperation in staggering her emotions at this detrimental time, fighting to stay strong for both of you. 

Your stare faltered as you watched your sister struggle, vision blurring as the hot sensation of tears ran down your cheeks. “This was never your fault..” She didn’t say anything, only nodding her head in response before reluctantly stepping away, her gaze skipping from him to stare off at the window. “I need to get going.” She walks out of the bedroom with haste, leaving the door wide open. Fear sharp as the tip of a needle courses through you. “Going where?” You blurted out, your body moving without question to follow her out of the bedroom door to stop her in the living room. “That Pharmacy we came across,” She sniffles harshly, shaking her head. “I need to see if there could be anything there that can help Uncle.”

Your mouth opened and closed, unfiltered doubt had overtaken your expression.

She falters. “I don’t know if I have the strength to do what I think I need to do.” She hiccups, moving in to wrap you into a firm hug, a strong wave of sweat invades their senses. “Leaving him here feels wrong– leaving you alone too– I don’t know anymore, I..” Words come tumbling out of her mouth, you return the hug tenfold, desperate to give her reassurance that she can rely on you too, she doesn’t need to hold all of the extreme weight of responsibility on her shoulders on her lonesome. After a moment, you pull away a little. “...I can do it. I’ll wait for you.” Staring up to meet her eyes.

A beat. 

“...Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can, maybe I'll find some food as well, alright?” She pulls you back into that tight hug, chin resting on the top of your head. After seconds of silence, she steps away to walk out the front door, and the click and slam of the door shutting echoes in your skull. You went to reassure your uncle about where your older sister went, even when he vaguely nodded, you could tell he also disagreed and was just as worried. After all that, you searched the kitchen, finding only a box of crackers in the bottom cabinet. That had pretty much nothing inside except for seven crackers wrapped in white plastic, hunger coursed through you as soon as your eyes even landed on it, snatching it before walking over to the bookcase next to the front door. Thick dust covered the shelves and books. Genres: Horror, Comedy, Romance, Animals… Animals? Hell yeah!

The corners of your lips quirked as you picked out the book from the bookshelf, particles bursting in front of your face when the books next to it slid down a little, quickly stepping away with a grimace on your face, you moved to plop down onto the couch. With your left hand, you open the book. On the first page, imagery of horses of different breeds intrigued you, and black text described their origins. Moving past that, the next page was of owls. Chowing down on the stale crackers you put on top of your thighs, leaving five crackers left on purpose. Minutes passing you by. Sleep came slamming down on you, like taking a dose of Xylazine, strong, undefeatable to even a horse. You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but your body needed and begged for rest.

Shuffling and loud, abrupt cluttering snapped your slumber.

Your slouched position quickly shot up, neck cranking to look behind you, staring at the hallway with wide eyes. The sounds in the bedroom paused, its door still wide open. Your hands moved silently to remove the book and crackers off of your thighs and onto the wooden coffee table, standing up to your full height, your mouth was left ajar, eyeing the shadow moving on the floor at the end of the hallway, tension in your bones rising when your fingertips inch to your pistol in your back pocket. Praying.

You whisper, hoping that you can prove yourself wrong, so that it'll dispel the dread that's gradually emerging. “Uncle?” Irregular thudding arose once again, a boot unsteadily stepping onto the shadow, moaning in pain, gasping noises were the first sounds you heard from him. “No, no, no, no.” Shaking your head, you can feel your body reacting– that overwhelming emotion of sorrow that your sister briefly described, that’d make your bottom lip quiver and vision blur, opposed to your wishes. 

Blinking them away, upholding the pistol the way he taught you, the sight of what was once your Uncle was replaced with a man who lost his humanity—a shell of his former self. His body movement was lethargic and so erratic that it made you shudder.

And when his glazed-over irises landed on you, he lurched into a feral run, startling you into action. “No, please!” Boots stomping on wooden flooring was blaringly loud to your eardrums, your poor heart racing miles per hour. 

BANG.

Stomach.

He’s still coming.

BANG.

Chest.

He’s trying to crawl over the couch.

BANG!

Head.

His body toppled over when the bullet penetrated his skull, body falling forward– you couldn’t move fast enough, his corpse landing on you, gravity and his heavyweight were too much, your back slammed down onto the wooden coffee table with immense force, breaking it in half, crushing the crackers, and the thick book you were reading dug into your upper back, but none of it compared to your mental distress. His blood leaked from the bullet hole in his forehead, dripping down onto your face. Your hands frantically pushing his shoulders upwards, but pitifully failing in getting him off of you. Breathing came in quick bursts, coughing, and sobs were all that accompanied you in the apartment’s silence; you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, acid welling up in your throat. You feel disgusting.

Dragging yourself from underneath his body as an alternative, wood chips pressed into the palms of your hands, moving to sit up while doing so, sliding back until your back hit the TV stand. You brought your knees up to your chest. “I’m sorry, Uncle! I’m sorry!” Squeals and sobs shredded your vocal cords, the back of your hands carelessly rubbed at your eyes over and over again, the waterfalls of tears were endless, chest hiccuping, ears ringing, ribcage closing in on your heart like a vignette effect, and the deep ache spread across your upper back.

The more you cried to yourself, the more you began to feel isolated. Not knowing if your sister is still alive, or if she went and abandoned you instead. Just the thought of being deserted by her made you bawl your eyes out harder, sclera’s red, snot bubbling and trickling onto your lips only to be wiped away. 

Click.

Crawling forward with haste, teeth gritting, fingertips grazing the pistol’s grip–

A light gasp stopped you.

A second after you looked up, catching a glimpse of her, she was already on you, kneeling to your level, left hand wrapping around your upper back, right hand cradling your head. 

“Oh, Y/n..” Whispered, tearful apologies spilled from her lips, gently swaying both of you left to right. You hold her tight, you can’t envision yourself being detached from her hip now. After you both somewhat regained your composure, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, facing what you had done. 

What you were forced to do.