modern!young!ambessa x curvy!best friend!reader. men & minors dni.
synopsis: ambessa has always been your best friend, and you hers—one half of a duo everyone envies. but it turns out she’ll take any chance to remind you that no one else gets to have you.
cw: straight smut bro i'm ovulating real bad, power dynamics, homoerotic friendships, rich girl bullshit, pining, sexually explicit content, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex, face riding, impact play, dom/sub, brat!reader, brat tamer!ambessa, dom!ambessa, praise kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sex, accidental voyeurism (she eats you out while you're on the phone with a date), possible infidelity? may be up to interpretation, insane sexual tension, kinda hate sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clit play, humiliation kink, reader is black-coded but everyone can read!
notes: i have nothing to say for myself. enjoy. love you.
the problem with the medarda heiress is that she’s allowed to want you, but you are not allowed to want her. if you do, you’ve upset something delicate and impossible to rebalance. you’ve leaned too hard into it, and she’ll punish you for the weight. it was an invisible rule, but enforced with brutal consistency. you, and anyone else she ever deigned to touch, had to understand this law to be allowed inside the thicketed, thorn-laced garden of her lioness heart.
you were strategic. played it smart. tied yourself to her not through confession but through proximity. best friendship. a safe zone, or something close enough to perform as one. still, the world you built together had curdled into something sticky. mutated by a strain of possession that could only belong to two bright, beautiful, brilliant young girls, padded by old money and too many afternoons with nowhere to be.
you never talked about it, but you both knew: the relationship had grown elevated beyond all else. separate. sacred. whatever existed between you was observed with more affection than most marriages.
she had your coffee order filed away in the notes of your contact card. you had her credit cards sitting untouched in your apple wallet, every limit obscene. you did her makeup when she was afraid to try something new and needed someone who wouldn’t laugh if it all went wrong. her hands hugged the lunar curves of your hips as she measured you for brands you rarely purchased from. urged you to yield to instructions such as stand still while her thumbs pressed deliciously just below your hipbones.
you knew each other best, which meant you hurt each other best.
when she was displeased with you, she would excise you silently. you’d wake to an instagram feed newly glittering with crowds of people who would ask about the reason you hadn’t been there with rehearsed innocence. in return, you would still celebrate her birthday, but with less respect than owed. show up late. deliver a gift just generic enough to imply you’d forgotten, a last-minute grab from a boutique near the venue. it would make her lips go thin and bloodless at the head of the dinner table, her eyes going flat with insult.
ambessa would follow this with digging her nails into your thigh until she drew both blood and your sharp gasp of pain, and then look over sweetly. her face would enact a perfect collapse, a slow crumple, her face folding into the perfect picture of saccharine concern.
“jesus, [name],” she’d whisper, a hand on your knee, locs twisted up like a debutante. “are you alright?”
only you could see the violence behind it. it matched your own.
later, to get back at her, you’d lock her out in the cold and text her to call in a favor at the ritz. you’d fall asleep sprawled across your shared bed, cheek pressed to her pillow, her scent making something claw in your chest.
but the worst, the thing that really got her, was when you went on dates. she despised it. viscerally, illogically.
she’d watch you get ready from the edge of your bed like a housecat preparing to pounce, her long limbs sprawled out in quiet threat. her eyes would follow your reflection in the mirror as you applied gloss and tucked that evening’s pair of earrings into the soft swell of your earlobe. when you reached for your heels, she'd tug the hem of your dress like she was helping, but always, always popped off a bead or caught a thread.
you’d swat her hand away.
“bessa. stop.”
she’d just blink, slowly and unreadably. “i’m only fixing it.”
you’d kick at her ankle, not gently. she’d wince, delicately performative. it made you feel better, even though both of you knew she could break you in half if she wanted.
she just never did.
she always waited up.
never slouched. never drowsy. only still. it was like a meditation brought on by jealousy that coiled with nowhere to strike.
ambessa kept the suite dim, lit only by the golden hush of a single lamp and the spill of city lights leering through the windows. she sat poised in one of the chaises like she’d been born there, legs crossed, one hand rubbing idly at her temple as she looked over internship applications. her silk robe was belted in a way that suggested absentmindedness. but with ambessa, nothing ever was.
your entrance was deliberate. you’d come late, always sitting by yourself at the table for a few extra minutes just to strengthen the wound. as you walked in, she looked up, eyes glossy but sharp as if she hadn’t blinked while you were gone.
your heels hung from your fingers, limp and thoughtless, betraying nothing of the two thousand dollars they’d cost, you had played it risky, had decided to engage with what your mother once called “the wisdom of a whore”. the outfit was an electric blue, comprised of a candalously tight, micro-skirt and a matching beaded tube top that did nothing to hide the hardness of your nipples.
your hips swayed like a dare. your hair was teased large and soft, fragrant with something tropical and warm, the kind of scent that would linger kindly along bedsheets and a shirt collar. your lip combo was smudged from the sips of the apple martinis you’d ordered, the liquor a toxic green highball. it had felt threatening every single time a sip went down. your teeth bit into your bottom lip, white still gleaming. your edges were immaculate, barely curled.
you looked expensive. you were sure to taste somewhat like trouble. and she abhorred it.
you hadn't even liked the guy, but you liked his effect. it was cruel, but cruelty was the only language you spoke fluently when ambessa got like this.
her eyes crawled over you. slow. bladed. her fingers twitched, and she covered them with the lip of her robe, anxious to keep her emotions unrevealed.
“well?” she said.
you blinked. set your purse on the counter like you hadn't noticed her watching. “well, what?”
her lip curled, delicate and venomous. but then, “did you—did you have fun?”
her voice seemed to get smaller by the end, but you caught the subtle narrowing of her eyes.
you laughed. couldn’t help it. the act was borderline insane. insanely her. you dropped your heels, letting one tumble toward the couch.
“you’re so upset,” you murmured, the sound almost fond.
ambessa stood. “i am not.”
“bessa,” you said, ensuring that you sounded the right side of disappointed. “i thought we agreed to never lie to each other.”
“please,” she scoffed. you smiled wider. you began to move again.
her eyes tracked you, slow and precise, a predator unbothered by the illusion of prey. she waited until you leaned against the island in the kitchen, fiddling with a glass like you might pour yourself water. you didn’t.
then, low and syrupy, “what’d you drink tonight?”
you smirked without turning. “why?”
“i’d like to know what to order if i go there.”
she’d never go there.
you glanced over your shoulder, smiling sharply.
“if you want to know what’s been in my mouth, then come and find out.”
she slipped over like a shadow, walked unrushed and barefoot. her robe parted just enough to flash well-lotioned skin and the flex of lean muscle. her nails were painted a deep oxblood. she didn’t raise her voice when she stopped in front of you, her height even more pronounced in the throes of her possession, but her mouth was hard.
her gaze dropped: first to your gloss-slick mouth, then the dip of your collarbone, then lower still. with it went the last of her mask. her voice grew high and tight.
“did he touch you here?” she asked, reaching out. her fingers hovered. “or was he too busy trying not to cum in his pants the second you sat down?”
you sucked in a breath, heat climbing up the back of your neck.
“you sound jealous,” you said.
“i think you want me to be,” she countered. you had no answer to that.
goosebumps lit up along your arms. you were still warm from dinner, still sticky from the club, but something about ambessa always made you feel brand-new.
she stepped closer. her hand landed heavy on your hip, fingers sinking in. she wanted you to remember just how bruiseable your body was. her thumb brushed under the edge of your skirt. a threat of a touch.
“did he kiss you?” she whispered, like it would kill her to hear it.
“of course not,” you lied, soft and immediate. you licked along the faded edges of your lip liner.
ambessa smiled. not kindly.
“that’s too bad,” she said. it was so fucking hot that she didn’t mean it.
“did he touch my things?” she asked. her fingers ghosted the curve beneath your top, just under the tight squeeze of your left breast. “put his mouth here?”
“nope,” you answered, popping the ‘p’.
she moved to your hip. “here?”
your breath hitched. you shook your head, slowly. still lying.
“what about here?” her hand slipped behind you, tugged up the hem of your micro-skirt until the under-crease of your ass met the cool air. one finger traced the waistband of your thong. “this was twisted when you walked in. that’s not like you.”
you didn’t answer. your glossed lips just parted slightly, as if something invisible had just struck you. ambessa tilted her head.
“i’ll fix it,” she murmured, voice thick and poisonous. “you know how i hate mess.”
she adjusted the strap of your underwear with surgical precision. the backs of her knuckles grazed the softest part of your skin. she made sure to dip downward, drag a fingertip against your clit just to feel it twitch.
you didn’t flinch. you couldn’t flinch. then you’d lose.
finally, she stepped back, just barely.
“and what did you have to eat?” she asked, her rounds of questions cinching tighter against your throat with every turn.
you gave a half-shrug, cheeky. “whatever he was paying for.”
ambessa leaned in. she studied you, breath warm across your cheek, and then cupped your chin. with low eyes, she bit at your lip until they opened and then slid her tongue in to make it a proper kiss. she sucked and lapped at you, curling all around the wetness of your mouth and humming with pleasure when you tried to kiss her back.
then she broke the connection, lips almost engorged red from the tension.
you stood there, stunned. her taste now lived on your lips. your pulse lived in your throat.
“well.” she shrugged, casual. “sounds like it was all very unexciting. shall we go to bed?”
she shouldered past you, unconcerned whether you followed.
ambessa didn’t look up from where she was sitting on the bed, not even when you slipped into the bathroom. you left the door cracked, half-inviting her to watch the undressing of you, but she didn’t give you an inch. it was almost worse, that stillness again. how could she withhold and perform perfect patience while her jealousy dirtied her blood?
you brushed your teeth, wiped your face clean of the night, undid your top like it meant nothing, and re-entered the bedroom in just your strapless bra and thong. you tried not to rush. you knew she was waiting for only a second of displayed desperation.
the air was cooler when you stepped out. low lights spilled across the floor from the floating led light bar above the bed. her robe had been abandoned, and her legs were crossed with the intention underneath the scarlet sheer of her babydoll.
with a stifled sigh of annoyance, you moved toward the dresser to grab your pajamas. but your phone lit up before you could, its thin body vibrating with an incoming call on the bed. it lay there, ringing in suspense of your answer. you squinted and rose on your tiptoes to read the caller id.
[date’s name.]
ambessa’s eyes found it at the same time yours did. she didn’t say anything, but she shut the cover of her ipad case decisively. her gaze lifted to you with the languid, expectant delight of someone about to flip a switch.
“answer it,” she said, voice so even that you knew she must be boiling inside. it wasn’t a request.
your hand hovered. “bessa."
she tilted her head. “you were so sure of yourself earlier. why the hesitation now?”
you sighed, picked it up. “hey,” you greeted, light and airy, as if your best friend wasn’t boring a hole into the side of your head. you were suddenly so aware of your lack of clothing.
ambessa slid off the side of the bed and moved behind you, steps quiet and intentional. she didn’t touch you yet. only looked.
“uh, yeah, i made it home fine,” you said into the phone, forcing a little buyoncy into your voice. “no, it’s cool, i had a great time.”
her hand ghosted over your waist. her fingertips, at first. you turned a fraction of an inch, a subtle warning in your glance. but she wasn’t interested in warnings tonight. she was tuned into her own thing.
you felt the full flatness of her palm, warm and calloused against the small of your back, and then, without further preamble, she pushed you down. you fell with a gasp of surprise, your chest hitting the plush of the mattress and your legs splaying across the cool sheets.
“shit, sorry! i’m fine,” you said, responding to the sudden concern of the man on the other end of the line. “just tripped.”
you went to twist over your shoulder, but were stopped by a firm hand on the nape of your neck. you froze. this was new. you had no plan for this. carefully, ambessa dragged your hips up until you were in a suitable arch with your ass spilling around the baby pink lace of your thong.
“hold still,” she murmured, lips barely brushing the shell of your ear, “and keep talking.”
you fought to keep your breath even as she bent and placed a heated kiss against your shoulder, sliding further down to tattoo one against your back. her palm flattened over your ass, sliding up and under to grasp at your lower belly. her fingers splayed wide, her mouth finding that soft place between your neck and collarbone.
the graze of her teeth made you moan, which you then tried to transform into a weak excuse for a yawn.
“no, i’m not tired. just—” your voice hitched. she dragged her hand downward, slow as silk through a ring. you felt her tug up the front of your thong, so that your lips bulged obscenely around the rim of the fabric.
your free hand clenched in the duvet.
“‘m just getting ready for bed,” you lied. or maybe not. maybe this was exactly how it always went with ambessa; submission didn’t look like a loss. you wanted to obey.
the call continued as she dragged the thong away from you, the graze of lace lighting up every nerve. she left it down around your knees, bringing both hands up to spread you wide and dirty. she gazed silently at the bubblegum pink gape of your body, eyes catching the sloppy drip of your pussy as it pulsed open, messy and glistening, your cream leaking onto the sheets with every shaky breath you took.
“such a pretty girl,” she whispered. you heard the rustle of her sliding to her knees. “keep talking or i’ll make you give him a play-by-play.”
she swung herself around so that she could slide under you, hands coming up to clutch at your thighs. you managed to mute the call as she pulled you down, just in time for the wide stripe of her tongue to meet the throbbing heat of your cunt.
“ohhh fuck, babe,” you groaned, your body falling flush against her mouth. “yeah, holy shit, bessa. right there. please.”
ambessa suctioned her mouth around your clit, suckling and then pulling off with an unnecessary slurp that you knew was done only to make you shiver with embarrassment.
“put it on speaker.”
then she was back to burying her face inside of you.
you hesitated. she noticed. she always noticed. her tongue slowed just enough to make it a punishment.
“bessa, i don’t—”
she pulled back, breath damp against your skin. “i said, put it on speaker.”
you fumbled with the phone, thumb slick as you pressed the icon and heard his voice flare through the room. he was still talking. something dumb. something you didn’t care about.
ambessa hummed, pleased. the vibration traveled straight through your spine.
“hello?” came the tinny voice, tentative now. “you there?”
ambessa hummed again, this time laughing at both of you, and your whole body jolted. you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying not to make a sound, trying not to cum.
“uh-huh,” you said, voice thin and cracking as you ground down into her mouth. “no, i’m—yeah, just—yeah—yeah. shit. um, sorry. thought i dropped the call.”
underneath you, ambessa smiled.
“is this a bad time? ‘cause i can call back.” it was a shame he was sweet.
ambessa tapped your ass lightly. then sank her teeth into your thigh, not enough to mark, but enough to warn. then she went back in like she had nothing to lose. well, she didn’t. you did.
hands gripping your ass, she tugged you even lower, lips messy, tongue insistent. you could feel her breath, hot and damp, every time she moaned low, just to rattle you from the inside out.
“you watching something?” your date asked, and you nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see you for a moment.
“yeah, sorry! i always have something on in the, unh, background while i do my routine.”
he laughed, filing away your distraction as some cute, quirky fantasy. a far more innocent categorization than the situation deserved. “nah, i get it.”
you tried to focus on the call, tried to nod along to whatever the hell he was saying, something about “doing this again,” “seeing you soon.”
ambessa refused to let up. she devoured you, alternating between firm, unrelenting strokes and soft kisses that felt like taunts. you could hear the slick echo of it, each pull and suck wet enough to shame you. and it was all happening on his time. you weren’t yours right now.
you bit your knuckle, shuddering.
she moaned like you were the one doing something to her, then gripped the backs of your thighs and pulled you further down, spreading you open with no mercy. her tongue lapped deliberately, each movement messier, filthier, designed to make you flinch like a liar under a spotlight. you could hear the wetness now. you prayed he couldn’t.
her nose pressed in. her mouth devoured. it wasn’t sweet. it was starved.
“i’d like that,” you said hoarsely. “tonight was so good. you’re so good.”
“oh, it’s like that?” your date replied, voice dipping with misplaced pleasure. this was not about him right now.
ambessa pulled back just long enough to whisper, lips glossy. she spread your lips wide, watched you clench around the emptiness. her chin was glazed with the drool of your need. “but not as good as this, right?”
then she flattened her tongue and drew a line so slow it made your knees buckle. when she grazed your swollen clit with her teeth you whimpered, far too loud. there was a pause on the other end.
“you okay?” he asked, voice laced with confusion now. “you sound a little more than distracted.”
“yeah,” you breathed, forcing a laugh. “swear. just exhausted. you know. long day.”
ambessa pulled your clit back into her mouth like she wanted to keep it, and your body betrayed you with its shivering and arching. she didn’t stop. she didn’t want you to be quiet. she wanted the performance. wanted him to hear you choke on a lie while she tore the truth out of your body.
you grabbed the edge of the headboard with one hand, the phone shaking in the other as you began to bounce. you needed it to end, needed the focus to ride the fuck out of her face.
she squeezed your ass, giggling to herself as she slapped it and you covered your mouth as your brain whited out.
“hey, look, do you want me to call back? i can let you enjoy your show in peace,” your date offered, tone unassuming and teasing.
ambessa pulled away only long enough to murmur, “answer him, baby. or i’ll do something that’ll make you.”
“no! no, that’s okay. i wanna—i wanna keep talking.”
he said something else, his tone pleased. you couldn’t even hear it, because ambessa was saying something too. between sucks. between strokes.
“look at you, mama. do you want to cum for me?”
she didn’t wait for an answer. she slid two fingers in, knuckles deep, while her mouth returned to your clit like it belonged to her and no one else. you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, tried to focus on breathing.
“you want to cum for me, right? not him. we can keep him on the phone if you want. let him here how nasty this pussy is.” she pressed open mouth kisses to your cunt as she said it, using two fingers to spread your folds as she made out with it. she slid her tongue in, french kissing it like she’d done in the kitchen before this. “it’s okay, baby girl. i’m feeling generous. let him hear what he’ll never have.”
you slapped a hand over your mouth. your eyes rolled back. the phone slipped from your fingers and hit the bed with a soft thud, still on. still listening.
“oh shit, baby, fuck. i—oh my fucking god, bessa.” you moaned, rolling your hips faster.
“yeah?” she said, uncaring of her volume now. she smiled viciously at the thought of the way that man must be feeling. “you feel good? you like it when i put my mouth on you? come on, use your words for me.”
“yeah. i, mmm, i love—i love it. love it when you eat my pussy. ‘s so good. so fucking good.”
you were bouncing vigourously now, ass slightly clapping against her chin. she didn’t mind, only guided you further into her mouth and whined into you. you were dripping, dribbling all over her face, even slipping down her neck. she reached up, brought the phone closer.
the squelch of your pussy was obscene, your walls gummy and tightening around her every time she tried to leave. she drove her fingers deeper inside of you, relishing in the way you squealed and tossed your head back. you fumbled with the band of your bra, finally getting it undone and allowed your tits to fall perky and full into your hands. you pinched your nipples, swiveling delicately as you felt that syrupy heat begin to rise.
ambessa didn’t slow. didn't pause. she held. kept you split open, held down, fingers buried, mouth sealed over you with a precision that felt cruel. her eyes never left your face.
you screamed as you sprayed, thighs snapping shut around her face as you shook and curled inward. the world fell away, your brain tumbling into the searing bliss of an orgasm that was ripping something out of you. your voice pitched high, trembling, frantic, sweet enough to haunt someone for life. then it fell into a vocal blend of three parts: sob, slurred praise, utter disbelief.
the phone was still on, the call still connected. there was silence first. then:
“…what the fuck,” he said, voice hesitant as if he didn’t want to believe what he heard. “what the fuck, [name]?”
ambessa didn’t even glance at the phone. she just kept going, alternating between fucking and kissing against your mess, tongue soft now, lapping it all up like she was savoring victory. you whined, tried to pull back, too sensitive. she didn’t let you.
“uh-uh. you can give me another one, pretty girl. i know you want to.”
she made you ride it out, whimpering, breath stuttering against your lungs, throat closing as her tongue still worked slow, torturous circles through the oversensitivity. another cry ripped out of you, lower this time. she chased every twitch and tremble, drank from you like she was feeding.
the line crackled.
“can you not hear me? because i can hear you. i’m still on the fucking phone with you! you’re fucking—what the fuck is this?”
you couldn't even respond. you were still pulsing, convulsing, twitching in her hands. she pressed her mouth against your thigh like a signature. then, with the most obscene casualness, she reached for the phone and brought it to her lips, their fullness still soaked and shining with your release.
she didn’t rush, her hand rubbing a warm circle across your back as you fell into her. she pressed a kiss to your shoulder and then said, voice soaked clean through with honey,
“wrong number, maybe.”
then she hung up.
you collapsed forward, gasping into the pillow, body wrung out and wet and glowing like a fever. ambessa crawled up behind you, mouth still damp with you, and kissed the back of your neck like she was about to tuck you into bed.
“good girl,” she whispered.
then she bit you, hard enough to leave a mark. her hands slid up the backs of your thighs, sliding between them to spread you back apart and rub a thumb against your nerve-shot pussy.
“you want me to fill you up, sweeheart?” she murmured. “tell me, and i’ll go get it. make you feel full.”
“fuck you,” you breathed. then, “yes, please.”
ambessa’s laugh curled around you like smoke. one arm draped heavy over your waist, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
Contents: short Drabble, sevika x reader, no use of YN, pure fluff!!!!
“What are we naming our new puppy!?
“We’re not getting a damn puppy”
This back and forth has been going on for hours days.
Sevika is adamant that you aren’t adopt a dog, but you’re even more persistent.
“Okay but think about it, imagine having a little companion following you around everywhere” pleading with her is like talking to a wall
“I already have you to do that” she lets out a huff.
“Hey!” Gently slapping her shoulder.
“I’m sorry angel, but we aren’t getting a dog” rolling your eyes you sit up from the couch.
“We’ll see about that”
Two days later
“Baby? Sorry to wake you but there’s someone at the door asking for you”
Slightly cracking your heavy eyes open to see your girlfriend standing in the doorway.
“Who?”
“Didn’t say a name”
Reluctantly swinging your legs from under your bed and planting your feet on the cold floor, you trudge towards the door.
Your girlfriend earning a glare from you since she interrupted your dream.
Instead of seeing somebody at the door, an opened cardboard box sits atop the kitchen counter, a small shuffling sound comes from the inside.
“Sev?” Questioning suspiciously.
“Go look inside” her hand gently comes to your back, slightly pushing you forwards.
Taking slow steps, you finally see it.
“Sev!! You didn’t!”
A tiny black and white husky lies in the box, curled into the corner.
Her big hands rest on your hips from behind you, pressing her body to you and gently kissing your head.
Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill.
The husky starts to wake up, its big blue eyes meeting yours.
“do you like her?”
You’re in love
It’s been two months since you first met your baby, now she rules you and Sevika.
It took you weeks to think of a name that’s suits her dramatic personality, but you eventually landed on honey.
Now you’re pretty sure Sevika loves honey more than you, the dog she didn’t want has now become her baby.
The door clicks shuts, stepping inside your home after work only to not find honey running up to you and begging for attention. Instead the soft warm glow of a couple candles sit atop the kitchen counter, and silence fills the air.
Walking towards your bedroom, you hear soft snores.
Gently pushing the bedroom door open you see honey, lying on top of Sevikas chest.
Am I going insane? I have been hearing Abby Anderson and Sevika voices in my head... I think I might either me schizophrenic or something else idk... I need to stop daydreaming.
Hey guys... I am honestly disturbed today. I have came across a Twitter account who ships Vi and jinx.... The bitch blocked me because I cussed her out. Then I came a page from somebody with a r@pe and inc3st fetish/kink....I cussed her out too. And the shit she was posting was about women with 4 year old like under wear on... And a grown man touching them... When I tried to explain to her how wrong that shit is. She told me that I must've "secretly like it" and it "turned me on". Ok, I will admit. I do like kinky shit, but it's the default kink, and all consensual. I get angry REALLY quickly at disgusting people.
With the 'vijinx' account... She had the NERVE to post TWELVE year old powder, with TWENTY THREE year old Violet. Talking about some sexual shit.... Ma'am... THAT IS A CHILD. The bitch fucking blocked me. She better have because I would've went off on her discombobulated ass, and the joelellie ship, or whatever the fuck the name is. People are honestly disgusting... Even if the aren't related. First of all, y'all are saying that a grown man, is attracted to a 14 year old... And that they were doing the devil's tango... Do y'all realize... That, she could probably die from that? SHE'S FOURTEEN. Her uterus isn't even fully developed... So I just wanna say... Some people are just.. Not meant to be on earth... But bye guys...
Did Abby even like her body? I think about it alot.. did she like working out? Or did she lay with her muscles sore every night curled into herself softly crying for her father? I think about it a lot actually. I wonder if when she found out Owen was with Mel if she looked at her self in the mirror and was torn between her body.
i think her body was a manifestation of her anger and her overall mindset in the years following her father's death. yes, she's strong and her body had offered her privileges in the wlf as isaac's top scar killer as well as raw power in terms of combat. but ultimately, i see it as a constant reminder of her being a weapon for isaac and a weapon to destroy joel. and i think that's why she hadn't cut off her hair or change her braids. her physique was a reminder of what she lost while her hairstyle was a reminder of her time with her dad.
that's why abby's situation after the rattlers was another level of heartbreak. she lost her muscles in an inorganic way, meaning she'd gained another reminder of something tragic in her life (she didn't let go of the monster she became, it was forcibly taken from her and replaced with an even bigger scar). at the same time, she lost her long hair, something that held memories for her dad.
i think abby's arc wasn't just about redemption; for me, it's to showcase how dehumanized she was in the audience's eyes, and how she was humanized after going through a traumatic experience.
our first introduction of abby was her killing a beloved character, so most audience would see her as a monster. despite showing her background story, it's hard for most people to empathize with her because between her dad and joel, it was joel that people loved. therefore, she was demonized for her decision to go after him. but then we were shown at the last part of the game an abby that was different from the monster we knew—stripped off of her power and muscles, weak and gaunt and abused. this time, with the silhouette of the monster gone, we were now seeing abby in a new light; that after everything, she's just as human as ellie. maybe that's why (for me) it was really painful to watch her and ellie's last fight scene; it was so different from the one at the theater where they're both at their peak. during the santa barbara fight, they were both at the edge of dying, fighting with desperation and borderline self-destructiveness.
abby's physique, untimately, served as probably the most crucial storytelling device for her arc. because: 1) it showed us insights of what she was going through with her time at wlf after her father died; 2) it highlighted her parallels with ellie (the way they deal with emotions, as well as their character arcs).
it's another reason why abby shouldn't be portrayed in anything other than the hulking, muscled being at her peak. because her physique is literally that important to her overall character development.
Hey there! I just want to let you know that I accidentally reported your account when I meant to report someone else. It was a mistake and I hope it didn’t cause any issues. Message me if you want to see the ticket I received from tumblr can't send you a message I don't know why
Oh hey! Everything is totally fine. You're ok. No worries. 😁
annaxmalina
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