The Last Of Us 2 Abby Sex Scene
Okay, so picture this: I'm absolutely wrecked. Not emotionally, not yet. Physically. I've just spent like, three solid hours wrestling with a particularly stubborn IKEA cabinet. You know the drill. Diagrams that look like ancient hieroglyphs, screws that have a mind of their own, and that nagging feeling you've put something in backwards. My hands are sore, my back is protesting, and I'm pretty sure I inhaled enough particle board dust to qualify as a sentient dust bunny. I collapse onto the sofa, victorious but exhausted, and my brain is just… fuzz. Utterly, gloriously fuzzy. And that, my friends, is precisely the state my brain was in after experiencing that scene in The Last of Us Part II. You know the one. The one that launched a thousand debates, a million think pieces, and probably a few nervous breakdowns.
We're talking, of course, about the intimate scene between Abby and Lev. Yeah. That one. The one that had some folks flinging their controllers, others whispering in awe, and a significant chunk of the internet declaring it the literal end of days for video games. And honestly, when it first happened, my immediate reaction was… confusion. Not in a "what is going on?!" way, but in a "wait, this is what all the fuss is about?" kind of way. Because, and I'm going to be brutally honest here, in the grand scheme of The Last of Us Part II's narrative – a narrative that’s already about as subtle as a brick through a window – this particular moment felt… surprisingly understated. Almost tender, even. Which, for a game that revels in its own brutal, unflinching depiction of violence and trauma, was a bit of a curveball, wasn't it?
See, for so many people, this scene became the linchpin of their entire critique of Abby. The straw that broke the camel's back. The moment where they decided, "Nope, I'm out. This is just gratuitous. This is pandering. This is… wrong." And I get it, I really do. We’re conditioned, aren’t we? By decades of media that often sexualizes or reduces female characters to their appearances or their romantic relationships. We’re used to seeing intimacy portrayed in very specific, often male-gaze-driven ways. And Abby, well, she’s not exactly built like your typical video game protagonist. She’s powerful, she’s muscular, she’s a warrior. And then we see her in this moment of vulnerability, of connection, and for some, it just didn't compute. It felt… unearned, maybe? Or just plain weird.
But here’s where my IKEA-induced fuzziness actually comes in handy, because sometimes, when your brain is slightly dulled, you can see things a little more clearly, stripped of the immediate emotional baggage. And what I saw, beyond all the discourse and the outrage, was simply a moment of human connection in a world that has systematically stripped humanity away from almost everyone. Abby, who has endured so much loss, so much rage, so much violence, finds a flicker of something else. Something quiet. Something that isn't about survival or revenge.
Let’s talk about Lev for a second, because he’s the other half of this equation, and his journey in Part II is just as complex, if not more so in certain ways. He’s navigating his own identity, his own place in a world that’s inherently hostile to anyone who doesn’t conform. He’s lost his family, he’s struggling with his faith, and he’s a child. A child soldier, essentially, thrust into unimaginable horrors. And in Abby, despite all their differences, he finds… acceptance? Safety? A strange kind of mentor, perhaps, but also, eventually, a companion. Someone who doesn’t judge him for who he is, or who he’s trying to be.
And the scene itself, if we’re being blunt, is not explicit. It’s not graphic. It’s… implied. It’s about the quiet intimacy after the storm, the shared breath, the comfort found in another human presence. It’s about what happens when the fighting stops, even for a fleeting moment. And that’s where I think a lot of the controversy really lies. Because it challenges our expectations of what a “hero” or even a “villain” can be. It asks us to see the person beneath the actions, even when those actions are abhorrent.
Think about it: we’ve spent hours with Joel and Ellie, witnessing their pain, their growth, their relationships. We’ve seen Ellie’s first tentative steps into romance with Dina. We’ve seen Joel’s paternal love. These are foundational to our understanding of the game. And then, suddenly, we’re thrust into Abby’s narrative, and she’s… complicated. She does terrible things. She makes terrible choices. And many of us were not ready for that. We wanted to hate her, to dismiss her as a one-dimensional antagonist. But Naughty Dog, bless their twisted little hearts, refused to let us off that easily.
So, when we get to that scene, it’s not just about Abby and Lev. It’s about the game itself forcing us to confront our own biases. It’s about challenging the idea that characters, especially female characters, exist solely for our titillation or as plot devices. It’s about showing that even in the darkest, most brutal circumstances, humans still crave connection, still seek solace, still experience intimacy. And that intimacy can be quiet, it can be awkward, it can be unexpected, and it can be deeply human.
![Series [Please do NOT post any spoilers] - Season VI | Page 305](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMmU1ZDg2MmEtNDY1OC00MDA1LWI3YTAtYzI0NGI4MTg1OTRkXkEyXkFqcGc@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg)
I mean, has anyone else noticed how many people latched onto the physicality of Abby? "She's too muscular," they'd say. "It's not realistic," or worse, "It's just… not sexy." And again, my brain, still recovering from my furniture-building ordeal, just sort of blinked. Why is that the first thing people focus on? Is it because our brains are so wired to expect a certain type of female body in media? Is it a subconscious discomfort with female strength that isn't being presented in a traditionally feminine way? It’s a question that lingers, isn’t it?
The scene doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s a culmination of their shared experiences. They’ve been through hell and back together. They’ve relied on each other for survival. There’s a trust that’s been built, brick by agonizing brick. And in that moment, after all the death and destruction, they find a small, quiet space where they can just… be. Without the weight of the world on their shoulders. Without the constant threat of death.
And the irony of it all is that in their desperate attempt to make Abby a villain, to reject her narrative, some people inadvertently highlighted the very things the game was trying to explore. They focused on a moment of vulnerability, a moment of quiet humanity, and used it as proof of her “unnaturalness” or her “disgusting” nature. Which, if you think about it, is kind of… sad? It’s a testament to how deeply ingrained certain societal expectations are, even within the context of a fictional post-apocalyptic world.
Is it a perfect scene? For some, no. For others, absolutely. And for me? It’s a scene that’s worth talking about, not because of the shock value or the controversy, but because it forces us to ask questions. Questions about character, about representation, about our own expectations of the media we consume. It’s a scene that reminds us that even when characters do unspeakable things, they are still, at their core, complex beings grappling with the messy, uncomfortable realities of life, love, and survival.
And ultimately, isn't that what makes The Last of Us Part II so compelling, so divisive, and so unforgettable? It’s not afraid to make us uncomfortable. It’s not afraid to challenge our perceptions. It throws curveballs, it asks difficult questions, and it doesn’t always provide easy answers. And in that one quiet, intimate moment between Abby and Lev, I think it managed to do all of that, and then some. So, next time you're wrestling with a particularly stubborn piece of furniture and your brain is suitably fuzzy, maybe take a moment to reflect. Sometimes, the most profound moments are the ones that are whispered, not shouted. And sometimes, those moments, even in the bleakest of worlds, are the ones that truly remind us of what it means to be human. Or, you know, to survive. Either way, it’s a lot to chew on. Just like that particle board dust. Yuck.