HBO’s adaptation and Naughty Dog’s original games are brutal. Everyone knows that. We talk about the fungal infections, the clickers, and the moral ambiguity of Joel Miller until we're blue in the face. But there is a specific, often uncomfortable tension that surrounds The Last of Us sex scenes, particularly the one involving Abby and Owen in Part II. It wasn't just a moment of intimacy; it was a flashpoint for one of the biggest culture wars in gaming history.
People got angry. Really angry.
If you spent any time on Reddit or Twitter back in 2020, you saw the leaks. You saw the vitriol. But if we actually look at how Neil Druckmann and Halley Gross wrote these moments, it becomes clear they weren't aiming for titillation. They were aiming for something much more desperate. In a world where you could be disemboweled by a Bloater at any second, sex becomes a frantic, messy attempt to feel human again. It's rarely about love. Honestly, it's usually about grief.
Breaking Down the Abby and Owen Controversy
The scene between Abby Anderson and Owen Moore in The Last of Us Part II is arguably the most talked-about sexual encounter in triple-A gaming. Why? Because it broke the "rules" of how games usually handle these things. Most games—think The Witcher or Mass Effect—treat sex as a reward for completing a quest line. It’s polished. It’s cinematic. It’s meant to be attractive.
Abby and Owen’s encounter was the opposite.
It was sweaty, awkward, and occurred in a cramped, dimly lit boat. It happened while Owen was expecting a child with another woman, Mel. It wasn't "fan service." It was a betrayal of character and a moment of extreme vulnerability for a woman who spent years turning her body into a literal weapon. Players weren't supposed to find it "hot." They were supposed to find it complicated.
Laura Bailey, the voice and performance capture artist for Abby, has spoken at length about the intensity of filming these scenes. The goal wasn't to create a "sex scene" in the traditional sense, but to show two people who were spiraling. Owen was disillusioned with the Washington Liberation Front (WLF). Abby was hollowed out by her revenge against Joel. They were clinging to each other because everything else was falling apart.
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The Technical Reality of Performance Capture
Creating The Last of Us sex sequences required an incredible amount of technical coordination. It isn’t just two actors in a booth. They are wearing tight suits covered in reflective markers. They have cameras strapped to their heads to capture every micro-expression.
Naughty Dog used a technique called "mocap" (motion capture) but it’s actually "pocap" (performance capture) because it includes the face. To make these scenes feel real, the developers had to ensure the skin deformation looked natural. When one character touches another, the flesh has to react. If it looks like plastic, the emotional weight is gone. It just becomes "uncanny valley" territory.
The Quiet Intimacy of Ellie and Dina
Contrast the Abby/Owen boat scene with Ellie and Dina. Their relationship is the heartbeat of Part II. It starts in a basement in Jackson, surrounded by weed plants and old records. It's tender. It’s the kind of intimacy that feels like a reprieve from the snow and the death outside.
When we talk about The Last of Us sex, we have to acknowledge that the game treats Ellie’s sexuality as a non-issue within the community of Jackson. It’s just who she is. The "Take on Me" sequence—while not a sex scene—sets the stage for the physical intimacy that follows. It builds a foundation of genuine affection.
This makes the later scenes in the farmhouse both beautiful and tragic. By the time they are living together, the physical closeness has shifted. It’s no longer about new discovery; it’s about comfort. But that comfort is haunted by Ellie’s PTSD. You see it in her eyes. Even when she’s holding Dina, she’s not entirely there. She’s back in that basement in Seattle. She’s hearing the wet thud of a golf club.
Why the HBO Show Handled It Differently
The Last of Us on HBO had to navigate these waters with a different lens. Television has a long history of "sexposition" (thanks, Game of Thrones), but Craig Mazin and Neil Druckmann took a more restrained approach.
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In the first season, the focus was almost entirely on the platonic, father-daughter bond between Joel and Ellie. We see glimpses of Joel’s past life with Sarah, but the show stays away from overt sexual content for the main cast. Instead, it uses "Long, Long Time"—the Bill and Frank episode—to explore intimacy.
That episode is a masterclass. It shows that in the post-apocalypse, the most radical act isn't killing a zombie; it's growing a strawberry for someone you love. It’s aging together. The physical intimacy between Bill (Nick Offerman) and Frank (Murray Bartlett) was portrayed with a dignity that is rare in any medium, let alone a "video game show." It wasn't there to shock. It was there to show what was worth saving in a dying world.
The Viral Backlash and the "Body Type" Debate
We can't talk about this topic without addressing the elephant in the room: the criticism of Abby's physique. A large portion of the internet's reaction to The Last of Us sex scenes was rooted in a refusal to accept Abby’s body as "realistic."
People claimed a woman couldn't look like that in an apocalypse. They were wrong.
The developers based Abby’s body on Colleen Fotsch, a professional CrossFit athlete. The WLF had a massive stadium with professional-grade gym equipment and a steady supply of burritos (protein). The backlash was less about "realism" and more about how Abby didn't fit the traditional mold of a female character meant for the "male gaze." When the sex scene happened, that anger boiled over.
It’s a fascinating case study in how players react when a game refuses to cater to their desires. Naughty Dog didn't care if you found the scene "arousing." They wanted you to feel the weight of these characters' mistakes.
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Actionable Insights for Players and Creators
Understanding the role of intimacy in dark narratives helps us appreciate the storytelling on a deeper level. If you're a writer or a gamer looking to understand why these scenes landed the way they did, consider these points:
- Context is King: Sex in The Last of Us is never a standalone "event." It is always a consequence of a previous trauma or a desperate reaction to a current threat.
- Vulnerability over Visuals: The most effective scenes are the ones where characters look the most "human"—meaning they look tired, scared, or flawed.
- Subverting Expectations: By making the Abby/Owen scene intentionally uncomfortable, Naughty Dog forced the player to engage with the characters as people, not just avatars.
If you're playing through the series again, pay attention to the lighting and the sound design in these moments. The ambient noise—the rain on the roof, the creak of the boat, the distant wind—is often louder than the characters themselves. It reminds us that the world is always pressing in.
The physical acts are just a temporary shield against the inevitable. Whether it's the tender love of Bill and Frank or the destructive impulse of Abby and Owen, these moments are what separate the survivors from the monsters. They are the proof that despite the Cordyceps, there is still something left to lose.
To truly understand the narrative weight, look back at the cinematic transitions. Notice how the game often cuts from a moment of intense violence to a moment of quiet reflection or intimacy. That juxtaposition is the "secret sauce" of the franchise. It keeps the player off-balance. It makes the horror feel worse because you know the beauty that's being destroyed.
Moving forward, expect more games to follow this "precedent of discomfort." The days of sex being a simple mini-game or a "collectible" are fading. We're entering an era where virtual intimacy is as messy, complicated, and fraught with consequence as the real thing. That's not a bad thing. It's just more honest.