Latest Posts by jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw - Page 3

❦ abigail anderson; beauty, brains AND brawn

chess, lit fic novels, classical music. she’s such a lowkey nerd, it’s adorable. a beautiful brainiac with an intense workout schedule- what’s not to love?

“i hate abby” do not come to my town. do not come.

abby fic- becoming a parent with you

. ݁₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ . ݁₊ ⊹

soft!abby / wholesome!abby / mommy!abby | modern au

this will be pt1 of a short series so bear with me! ᡣ𐭩 pt2 is here

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The apartment is dim, the only light coming from my desk lamp left on low. We were lying on my twin bed, facing each other under a shared blanket that barely fits two. Abby's arm is tucked under my pillow, close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin across the space between us, though neither has reached out yet.

It's quiet-one of those heavy, still silences that doesn't feel awkward. Just full. I’ve been watching Abby's eyes shift softly between me and the ceiling. She's been thinking too much. She always does, when it's this late.

I shift slightly, resting my cheek on her hand, my voice barely more than a breath. "Did you ever want kids?"

Abby blinks. Her brow tightens just slightly— enough for me to worry I’ve overstepped.

But Abby doesn't deflect. She just lets the quiet stretch out longer, like she's really thinking about it.

"I don't know," Abby finally says, voice low and flat in the way it gets when she's feeling something but doesn't want to admit it yet. "I never really let myself think about it." Her eyes shift to meet mine. "It never felt like something I could picture."

I nod, slow. "I don't think I did either," I say. "Still don't, most days. I just... wondered if that's something you ever saw for yourself. Or not."

Abby's mouth twitches at the corner-almost a smile, almost a wince. "I don't think I ever saw anything for myself," she admits, eyes softening. "Not until recently."

She doesn't say it. But I hear it in the pause. In the way Abby's gaze flickers to my lips, then back up to my eyes.

There's a beat of stillness, heavy with something unsaid. My heart thumps, and my hand shifts between us, resting near Abby's wrist. Not touching. Just close enough.

Abby turns toward me a little more. Her voice is softer now. "If I ever did want that... anything close to that... it'd have to be with someone like you."

I swallow around the lump in my throat and give a small nod. My fingers graze Abby's wrist, lingering just enough. "Okay," I whisper, barely audible. "That's good to know."

We don't say anything else. We don't have to.

Abby shifts an inch closer, enough for our foreheads to rest together, and closes her eyes. It's not a declaration. It's just a beginning.

── .✦·········────

The visit had gone well — better than either of us expected, really.

Our friends from college, a couple who had always felt a little older than the rest of the group, had just had their first baby a few months ago.

I squealed the second I saw the tiny thing wrapped in a patterned swaddle, and Abby, who normally looked like she could carry a fridge without breaking a sweat, held the infant with surprisingly practiced gentleness.

Abby had gone a little quiet during the visit, but not in a bad way. Just... watching. Observing. Taking it all in. I had watched her watching — the way she cradled the baby without hesitation, the way she grinned when the baby grabbed her finger in those impossibly small hands, the way she had instinctively swayed when standing, like she'd done it a hundred times before.

On the walk home, my hand slipped into Abby's. It was cold outside, but Abby's palms, as always, ran warm. "She really liked you," I said, nudging her shoulder. "You're a natural."

Abby gave a small shrug, cheeks a little pink from the cold - or maybe something else.

𓂃₊

Back at the apartment, we kicked off our shoes and flopped onto the couch, Miso curling between us in a warm little loaf. For a while, it was just quiet — the kind of silence we didn't need to fill — until I broke it, my voice tentative.

"Did it... feel weird to you?" I asked. "Being there?"

Abby shifted slightly. "Not weird. Just... different. Familiar in a way that kind of caught me off guard."

I nodded, running my fingers gently over Miso's back. "I always thought I wouldn't want that," I said. "I think part of me still feels scared of the idea. Of not being ready. Of messing something up. But when you were holding her, and you smiled like that..." My voice trailed off. "I don't know. It made me think about it. Like, really think about it."

Abby leaned her head back against the couch cushion, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I used to imagine it, sometimes. Just in passing. What it'd be like, if l ever got to have a family. But it always felt distant — something l'd be good at, sure, but not something l'd actually want. I didn’t see it for myself." She turned to face me. "But… then you showed up. And now we have a cat who thinks she owns the world, and I wake up every day wanting to take care of you. So yeah... I think I could want that. With you. You make me want things I didn't think I'd ever want." She exhaled, with the smallest smile.

My chest fluttered - not just from the words, but the way she said them. Carefully. Earnestly.

"I don't need it to be right now. I don't even know how we'd do it. But I realized something. I don't want a kid — I want your kid. I want to build something that's part of you. I want to see you holding them, and think, 'That's my whole world in one room!" She swallowed. "It's terrifying. But it feels right. You feel right."

I didn't say anything for a long moment. My book slid closed in my lap. "You really mean that?" I asked softly. "You're not just saying it?" I blinked at her, my eyes a little shiny now.

Abby nodded, leaning forward, brushing her fingers over my knee. "I mean it."

A small, wobbly breath left my lungs, like something inside me had been waiting a long time to hear those words. I scooted closer, curling into Abby's side, one hand resting over her heart. "I didn't think I wanted it either," I whispered. "But with you... I think l've been wanting it for a while now. I just didn't want to want it, because it felt impossible. And because I didn't want to want it with anyone else but you."

I smiled, and after a moment, leaned in and kissed her softly. Miso meowed indignantly between us, and we both laughed, breaking the tension. Abby tugged me close again, wrapping me up in the warmth she always carried like it belonged to both of us.

"Not now. Not soon. But... someday." I whispered into her shoulder.

"Someday sounds perfect," Abby murmured, kissing the top of my head, her arm wrapped around me tightly. "We've got time. We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," I breathed, my face tucked against Abby's shoulder. "We always do."

We sat like that for awhile - just holding each other, letting the idea settle between us. No pressure. No timelines. Just the beginning of a shared future, quiet and full of possibilities. It wasn't a plan yet. It wasn't concrete. But for the first time, we let ourselves imagine it- together.

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It started one night in the kitchen — not with a serious conversation, not with any grand declaration. Barefoot, sweatpants, standing at the counter flipping through a magazine.

Miso was perched on the windowsill, tail flicking, watching something only she could see. Abby stood at the stove, cooking dinner, sleeves rolled up and brow furrowed in concentration.

"You ever think about how we'd actually do it?" I asked casually, still reading. "If we ever had a kid, I mean."

Abby didn't look away from the pan. "Like logistically?"

"Yeah."

A pause. The sound of sizzling onions. Then Abby turned the burner down and finally looked over, a brow raised. "Is this hypothetical curiosity, or are you saying we should start looking into it?"

I shrugged, cheeks pink. "Maybe a little of both."

Abby set the spatula down and leaned back against the counter beside me. "Alright," she said slowly, wiping her hands on a towel. “Let’s say it’s not hypothetical.”

I looked up at her with wide eyes, so much gentleness held in the question I hadn't fully asked yet. "I want to know our options," I said. "If or when we get there."

Abby nodded. "Okay. So we research. See what feels right."

We spent the next week here and there reading articles and bookmarking sites, curled up on the couch in the evenings with one laptop balanced between us and Miso tucked between our knees. Some of it was confusing- charts and acronyms, costs and success rates- but some of it felt surprisingly grounding. Like planning a life, piece by piece.

But there were quieter, sweeter moments too. Abby's hand resting on my thigh as we read. Me gently brushing Abby’s hair behind her ear. The soft wonder in our eyes when we talked about what a child might be like.

We didn't make any decisions right away. It wasn't that kind of conversation. It was just the beginning of a path being cleared- slowly, thoughtfully. Something we could return to again and again, shaping it over time.

Later that night, as we were getting ready for bed, I stood by the sink, brushing my teeth. Abby came up behind me, arms sliding around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.

"You'd be a really good mom," Abby said softly, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

My eyes flicked to her reflection, surprised at first — then softening into something deep, something fond. I turned slightly to rest my forehead against Abby's. "You too."

Abby smiled, that shy, earnest one I loved. "Guess we'll figure it out together."

"Yeah," I whispered. "We will."

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pt2 is now here :)

uh...abby in a sleep gown anyone? ૮꒰˶>ᴗ<˶꒱ა♡⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

lowkey throbbing at her nipples!!...

my favorite girl ever

i love the way you write abby! you're an incredible writer! i love that you often note the soft, gentle side of her that we see in the game! just because she's protective and muscular does not mean that she doesn't want to be cuddled! she's such a sweetheart!!! i wanna give her so many kisses

this is the sweetest thing ever, thank you so much lovey 🤍 i’m cleansing the abby tl one post at a time, i’m so tired of seeing her soft, gentle side be diminished. she’s protective because she cares, being muscular does not mean she doesn’t have feelings and would be mean to you! she’s the sweetest baby and she deserves all the love

an analysis on how abby growing up without a mom shaped who she is and her perception of femininity:

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Growing up without a mother meant her understanding of femininity, softness, and nurture came from absence. Without a maternal influence, she didn't have a guiding figure for emotional softness, or a role model for how to navigate vulnerability, especially in relationships. There was no one to show her how to be girly, no mother-daughter traditions, no one to teach her about motherhood. She probably doesn't even know her mother's favorite color or the sound of her laugh.

I don’t think it was something she resented, but it left an emptiness that Abby didn't quite know how to fill. She didn't have the maternal warmth or lessons that could help shape her understanding of her femininity or intimacy. Instead, her father's presence was both comforting and limiting, keeping her grounded but also confining her to a role she took on with no real guidance beyond her own instincts. Jerry did his best, but he wasn't necessarily equipped to teach her how to be delicate or to guide her through a nuanced understanding of herself as a woman.

Her dad was a gentle man, but also a bit carefree, often embarking on spontaneous adventures, leaving Abby to pick up the pieces and keep things running smoothly. She had to be responsible, mature beyond her years, and quickly became someone her father could rely on in ways that were far more profound than the typical parent-child dynamic. Abby had to grow into a caretaker role at a young age, though it came naturally to her, given that she was so deeply tied to her father's wellbeing. She still carried the weight of managing the practicalities of life in a way he didn't always feel compelled to. Because it was just the two of them, Abby's dad became her entire world - her role model, her compass, her constant. She inherited his pragmatism, his quiet humor, his hands-on way of showing love. But being raised by a single father meant Abby had to figure out her emotional world on her own. He was present, and loving, but not always expressive.

✮ This shaped how Abby expresses love: quietly, through action. Through showing up. Through fixing things, carrying the heavy load, remembering how you take your tea. Not because it was taught— but because it's how she learned to care.

Her relationship with femininity is self-defined. Without a maternal influence, Abby had to define her identity as a woman on her own terms. She doesn't perform femininity in conventional ways — and never felt pressured to. There was no one telling her to wear dresses or play with dolls, so she gravitated toward what felt good in her body. Sports. Climbing trees. Strength training.

Now, she finds beauty in the unexpected. She's not traditionally "girly," but she notices the details. She admires curves, softness, the kind of woman who owns her space — not because Abby feels lacking, but because she values what she didn't grow up around. It also makes her protective — of people who move through the world vulnerably, who offer gentleness without armor. She has a quiet reverence for that, like it's sacred. It made her pay close attention to the women around her. It's why she has so much respect for quiet strength, for softness that's chosen and not expected. She notices the small ways women hold space for each other — in friendship, in tenderness, in care — and sometimes finds herself wondering: Would my mom have done that? Would she have held my face in her hands when I cried?

Abby had to figure out a lot on her own, and she learned to keep most of her struggles to herself, fearing that her vulnerability might be too much for others to handle. There are parts of Abby she struggles to articulate because she never had the words growing up. It's why she turns to writing sometimes, and gets quiet when conversations shift too emotional too fast. Her grief isn't loud— it's woven into the fabric of who she is.

And yet, with the right person, she'd slowly find ways to let someone in. To speak about the silence. To share that old photograph. To admit, one night under the stars, "I don't know much about her... but I think you would've liked her. And I think she would've liked you, too."

In a partner, Abby would find someone who could teach her things her father couldn't, someone to balance out her tendencies to be over responsible and always holding things together. Offering Abby a softer, more emotionally open way to be, showing her that it was okay to sometimes not have all the answers, to let go of the burden of always being the one in control. A way for Abby to experience and understand the tenderness she had missed out on from her mother, forcing Abby to confront aspects of herself she had always kept at arm's length. Abby could begin to see herself differently, not just as the strong, reliable one, but as someone worthy of emotional care and tenderness, too once she allows herself to trust someone enough to soften.

wholesome / soft!abby learning how to do things simply because she loves you. (modern au) ✿

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It was late, just past midnight and the apartment had gone still. You had gone to bed an hour ago, after gently insisting Abby didn't need to stay up finishing the laundry.

But Abby had stayed up anyway.

Not because of laundry.

Because earlier that evening, while brushing your hair out after a shower, you had said offhandedly,

"I've always wanted to learn how to do a proper French braid, but I can never get the hand placement right."

You hadn't meant it as a request. Just one of those things people say when they're sleepy and relaxed, idly untangling their hair in the glow of lamplight.

But it had stuck in Abby's chest in that quiet, persistent way things did when they mattered.

And now she was sitting on the living room rug, her laptop open in front of her, a tutorial video paused on a smiling woman holding a mannequin head.

Abby's fingers were wrapped awkwardly around a sad-looking practice braid made from yarn she'd pulled out of an old craft box. Her brows were knit together in deep focus.

"Under, over... no-under again? Shit."

She rewound the video, watching the woman's hands again. Her own hands were big, too clumsy, and this yarn was too slippery, but she was determined. You deserved something soft.

Something delicate. Something that said, I listen. I care. I want to do this for you.

Eventually, after the third or fourth video and countless redos, she got the rhythm. Her fingers started to move with more confidence, more grace.

It still wasn't perfect, but it looked like something.

Like effort. Like love.

She stared down at the wonky braid, a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

A shadow appeared in the hallway- you, sleepy and wrapped in a blanket, blinking at the light.

"Abs? What are you doing?"

Abby froze. "I-nothing. Go back to bed."

You pad closer, crouching beside her and squinting at the yarn.

"..Is that a braid?"

Abby rubbed the back of her neck, sheepish. "I was... practicing. You said you never learned, so l thought-maybe I could. So I can do it for you."

You stared at her for a beat too long, eyes glassy with the kind of affection that makes your chest ache.

Then you leaned forward and kissed her-soft, sleepy, so full of warmth it almost hurt.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured against Abby's lips.

𓂃₊ ⊹

Later that same week, you walked into the living room to find Abby half-inside the laundry closet, surrounded by the scattered innards of the dryer.

"Should I be worried?" you asked, setting your keys down.

Abby's voice echoed from inside the machine.

"Only mildly. It was making that squeaky noise again. I watched like, five repair videos. I think it's just the belt."

You squint at her. "You hate mechanical stuff."

"Yeah, well. You said you hate calling repair guys even more." Abby slid out, grease smudged across her cheek. "Figured I'd try."

You crossed your arms, trying not to smile. "I’m starting to think you can fix anything."

Later that night, the dryer spun without a sound, just the hum of warm air and fresh laundry.

There were no grand declarations. No elaborate gestures.

Just glue, orbit wires, a silenced squeaky dryer, and the quiet, steady rhythm of loving someone by showing up - over and over again.

Real world jobs I think Abby could have:

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- Trauma Medicine / Paramedic. Fast-paced, high-stakes, and very hands-on. She's calm under pressure, physically strong, and already has knowledge and training. The intense, high stakes nature of emergency response would match her protective nature and ability to stay composed. Quiet competence, hands steady even when the world is shaking. She’s the friend who instinctively moves into action when someone gets hurt. She'd be incredible in a crisis: calm, efficient, and laser focused. But she might burn out if she never gave herself time to rest.

- Kinesiology / Physical Therapy / Athletic Trainer. She's strong, knows her anatomy, and likely has experience with sports related injuries. It also taps into her caretaking side, helping others rebuild strength and mobility is deeply rewarding for someone who thrives on quiet service. She works out five days a week, knows the body well, and takes pride in that. I can see her offering quiet encouragement and firm guidance. She'd be the kind of trainer who doesn't yell- just gives a firm nod and says "you've got this" in that quiet, grounding way of hers, and people would believe her.

- Firefighter (this one’s my favorite, clearly). It's physical, high stakes, community-focused, and demands a kind of calm in chaos resilience that Abby naturally embodies. She'd thrive in the structure and physical intensity of the job, while quietly being someone her entire unit relies on. She's a protector by nature. Abby doesn't just want to fix problems- she wants to prevent harm. She'd be the one charging into danger without hesitation, not for glory, but because she couldn't live with herself if she didn't. She's built for physical endurance. The training, the heavy gear, the demands- she'd meet them all head on. And her strength would be a source of pride, but also usefulness. She's not muscular for vanity; she wants to be capable. Even though she's quiet, she builds strong bonds with people over time. In a firehouse, she'd earn everyone's respect through consistency and loyalty, and be the one everyone counts on. She needs structure with meaning, a job with routine, clear goals, and tangible impact would give her direction and purpose. Abby probably lives with a constant hum of anxiety under the surface, fear of loss, fear of failure. Firefighting gives her an outlet: a place where fear fuels action, not avoidance. And the image of her coming home exhausted, soot-smudged, muscles aching, and still taking the time to help you wash the dishes or read with you on the couch? Swoon

- Bonus: Veterinary Medicine. She loves animals, has medical training, and is incredibly nurturing under that tough exterior. Helping creatures who can't speak for themselves could feel purposeful for her. She could also be an animal rehabilitation specialist, or even work in wildlife rescue.

── .✦

Abby feels like someone who wouldn't just be capable physically but would also have a deep sense of purpose under the surface. What do you guys think?

"unlikable protagonist" and it's just a woman who's a regular human being with flaws

my personal abby headcanons ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

soft!abby, wholesome!abby, character analysis 𑁤

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⟢ Her favorite color is pretty obviously green, but not just any shade. It would be that deep, lush forest green. The kind that looks almost velvety when the light hits it right. A muted, natural tone, reminiscent of forest foliage or moss after it rains, or the way pine trees look at dusk. Earthy, grounded, alive. It fits her: strong and calm, but also quietly vibrant. It's the color of resilience and growth, things she's learned to nurture in herself. Maybe it reminds her of early morning hikes alone, where the world is still and her mind finally quiets. Or of those summer days when she'd sit outside with a book, before her dad dragged her along on another adventure. It’s nostalgic and rooted in something meaningful.

⟢ Her love language is acts of service, she loves taking care of her partner. She won't say "I love you" outright, and grand romantic gestures aren't her style, but if she cares about you, you'll know by the things she does. She'll fix the door that's been sticking in your apartment without saying a word, leave your favorite snack where you'll find it after a long day, or show up unasked when she knows you're hurting. Her affection is practical, grounded. Rooted in effort and presence rather than sentimentality. She's the type to remember small details you thought she forgot and act on them in meaningful, quiet ways. If she really trusts you, she'll share a part of herself she usually keeps hidden- an old story, a vulnerable thought, softness in her voice. Abby's the kind of person who'll notice you're out of shampoo and restock it without saying a word. She expresses love through actions: cleaning your glasses, packing your lunch, warming up the car on cold mornings. She doesn't make a big deal out of it-it's just who she is.

⟢ I think she would appreciate/prefer curvier women. She’s not afraid of a fuller figure. That preference makes perfect sense for Abby, her physical strength paired with emotional gentleness, and her attraction to contrast and depth. There's something very grounded and emotionally moving about the idea that Abby, with her strong, capable presence and quiet nature, would be drawn to someone with a softer, curvier frame. It adds to that "protector" dynamic she subtly embodies, in a way that balances her. A kind of mutual softening. She would probably admire her partner’s body in the same way she admires a good novel — quiet admiration. Noticing how your body curves when you stretch, the softness in your arms when they're wrapped around her, the strength in your thighs, how soft your stomach is when they're lying in bed. There's something about the combination of a curvier build and emotional openness that would both ground and unravel Abby, like it gives her permission to relax, to be vulnerable, to feel. And maybe she has this quiet pride about it, too. Abby strikes me as someone who finds beauty in the realness of people. Lived-in bodies, strength in softness, comfort in closeness. She loves that your body feels like warmth, like home - and she would never want you to feel anything less than wanted in it.

⟢ Motherhood was never something Abby imagined. Not in the traditional sense. Pregnancy, baby showers, the domesticity of it all—it never felt like her. But caring? Protecting? That's in her bones. She'd be the first to kneel down and fix a kid's scraped knee or teach them how to throw a punch. She doesn't talk about the future often, doesn't dare picture it too vividly-but sometimes, when the world feels quiet, she wonders if she could build something safe. Something like home. Abby never really pictured herself as a mom-not because she doesn't care, but because she never saw a version of it that looked like her. Growing up, “motherhood" felt tied to things she couldn't relate to. Domestic softness, conventional femininity, the assumption that women were supposed to want it. And the idea of pregnancy? That's a hard no. The physical vulnerability, the loss of control-it's not something she wants for her body. But that doesn't mean she's closed off to caregiving. She already lives it in quiet ways. She makes sure her friends get home safe. She bandages cuts without thinking. She checks in when someone's been too quiet, making sure that they eat enough. She's protective, even if she doesn't call it that. “I can barely take care of myself." But if pressed, she'd admit she's not against the idea of raising someone, just unsure if that life fits her. She'd worry she wouldn't be enough. Or worse, that she'd mess them up. She's great with kids but insists she isn't, she’ll deny it every time. Children gravitate toward her calm, steady energy, and she has a soft spot for them (especially the shy ones).

⟢ Abby would naturally switch between dominant and submissive roles depending on the moment. Intimacy isn't about dominance in the traditional sense-it's about trust, safety, and connection. Abby might appear more dominant because of her physicality and presence, but emotionally, she's surprisingly tender and receptive. Sometimes Abby will lead-grounded, steady, protective-and other times, she'll melt under her partner’s touch, especially when initiated with quiet intention. It's fluid, balanced, intuitive.

⟢ She likes to leave love letters and sweet little notes. Words aren't her first language, not when it comes to vulnerability, but when she writes them down, they come out softer, more honest. Writing gives her the space to say what she means without the pressure of getting it perfect on the spot. She can think it through, let the emotions settle, then put them into something real and lasting. It's not constant, Abby won’t shower you with them, but when they come, they feel earned, like a piece of her heart is being offered in this quiet, precious way. She probably tucks them into books or leaves them around your room. A crumpled napkin in your backpack with a half-written poem. A sticky note that says "Drink some water. I mean it." followed by a doodle of a cat face. A slip of paper tucked into your notebook that says "You looked pretty when you laughed today. I didn't know where to put that, so here it is."

⟢ Abby knows the library shelves by memory. The spine worn classics, the quiet fiction no one checks out anymore. She has a dog eared notebook tucked into her backpack where she keeps a running list of titles she wants to find next. Independent bookstores are her soft spot-she lingers in them like they're sanctuaries, trailing her fingers along book spines like they might whisper something to her. She reads like it's the only way she knows how to breathe.

⟢ If you asked her sexuality, she'd shrug. "I like who I like." That's it. No big declarations, no need for clarity. She's comfortable in her skin, comfortable not being boxed in. She's had relationships with men and women, but women are the ones who linger in her memory. The softness, the strength, the complexity. She doesn't overthink it. She just follows what feels right.

⟢ She would gladly read to her partner until they fall asleep. She has a low, steady voice that makes even the most complex writing sound gentle. She'll read aloud while her partner lays curled up against her side, half-listening, half-dozing. Sometimes it's poetry, sometimes it's a dense classic she's re-reading. She never comments when you doze off mid-sentence, she just marks the page and keeps going.

⟢ Abby has no shame when it comes to food. You blink, and half your sandwich is gone. She'll look at you mid-bite and ask, "You were done, right?" She doesn't waste anything, doesn't get weird about sharing and will eat off your plate if you let her. In fact, sharing food is her version of casual intimacy. She doesn't say "I like you" outright, but she'll finish your fries like it's a form of trust. She's the type to finish everyone else's scraps like some human trash can. Can't finish your food? Fork it over. She's not picky and takes all the extra protein she can get. It's a leftover habit from growing up around tight resources-and now, it's just her way.

⟢ I envision abby as being one of those people who's always naturally warm, human furnace vibes, great for snuggling. She’s the kind of person you instinctively lean into on cold mornings, Your hands like icicles until they’re pressed against Abby's back or sliding cold toes under her leg. Abby would groan dramatically, pretending to protest. "You're trying to kill me" — but secretly loves it. She'll complain about it every time, but she always adjusts to make room, letting you burrow into her side like it's the most natural thing in the world. She gets hot easily at night- despite this, somehow she still ends up hogging the blanket every time (canon, see post boat scene). She sleeps sprawled out and somehow tangled in all the bedding. You would wake up practically clinging to the edge of the sheet while Abby's burritoed in the rest of it, looking entirely unbothered and warm as hell. I would tease her about it every time. "You're such a thief." Abby, eyes still closed, grumbling, "No l'm not." "You're literally wrapped in three layers." "Coincidence."

⟢ She gives the best hugs. Not the polite kind. The real kind-the ones that feel like you're being held together. Strong arms, slow breath, maybe even a hand that cups the back of your head if you're really upset. She doesn't hug often, but when she does, it's wholehearted. No half measures. People don't forget them.

⟢ Her and Lev take care of stray cats on Catalina Island in their free time. She's got a soft spot for the ones who don't trust easily. The scarred-up tom that won't come close, the tiny one that hides behind the dumpsters. She leaves food out, builds little shelters when it gets cold, takes the injured ones to the infirmary when no one's looking. The other fireflies joke she and lev have a secret army of alley cats. She pretends to be annoyed, but they’ve named every single one.

⟢ Her dad used to braid her hair when she was younger, now she does it for practicality but also because it reminds her of him. The braid started as a habit. Tight and utilitarian, keeps her hair out of her face when she's working out or running drills. But on some days, the ritual of it feels heavier. She remembers his hands, clumsy but gentle, how he used to say, "Hold still, kiddo, I'm almost done." She doesn't talk about him much, but the braid says everything. It's grief and comfort, muscle memory and love.

⟢ Just for funsies, I think her birthday is in January and she has a: - Capricorn Sun: Abby's grounded, serious, and resilient core. She's hardworking, responsible, and reliable, she probably feels safest when she's doing something useful or taking care of someone else. She values loyalty deeply and is slow to trust but steadfast once she does. Her practicality and stoicism come from here. - Aries Moon: Her inner world is impulsive, intense, and fiercely emotional. She likely feels things very strongly but doesn't always have the tools to express it, leading to her occasional emotional shutdowns or sudden reactions (like anger when scared). This is where her brave, protective nature shines, she'd throw herself into danger without a second thought for someone she loves. It also contributes to her dry, blunt humor. - Cancer Venus: Soft, nurturing, tender. She shows love by taking care of you. Making sure you're fed, walking you home, giving you her jacket in the cold. But she's cautious and slow to open up, protective of her heart. Once in love, she's affectionate in small, meaningful ways. She craves emotional safety and might feel overwhelmed by intense vulnerability, but she's deeply loyal and incredibly gentle with the person she loves.

⟢ She’s terrible at taking compliments, always brushing them off with a scoff or a change of subject, like kindness directed at her is some kind of mistake. She never sees herself the way others do, she’s her own harshest critic, quick to downplay her strengths and dwell on her perceived flaws. But beneath the guarded exterior and the self doubt, there’s a quiet strength and depth to her that few ever get to see. She's also terrible at asking for help. She'll power through illness or injury until someone forces her to rest. When they scold her for not speaking up sooner, Abby just shrugs like, "It wasn't that bad."

⟢ There’s a wall around her, one she built over years of disappointment and betrayal. Getting close to her isn’t just about persistence. It’s about proving, time and time again, that you’re not like the rest. She watches everything, quietly, measuring your every word and action, waiting for the catch. But if you make it past the defenses and show her you’re genuine, patient, and unshakably loyal? She’ll fold you into her world like you’ve always belonged there. And once you’re in, she’s fiercely protective. She’d risk everything for you without a second thought, even if she never says it out loud.

Skin textures, armpit hair, and stretch marks.

From a nerdy gym rat standpoint, this is so cool to experience in a video game.

I haven't personally seen anyone mention Abby's stretch marks before, but forgive me if it's already been discussed to death.

Still, as a person with a similar physique, my own arms etched with stretch marks, I'm so stoked about this.

What a killer detail for an already badass woman.

When Jeff was talking to Callie about how lonely it is to be Shauna's husband I realized that they were showing him doing things /with/ Callie that Shauna was doing in secret without her. Like we see Shauna being creepy in Callie's bed in the pilot and her sleepover with Tai was in Callie's bed too but here we see Jeff actually sitting with Callie in her room, being present. Or instead of stealing her weed to smoke in secret, Jeff decided to smoke with her. it really highlighted how absent and emotionally unavailable Shauna is even when she is home with them.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

stargazing with abby °*•.

i’m convinced abby has a telescope stashed in her room somewhere that she brings up to the roof of the stadium once in awhile. she’s been intrigued by astronomy ever since she found a book on it in the library. she can point out a bunch of constellations and the bigger stars, and her dad probably taught her how to navigate using them. she doesn’t get to do it all that often, but it takes her mind off things and soothes her when she wakes up in the middle of the night from her nightmares. she’d love to share this activity with someone special and point out all the elements of the night sky for them, babbling away like a huge nerd ᡣ𐭩

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

bonus song because this one always reminds me of her. “your freckles lead the way, i trace your constellations”ᡣ𐭩

soft!abby supremacy! she’s the sweetest girl ever

Her hands. Her veins. Her eyes.

Her freckles. Her nose bump. Her muscles.

Ringmaster Scarr :3

ugh i kinda love leah, i wish she had screentime

Leah on patrol for supplies

jackson abby photomodes

i’m gonna die if i don’t get to kiss her

more jackson abby photomodes

jackson abby photomodes

details of ellie’s room (joel’s garage) and dina!

for the ellie girls

timebomb !

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

stargazing with abby °*•.

i’m convinced abby has a telescope stashed in her room somewhere that she brings up to the roof of the stadium once in awhile. she’s been intrigued by astronomy ever since she found a book on it in the library. she can point out a bunch of constellations and the bigger stars, and her dad probably taught her how to navigate using them. she doesn’t get to do it all that often, but it takes her mind off things and soothes her when she wakes up in the middle of the night from her nightmares. she’d love to share this activity with someone special and point out all the elements of the night sky for them, babbling away like a huge nerd ᡣ𐭩

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

bonus song because this one always reminds me of her. “your freckles lead the way, i trace your constellations”ᡣ𐭩

soft!abby supremacy! she’s the sweetest girl ever

melissa is truly so goddamn stupid because why the fuck would she send the DAT tape to Oshauna bin Laden of all people

I’M TIRED OF SMUT, I WANT TOOTH ACHING FLUFF AND HEART SHATTERING ANGST.

omg queer abby canon confirmed. my unlabeled icon

Abby Road or something

don’t talk to me when tlou part 2 comes to pc tomorrow i’m gonna be busy admiring abby, taking 47302028 photos and speedrunning through ellie’s seattle days to get back to my WIFE

“abby shouldn’t have tortured joel/abby should’ve made it quick” have you never considered maybe she (and the rest of the salt lake crew) wanted him to experience all the pain he caused at saint mary’s? not just her dad’s pain or her own grief but everyone else’s, too?