Abby Doodles Because She’s So Prettyyyyyyy ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Her hands. Her veins. Her eyes.

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.

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 :)

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.

HELLOOOO Tumblr, I am new here.

These are my Chef Abby AU fanart I made for my fanfiction 💗 she is gaaaay 🌈🏳️‍🌈 and heavily inspired by Carmy from The Bear

Here's the link:

The Wolf on ao3

ugh i kinda love leah, i wish she had screentime

Leah on patrol for supplies

I just saw someone say that the rat king could be representative of Abby's greatest fear - a hulking monster rampaging through a hospital. As in a monster rampaging through a hospital and killing everything in its path. As in Joel (likely a monster in Abby's eyes) rampaging through the hospital and killing everyone in his path including Abby's father. And then a smaller enemy (the stalker) comes off of the rat king and she has to fight it once the main threat is dead and gone. The stalker representing how Ellie becomes a threat once the main enemy (Joel) is dead and gone.

Oh!

Are y'all okay? Are y'all like, allowed to be happy or are we just fine trying to find new ways to hurt people's feelings?

she looks so beautiful i can’t

black nail polish, rock star Abby

lesbians should be allowed to get eachother pregnant. for scientific and babytrapping purposes. please. it's 2025, we need to make it happen.

Abby Anderson

Rip those big beautiful muscles 🥲