When I’m Insecure About My Nose I Remember That Abby Anderson Has A Nose Like Mine 😓🫶

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.

abby anderson they could never make me hate you

abby fic- becoming a parent with you

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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.

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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 :)

jackson abby photomodes

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

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.

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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?

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

Abby Anderson

Rip those big beautiful muscles 🥲

The Escape.

i can die happy knowing i have the same nose as abby, now she just needs to give me a baby so i can pass on our genetics

I can't get neighbor Abby out of my head.

Hi, guys. I needed a little fluff in my life today. Maybe you do, too. If so, I hope you enjoy this quick blurb. Neighbor Abby has me dream spinning whole ass fanfics in my head. Can the next girl I give my heart to please be this sweet? Kinda had my fill of having my heart torn out. Whew. Biting my tongue with that one. Thanks, universe.

May we never, ever settle for less.

Last summer, you noticed her hauling dented boxes up and down the stone pathway to the fixer upper next door. Nipping at her heels, a hyper German Shepherd puppy and some mouthy dude barking Spanish at her with a smirk permanently fixed to his face.

He was handsome enough and you wondered at first if maybe they were together.

The thought did not make your stomach pull an unexpected, uncomfortable flip.

The woman rocks a pretty magnetic smile, is all.

And you haven't been watching her for months. Sure, you've noticed her. But that's only natural. She lives right beside you, after all. It's impossible to simply ignore her existence.

The way she walks her dog at exactly 5:45am as if she's tethered to a timeline that'll alter the fabric of reality itself should she be even one minute behind schedule.

The way she talks to the pup like he's her best friend in the entire universe and simultaneously, the biggest trouble maker she's ever known.

It's painfully cute and if you linger to watch it play out, it's only because the moment rivals the morning sun.

She's definitely the girl who works her ass off all week long, still managing to keep an immaculate front lawn. A garden peppered with lush roses and wildflowers. Bright green grass evenly trimmed from hedge to hedge.

You hear the mechanical growl of her lawnmower twice a week like clockwork. When you peek through the curtains, you notice her pink cheeks and freckled shoulders, dappled by the afternoon rays, her long golden braid a mess of frizz and exertion.

Sometimes her deep blue gaze flits to yours while she swipes an old rag across her dirt streaked forehead. If you fly backward from your livingroom window at record speed, she's graceful enough not mention it. Not when you bump into each other sauntering out to the mailboxes every Saturday, anyway.

It works for you. You get to admire her from afar and feed your daydreams without ever fumbling through the terrifying reality of being seen by someone who makes your heart pulse into a frantic somersault.

Until recently.

Because of course, with your luck, something shifted. Something big.

Abby doesn't stop when she finishes mowing her lawn anymore. She cuts the motor, rolls the old machine down the cracked sidewalk and fires back up at the edge of your property.

The first time it happened, you almost let your panic ruin a good thing, tempted to blow through your front door to tell her she didn't have to. But she worked so meticulously and with an air of ease you've only ever seen from women too confident to take no for an answer. Not when it comes to kind acts of service.

Not when it comes to matters of the heart.

So, you let her finish. You let her turn your yard into pleasant lines and fresh earth.

Tomorrow will be a good day.

When 5:45am blinks at you from the alarm clock beside your bed, you'll resolve to hop out of bed to whip up a plate of breakfast and hot mug of coffee, something to greet her with when she returns from her walk.

Something to say thank you.

Something to say, I think I can't stop noticing you.

And here's the thing. You figure she might be cordial about it. Give you a polite nod and a gentle, surprised smile before taking her spoils into the house to toss them directly into the bin because you really have no idea what she likes to eat and maybe she hates bacon.

With a body like hers, you can only assume she has a strict regimen.

But the moment her sneakers squeak up the driveway, excited paws clicking alongside her, it's as if she knew you'd be there waiting. Like maybe, she'd been wondering when you'd finally catch a hint.

Like maybe, she can't stop noticing you too.

"I was hoping you'd be here."

When she says it, when her voice wraps around you like a soft sweater warm from the dryer, the sunrise freezes. A moment carved out just for you and this breathtaking girl who looks at you like you hold all the answers she seeks.

"I don't know if you're, like… strict with your meals or whatever. You look like someone who counts macros."

She grins. Gives her companion a quick scrub between his ears. And it's the most beautiful thing. Just, normal. Easy, somehow. Even the small shrug she gives you feels like tenderness.

"I do. But I'm making an exception," Abby says, chewing the corner of her lip, her eyes never once leaving yours. "For you? Always. Wanna come in?"