My Personal Abby Headcanons ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

my personal abby headcanons ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

soft!abby, wholesome!abby, character analysis 𑁤

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

⟢ 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.