Danii

25y/o, lesbian, writer

[objectivelyinsane]

I don’t use tumblr very often but I thought I’d stop by to promote my ellabs fic, as suggested by a friend. It’s post-canon and a slow burn, so if that sounds enticing please check it out :) next chapter coming out today

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[objectivelyinsane]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐁𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝘈𝘣𝘣𝘺 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘟 𝘌𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘴

𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘈𝘜

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 0 - 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

It came to me in a dream… would anyone be interested in this? I’ve got the first couple chapters done. lmk

~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉~҉

No one really becomes ‘popular’ in college. Social hierarchies usually fade away after high school, but sometimes there are still a few recognizable faces among the crowded campuses. 

Abby Anderson has one of those faces. Almost everyone on campus knows who she is because her father is a big donor for the medical school. He’s an honored alumni and famous neurosurgeon who has been on numerous television shows and podcasts. 

Despite her fathers successes, Abby decided not to pursue medicine. She’s a double major in literature and kinesiology, and most of her classmates would describe her as humble and friendly. Abby is also a trainer in the campus gym and has students of all genders drooling over her physique. She was incredibly likeable.

But there was something about her that really pissed off Ellie Williams.

Perhaps it started in first year when Dina, her girlfriend (now ex-girlfriend), wouldn’t stop going on and on about how nice and strong Abby is after they had a project together in a comparative literature class. 

Perhaps it started in second year when Jesse, her best friend (and Dina’s boyfriend), turned down her invitation to come over and play video games because he would rather train with Abby.

Or perhaps it started this past summer when Abby showed up at the fast food place she was working at, couldn’t even remember her name, and left a $20 tip on a $10 meal like some pretentious socialite. 

Ellie hoped to avoid Abby this year, as she normally did, but apparently the universe had other plans for her. To her utter dismay, Abby was signed up for the physics class she was set to TA for this semester, and Ellie could only roll her eyes as a swarm of students fought for the honor of sitting next to Abby Anderson on the first day of class.

It was going to be a very long semester.

[chocochip087]

Me and the 3 other ellabs shippers just cheered

[objectivelyinsane]

Next chapter of “Our Last Chance” is ready but with AO3 down, I’m debating if I should just post it here on tumblr for now

[chaiteart]

[kahelno]

don't rage babe i got your boob

[sun-blood-red]

I know this is bait for most of you on here.....

[zloykysachiy]

Guys, l swear, this picture is so ellabscoded

[objectivelyinsane]

I’m always overthinking dialogue, it’s the bane of my existence.

[cupcake-beastt]

[objectivelyinsane]

Our Last Chance, Chapter 22: Reunions and Revelations

If you haven’t checked out the latest chapter yet, here it is! The girls are reunited ;)

[chaotic-ppeach]

Stopping here for the night

[cupcake-beastt]

[walkin-after-midnight]

ellie asking everyone where abby is in santa barbara is so funny to me bc they definitely thought abby was her girlfriend or some shit

[cupcake-beastt]

[dellscape]

Under the Stars

wc:2.3k

cw: fingering, ptsd, angst

When did it happen? When did Ellie find herself under the same patchwork tent as the woman who had once torn her limb from limb? She lay in the hush of the late hour, the California night pressing in cool and still around her, listening to the slow, deliberate breathing of the woman she had traveled the ends of the earth to kill. Abby’s breaths were shallow as she slept—sometimes a hitch in her chest, as if even in sleep she was haunted by ghosts that pressed heavy on them both. Not far away, in a canvas tent patched with scraps of old military ponchos, Lev’s outline shifted in uneasy sleep. The three of them, all survivors of too much history, camped together on the outskirts of what had once been a bustling town now hollowed out by time and rot.

The air was thin here. Nights in post-infection California were often bone-cold and brittle, silent except for the sighing wind winding through the crumbling eucalyptus trees. The remnants of civilization lingered in the dark—faded “No Trespassing” signs, a collapsed telephone pole tangled with trumpet vine, the distant clatter of a feral dog knocking over a garbage bin somewhere down the ruined street. Ellie shifted, her breath misting in the blue half-light, drawing her knees tighter to her chest beneath the patched wool blanket. The tent smelled faintly of mildew and fire smoke. Every muscle ached with the memory of running, with nights spent sleeping on concrete and dirt, with hunger that made her bones feel hollow.

Some traitorous part of her longed for the thin thread of connection she’d found with Abby and Lev these past weeks—more so Lev, if she was honest. When her trip home to Jackson failed, when she found herself a stranger in her own skin and town, she’d wandered aimlessly through ghost neighborhoods and overgrown freeways, letting her boots take her wherever the world willed. Until she’d stumbled into a horde near Santa Clarita, a mass of clicking, groaning infected drawn by the scent of her blood and sweat.

She had camped out for weeks in the shadowed basement of an abandoned split-level ranch house. Each night she huddled beneath an old tarp, reminded of that terrible journey to Santa Barbara, the first time she couldn’t kill Abby. Memories flickered, sharp and raw: Joel’s battered watch ticking on her wrist, the taste of iron in her mouth, the impossible weight of grief pressing down on her chest. Sometimes, when the wind howled just right, she could almost imagine Dina’s laugh echoing through the empty streets, the soft gurgle of her baby’s breath. That life felt as far away as the moon.

“We only have two tents,” Abby had said that first awkward night, her voice rough with fatigue and wary hope. The old Firefly necklace gleamed at her throat, a relic from another lifetime. Her hair was longer now, pulled back into a short, tight braid, but it stopped at her neck—cropped and practical, the color sun-bleached at the ends.

Lev had hovered nearby, silent and watchful, uneasy with Ellie’s presence. To him, she was both a threat and a debt: someone who had taken so much, someone who had saved him more than once. He kept his distance, but his eyes never quite left her.

They had found her, half-mad with hunger and dehydration, in the basement. Ellie tried not to remember the humiliation of it—the way her body had failed her, how she’d lashed out at shadows, the shame that burned in her gut. She’d run out of food, out of water, out of luck. When Abby had appeared in the doorway, sunlight framing her shoulders, Ellie’s panic had overtaken her. She’d thrown up on herself, clutching her shirt, choking out half-formed words—pleading, not for her own life, but for Joel’s, for some forgiveness that never came.

When she woke, Abby had been crouched beside her, hands gentle on Ellie’s face, her own expression twisted with guilt and something like grief. Ellie remembered Abby’s callused palms, remembered the way Abby wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She didn’t want to think about that now. Not with the stars cold and sharp above, the ruined world pressing in on every side. Not with Abby’s breath a steady rhythm at her back, and Lev’s presence just beyond the thin canvas wall—reminders of everything she’d lost and everything she’d failed to destroy.

Ellie lay awake, counting the seconds between Abby’s breaths, feeling the weight of history settle over her like another heavy blanket. The apocalypse hadn’t ended the world, just changed the rules. In the brittle hush of a California night, surrounded by ghosts, Ellie wondered if survival meant learning to live with the people who broke you—or if it just meant never sleeping soundly again.

Abby shifted in her sleep, her shoulder brushing against Ellie’s arm—a jolt of contact that made Ellie’s heart stutter in her chest. Reflexively, Ellie flinched and edged away, breath catching, as if that accidental touch might open old wounds or set off some invisible tripwire between them. The tent’s flimsy walls pressed in, holding the scent of old earth and sweat, and the sound of Lev shifting outside mingled with the distant chirp of crickets and the wind sighing through eucalyptus leaves.

Ellie sat up, body tense, every movement cautious. The nature of her body called her—her bladder aching with the simple, humiliating needs of being alive. She peeled the shared blanket away, careful not to let it catch on Abby’s leg. The night air rushed against her skin, prickling her with cold, sending a shiver through her bones.

As she began to crawl toward the tent flap, Abby’s voice caught her like a hook. Sleep-fogged and rough, it was softer than Ellie remembered—somewhere between suspicion and concern. “Where are you going?”

Ellie froze, hunched over in the half-dark, feeling suddenly exposed and childlike. The words tumbled out clumsy, betraying her nerves. “Bathroom.”

But before she could move, Abby stirred, a frown creasing her brow. Even half-asleep, Abby’s strength was evident—her arm, thick with muscle rebuilt after months of deprivation and exhaustion, draped heavily over Ellie’s middle, pinning her with an effortless possessiveness that felt both protective and stifling. “It’s cold,” Abby murmured, as if that could explain away everything—her concern, her need to keep Ellie close, the years of violence and loss that lay between them.

Ellie tried to pry Abby’s arm away, squirming in the limited space between the tent’s nylon walls and Abby’s solid warmth. Abby’s grip, even in sleep, was tight—unyielding. It made Ellie think of a time when this same arm had pinned her to the sand, all rage and desperation. She gritted her teeth, jaw tight. “I have to pee,” she hissed, frustration fraying the edge of her whisper.

At last, Abby shifted, still half-lost to dreams, her face softening as she turned away. Ellie slipped free, stifling a huff. She crawled out into the brittle night, boots crunching softly over dead grass and broken twigs. The world outside was silent except for the distant rasp of crickets and the far-off wail of something—maybe a coyote, maybe a lone infected—echoing over the ruined hills.

She ducked behind a scraggly bush, the cold air nipping at her skin as she relieved herself, scanning the moonlit darkness for movement. Her breath made little clouds that vanished as quickly as they appeared. The sky overhead was a deep, velvet blue, scattered with more stars than she’d ever seen in Jackson—stars that felt indifferent to every human tragedy.

When she finished, she pulled her pants up with numb fingers and crept back to the tent. She tried not to disturb Abby, tried to be a shadow as she slid under the blanket, but everything felt painfully loud—her heartbeat, her ragged breathing, the fabric rustling. The tent felt smaller than before. It was awkward, not just because of the touch that lingered on her skin, but because of everything that was left unspoken between them—years of hatred, violence, grief, and that fragile, twisted thread of something like forgiveness.

Ellie’s throat tightened, and she blinked fast as tears threatened to burn her eyes. The ache was familiar, like an old wound she’d forgotten how to tend. She pressed a fist to her mouth, trying to stifle the tiny, vulnerable sound that escaped her.

A moment later, Abby sat up. She rubbed her face with the heel of her hand, groggy but suddenly alert. She looked over, eyes softening as they landed on Ellie.

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut, feigning sleep, desperate to avoid the intimacy of Abby’s gaze.

But Abby leaned over, her breath warm and tentative against Ellie’s cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words feather-light, almost lost in Ellie’s hair as she pressed a gentle kiss there. Her lips trailed down Ellie’s neck in a path of apology, lingering where scars met skin.

“Don’t wake up yet,” Abby breathed, her voice a tremor of longing as a soft, helpless moan escaped her. She kissed the hollow of Ellie’s throat, as if willing herself to erase all the pain she’d ever caused.

But Ellie’s hands shot up, shoving Abby away with a startled strength. “What are you doing?” Her voice was hoarse, cheeks flushed, hands trembling as she clutched the blanket between them.

Abby’s brow furrowed, sorrow and longing warping her features in the darkness. “Just for a minute,” she pleaded, reaching for Ellie’s hands with gentle insistence. “Let me make it better. Please…”

But Ellie stilled as Abby’s hands slid under her shirt—large, calloused, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Ellie bit her lip, trying to turn away, not wanting to show just how much she felt it. Her cheeks burned, her freckles standing out against flushed skin as Abby’s lips found her shoulder, then her neck, breath warm and uncertain.

She muffled a small sound, squirming beneath the roughness of Abby’s touch—so unlike Dina’s, every movement uncertain and hungry. Abby’s palm pressed against her ribs, tracing the outlines of old scars and new tremors. When Abby’s hand drifted lower, ghosting at the seams of the boxers Ellie wore to bed, Ellie’s nerves sparked with a wild, nervous energy.

Ellie squirmed, and Abby’s strong hand pinned her wrist above her head, not roughly, but with a silent insistence. “Don’t,” Ellie breathed—anger, hurt, and longing twisted inside her. She reminded herself she only had to stay with Abby until they made it out of Santa Clarita. Abby rarely said much to her, keeping her distance, both of them tiptoeing around the minefield of their shared past.

But now Abby’s hands were under her shirt, fingers splaying against her chest. Ellie gasped, arching her back as the ache of pleasure and memory tangled together. Abby’s thigh pressed between her legs, and Ellie felt herself shiver—startled by how much she wanted and hated this feeling all at once.

Abby pulled her closer, lips tracing gentle apologies along Ellie’s throat. The heat in the tent built between them, breath fogging the chilly air, muffling the sounds of the world outside.

Then Abby let go of her wrists, sliding her hands down to the waistband of Ellie’s boxers, pausing—searching her face for permission. “Just one?” Abby’s voice was barely a whisper, equal parts request and plea.

Ellie nodded, tears stinging her eyes, her lips parted and swollen. “Kiss me,” she pleaded, and Abby did—softly, reverently, their foreheads pressed together in the darkness.

As Abby slid a finger into Ellie’s slick heat, she let out a ragged breath through her nose, the sound swallowed into the kiss they shared. Her lips pressed firmly, almost reverently, against Ellie’s, as if trying to anchor them both in the moment. Abby’s hand moved slow at first, careful and sure, feeling out every twitch and tremble.

When she curled her finger just right, Ellie gasped into her mouth—sharp and sudden—her lips parting with surprise. Abby took the chance, slipping her tongue past, tasting the salt of her, the ache and want lingering on Ellie’s breath. It was messy, hungry, not the kind of kiss meant for gentleness—but for grounding, for holding together something that threatened to break apart.

Abby added a second finger, slow but steady, and Ellie’s thighs clenched reflexively around her arm. Her knees trembled, and her body jerked with each deep stroke, arching into Abby like she couldn’t bear the space between them.

Ellie’s nails scraped down Abby’s back—scratching along the lines of hardened muscle, leaving welts in their wake—as she buried her face against her shoulder, her moans growing more fractured.

When she finally came, it hit her hard and sudden. Her mouth stuttered against Abby’s, turning the kiss sloppy and desperate, a series of soft cries as she clenched down around Abby’s fingers. Her whole body quaked, muscles locking then releasing all at once as if her body was trying to wring out the grief through pleasure. Abby didn’t stop—didn’t dare move—until she felt Ellie’s pulse begin to settle.

Only then did she slowly pull away, her fingers wet, her breathing heavy. Ellie’s body was still spasming in little aftershocks, and Abby just nodded, as if silently acknowledging the weight of what had just passed between them.

But Ellie turned away abruptly, a sharp sob breaking out of her chest.

“Fuck— I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry…” she whimpered, curling in on herself, dragging the blanket up like it could hide her shame.

Abby didn’t reach for her, not fully. She sat still, hand resting lightly on Ellie’s thigh, just enough pressure to say I’m here, but not enough to trap her. She knew better than to smother her in comfort. Ellie was unraveling, shoulders shaking with quiet hiccups as the night wrapped around them.

So Abby waited.

Watched the woman she once hunted unravel in the moonlight—grief and guilt and longing tangled in every breath she took. And though every part of her wanted to pull Ellie close, she just sat there, steady and open, letting her cry in peace.

Letting her choose.

[gwug]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Still in the works, but fully mapped out. Will be releasing more updates soon!