f3mme-f4tale

[f3mme-f4tale]

☾ bound by bloodshed ☾

part four

⇠ part three word count: 3.7k potential warnings: explicit language, mean!ellie, mild sexual content, fluff at the end?? pairing: seattle!ellie x female reader ☾ mood board authors note: this is more of a filler chapter than anything else, so i apologize. theres been a lot of changes in my life over the past few months -- so i've been trying to deal with that. regardless, i have a lot more free time now that ive graduated form college & moved (yay!), so hopefully (fingers crossed), i'll be more active on here :)

FREE FREE PALESTINE!

You kick at the dirt with the rubber sole of your shoe, feeling the grit shift beneath your feet, a tiny cloud of dust puffing up like a sigh too weary to lift off the ground. It’s the same sigh that escapes your mouth, the sound barely more than a breath of resignation. Ellie pretends not to notice – or maybe she does and just chooses to ignore it – her determined stride carrying her further ahead, her silhouette hunched slightly under the weight of the days and miles. It’s infuriating how stubborn she could be, how she can walk right past you, eyes set on the distance, as if the tension between you doesn’t hang in the air, thick and unyielding.

It’s been two days since you’ve tasted each other, two days since that frenzied collision of lips and limbs. Two days, and Ellie is still reeling in the aftermath, the memory of your shared warmth now a cold space between you. The military base should only be a few more days out, but every mile feels like it’s dragging the earth with it, the ground itself conspiring to keep you from reaching any sense of normalcy.

“Up there,” she mutters, digging around in her bag as she gestures up ahead to the remnants of an storefront – Walsh’s General written in faded ochre lettering above the door. Ellie goes to mess with the front door only to be met with an unmoving lock. 

“Hold up,” you say, lightly pushing past her to kneel in front of the latch. A disordered piece of discolored metal slips from your front pocket, your fingers pushing the shiv into the lock with practiced ease. The familiar click of the tumblers falling into place is a small victory, a sound that seems to echo in the stillness of the abandoned street. You push the door open, and it creaks in protest, the wood swollen and warped from years of neglect.

Ellie steps in first, bravado always hindering, eyes scanning the dim interior. The air inside is thick and stale, filled with the scent of old dust and decaying wood. Shelves stand half-empty, their contents long since looted or ruined. A few cans of food, some faded clothing, and a scattering of other forgotten items are all that remain.

"Let's see what we can find," Ellie says, her voice low but determined. She moves deeper into the store, her movements careful and deliberate. Despite the tension between you, there's a sense of unspoken understanding; you both know what needs to be done.

You follow her lead, moving to the back of the store where a set of stairs leads to what was once an office or storage room. The floorboards groan under your weight, and you have to tread lightly to avoid falling through. Ellie remains on the ground floor, rifling through the shelves, while you ascend the creaky staircase.

At the top, you find a small room, its walls lined with dusty boxes and old papers. A single window lets in a thin beam of light, illuminating the dust particles that dance in the air. You approach the window, peering out at the deserted town beyond. Outside, the world is a tableau of decay, the buildings slumping like weary travelers, their facades peeling away in layers. A deer cautiously steps out from behind a crumbling wall, its sleek body almost ghostly in the fading light. For a moment, you watch it, captivated.

The deer suddenly freezes, its ears twitching as if it senses something you can’t see. Then, in a blur of movement, it darts back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. The stillness that follows is almost suffocating, and that uneasy feeling in your gut tightens once again. You turn away from the window, pushing the momentary distraction out of your mind. There's nothing to gain from dwelling on what you can't change. Instead, you focus on the task at hand; the room offers little in the way of comfort or safety, but there’s a chance it might hold something of value. 

Your eyes land on a particularly large, dust-covered box in the corner. It’s sealed with old packing tape, its once vibrant logo now faded and peeling. Curiosity, or perhaps the need for something to distract you from the growing tension, drives you to your knees, your fingers carefully peeling back the brittle packing tape that holds the box closed. The box gives way with a soft crackle, revealing a jumble of items inside.

You sift through its contents, finding old rags, a few yellowed notebooks, and a tarnished ring. Nothing of immediate value, but then your fingers brush against something cool and metallic. You pull it out, revealing a small, rusted tin canister. The label is barely legible, but you recognize the symbol – it's an old military supply canister, the kind that usually held emergency rations or medical supplies.

Excitement flickers in your chest as you twist the lid open. Inside, wrapped in oilcloth, is a small stash of medical supplies – a roll of bandages, a few vials of antiseptic, and a couple of syringes. It’s not much, but in your world, it’s a treasure.

“Ellie’s going to be thrilled,” you whisper to yourself, carefully tucking the canister into your bag. A crumpled up piece of paper drops from the canister – a curious predicament.

You unfold the paper, its edges fragile, and find not just a note, but a letter that seems to have been written in a rush. The handwriting is small and neat, though the ink is slightly smudged, as if the writer’s hand had trembled. Nestled within the folds of the letter is a small, faded photograph of a man and a woman, standing close, their expressions solemn but tender. They aren’t smiling, but there’s a quiet intimacy in the way they lean into each other, a shared understanding.

Annabell, I’ve fought against everything that’s kept me from you. I tried, Annabell, I really did. But trying wasn’t enough, and that will haunt me. Of all the choices I've made, the one that keeps me awake at night is not being by your side. We were always more than just two people – more like threads spun together, impossible to separate without unraveling completely. This letter isn’t a goodbye, though I fear it feels like one. We were never ones for dramatic gestures or tearful farewells, were we? So I’ll spare you that. If you find yourself heading north, there’s a place that might offer some safety. Look for the old oak in the front – the one with the hollow trunk where we used to hide our notes when we were kids. I left something there for you. I hope you find it. I hope you make it. And if you don’t… well, if you don’t, then at least know this: Every decision I made was to try and make the world a little less cruel for you. For us. Maybe I failed, but it was never for lack of trying. If someone else finds this letter, I hope you carry it forward. Maybe it’ll mean something to someone. Maybe it won’t.  I'm sorry Annabelle. Matthew. 

The letter hits you with a quiet intensity, the words measured and grounded, stripped of any romanticized finality. You gently pick up the photo, studying the faces of the couple. Their faces are looking at one another, a knowing look passing between them like a punch to the gut, raw and real in a way that makes the dusty room around you seem even more desolate. 

When you make your way back downstairs, Ellie looks up, her gaze curious but wary. You pull out the letter and the photograph, handing them over without a word. She doesn’t react much at first, just taking in the words and the faded image. After a moment, she hands it back, her expression a little more thoughtful than before.

“Did he make it?” she finally asks, her voice subdued.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” you reply quietly. Ellie shifts slightly, moving her weight from one foot to the other. She doesn’t meet your gaze, her eyes instead fixed on some distant point in the room, as if looking directly at you might break the fragile peace that’s settled over this moment. The tension between you has been a constant companion, a silent third party in your journey, but now it feels different, heavier, more present.

“They were holding on to something,” she says, her voice quieter than usual, almost as if she’s speaking to herself rather than to you. There’s a sadness in her tone, a kind of weariness that you recognize all too well – the exhaustion that comes not just from the miles you’ve walked or the battles you’ve fought, but from carrying the weight of memories. 

“Seems like it,” you reply, slipping the letter back into your pocket. The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. Ellie’s gaze lingers on you for a second longer than usual, her eyes searching yours for something – understanding, perhaps, or maybe reassurance that the words you’ve just exchanged mean more than they seem. But before you can offer anything, before you can even think of what to say, she looks away, the moment passing like a brief pause in the rhythm of your steps. It’s a fleeting connection, a moment of vulnerability that’s here and then gone, lost in the vast expanse of everything else that remains unsaid between you.

You both know the score, the unspoken agreement that binds you – survival first, everything else second. But something has shifted in the dynamic between you, even if neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge it yet.

Then, without another word, you both move on, the creaking floorboards underfoot the only sound that accompanies you as you head toward the exit. But as the door closes behind you with a soft thud, the mood shifts, subtle at first. You can sense it before she even speaks; Ellie’s demeanor changes, her shoulders tense as her steps grow more deliberate, more forceful. 

“Was that all you found?” she asks, her voice sharp and laced with impatience. The softness from just moments ago is gone, replaced by a hard edge that catches you off guard

You’re taken aback by the sudden change in tone, but you quickly shake off the surprise and respond with a controlled voice. “I mean, there were just some old rags and useless company papers up there, if that’s what you mean.”

Ellie’s eyes narrow, the frustration in her gaze intensifying. “So you didn’t actually find anything useful, then? Great. Just great.” Her tone is dismissive, almost accusatory, and it stings more than you’d care to admit. The way she says it, the implication that you’ve somehow let her down, it’s like a slap in the face after everything you’ve been through together.

You raise an eyebrow, your irritation growing. “I didn’t see you finding anything of value. Maybe you should’ve gone up there yourself if you thought it was so easy.” The sharpness in your voice reflects your own mounting frustration.

Ellie’s face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and anger. Her hands ball into fists at her sides, her posture rigid. “It’s not about the supplies,” she snaps. “It’s about you acting like you’re doing everyone a favor by finding something we already knew was probably useless.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, your frustration boiling over. “I’m not acting like I’m doing anyone a favor. I’m just trying to make sure we’re prepared for whatever comes next. But if you’d rather sit around and wait for something to magically appear, that’s fine too.”

Ellie shakes her head vigorously, her voice rising with each word. “You know what? Maybe I would if you didn’t keep making everything so complicated. You’re always trying to prove something, and it just makes everything worse.”

“Prove something? What are you talking about?” You shoot back, your patience wearing thin. “I’m just trying to survive, same as you. If you stopped making everything a competition, we’d actually get somewhere.”

Ellie’s laugh is bitter, her frustration palpable. “God, you love to pat yourself on the back. But I guess that’s just your thing – acting like you’re the hero when you’re really just making a mess.”

You’re silent for a beat, fully taking in her jab. Is that what she really thinks of me? Sure, you had exasperated your fair share of insults; but that seemed over the line. It’s one thing to clash over strategies or tasks, but her comment feels like a personal attack.

At this point, you can feel the argument spiraling into pointless bickering, the tension in the air thick. “Fine! If it means that much to you, I’ll let you handle it. I’ll let you handle everything. I’m done trying to help. ”

Ellie scoffs, the exasperation clear in her voice. “I never asked you to.” 

⭒⭒⭒⭒

Ellie and you sit on opposite sides of the campfire, the darkness amplifying the unspoken frustration that lingers between you. The day’s patrol had been grueling, and the tension between you two is nearly unbearable. Ellie glances at you from across the fire, the glow from the flames dancing eerily on her freckled face.

You chance a glance at Ellie, her lips tightly pursed, and her knuckles white as she grips the edge of the rock she's sitting on. She seems lost in her own thoughts, and it's clear that she's just as uncomfortable with the situation as you are. Ellie breaks the silence first, her voice harsh and cutting. “You know, you really have a talent for pretending everything’s fine. How do you manage it? Acting like you don’t care about anything except what’s right in front of you?”

You shoot her a sharp look, the accusation hitting hard. “Oh, don’t even start. It’s not like you’re any better. You’ve been walking around with this chip on your shoulder, acting like I’m the cause of all your problems!”

Ellie's eyes widen slightly, her grip on the rock tightening even more. Her jaw clenches as if she's holding back a flood of retorts. "Excuse me? Me? I'm the one with the chip on my shoulder? That's rich coming from you." Her voice is laced with both anger and hurt. She leans forward, the fire casting shadows across her face. "Ever since we got paired up, it's like you've been counting the days until we're done. Like I'm nothing more than a nuisance."

“And you’re just so perfect, right?” you snap back, standing up, your frustration boiling over. “You act like you’re handling it all, but you’re the one pushing everyone away because you’re scared of actually dealing with it!”

Ellie stands as well, her voice rising. “Scared? Scared of what? Dealing with your endless stream of excuses and half-assed attempts at being a decent partner? Newsflash: I’m not here to babysit your emotions!”

“You know what? Fuck you,” you shoot back, stepping closer, your anger palpable. “You’re so sick of me? Tomorrow I’ll be gone.” The argument is raw and unrelenting, every word a dagger. The emotional weight of the day, combined with the unresolved tension, erupts between you. Ellie’s frustration and your own anger collide in a chaotic, volatile mixture.

And in a moment of impulsive recklessness, Ellie grabs your collar, yanking you closer. It’s not a gentle kiss, but a clash of emotions and raw need, driven by the tension that’s been simmering for so long. You respond with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to her face, pulling her closer.

The kiss is a desperate release, a tangled knot of emotions unraveling in a moment of primal need. It’s messy, rough around the edges, but it’s also real and unfiltered. You push her back against a nearby tree, the rough bark pressing against her back as the kiss deepens. The pain blends with the heat of the moment, and despite her internal conflict, you find yourself returning the kiss. Her hands rest on your waist, unable to decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you manage to utter, fingers running through auburn locks. The other girl scoffs against your mouth.

"And you're just as annoying," Ellie snaps back between kisses, her fingers digging into your hips. “Insufferable... Aggravating... Impossible..." She mutters, the words lost in a clash of kisses and tongue.

“Say you need me,” you demand, holding her face. Ellie pauses, the words caught in her throat. She hesitates, her eyes locked on yours. The admission hangs in the air, caught between desire and pride. But slowly, reluctantly, she concedes. Her breath shivers slightly as she speaks. 

"I need you.”

She unfastens the buttons on your shirt, one by one, her movements deliberate and filled with barely contained need. Hesitantly, you capture a stray piece of hair between your knuckles and brush it behind her ear. Ellie's attention flickers to the touch, leaning into your hand and expression softening for a moment. You swear she could feel the fast pace beat of your heart against her chest, breath hitching in your throat. You pathetically whimper as she palms your stomach, wanting nothing more in that moment for her to do inappropriate things to you in the middle of the fucking forest. 

A hushed moan left Ellie as she traced patterns onto your lower abdomen, the other woman getting off on your body’s reaction. In turn, your skin felt on fire, Ellie’s touch igniting a blaze within you; as if she was the match and you were burning. Her kisses move from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, each one like a scorching brand against your skin.

"Ellie... you're maddening," you pant, a needy edge to your voice. "I want to strangle you... and kiss you senseless."

She drags her lips back up to yours, capturing them in a kiss that’s as much a challenge as it is a surrender. It’s rough and needy, like she’s trying to prove something, trying to make you understand just how deep you’re both in. You clutch at her shirt, desperate for something to hold onto, feeling like you might fall apart if you don’t.

But beneath the rawness, there’s a tenderness that neither of you can deny. It’s there in the way her hand trembles slightly as it trails up your side, in the way she hesitates just for a fraction of a second before deepening the kiss, as if she’s afraid of breaking something fragile between you.

There’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before, a vulnerability that takes your breath away. “Don’t leave,” she says quietly, almost like a plea.

Within minutes, Ellie was on her knees. 

⭒⭒⭒⭒

Ellie’s face is soft in the dim light, her features relaxed in a way that you rarely see anymore, the hard edges of survival temporarily softened by the quiet peace of the early morning. There’s a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, a subtle curve that you catch out of the corner of your eye, and you turn to her, curious. 

“Hey,” she begins, her voice low, almost hesitant, as if she’s not quite sure she wants to break the spell of silence that has settled over you. “Remember that time we tried to make a treehouse out of scrap? We thought we’d live in it and everything.” Her words are light, almost playful, a stark contrast to the usual tension that accompanies your conversations, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips in response.

The memory she’s conjured is vivid, a flash of color and sound that washes over you in an instant, transporting you back to a time when things were simpler, when the weight of the world hadn’t yet settled on your shoulders. You can see it clearly in your mind’s eye – the two of you, younger, more carefree, standing in a sun-dappled clearing back in Jackson, surrounded by the scattered remains of what was supposed to be your masterpiece. The air had been thick with the scent of pine and freshly cut wood, the sound of your laughter echoing through the trees as you hammered and sawed, your hands sticky with sap and dirt.

You laugh now, shaking your head at the memory, the sound of your voice startling in the stillness of the morning. “Yeah, and we ended up with a pile of broken wood and a lot of splinters. Didn’t exactly turn out like we planned.” The words are tinged with nostalgia, a warmth that spreads through your chest as you recall the look of determination on Ellie’s face, the way her brow had furrowed in concentration as she tried to fit the mismatched pieces of wood together, her tongue poking out slightly in that way it does when she’s really focused.

Ellie’s laughter joins yours, a light, genuine sound that fills the space between you, breaking through the tension that has lingered there for so long. It’s a rare moment of levity, a brief respite from the seriousness that has come to define your lives, and you find yourself savoring it, the sound of her laughter like a balm to your weary soul.

“Yeah,” she agrees, her grin widening, her eyes bright with the memory. “But it was fun. And it was ours.” There’s a note of pride in her voice, a quiet satisfaction that comes not from the end result, but from the effort itself, from the shared experience of creating something together, no matter how imperfect.

You look at Ellie, really look at her, and in the soft light of the approaching dawn, she looks younger somehow.. There’s a lightness in her gaze, a vulnerability that she rarely allows herself to show, and it makes your heart skip a beat, a quick, fluttering sensation that catches you off guard. It’s not just the memories that have stirred something within you, not just the shared experiences that have brought you closer over the years – it’s the way she looks at you now, the way she allows herself to be open, to be seen, if only for a moment.

“Yeah,” you say softly, the word barely more than a breath. “It was.”

fic taglist: @seraphicsentences @onlinelesbo @yumimak @elliewilliamsblunt @bready101

[f3mme-f4tale]

new chapter to Bound By Bloodshed will be up sometime tomorrow!!! just putting the finishing touches on it. i'm so sorry for being MIA for basically the entire summer oops

i hate my part time job (food service sigh) so hoping this can become the outlet it once was for me again

[f3mme-f4tale]

I LOVE EMILY BADER. U SLAYED AS JANE GREY (yes i binged this entire show in one night. yes i re-downloaded after effects to make this)

[f3mme-f4tale]

YUUUUUPPPP

so i think we can all agree that My Lady Jane is one of the best new series on any streaming platforms. like, enemy-to-lovers tension, arranged marriage, magic (sorta), history (sorta), knives, and Dominic Cooper being the villain: it as it all!!

[f3mme-f4tale]

happy pride month! 🏳️‍🌈✂️

[f3mme-f4tale]

In Yemen the death count stagnated at 15,000 until the war ended and the people were able to count their dead. Today, it's commonly accepted that over 300,000 Yemenis have been killed by war and famine. We will see a similar situation in Gaza after a ceasefire.

[f3mme-f4tale]

gnawing at the bars of my enclosure actually

salt.

pairing: cowboy!ellie williams x afab!reader (she/her pronouns used)

music: california love - 2pac etc. OR devil wears a suit and tie - colter wall (tysm angel @lissanovak)

word count: 1.7k

summary: ellie takes good money where she can get it. turns out there's a desperate runaway who will stop at nothing to fill her coin purse. well, and run away.

warnings: blood, gun use, minor injury, slight ageism towards joel, bounty hunter!ellie kinda, outlaw behaviour forrealsies

an: the start of cowboy!ellie and reader's love story <3 how i met ur mother actually. yk when u write a word so much and it doesn't look real anymore thats how i feel abt the word flower.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“is the money good?”

her eyes trace the faded ink that paints your jawline. her fingers itch in her gloves, tapping along the flimsy paper. she shifts quickly, cigarette smoke swirling and fading in the air, a sweet smell.

your father was a desperate, desperate man.

‘please, please, bring her back to me.’

‘my sweet child, my only child.’

honestly, ellie wasn’t paying much attention to the blubbering until the mention of a payout.

the drag was long, smoke settling her stomach, and spilling out from her lips in a rasp of a laugh, “yeah, it’s real good.”

this was clearly your first time running from home.

your name on her lips, nearly everyone she met was itching to tell ellie what they had seen, for a stray coin or two. you weren’t exactly quiet, rushing off with kicked up dust and curses rolling off your tongue. the easiest money they’ve ever made, joel jokes.

ellie had your photograph in her pocket, the one your father gave her. it had felt almost unlawful  to take it, your smile too intimate, your laugh too familiar. you wore the ornaments of high society, silks and velvets finding their comfort in the contours of your body, but your look was something unknown, untamed, something scarcely to be found. it was something that she deemed herself unworthy of. a sick perversion it was, to look at a capturing of you and imagine something more. she swallowed it.

“y’seen her or not?”

His eyes lingered a fraction longer on your face, the ghost of his breath circling the rim of his glass, sinking into the beer at the bottom. ellie dug her fingernails into her palms. she hated this man.

“maybe. y’got something f’me?”

“how much?”

“twenty.”

jesus. 

“ th’s higher than last time, butch.” joel’s calm, albeit tired. the rasp in his throat echoes into the jovial sounds of the saloon. the old crook chuckles, sags of skin rising and falling with his molasses, gap-toothed smile.

“business is business, old friend. consider it a family discount, jus’ for you two.”

ellie makes sure joel feels the fire of her gaze as he counts out the bills. there’s little comfort in knowing the reward is sweeter, as she watches half their year’s savings slide across the table. 

“a friend of a friend seen her in valentine. in that pretty dress too.”

her breath rots in her throat, palms itching as she takes back the photo, settles it back in her pocket. joel leads her out with a dishonest smile.

“easiest money we ever made.” it’s a mocking closing statement, before the heavy breath of horses fills a dripping silence.

you’re not far from a fallen angel, when ellie spots you. completely separate from the delicacy of your photo, now, you’re wild. your hair looks softer, less abused with pomade and twists to make stiff curls, capturing the sun and shining it like fragmented glass. a warmer, kinder glow falls on the dust of your skin, your rich silks abandoned for something looser, free. she feels a tragedy nick at her head when joel doesn’t hesitate,

“miss,” he stops you on the step of the general store, your grocery basket swinging from your arm, change echoing in the pocket of your skirt, “we’re friends of your father’s. he’s asked us t’bring you on home now.”

you weren’t smiling before, but something fell on your face that made you hard to describe. something echoes and ellie can almost watch the moment everything clicks.

“damn!-ellie!”

apples roll down the steps, abandoned. joel is old, and slow. ellie isn’t.

she’s on you before you can even breathe a getaway, her hands a rough burn against your skin as she pins you, cheek flush against the wood paneling of the store. softness forsaken, your breath is heavy, a monster slipping from your lips as you kick and bleed,

“i won’t go back-y’can’t make me! bastard!”

the blade is cold fire, foreign on your neck, “trust me flower. we can go easy,” pressure. “or hard,”

the silence between you deepens, your breath swirling together as the heat from her chest ripples on your back. this isn’t how ellie thought you’d be.

“how the fuck did you think that was gonna go, joel? ‘oh, you’re my daddy’s friends? why, of course, let me go and pack my beloved valuables and we can ride home together while i sing a tisket, a tasket for your enjoyment.’”

your voice is a rough, searing anger, as it echoes from where you’re bent over on ellie’s horse, hands tied behind your back, “cunt.”

“that ain't a very ladylike mouth you got there, darlin’.”

your father is wringing his clammy little hands on the front porch when joel and ellie’s horses are spied up the road. working himself up, he runs to meet you with a blabber of words. joel lifts you gently, much kinder than he was back in valentine, and cuts the sandpaper ropes from your wrists. your mother appears with a scowl,

“come on then. you need a bath, you’re filthy.”

it’s a walk of shame back down the road to your eyesore of a prairie home. the money feels sickeningly heavy in ellie’s hands as she watches you.

oh, she’s home. home, home, home. your father mutters in relief.

it doesn’t last long.

the second time is almost as painful as the first. tears stain the suede of joel’s jacket, a manic grip as the older man wailed and cried,

“she’s gone, again, again! please!”

they found you wandering a mountain pass, the sand of the red desert rock smeared across your cheek and dusted in your hair. you’d stolen a pony of your father’s, skittish and small, ellie almost laughed.

but fuck, you were learning to put up a good fight. even had a knife on you this time, smart girl.

but your dumb horse didn’t fight much, flying off at the first sound of a gunshot, throwing you violently into the dirt, winded and dazed. ellie shaded you from the beating sun with shit-eating grin, “howdy stranger.”

your voice is a coughing fit, “fuc-k you.”

by the fourth time, they started taking payments up front. the fifth time, your mother delivered the news, your father too bed-ridden with worry to see through the mess of tears and snot.

“back so soon, friend?” it’s mean to be a laugh, but it’s a rasp, dying wind scratching at his throat as his brow furrows.

ellie’s not interested in his dance, counting out the money and running it along the bumps of the scarred bar table, “same girl, y’seen her?”

he tuts, his voice high and mighty and too drunkenly happy, “dunno. think i forgot what i’m lookin’ for. might need t’see that photo again.”

“watch it.”

the silver of her hunting knife twinkles like a star in the warm light, the point slowly digging an edge into the aging wood. he shrinks and wisps the money up before it disappears, “last i heard she hitched a train up north. all i know, i swear.”

“always a pleasure, butch.”

the glow of your dying campfire wasn’t an easy beacon to follow from below the cliff face, smoke easing off the edge and falling into the moonlight. ellie eased her horse quietly up the incline, her eyes trailing your silhouette against the amber coals. a horse was tied to the tree you were camping under, not yours.

didn’t take you long to settle into the wild.

you were a completely different creature, something unknowable. ellie rounds the thicket on her feet, watching you. your eyes melt with the starlight, windswept and sweet in the air of the hills. you belong here.

fortunately, god makes it clear that ellie does not. the crack of the stick calls and echoes off the distance mountains, and, fuck, when did you get a revolver?

her hands are up as she steps out, cursing under her breath as her pants snag in the bush.

“you even know how to use that, sweetheart?”

your thumb clicks the safety, it echoes in the silence,

“i know well enough.”

“and what?” it’s teasing, and at some point, as ellie ponders her life down the barrel of a gun, your gun, she wonders if maybe, it’s not the right time. fuck it, “you gonna shoot me, flower? you gonna try?”

“i ain’t going back to that house, ellie.”

however tense, and full of pure hatred, her name on your lips is something god-given. she fights to revel in it.

“clearly.”

ellie steps, hoping to bridge the distance between you with something kind, something deserving of you. you panic.

blood. warm and sticky, seeping through the scratchy fabric of her shirt, the burn spreading through her body like a parasite. her hand flies to her arm, “you fucking shot me?’

had you seen blood before? had you shot someone before? your aim wasn’t guided by god, but fuck, you didn’t exactly expect it to hit her, and ellie knows.

“you’re th’one who fucking came at me!”

“i was walking!”

the ride home was horribly reminiscent of the first time you met. except, somehow, the ropes were tighter, and ellie had two guns in her saddle bag.

your mother scrubs the dried blood from your side in a cold bath, muttering about the witching hour.

you wait a few nights in restlessness, listening to your parents argue about your disobedience, before packing yet another satchel.

the outline of her jaw was lit by a dying cigarette, the soft scratch of her boots on the dirt echoing in the cicada rhythm of midnight. you watch her carefully as you drop from your window, wishing you had grabbed the shotgun this time.

“what? you hoping to cash in without actually doing any work?” 

she’s quiet, leaning against your back picket fence. flicking her cigarette down, it briefly lights the white tourniquet splitting her bicep.

“i’m real sorry about that.” it’s quiet, remorse.

she tuts, without care, “just a graze. y’have terrible aim.”

she’s watching you, enforcing a silence between you as she studies you, almost unsure. 

a sharp whistle bounces off a distant hill. you can vaguely make out the glow of a lantern, and joel.

ellie sighs, heavy, defeated.

“get your shit. don’t expect me t’carry it.”

[f3mme-f4tale]

i just dont get it i feel like im losing my fucking mind actual real human beings are being starved to death and facing a genocide and people are still raving about the met gala and eurovision and useless extravagances of the west the disconnect is sickening i feel like throwing up how many people have to die for the world to fucking care like at all

[f3mme-f4tale]

...i begging yall do not get desensitised to reading these. this is horrific. this is evil. children... were shredded... SHREDDED. do you understand what that means? do you get how evil someone has to be to do that to another person? can you process that sheer malevolence and wickedness it would take to do that??!! to a child?!?!!!

"Al Jazeera's Hani Mahmoud from Rafah, southern Gaza: About seven people, a mother and her children were killed earlier today. We’ve seen video from the hospital where their bodies were taken. The children’s bodies arrived in plastic bags. They were shredded in the air strike on the home. The only survivor of the attack is the father. ⁠

"This pattern of killing entire families is nothing new after nearly seven months of war. Entire families have been obliterated in Israeli air strikes. Just in the past 30 minutes, there was a strike at the Nuseirat refugee camp in central Gaza. We’re trying to get more updates on that attack." from Al Jazeera English, 03/May/2024:

[f3mme-f4tale]

which witch

part one

word count: 4k potential warnings: potential depictions of violence, sexual content, fingering (r! receiving) adult themes (explicit language), tension, angst, world building, more to come... pairing: rebel!ellie x princess!reader (categorized within the knight!ellie aesthetic)

authors note: there are some influences from game of thrones! :))

A cloud of gray smoke lingered above the vine-infested concrete walls of the booming city, machinery roaring to life and wildering conversations floating in the thick air. A war was looming over the Sovereign City, an invading force from the south eagerly plowing through the skin-biting tundra. The hundreds of guilds within the city's walls fed the economy, although some whisper that underground trading of magic folk is what really fuels the financial state. A spy for the rebellion circled the local market, running her hands over the bruised fruit and eyeing the common folk cautiously, trying her best to go undetected. The city center was preparing for the Sun Festival, ironic given the smog that shielded nearly all sunlight.  

A local fruit stand was at the center of the market, an older gentleman staffing the exotic fruit from outside the city walls. Bright, intricate starfruit and jelly-filled strawberry papayas littered the concrete mosaic ground. A small goat with a blue bell was tied haphazardly to a post, the yarn fraying with every slight tug from the animal. A group of children dressed in muted shades of brown and green played a game of dice on the other side of the courtyard, daring each other to steal blackberries. The butcher’s son was pushing a small wagon of discarded meat and small fish bones towards an alley, likely to discard the leftovers.  

The spy was adorned in local fabrics, muted mismatched stitching holding together a quilt-like material that resembled a shawl. Her deep maple hair cascaded down her neck with a simple silver pin holding some pieces out of her face. Her fingertips were stained with nightshade, her left-hand concealing a small dagger. The weapon was known for immediately striking down any foe, its metal laced with poison. Magic folk and creatures were no exception, despite their enchantments. An abstract fox decorated the handle, a symbol of the rebellion against the empire. On her hip was a small satchel containing various assortments of herbs, sliced plum mushrooms, and powdered oleander seeds. Being a spy, a magic one at that, had its benefits.  

The spy detected a woman pocketing something from a guard across the courtyard. She watched her scurry away down an alley, not before stealing a fig from one of the stands. With the day being as slow as it had been, she reasoned that any mischief became her mischief. As she made her way towards where the other woman went, her grip tightened on the weapon. Upon turning down the alley, she seemingly vanished. It was not often that the spy’s prey escaped her sight, not since she was a child at least. At the last possible moment, a speck of red disappeared through a doorway fifty feet in front of her. Swallowing a sigh, she followed. 

Inside was a desolate old factory, broken machinery sprawled across the floor and spray paint covering the walls. Sigils were marked on the concrete ground – emblems and allegories from The Blackmoor Book. She questioned how someone within the walls could have such knowledge, risking the high court finding such symbolism.  

What was this place?  

  She did not dwindle on this apprehension long, sinking into the shadows and scanning the place for that woman. A crackly, high-pitched laugh erupted from the other side of the room. Before thinking twice, the spy was across the room in mere seconds, her knife pressed firmly against the mystery woman’s throat, as if in reflex.  

“Ya know for as skilled as you are, I figured you’d recognize me,” the woman pestered, her dialect thick. The spy could place the voice, but the face was distant from her mind. The blade stayed against her throat, the pressure never wavering.  

“Ellie,” she cooed, “it’s me.”  

There was nothing I could do. My feet were lodged between the large stones that decorated the bottom of the fast river, the murky sand blinding my vision and setting my lungs on fire. I was becoming weak, fighting a losing battle with the force of the water. I wanted to give up, to let the depths swallow me whole and my mind run blank. My fingers just barely reached the surface, scratching at the sliver of life that was never fully mine. The anxiety was bubbling up from my stomach and began to make me tremble with complete fear; I wasn’t getting out of this.  

Once, when I was young, I would swim in streams and small rivers just like this one. Uncle would be back at the village, father out with the council. My older foster brother would often join me, teaching me how to catch the fish and which plants could be used for medicine. When it was a quiet day, we would read books to the frogs and small insects. Now, at the precipice of death, I can only focus on the day he showed me how to fashion an arrowhead. On how his fingers made sharp movements and the glimmer in his eyes was its purest. He was the mouth of God; I took his words as religion. But he wasn’t there.  

My arms grew numb, my body losing sensation. This was it. This was how I was finally going. I screamed against the current and inhaled the river. As my vision darkened and I began to accept defeat, I remembered the reason I was trying to traverse across in the first place; the heaviness of the guilt weighing me down. I made a promise, I swore to him. They were going to die, and it was all my fault. It was a mistake to think I could perform this journey alone, inexperienced.  

And then I could breathe again. My fingers dug at my chest, eagerly gasping for air. My eyes burned from the sunlight, my right ankle adorning a jagged cut from the rock that once imprisoned me. My savior hovered above me, breathing just as heavily as I was. Where did they come from?  

“T-thank you,” I managed to get out once the anxiety subsided, my throat still burning.  

Hesitantly, I glanced up in their direction. They were drenched in luminance, a godliness highlighting their physique, black paint dancing across their nose. Meeting their enticing eyes, I realized I recognized them. A local girl a year older than me from the village, her hair tied tight against her head and half of her body soaking wet. She offered me a curt nod, adjusting the straps on her satchel and securing a few stray pieces of hair. The outfit she wore was jarring, nothing like the large tunics the women wore at home. The breeches and sleek overcoat were skin-tight, a throwing knife strapped securely to her thigh. She did not say anything back, leaving me as fast as she appeared.  

“Dina,” Ellie mumbled, her voice rough against the soothing nature of Dina’s. Her eyes scanned the other's face, the memories of her childhood friend rushing back to her like a tidal wave. The same black paint was decorated across her nose, symbolizing her coven. Ellie let her guard down, the blade dropping to her side. The sigils made sense then – she grew up in the same village beyond this city within the Withering Woods, learned from the same potions master, and drank the same Mistmoor river water. Their village Jackson’s Crossing, surrounded by the White Mountains and often disregarded on official cartographer maps, was a cloister of small families from varied ethnicities. 

Dina’s fingers were also stained a dark purple – evidence of witchcraft. The last time they had seen each other was years prior, back when Ellie was recruited to fight against the tyranny of the High Ruler, who came into power with varying degrees of support from the public. The last she heard of Dina was that she had joined a coven, practicing magic in secret.  

She had grown a lot since their last encounter, her scarlet hair now many inches longer and herself several inches taller. They spared each other the formalities in catching up, Ellie reaching for the item Dina snatched from the unsuspecting general just beyond the door. She let her, Ellie’s mind working through possibilities as she brought the ring of keys closer. She should have known; such an item was predictable. Although, what did Dina need them for?  

“Trying to sneak someone out of the dungeons, hmm?” she finally spoke, placing her dagger back into the depths of her clothing. Dina smiled at Ellie again, raising her eyebrows and letting her face do the talking. “Ah, well, sneaking into prison seems more your speed anyways.” 

“The council has been very unyielding in my request for an audience,” she began, walking a few steps away from Ellie. “So, I’ve had to find my own ways.” 

“Why do you wish to speak to them?” Ellie questioned, puzzled as to what her companion could want with them. Dina’s gaze meant nothing but trickery, her smile growing wider and wider. Whatever her intentions, Ellie considered leeching on, her own assignment from the Rebellion creating a need to be inside those palace walls – although for a quite different reason.

“Remember Jesse?” she smirks, running a hand through her locks. Ellie snorts at this – because of course she remembers Jesse, how could she not? They were practically joined at the hip before Ellie left Jackson. 

“He’s gotta learn to keep his mouth shut in front of the guards. He’s so pretty, but he can be pretty thick headed sometimes,” Dina scolds, shaking her head. “So, naturally, they’ve finally decided to sentence him after years of causing mayhem.”  

“Well, I want in,” Ellie says coldly, adjusting with the fabric that covers her shoulder. Dina squints at her friend, questioning her motivations. “I’ve got orders to relocate a member of the royal family, per the Rebellion's bequest.” 

-

Deep viridian ivy covers the cobblestones and beige pillars of the courtyard, dark shadows stretching up the walls. Rain litters the ground, the damp air an inviting aroma. Billowing clouds darken the sky, the thunder a welcoming presence. 

You’re sitting at a desk, candlelight framing your face as you attempt to read the book in your hands. It’s no use however, as your mind is swirling with a million different thoughts. The betrayal of your father cuts deep; all that remains is the stark reality of your pain. You trace the outline of the candle's flame with trembling fingers, its flickering dance mirroring your thundering heartbeat. 

A knock at the door interrupts your spiral, haphazardly setting down your book and the weight of the chair creaking as you stand. A woman is on the other side, her curly black hair cascading down her back. The servant's uniform does her no justice, her figure cloaked in a tunic two sizes too big. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the intruder at such a late hour. 

“Yes?” you ask, voice wavering slightly. You know she can see the dismay in your face, your eyes all too forgiving. You instinctively hunch your shoulders, nails pushing into the meat of your palm, knuckles turning white.

“Lord David sent me to draw you a bath, my lady. He wants you to be clean and fresh for your engagement tomorrow,” she responds, bowing her head. She holds clean linens and a sponge in her hand, a slight look of sorrow crossing her face that you almost miss. You step aside begrudgingly, letting her through. 

Large buckets of water make their rounds over the fire as the servant works to untie the laces of your bodice, making quick work of the material. The cool air filtering through the partially opened window makes your skin grow cold, the woman helping you out your chemise, body bare to her wandering gaze. Her hands were warm, a stir emerging within your gut. You always disliked having other people bath you, yet you found yourself straightening your back, showing off. She made eye contact with you, half slitted pupils devouring your form. You welcomed this, using your left hand to remove a pin that was keeping your braids in place. She steps behind you to begin dumping the contents of the bucket into a metal tub. 

And then suddenly the servant is several inches away, hands agonizingly tracing your shoulders, her breath hot on your neck. She places a small kiss just underneath your ear, a shudder escaping your lips as you tentatively close your eyes. You’d never had someone approach you this way, not unless you count the several forty-something year old male suitors that you had declined since you turned sixteen years ago.

The servant uses one hand to pull your hair over to one shoulder as the other palms your bare stomach. You suck in a breath, not pushing her away. You knew this was wrong, save for the fact that she was another woman. What would your father say? What would the maids whisper to each other when they thought no one was looking?

Despite protests shouting against your very core, you remained still, leaning into her frame. You could feel her breasts pressing into your back, her right hand dancing dangerously close to the space between your legs. Her left hand dragged across your chest, fingers grazing and pulling. When her right hand plunged into your slick, you leaned your head back against her shoulder. 

“Lay down, my lady,” she murmured, gently moving your already wrecked body towards the bed in the corner. You obliged, sitting on the edge. She pushed you down, immediately dropping down to her knees. You were new to this, not even daring to touch yourself. Her mouth felt foreign on your pelvis, but you bucked up into her face regardless. 

Her tongue slid across you, pink bud becoming raw from the friction. When she pushed two fingers inside of you, a borderline scream escaped your delicate lips. The swell of your breasts bounced as she began to pick up her pace, rocking your body against the frame of the bed and adding another slender digit. Her tongue continues its assault on your clit, forcing you to take it, to take all of it. 

It’s over before you realize, her face covered in you. You pull her up by the collar of her uniform, forcing her lips against yours. She’s taken aback at first, but then melts into the embrace. She’s sticking her tongue into your mouth, the taste of you invading and arousing. 

“As much as I’d love to continue Princess,” the woman says suddenly, breaking the kiss. “I did come here to bathe you.” You nod, suddenly extremely aware of your surroundings and how easily you folded under her touch – a woman’s touch. 

As she dumped another bucket of hot water into the metal tub, you gazed off absentmindedly. Her coarse fingers work through your locks, detangling the pieces that frame your face.

“You’re so beautiful, but you have to keep him happy. He gets bored easily.”

You glance over at her, noticing the way the fireplace behind her makes her skin glow. 

“I don’t want you to end up, well, like the others,” she sighs, moving to grab a rag to clean your skin with. You were so used to the mindless handling of your body that sometimes you forgot how vulnerable you could be. 

“W-what others?” you croaked, tension once again creeping up your spine and through your fingers. You felt her movements stiffen, realizing she spoke out of turn. 

“Oh, I shouldn’t, it’s all hearsay. I apologize, my lady,” she replies, her actions becoming more disorderly. You watch her closely, her sudden discomfort adding another layer of unease to the already heavy atmosphere. Despite her attempt to backtrack, your curiosity is piqued, and you press further.

"No, please, tell me," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, torn between loyalty to her lord and a desire to warn you. Finally, she speaks, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

"There have been others before you," she begins, her words careful and measured. "Women who were... chosen, like you." Your heart pounds in your chest, the implications of her words sinking in. You swallow hard, pushing down the rising sense of dread threatening to overwhelm you.

"What happened to them?" you ask, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed. She hesitates again, her gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet your eyes.

"They... disappeared," she murmurs, her voice barely audible. "Some say that he grows tired of his playthings, discarding them when they no longer amuse him, banished to distant lands never to return. Others whisper darker tales of rituals and… well," she clarifies, her hands shaking as she runs her nimble fingers through your hair once more. 

You struggle to process the implications of her revelation, the realization dawning on you with sickening clarity. "You mean... they're dead?" you whisper, the words feeling foreign and surreal on your tongue. You turn to her fully, putting on a show of false confidence. “This is my home. He can’t frighten me.”

“Of course, my lady. Forgive me.”

You nod, still reeling from her earlier words. As she finishes bathing you, you're left alone with your thoughts once more. The warmth of the water does little to soothe the chill in your bones, the weight of impending responsibilities pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

“Will I see you again?” You mumble, eyes pleading with the woman as she’s half way out of your chamber, a robe now draped around your figure. A frown catches her lips, a sigh is all the answer you need.

“I’m afraid not,” she finally answers, yet doesn’t move from her place at the door. You feel your stomach drop, reaching out to catch her lips in a kiss once more. This one is less aggressive, a plea for more. She cups your cheek softly, kissing you back. “It’s not safe. We live in a world where desires are often sacrificed for duty.”

As she finally steps away, you watch her silhouette fade into the dimly lit corridor beyond your chamber. A sense of loss washes over you, as you're left in the silence of your chambers. The flames of the candles flicker ominously, casting dancing shadows on the walls. You try to shake off the unease settling in your chest, but the seed of doubt planted by the woman’s words grows with each passing moment.

You know you should rest, to prepare yourself for the challenges that lie ahead, but sleep eludes you. Instead, you find yourself pacing the room, the echoes of your footsteps mingling with the whispers of your own fears.

This union is a death sentence, a promise made to satisfy your fathers requests. Your older sister was the next in line to rule, your brother already married off to a Duchess in the East. You would never sit on the throne; the pressure of said title always out of reach but forever a taunt. You could taste the longing for power – a snake wrapping around your heart, squeezing. 

By marrying Lord David, you help ease the emerging tensions between the East and South kingdoms within the empire. It had long been kept secret that you were a bastard, a lie living a life of luxury. Guilt ate away at you from every inch of your skin, your real mother a ghost of your past. Of course, maids and servants talked. That said, the effort to uphold the ruler's dignity and honor reigned supreme; Those who were caught gossiping would meet a punishment worse than castration. 

You understand the importance of maintaining stability within the empire, of ensuring peace between rival factions. But on the other hand, there's the gnawing fear that grips you, the fear of being trapped in a loveless marriage, of becoming just another casualty in the game of power and ambition.

You remember the stories you heard as a child, tales of kings and queens whose lives were dictated by duty rather than desire. You used to dream of a different fate for yourself, of finding love and happiness on your own terms. But now, as the reality of your situation sinks in, those dreams seem like distant echoes of a naive past.

Tomorrow, you will be betrothed to a man you hardly know; a union forged by politics and alliances. When morning comes, you will rise with a sense of resignation, steeling yourself for the path laid out before you.

-

Dawn breaks upon a canvas of melancholy, the sky adorned in swathes of slate-hued clouds. You dress in a gown of regal elegance, each layer of silk and lace feeling like a shroud closing in around you. Your reflection in the mirror is a stranger's face, masked behind a facade of composure that belies the turmoil within. As you fasten the intricate clasps of your necklace – a delicate chain of platinum interwoven with strands of glistening rhodonite and sunstone – you can't help but wonder if you're adorning yourself for a wedding or a funeral.

Downstairs, guests mingle in clusters of polished nobility. Their smiles are as artificial as the flowers adorning the tables, masking the alliances and rivalries that simmer beneath the surface. You navigate the crowd with practiced grace, exchanging pleasantries and feigned enthusiasm.

In the grand hall, where sunlight filters through stained glass, illuminating the opulence of the surroundings, you stand amidst a sea of faces, each one a mask concealing clandestine desires. At the center of it all stands Lord David, a towering figure of authority and ambition. His gaze finds yours across the room, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he turns to greet another guest. 

His eyes, like shards of obsidian, pierce through the veneer of social niceties. As he acknowledges your presence with a nod of his head, you offer a polite smile, concealing the turmoil churning within your breast. His lips curve in response, but there is a hardness in his gaze. With unspoken haste, the sea of guests transitioned into the next room, organizing into rows. 

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of color upon the assembled guests. The delicate lace of your veil cascaded like a waterfall around you, framing your face in a halo of soft radiance. Lord David, regal and imposing, awaited you at the altar. 

As you drew near, the murmurs of the crowd fell silent, and all that remained was the steady rhythm of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. With each step, you felt the weight of expectation pressing down upon you, the gravity of the moment settling like a cloak upon your shoulders.

At last, you stood face to face with Lord David, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped his in yours. The officiant's voice filled the air, the solemn words of the vows binding you together. His grip tightened at your wrists, thumb pressing into your pressure point. You fought against the sinking feeling in your chest, the fear washing over your features. 

Concealed behind a pillar, at the room's farthest edge, stood a guest with a blade, its hilt adorned with an abstract fox; A silent sentinel amidst the opulent chaos. Their gaze, like a river's current, flows over your form, lingering on each curve and contour with a cautious reverence. The bodice of the gown hugs your frame, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist before giving way to a voluminous skirt that pools around your feet in a sea of soft fabric. Layers upon layers of tulle and organza lend an air of weightless beauty to the ensemble, each fold and pleat catching the light in a mesmerizing dance.

The spy stole a final glance at the princess, and for a brief moment, she could've sworn she saw a glimmer of fear entrenched in your gaze. Rancorously, Ellie envisioned taking a blade to Lord David's throat and smiling as the congealed mess of his arteries betrayed him. She shoved the wrinkled piece of parchment into the confines of her satchel. Her mission began.

Secure the youngest daughter of the sovereign. 

taglist: @seraphicsentences @onlinelesbo @yumimak @elliewilliamsblunt @bready101

[f3mme-f4tale]

update

THIS BITCH GRADUATED COLLEGE!! WE'RE SO BACK!!!

in all seriousness, i'll have an update ready to be posted for bound by bloodshed by tomorrow night as well as a new series hehe. im working 50 hours a week right now, so please be patient with me.

also, after getting an interview with my first big girl job -- they called to tell me they lost the funding for the position???? bro huh. back to working part time jobs i guess.

[f3mme-f4tale]

hey yall... sorry for disappearing the last month or so. i've been so overwhelmed with course work and finals. i'm graduating with my undergrad in exactly a week (yay!) so my plan is to start being more active around then. i also just received an email that i got an interview for my first big girl job. im on the up & up!!!

as always, free palestine :)

[f3mme-f4tale]

and you’re so real for that

y’a know

help bc this is literally so hot. need ellie to fuck me that good. please i’m begging.

- just thinking about the way ellie would be so lost in the moment to the point where her hips would be thrusting deep into you on their own- just selfishly chasing after her own orgasm, absolutely LIVING off of the small sparks of friction her overstimulated clits getting on every push.

- she’d be rambling and shit, all “fuck baby you’re takin’ me so good,” and “god you’re so fuckin’ wet for me,” just blabbering anything and everything that’s coming to mind.

- and you KNOW ellie’s so delusional to the point where she swears she can actually feel you wrapped tightly around her strap. girl treats her precious green 6 incher as a fr LIMB.

- and so ofc that’s making her mutter cocky shit like, “gonna fill you full with my cum, baby. yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you? fuckin’ slut.” and ofc things like: “shit, babe, you’re gripping me so tight ya gotta let me move, c’mon.”

- since ellie’s such a strap lesbo you absolutely BET she’d fucking lose it seeing you squirt all over it. our girl knows she’s a total god with her silicone but like fuck, dude, this good?

- and yes, she is this good. because it’s nearly impossible for you to shut up at all when she’s fucking you dizzy ‘n dumb, g-spot hit deliciously with every stroke, clit prodded perfectly every time her hips meet yours.

- and imagine her cute lil puffy clit already rubbed raw from fucking you so hard w the strap just throbbing to the point it hurts from how hot you look under her, completely drenching her dick with your squirt.

- and she wouldn’t even be all that smug about it at first— no that comes later—she’d just fucking keen at the very sight of you.

- her cute eyebrows just scrunching up tightly together as she lets out the most unexpected, adorably needy whine, cumming immediately all over the base ‘n watching pervertedly as your dirty juices mix.

- and she’s just moaning complete nonsense, “god, please- fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming!” —literally more out of it than you are because she’s that turned on from watching you make a mess of the sheets.

- and THEN’s when she makes her annoying yet endearing ass quips, all “aw, you’re such a cute little mess for me,” and “big one, huh? who got you squirting like this, hmm?” as if she didn’t just whimper like a submissive bitch two seconds earlier.

my girl 4ever though i fr live for ellie and her strap. best duo in tlou. perhaps the only (surviving) duo? like damn not even her fingers- nvm.

[f3mme-f4tale]

would anyone be up for editing or looking over some of the upcoming chapters for bound by bloodshed or which witch before i post them??? i feel like everything i've been writing the last week has been trash and i can't tell if its any good

[f3mme-f4tale]

which witch

moodboard

pairing: rebel!ellie x princess!reader (categorized within the knight!ellie aesthetic, except she’s a spy for the rebellion, catching the eye of a certain member of royalty)

content warnings: potential depictions of violence, sexual content, adult themes (explicit language), tension, angst, world building, enemies to lovers, more to come…

✎ summary: Ellie, a cunning rebel spy, finds herself entangled in a web of intrigue and forbidden love. Tasked with infiltrating the palace of the ruling kingdom, Ellie's mission takes an unexpected turn when she encounters a princess, a sheltered royal with a fiery spirit.

As Ellie navigates the treacherous corridors of power, she and the princess find themselves on opposite sides of a conflict that threatens to tear their world apart. Despite their initial animosity, sparks fly between them, leading to a tentative alliance born out of necessity. But as their feelings deepen, the pair must confront the harsh realities of their divided loyalties and the sacrifices they are willing to make for each other.

playlist:

⭒ which witch by florence & the machine ⭒ empire now by hozier ⭒ devil in your eye by mumford & sons ⭒ can’t buy happiness by tash sultana ⭒ i’m your man by mitski ⭒ NFWB by hozier ⭒ sour switchblade by elita ⭒ skyfall by adele ⭒ going under by evanescence ⭒ o children by nick cave & the bad seeds ⭒ my body is a cage by arcade fire ⭒ witches burn by the pretty reckless ⭒ sisters of the moon by fleetwood mac ⭒ (don’t fear) the reaper by blue öster cult ⭒ family tree by ethel cain

[f3mme-f4tale]

new possible series might get uploaded either tonight or tomorrow! and then appaloosa bones might get posted sometime later this week idk yet. also working on bbb!! i've hit a wall with a brew of history, so that work is on pause for the time being. if you want to be added to my general taglist for all works, just let me know

unrelated, but i applied for my first big girl job post college graduation in april!! it pays super well and is within my chosen field. fingers crossed lmao

and as always, free palestine! remember to not buy tlou2 remastered, boycott naughty dog and neil, and above all -- fuck z!onism :)

[f3mme-f4tale]

the heartbreak trilogy

masterlist

synopsis: if only your childhood best friend, ellie williams, knew how much you liked her. seeing her fall for a new girl made it clear that you had to go. the consequences leave you eviscerated.

pairing: modern au ellie x reader

word count (work in progress): 15.7k

minors don’t interact

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the spotify playlist:

chapter 1

synopsis: if only your childhood best friend, ellie williams, knew how much you love like her. but her new girlfriend, heather, has got her mesmerized. and it leaves you brokenhearted.

content warnings: cursing, angst, unrequited love, no comfort

based on the conan gray song "heather"

chapter 2

synopsis: you completely cut ellie out of your life, and it has been months since you decided you had to go. but it's not over for ellie, and it all hits you in her car.

content warnings: cursing, angst, unresolved feelings, cheating, reader has a vagina, SMUT, dom!ellie, sub!reader (dom!reader for two seconds), cunnilingus, fingering, slight spit kink (sorry lol), strap eating (kind of), strap-on use, slight hair pulling, breeding kink, no comfort

based on the lizzy mcalpine song "ceilings"

featuring a duet of "ceilings" by lizzy mcalpine and ellie williams

let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist or if you'd asked previously and i missed you! otherwise, follow @belleloves and turn your notifications on to be notified when the newest chapter comes out! and please have your age in your bio if you want to be added to the taglist!

more coming soon! ♥︎