plot. as the pastors sheltered daughter, you've life defined by strict religious expectations and your fathers control. on the first day of summer, you meets ellie, the new farm hand whose confidence and kindness leaves a lasting impression.
content warnings. religious themes, little use of yn, a bit of fluff, asshole father, s!her pronouns used, reader is afab, language, ellie and reader are just being cute and flirting, 5k words
AMERICAN TEENAGER
"Putting too much faith in the make-believe" - ethel cain
July 1, 1983
You grew up believing the path to heaven was mapped out in the steps of your daily life.
Every day was a series of transactions, measured by your obedience to a strict moral code. Cursing was forbidden. Prayers had to rise to heaven four times a day, as though repetition alone could bridge the distance between the earthly and the divine.
Each morning, you dressed exactly as you were expected to: pressed skirts that brushed your knees and collared blouses trimmed with delicate lace. Modesty wasn't simply encouraged—it was proof of righteousness. Heaven felt less like a promise than a prize, earned one obedient choice at a time. Every good deed brought you closer. Every mistake threatened to pull you away.
Your father stood at the center of your world.
He was the pastor of your small-town church, a man whose sermons carried enough conviction that people listened as though God Himself had spoken. The congregation admired him without question, and sometimes you wondered if he believed he had truly been chosen by God.
Your mother existed quietly beside him.
She spoke in soft murmurs, never interrupting, never disagreeing. Even in the suffocating heat of July, she wore thick cardigans that concealed the bruises blooming beneath her sleeves—red, purple, yellow. Stories hidden beneath knitted fabric.
No one asked.
You certainly never did.
You had learned long ago that silence was another form of obedience.
Another reason why the town adored you. With your gentle smile and unwavering devotion, you were everything a pastor's daughter should be. Mothers pinched your cheeks after Sunday service, praising your sweetness and telling their own daughters they should be more like you.
You smiled every time, but no one noticed how exhausting it was.
Your older sister had once stood exactly where you did.
Then she became pregnant before marriage.
Your father, desperate to preserve both his reputation and the church's, forced her into a hurried wedding with the baby's father. She left soon afterward, taking nothing but a single suitcase.
The only thing she left behind was a folded slip of paper with a phone number scribbled across it.
You still kept it tucked inside your Bible, yet you hadn't spoken to her in years.
The orange sun climbed over the endless yellow fields surrounding your family's farm in rural Illinois. A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance while the first sounds of the morning drifted across the property.
You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and wandered to the window.
Outside, your father stood in the yard, rake resting against one shoulder as he spoke to someone you didn't recognize.
A woman.
She wore faded blue jeans tucked into worn cowboy boots, a dark red flannel over a white tank top, and a weathered cowboy hat that shaded her face. At first her hair looked brown, but when the sunlight caught it, rich auburn strands gleamed beneath the brim.
As though sensing your gaze, she looked up.
Her moss-green eyes met yours.
Your breath caught.
You ducked away from the window before your father could notice you watching.
Today was the first day of summer break.
You planned to meet a few friends later, spend the afternoon at Bible study, and enjoy the rare freedom that came between school years.
After kneeling beneath the wooden cross hanging above your bed, you folded your hands.
"Thank You, Lord, for another day." The familiar prayer came easily.
When you finished, you slipped into your favorite white dress with its puffed lace sleeves before fastening the silver cross that never left your neck.
The smell of pancakes greeted you downstairs.
A gospel station crackled softly through the old kitchen radio while your mother stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced hands.
Your father sat at the table with a mug of black coffee.
"Morning," he said.
His deep Southern drawl filled the room with effortless authority.
"I hope you've already said your prayers."
"Yes, Father."
Your mother quietly placed his coffee in front of him before turning back to the stove.
Without thinking, you gathered a fistful of your skirt in your hands—a nervous habit.
Your father's eyes flicked downward. "Stop that."
The words were sharp enough to make you immediately let go.
You lowered your gaze to the floor.
"The farmhand's already out in the fields," he said after taking a sip of coffee. "Been working since sunrise."
Your curiosity got the better of you.
"We hired someone?"
He sighed, as though even your question tested his patience. "A young woman. I knew her father years ago. She offered to help for the summer."
You thought back to the woman outside your window.
The one with the green eyes.
Your mother slid a plate in front of you.
"Eat before your chores," she whispered.
You smiled gratefully and reached for the syrup.
The barn smelled of fresh hay and warm animals.
You carried a small wooden stool beneath your arm as you crossed toward Nessie's stall.
"There you are," you murmured, scratching the gray cow between the ears. "Good morning, Nessie. Got any milk for me today?"
She answered with a quiet huff.
You laughed softly before settling beside her with your bucket.
The steady rhythm of milking quickly became automatic.
So automatic, in fact, that you didn't hear someone enter the barn.
"Hello?" The unfamiliar voice startled you.
Your elbow knocked the bucket sideways, spilling milk across the wooden floor.
Nessie shifted nervously.
"Oh—"
Before you could calm her, someone stepped forward, running a gentle hand along the cow's neck.
"It's alright, girl."
Within seconds, Nessie relaxed.
Only then did the stranger turn toward you.
Without her hat, you could finally see her properly.
Freckles dusted her sun-warmed cheeks. Auburn hair curled messily around her face, and dirt streaked across one sleeve from the morning's work.
She smiled.
Your stomach tightened.
She was...
Beautiful.
Beautiful in a way that caught you completely off guard.
"Sorry 'bout that," she said with an awkward laugh. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Her voice was soft, rough around the edges, carrying the same Southern accent everyone around town had—but somehow warmer.
“What, I got something on my face?”
You realized you'd been staring. "Oh." Heat rushed to your cheeks. "No. Sorry."
You quickly bent back over the bucket, pretending to focus on your work.
You could feel her watching you. "I'm Ellie."
She leaned casually against the stall door. "You're Y/N, right?"
You paused. "How do you know my name?"
She laughed.
"You're the preacher's daughter." She shrugged. "The whole town knows you."
Your face warmed even more. "Well..." You cleared your throat. "Shouldn't you be helping said preacher?"
Ellie grinned.
"I probably should." She paused. "But I just moved here, and I'll be starting school with you in September, so I figured I should try making a friend."
You stood, setting the stool back in the corner of Nessie's stall before lifting the pail of fresh milk.
"Well then," you said, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips, "I'd love to be your friend."
You stepped past her, making sure to balance the heavy bucket of milk carefully, but just as you were about to move away, Ellie reached out toward the bucket.
"Here, let me help," she offered, her fingers grazing against yours for a fleeting moment, a spark of electricity racing through you at the contact.
You recoiled instinctively, your hand pulling away so quickly that the milk began to slosh over the edge, a frothy splatter hitting the rough barn floor and soaking into the dry hay scattered around.
You mentally scolded yourself, breath catching in your throat. "It's okay, I've got it. Really—" you insisted, trying to regain your composure.
But Ellie, undeterred by your protest, had already taken hold of the bucket, her eyes bright with determination.
"I don't mind," she replied, her voice airy as she strolled toward the weathered barn doors, the wood creaking gently under the weight of years.
With a playful glance over her shoulder, a teasing smile blossomed on her lips. "We're friends now, aren't we?"
You blinked, momentarily taken aback by her warmth.
"Friends help friends," she added, her tone light, as if sealing an unspoken pact between the two of you.
You watched her silhouette meld with the daylight, a smile reluctantly spreading across your own face, drawn in by her contagious joy.
Adjusting the fabric of your dress in anticipation, you quickened your pace, the warm midmorning sun casting a golden glow over the farm.
Together, you walked in a comfortable silence, the gentle clink of the bucket swinging between you accompanied by the faint sounds of nature. Chickens, startled from their pecking, scattered from your path with a cacophony of clucks, their feathers ruffling in a chaotic flutter as Ellie burst into laughter.
"Are they always this skittish?" she asked, amusement dancing in her voice, her eyes sparkling like the sunlit sky above you.
You couldn’t help but smile, even if just a little. "Only when they think someone's about to feed them."
"So... always, then?" Ellie replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
A soft laugh bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it, warm and genuine.
Ellie’s grin stretched wider, as if she had just uncovered a delightful secret, a victory in the playful banter between you two.
Outside, your mother was busy at work, her figure framed by the sun's golden rays as she carefully pinned freshly washed sheets onto the clothesline. The crisp white fabric danced and billowed gently in the soft breeze, shining brightly against the clear blue sky, filling the air with the faint, comforting scent of cleanliness.
She smiled softly, her eyes lighting up when she spotted the two of you approaching.
"Oh dear," she exclaimed, her voice warm and inviting as she hurried over. "You didn't have to carry that all this way."
Ellie, with a hint of modesty in her tone, handed her the heavy bucket. "It wasn't any trouble at all, ma'am," she replied, her cheeks slightly flushed.
Your mother, her face radiating gratitude, took the bucket from Ellie's hands with a gentle touch. "Thank you," she said, full of gratitude.
As she turned to step inside the house, the door creaked open, and your father emerged into the soft afternoon light. His gaze immediately fell on the two of you.
"You finished tending to the cows?"
"Yes, Father." You lowered your head, a wave of unease washing over you as I sensed the familiar storm of his temper brewing beneath the surface.
He shifted his gaze from me to the fields, his expression as stern as the thick clouds gathering on the horizon. With a slight nod, he gestured toward the sprawling expanse of land.
"The south fence won’t mend itself," he said, each word heavy with expectation.
Ellie tipped the brim of her worn hat. "On it," she replied confidently, her voice brightening the dim air.
Before she ambled away, a final glance cast back in your direction sent a flutter of anticipation through you.
"I’ll see you around, preacher's daughter," she called out, her smile lingering in your mind.
"You seem rather taken with her," my father remarked, his tone sharp enough to slice through my reverie.
"What?" you snapped your head from the side where you were watching Ellie’s silhouette.
"You’ve been staring," he pointed out, his eyes narrowed in that way that always made you feel both exposed and challenged. He seemed to change his mind as he just shook his head. “You know what, just finish with your chores.”
You said nothing as he walked past you towards the fields. You sighed as you turned to go collect eggs.
As you finished gathering the eggs from the nesting boxes, the sun had risen high in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow that kissed the back of your neck.
Carefully, you balanced the woven basket against your hip, its surface cool and smooth, and you began your trek back to the house. Each step was taken with mindfulness, as you navigated the uneven, sunbaked soil, determined not to crack any of the eggs.
Upon reaching the screen door, it let out a familiar creak, a sound that echoed softly as you pushed it open and stepped inside.
The kitchen welcomed you with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. Your mother stood at the counter, her hands deftly kneading the soft, elastic dough, a rhythmic motion that accompanied the gentle hum of hymns drifting from the old radio perched on the shelf.
Without glancing away from her task, she asked, "You found all of them?"
"Twenty-three," you replied, holding up the small basket.
"Good," she said, a small smile breaking across her face, lighting up her features. "Set them beside the sink, please."
You followed her instructions, placing the basket carefully beside the sink, the eggs nestled snugly within their straw bedding. Afterward, you reached for a nearby towel, its texture rough against your palms, and wiped the dirt from your hands.
Before you could gather your thoughts to speak to your mother, your father stepped in through the creaking back door, peeling off his worn work gloves, their leather cracked from long hours in the fields.
"The horses are out in the pastures now," he declared, the scent of hay and earth clinging to him as he shook off the remnants of the barn.
Your mother glanced up from her task, her hands busy arranging a vibrant spread of fresh vegetables and bread on the kitchen table. "Lunch is nearly ready," she replied.
He turned his gaze toward the sunlit window that framed the sprawling fields, the gentle sway of the grasses whispering secrets to the breeze.
"Go call Ellie," he instructed, a note of authority in his tone.
You blinked in surprise, taken aback. "Me?"
"Yes, you heard me," he affirmed.
You quickly nodded. "Yes, Father."
The journey to the south pasture stretched on longer than you had remembered, each step revealing more of the sun-drenched landscape.
Cicadas buzzed insistently from the trees, their persistent drone weaving harmoniously with the rhythmic chirping of crickets concealed within the tall grasses. Wildflowers painted the edges of the fence line, their vibrant colors swaying gently in the soft, warm summer breeze.
As you drew closer, you spotted Ellie perched on one of the rustic wooden fence posts, her brow furrowed in concentration as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with a weathered rag. The flannel shirt she had worn that morning was now tied around her waist, exposing her sun-kissed skin in her white tank top, which was slowly turning brown. There was a tattoo on her right forearm that you hadn’t noticed before.
She appeared weary from the heat and hard work, but her face brightened with a smile the moment she caught sight of you.
"Well, if it isn't my new friend," she said, her voice laced with playful warmth.
You felt a rush of warmth blossom in your cheeks at her greeting.
"My father said lunch is ready," you managed to reply, the hint of a smile breaking across your own face.
She gracefully hopped down from the wooden fence, her movements fluid and effortless, as if she were born to navigate the rural landscape.
"I was beginning to wonder when he'd remember that I need to eat," she said, a hint of playful exasperation in her voice.
The two of you fell into step beside each other, the sound of your boots crunching on the gravel path echoing in the stillness of the afternoon.
"You've been working since sunrise?" you inquired, curiosity piquing your interest.
"Mhm," she replied, her gaze ahead, focused but relaxed.
"Doesn't that bother you?" you pressed, intrigued by her stamina.
She shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that spoke volumes about her attitude.
"Not really," she assured you, her tone light as she took in the surrounding fields that stretched endlessly.
"You don't mind all this hard work?" you asked again, genuinely surprised by her level of contentment.
She let out a laugh, bright and genuine, breaking the rhythm of the moment.
"I grew up on a ranch in Oklahoma. This," she gestured broadly to the landscape around you, "is a vacation compared to branding cattle."
Your eyes widened.
"You branded cattle?" You asked, curiosity flickering in your eyes.
"Sure did," she replied with a grin, her confidence palpable.
"Isn't that... dangerous?" You questioned, a hint of concern creeping into your voice.
"Sometimes," she admitted, her demeanor shifting slightly as she recalled the moments of risk.
"You could've gotten hurt," You said. Your father had tried branding cattle on his own once and had a permanent reminder on his stomach of how that turned out.
"I did," she confessed, twisting her arm to reveal a thin, white scar that snaked its way along her forearm, a stark contrast against her sun-kissed skin.
"Kicked by a calf," she added nonchalantly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"You don't have any scars?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her eyes searching your face for answers.
You hesitated, memories of deep, ugly bruises on your back and arms flashing before you. Instinctively, you tucked your hands behind your back, a defensive gesture.
"I don't think so," you finally replied, the weight of unspoken truths lingering in the air.
"Huh, " She smiled. "I figured everybody who lived on a farm had at least one."
She nudged your shoulder gently, a playful glint in her eyes. "Looks like it’s my job to show you how to embrace a little fun this summer."
You turned to her, curiosity piqued. "Fun?"
Her laughter rang out, bright and infectious, filling the air between you. "You say that like it’s a foreign concept."
"I know what fun is," you replied, trying to sound confident.
"Oh really?" she teased, crossing her arms in a mock display of seriousness, her stance lightening the mood.
With a playful smirk, she leaned closer. "When’s the last time you laughed so hard that you started hiccuping?”
You opened your mouth to respond, the words forming in your mind, but then you hesitated, closing it again.
Ellie's expression shifted as she raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.
"I thought so," she said, a hint of mischief in her tone.
"I..." You frowned, feeling a knot of uncertainty in your stomach. "I don't think that's something we're supposed to do."
"Says who?" she shot back, her eyes sparkling with challenge.
"My father," you replied, the weight of his words echoing in your mind.
She hummed thoughtfully, the sound barely breaking the stillness of the moment.
"And what do you think?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her gaze probing and warm.
You paused, struck by the realization that you hadn’t really considered the possibility of a different viewpoint.
"I... don’t know," you admitted quietly, the uncertainty hanging in the air between you.
For a fleeting moment, silence enveloped you, the world around you fading into the background.
Then, a bright smile spread across Ellie’s face, illuminating her features.
"Well," she said, her voice cheerful, breaking the tension.
"Maybe we'll figure that out together,” she said softly, a hint of warmth in her voice.
As she spoke, she deftly plucked a single wildflower between her slender fingers. With a gentle flourish, she extended her hand toward you, presenting her gift.
“For you,” she declared, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
You looked down at the small flower. No one had ever given you a flower before, and you found yourself captivated by the simple beauty of the gesture.
“It's just a weed,” Ellie added, a hint of nerves dancing on her lips. Her small grin illuminated her face, making the moment feel even more special. “But it's pretty, and I figured they deserved better than getting stepped on.”
With care, you accepted the flower, holding it gently as though it might disintegrate into petals at any moment. The unexpected gift felt like a treasure in your hands, a symbol of something precious.
“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling an unexpected rush of gratitude.
Her smile widened, a radiant beam of joy that made your heart swell.
“It looks prettier with you holding it,” she said, her gaze lingering on the flower between your fingers, as if it were somehow enhanced by your presence.
Your breath caught in your throat, a gentle shock that momentarily silenced the world around you.
The compliment lingered, weaving its way into the depths of your chest, igniting a warmth that was both comforting and entirely foreign.
Before you could formulate a response, the farmhouse came into view, its familiar outline sharp against the sky.
There stood your father on the porch, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, an imposing figure framed by the rustic charm of the home you had known all your life.
Without uttering a single word, you carefully tucked the wildflower in the small pocket in your dress.
The two of you walked in silence, the quiet stretching out like a warm blanket wrapped around you, enveloping you both in a cocoon of unspoken thoughts until you finally reached the front porch.
Your father moved aside just enough to allow you and Ellie to pass, his keen gaze momentarily flitting over her before landing on you. There was an unyielding seriousness in his expression. “Wash up,” he ordered, the authority in his voice unmistakable. “Food’s getting cold.”
“Yes, Father,” you replied, the weight of his stare still heavy on your shoulders.
As you stepped into the kitchen, the inviting aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the savory scent of golden fried chicken and the sweet essence of buttered corn. The dining table was elegantly set, your mother meticulously arranging each plate with care, a gleaming pitcher of sweet tea sitting proudly at its center, catching the light like jewels.
Ellie paused in the doorway, uncertainty flickering across her features. “Would you like me to eat outside, sir?” she asked, her voice tinged with hesitance as she glanced at your father.
He met her gaze with a firm look, causing her to draw back slightly. “No.”
With that final word, Ellie seemed to release a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “We say grace before every meal,” your father announced, his voice steady, reinforcing the traditions that shaped your family.
"Of course," she replied softly.
As the chatter subsided, everyone found their places around the table, the subtle sounds of chair legs scraping against the wooden floor filling the room.
You instinctively folded your hands, fingers intertwining as you lowered your gaze, embracing the moment of reverence that filled the air.
"Heavenly Father," your dad began, his voice steady and warm, drawing the family’s attention. "Thank You for providing this food and for the hands that worked diligently to prepare it. Guide us to remain faithful servants and protect this household from temptation and wickedness. In Jesus' name."
“Amen," you and your mother echoed, the sound lingering in the air like a warm embrace.
Ellie sat at the table, her gaze dropping to her plate for a moment before she softly added, "Amen," her voice barely above a whisper.
As the meal commenced, an enveloping silence settled over the table, punctuated only by the gentle clink of silverware against porcelain, creating a soothing rhythm amidst the evening’s gathering.
After a brief pause, your father broke the quietude, his voice steady as he looked across the table.
“So... Williams,” he began, the weight of his curiosity evident in his tone.
Ellie’s eyes flicked up to meet his, a hint of apprehension dancing in their depths.
"Sir?" she replied, her voice composed yet tentative.
“Your father tells me you've lived in quite a few places,” he continued, studying her attentive expression.
She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips, as memories of her past flitted through her mind.
"We moved around a lot growing up," she explained, her words laced with a tinge of nostalgia.
“For work?” your father inquired, his eyebrows raised in genuine interest.
"Mostly," Ellie confirmed.
“What kind of work?” he probed further.
“Ranches. Seasonal jobs,” she replied, her voice steady as she reminisced about the various landscapes that had cradled her childhood adventures. “Wherever there were horses or cattle, we'd usually end up there."
“Hm.”
Your father chewed thoughtfully, savoring his food, before turning his attention back to the conversation.
“You don’t attend church?”
His question hung in the air, surprising you with its suddenness.
Ellie swallowed hard, the tension in the room palpable as all eyes turned to her.
“No, sir,” she replied, her voice steady despite the weight of your father's gaze.
An uneasy silence descended as the clinking of cutlery faded, and your father's fork came to rest on his plate, the sound echoing in the stillness.
“No?”
He leaned in slightly, his brows furrowed in curiosity or perhaps concern.
“My father was never really religious,” she explained, her gaze drifting momentarily to the floor as if searching for the right words.
Your father fixed his gaze on her, his expression a mix of contemplation and understanding, the silence stretching between them like an unspoken bond.
"I see," he finally responded, his voice steady yet soft.
Across the table, your mother, sensing the weight of the moment, quickly reached for the basket overflowing with steaming, freshly baked rolls. The warm, yeasty aroma filled the air, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket.
"Would you like another?" she asked gently, her voice laced with warmth as she extended the basket toward Ellie, offering a roll that glistened with butter.
Ellie’s face lit up as she accepted the gesture, a grateful smile spreading across her features.
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you," she replied, her eyes shining with appreciation.
Your mother returned the smile at Ellie’s response.
"I'm glad someone appreciates my baking," she said, her tone sincere.
"I appreciate it a lot," Ellie exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight as she took another bite. "This is probably the best homemade bread I've tasted in years."
A delicate blush crept across your mother's cheeks, illuminating her face with a warm glow.
"You flatter me," she replied, a shy smile touching her lips.
"I'm serious," Ellie insisted, her sincerity evident in her tone.
Your mother let out a quiet laugh, a sound so soft and fleeting that it almost escaped the air entirely. It was a rare sound, one that you didn’t hear often in your household.
Just then, your father cleared his throat, the sound breaking the momentary bubble of warmth.
"You've never been to church?" he asked, curiosity lacing his voice.
"I’ve been a few times," Ellie replied, shrugging lightly, a casual gesture that belied the depth of her experience.
"Weddings, Funerals, Christmas, perhaps just once or twice."
"And you don't believe?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.
Ellie hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly as she weighed her words.
"I've... never really considered it much," she finally admitted, shrugging as she started eating once more.
You found yourself staring in disbelief, your mouth slightly agape.
It was unfathomable to you—the idea of not contemplating the existence of God.
For you, faith wasn't just a part of life; it was intricately woven into the very fabric of your existence.
Every prayer offered in gratitude or longing, each meal shared with a sense of blessing, the countless choices made under the watchful eyes of divine approval—these were the threads of your daily life.
What would it truly be like to wake up each morning free from that inner dialogue, devoid of the need to seek God’s guidance for every step you took?
The thought felt almost impossible.
Your father gave a slow nod.
"Everyone should know the Lord."
“Maybe someday,” she replied softly, a hint of irration lacing her tone as she looked away, lost in thought.
His response seemed to satisfy him, and the conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics, the tension easing like the sun breaking through a thick cloud cover.
You finally released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the moment hanging in the air like a fragile thread.
After lunch, Ellie offered to help your mother carry the stack of dishes into the kitchen, her movements confident and purposeful as she navigated the busy space. Once the last plate was set down with a soft clatter, she quickly stepped outside again, eager to dive back into her work under the warm sun.
You lingered in the doorway, watching her.
There was no hint of hesitation in her actions. She didn't pause to glance around or wait for instructions; instead, she seemed to instinctively sense what needed doing and tackled it head-on.
You realized how seldom you encountered people like her.
In your town, everyone had their roles carved in stone. The women took care of the cooking and cleaning, their smiles practiced and polite, while the men went about their business of working, leading, and making the decisions that dictated the rhythm of life. Each person fit neatly into their prescribed label.
But Ellie Williams appeared to step outside those invisible boundaries.
Or maybe...
She simply chose not to be confined by them.
The realization jolted you, sending an unexpected flutter of confusion through your mind.
You promptly dismissed the thought, shaking your head as if to clear it.
She was just different, that was all.
Different wasn't always a bad thing.
You stepped outside, greeted by the warm, gentle breeze that brushed against your skin like a soft caress. The fields unfurled before you, a mesmerizing expanse of gold shimmering under the radiance of the afternoon sun, each blade of grass dancing in the wind.
Near the west barn, Ellie was hard at work, skillfully stacking hay bales just as your father had instructed. Her cowboy hat was tilted low, casting a shadow over her sparkling eyes, and her rolled-up sleeves revealed arms tanned from the sun, glistening with the sweat of her labor.
Though she had only arrived that very morning, Ellie exuded a sense of belonging, as if the land itself had embraced her.
Suddenly, as if she could feel your gaze, Ellie looked up.
Time seemed to pause.
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, caught in a shared moment of unspoken acknowledgment.
Then, she smiled.
It wasn’t just the polite smile she reserved for your father. It was a genuine, carefree smile that lit up her face and reached her eyes, radiating warmth and authenticity.
Without thinking, you found yourself smiling back, an instant reaction that surprised you.
Ellie lifted a hand in a friendly wave, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief.
You hesitated, a flutter of uncertainty in your chest.
But then, you waved back, your hand feeling light and unburdened as it cut through the air.
An unusual warmth settled within you, spreading like the golden sunlight that bathed the fields.
You didn’t understand why it felt so different.
Why someone you had only just met hours ago could already make the expansive farm feel less lonely, less isolating.
You were puzzled by why her laughter echoed in your mind long after she had walked away, lingering like the sweet scent of wildflowers in the breeze.
And you couldn't quite grasp why a simple smile from her stirred something deep inside you, something that felt both exhilarating and forbidden.
That night, as you knelt beside your bed, your fingertips clutched together..
You folded your hands, a ritual you had practiced countless times before.
But this time, for the first time in years, words eluded you; they felt heavy and distant.
You closed your eyes, seeking solace.
"God..."
The name rolled off your tongue, familiar and comforting.
Yet, the thoughts that followed were a wild scramble of uncertainty.
For now, you weren’t asking for forgiveness.
You were grappling with a question, one that lingered in the silence of your heart.
And you were unsure what the answer might hold, or if you were ready to face it.
(thumbnail is kinda wack but trust me ok) just watched this video n i think everybody else should too. i love tlou, i love tlou2, but i think it's important that you can love something and also recognize its flaws, especially when it comes to stuff like this. the "it's a stretch" argument doesn't work when it comes to the parallels that were very intentionally drawn between the seattle conflict in tlou2 and the genocide happening in palestine right now, and whether the perspectives shown were presented this way by malice or sheer ignorance and fear of confronting their own biases doesn't matter. tlou2 can be good and bad at the same time, but it's important to stay strong in your stances. boycott naughty dog and neil druckmann. boycott israel. end the genocide and free palestine
I loved this video, the creator did such a good job at being aware of the material and the differing opinions whilst simultaneously drawing the parallels between the political messaging and the storyline. I’ve watched a lot of these video essays that did not do nearly as well of a job at understanding the nuance of the conversation at hand.
The part that really stood out to me was when he said that diversity is being used as a way to get away with this conservative zionism. In essence, like giving a dog medicine with peanut butter in order to deceive or make it more digestible.
Anyways, really cool video essay 10/10 would recommend.
twaj except it follows the canon storyline and joel dies and reader follows ellie on her journey because she would quite literally follow her to the end of the earth. but reader ends up dying and ellie feels so fucking guilty for never admitting her feelings and wasting all those years being scared to lose reader when she just ended up losing her in an even worse way anyway
just imagined ellie williams dying in a pool of her own blood, defeated, cold, with life fleeting her eyes. just curled in on herself with weak tears rolling down her face and quietly whimpering joel’s name to herself over and over, waiting for him to come.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ “you’d make a good mom for her” “i’d love to” ༄˖°.
| CONTENT TAGS – bsf!ellie x new mom!reader, ellie and reader are housemates, ellie is totally whipped, reader has an infant daughter cassy, use of "mama" "muffin" “princess”, ellie’s more than willing to do anything for you, pt2/?
ellie’s got cassy wrapped up on her chest, turning her wrist under the running water to check it’s temperature. “shhhh, it’s okay muffin, we’ll get you in bed soon,” she whispers to cassy, her free hand pushing her hair back from her face with her thumb as she fusses, restless and tired.
cassy babbles something ellie only plays into knowing that she’s complaining. “wow, you’re impatient today, aren’t ya? yeesh, no wonder your mama is so tired,” she mutters halfheartedly. ellis plugs the tub when it’s just warm enough for cassys more sensitive skin, letting the water slowly climb just enough to fill the smaller bathtub made just for her.
with cassy babbling up a storm, ellie finally gets her unwrapped and undressed. “there’s the fussy muffin,” she chuckles, pressing a kiss to her nose, cassy batting at ellie’s cheeks in delight.
setting her into the basin of the tub, cassy settles easily, relaxing once the warm water envelops her up to her little tummy. as she gently washes her little puff of hair, rinsing the suds out and being cautious of her eyes, ellie sits and almost watches in awe. this little ball of everything good, so small and perfect and beautiful, is yours. and with how often she watches her, feeds her, sits with her and genuinely loves her like another mother, ellie feels not like she’s owed anymore credit, only wishing she could be her mama too.
ellie really adores cassy, your perfect little girl who tries to scoop the water in her chubby little hands while ellie rubs her clean. “hey, you aren’t supposed to drink that,” ellie chuckles, rinsing her off and guiding her hands away from her mouth. not like cassy cares, she’s too busy playing.
scooping her dripping little body up into a nice warm towel, cassy lets out a tired gurgle. ellie unplugs the tub and cleans up after her before carrying her back to your bedroom. she sets her down into bed before patting her dry, just to give her a calming massage with baby oil before dressing her.
the whole time, ellie has a smile on her face, a small pull of her lips simply from being around cassy as she slowly blinks her eyes until she’s half asleep in her arms. “there ya go, princess,” ellie whispers, setting cassy in the soft plush of her crib, her eyes still stubbornly open until ellie dangles her hand into her crib, rubbing her belly. cassy bats at her hand weakly, sleep dragging her little arms down until she grabs ellie’s fingers, finally slipping into sleep.
she’d wait patiently until cassy was in a deeper sleep to pull away, knowing that she has other things that demand her attention, most importantly: you.
you had been tidying up the kitchen since noon, stuck in a loop with dishes and having to catch up on the laundry. things were getting done slower than normal, but you told ellie that you could handle it while she could just put cassy down for bed. ellie doesn’t care, she wants to help more, to help you.
she creeps down the stairs, careful not to wake cassy with the creaky steps before she stumbles into you coming in from putting up the laundry for the night. “hey there mama,” she smiles, leaning in the counter by her hip, “you almost done down here?”
you set down the hamper at your hip, shaking your head while still trying to make the best of it, “sadly, no. i’ve still got the dishes but that’s really it.” not that it’s pity, but ellie feels a pull in her heart hearing and seeing just how tired you are: the slight rasp to your tired voice, your shoulders just barely slouched. “i can do em,” she blurts out, knowing you’ve done them a few times already today.
you shake your head, rubbing your forehead but looking at her with a tired sigh, “el, really, i’ll be fine, get to bed, you already helped with cass.” despite your protests, ellie doesn’t listen very well when she knows better. “uh-uh, you get yourself some pajamas,” she starts, closing the distance between you two, gripping your shoulders in a firm massage, “i’ll get you a warm bath. how’s that sound?”
hoooly do her hands feel good after being so tense that you didn’t even notice it. your eyes fall shut as you lean into her. “you’re good at that,” you mumble, chuckling once you peek your eyes open to see her little smile, “fine.”
after you begrudgingly trudge up the stairs and drag your feet to the bathroom, you lean on the doorframe, watching ellie kneel down by the tub, checking the temperature and the scent of both bath salts and bubble solution isn’t too strong. “so, i get the fancy baby bath?” ellie glances back, standing up with a smile. “well yeah. i wanna spoil you too, mama.” you’d think she’s teasing if there weren’t candles lit on the baths edge and the bath salts wafting through the air.
“you want me to step out?” she mutters, nodding to the door to be respectful. “oh come on, you’ve seen worse of me.” ellie watches, shocked for a moment as you set your pajamas on the counter, peeling off your shirt with genuinely no shame. she looks away, respectful as ever. that doesn’t mean she doesn’t sneak a glance at you, your figure shaded and silhouetted by the warm candlelight. you saw her, of course, catching the way she eyes the curve of your back and the swell of you thighs.
that’s new, you think to yourself before stepping in the tub, submerged in the gentle lap of a perfectly relaxing temperature.
the puff of bubbles come up just enough to cover your chest, a warm embrace so simple yet very much appreciated. ellie glances over to you, hearing the water sloshing and assuming you’re covered. “you… want me to wash your hair?”
in the low light, such a warm and comforting atmosphere, you shrug, sighing as you sink into the water. you can feel your muscles slowly relaxing as your arms float in the water. “mmm,” you hum, looking up to her with a smile, “i guess so,” you mutter sarcastically.
ellie stares for just a second in awe, forcing herself out of her little trance to kneel at the side of the tub. “don’t act like you don’t want me to,” she hums, reaching over to grab both shampoo and conditioner bottles. “whining like you don’t love it,” she chuckles. “hey,” you puff, playfully smacking her shoulder, “i do not whine.”
“of course you don’t,” she hums, running her fingers through the wet strands of your hair, rubbing your scalp. pulling back to squirt the shampoo into her palm and onto your scalp, ellie watches how your shoulders slump, melting under her touch. that’s all she wants, really, is to give you a chance to unwind, knowing how hard all of this can be day after day.
a moment of comfortable silence passes over the both of you, only the faint buzz of the bathroom and the gentle lap of water against skin making for a slow turn of time between you. “yknow,” you mutter as ellie cups water in her hands, rinsing the suds from your hair, “you’re amazing with her.” “what?” ellie asks in confusion, looking over your expression of serenity. “oh cmon, with cassy, you take really good care of her.”
ellie feels her heart swell at the compliment, a sense of pride building in her chest getting your approval. “well,” she laughs, flattered, “i try my hardest.” you peek your eyes open once she starts rubbing conditioner in your hair. you feel a lot more comfortable with her doing this kind of thing than anyone else, you realize, an easy calm coming over you whenever you know ellie is there to lean on. and now, with cassy, when you thought you’d be all alone to deal with a new stage of life, you hold a certain respect and gratitude for how much effort she puts into your little family.
letting the conditioner settle in your hair, ellie sits with you, her arms crossed on the edge of the tub as she watches you, making sure you don’t fall asleep still in the tub. “you ready to get out yet, mama?” with a reluctant sigh, you look over at her with a lazy glare, reluctant to break the peace. “yeah, once you rinse my hair, mama.”
dina is the perfect wife, because she will not be a burden that ellie can leave. she'll cook and clean, look after jj, do her best to keep them all happy. no matter that she's exhausted, that every morning saps at her energy like the sun is pulling its light directly from her. farms and families don't give breaks, even to young mothers wearing away slowly. ellie is good to her, protects them and holds her and finds food to fill their plates with, but seattle has left its mark on them both she misses jesse so much. the shadow of abby looms over their house, blood-red and eternally dripping. her shoulder aches when it gets cold out, her face still stings from phantom blows. jj cries out in the night for her, his terrified wail curdling in the low light is the fear of being left behind in their blood? did she fuck him up before he was even born? longer and longer days are spent without ellie, who vanishes into the woods before dawn and only arrives as the sun begins to set, eyes vacant and far away. she hunts with a rifle, her arm isn't strong enough for the bow yet, but dina never hears its echoing crack. she's almost afraid for the day that she does. ellie always comes back though, soothing dina's nerves for one day longer, a sweet balm that sours come morning. but it's okay. it's all she's ever wanted.
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