vi’s gf (real!) @violetszn - Tumblr Blog

one

summary ✩ when you’re tasked with finishing your final short film for the year, you find yourself needing some help. you ask a few friends, put up a few flyers. the one problem? you’ll need the help of ellie fucking williams.

warnings ✩ 4.3k ✩ mostly just swearing, ellie and reader are both clueless menaces <3

notes ✩ happy pride my lovessss <333

chapters ⇨

You tap your pen against the corner of your notebook, trying—and failing—to focus on the lecture.

Professor Anderson was halfway through some tangent about the importance of networking in the film industry, his voice a steady drone in the overheated room, but you barely heard a word of it. Your mind was already spiraling—thinking about your short film project, the half-finished script in your backpack, and the terrifyingly long list of things you still needed to do.

The deadline is months away, technically, but you weren’t naïve. If you waited until the last minute, you’d end up sleep-deprived, mainlining coffee, and crying over a broken tripod at three in the morning. Again.

You scribble a messy list in the margins of your notes:

Actors (3-4, maybe some background roles?) Props/Backdrops — find someone who knows how to build stuff??? need a backdrop for the main scenes + potential props Art (beg art dept???) Finalize script edits Stop procrastinating.

At least your camera situation was solid—your most prized possession, a second-hand DSLR you'd practically sold your soul to buy, was already charged and waiting for you to do something brilliant with it.

If only the "doing something brilliant" part came with instructions.

You sigh and lean back in your chair, letting your eyes drift to the front of the room. Professor Anderson is still rambling about upcoming campus events—club fairs, showcases, volunteer opportunities—and how they are "vital for building your network."

You tune the rest of it out. Right now, surviving the semester felt like a more realistic goal.

When the clock finally hits the hour, you pack your things quickly, slipping out the door before you can get roped into another round of "casual reminders" about how competitive the industry was.

You barely make it three steps into the hallway before disaster strikes.

You’re not even looking, too busy digging through your bag for your headphones, when you walk straight into someone.

A firm, stubborn shoulder catches yours. You stumble back a step, muttering a distracted, "Sorry," without even glancing up—only to hear an all-too-familiar voice.

"Watch where you're walking, Spielberg."

You freeze. Great.

You look up and sure enough, standing there with her arms crossed and an insufferable scowl tugging at her mouth, is Ellie fucking Williams.

In her usual beat-up Converse and that damn flannel she thinks makes her look good. It does. Which only makes it worse. Not that you'd ever say that to her.

"Oh great. What, do you lurk outside my classes now?" you mutter, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "I guess I should start paying rent with how much I live in your head, huh?"

Ellie’s smirk twitches—like she wants to say something back but can’t find the words fast enough—before she recovers, shooting you an unimpressed look.

"Trust me," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm, "you couldn’t afford it."

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. This is how she always is—fast, sharp, and somehow always three steps ahead in the endless game of being a pain in your ass.

Without waiting for her to get another jab in, you shove your headphones in your ears and stalk down the hall, pretending you can’t feel her gaze burning holes in your back.

You’re in the middle of convincing yourself Ellie is not worth risking your scholarship to throw a punch, when you spot Dina leaning against a pillar by the art building, phone in hand and thumb rapidly texting. Her eyes flick up as she notices you coming, and the playful grin that spreads across her face is already on cue.

"Dude, you look like you just fought a war," Dina teases, not missing a beat.

You sigh dramatically, letting your shoulders sag as you approach her. "I just ran into the bane of my existence," you mutter, clearly still fuming.

Dina's smirk deepens as she glances down at her phone. "I’m guessing you’re talking about your dear lover, Ellie?"

You let out an exaggerated groan. "I don't even know what her fucking problem with me is, Dina. Like, what is it? I don’t do anything to her! I could just be minding my business and there she is with that stupid smile, looking at me all judgmental with those ridiculous green eyes, and then she decides she has to make her hatred for me my problem by saying something all bitchy to me, so I have to reciprocate."

Her grin widens, clearly enjoying your misery. "You two are like a fucking rom-com, you know. No–one of those k-dramas we used to watch!"

You shoot her a look that could kill. "Yeah, sure, if it’s the kind where the leads end up offing each other. Brutally."

Dina snorts, clearly impressed with your dramatic flair. "That’s dark, but also kinda accurate. Your next film should be an enemies-to-lovers one. You play the lead and cast Ellie as the love interest—y’know, for authenticity."

“Fuck you, Dina.”

“Oh come on, it’d work!”

You roll your eyes and sigh again, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You put on your best puppy eyes, the most pleading face you can muster. "Look, I need a favor."

Dina raises an eyebrow, already intrigued. "What’s up?"

You wince, bracing yourself. "I’m doing this big project for my class, and I need a few actors. You in?" You can’t keep the hope out of your voice as you ask her.

Without missing a beat, Dina smiles. "Ahh, of course I’ll play a part in your movie! Anything for my favorite filmmaker."

Relief floods through you. That’s at least one thing checked off your list. "Perfect, thank you," you say, feeling your shoulders relax. "Now I just need help with the set stuff. Anything to make it look less like a disaster."

Dina gives you a knowing look. "I can ask Jesse. He’s always down to help with putting shit together. He actually loves helping with props and set dressing. He’s been volunteering for stuff like that since high school."

“Okay, awesome. I’ll owe you big time for this,” you say, pulling her into a tight hug, grateful to have at least one thing going smoothly.

“Yeah, yeah, just make sure I get the best part," she teases, stepping back with a grin. “Now what else?”

You hesitate before saying, "Well, I still need a few more actors, which hopefully won’t be too bad. But after that... I need help with some backdrops and art for the movie. And honestly, I have no idea who to ask. I know Cat’s like the go-to among the people in my group but…"

“But you have an unspoken vendetta against her?”

“What–I don’t! We just… don’t talk. So I can’t exactly ask her for a favor,” you huff, fiddling with your sleeve.

“Right. No vendetta, you just don’t talk. And you give her an evil glare whenever she’s around. And you leave the room whenever she comes up. And the entire time she was dating Ellie you—”

“Dina.”

“I’m just saying! For Ellie to be your supposed nemesis, you clearly hate Cat even more than her,” Dina shrugs, and you just sigh, following her down the hall.

“The point is, I need to figure out who can help. It’s not like I have a ton of friends that are art or design majors. Know anybody?”

Dina’s eyes light up like she’s just had an idea, and you perk up. "You should try the art club. They’re always looking for something to add to their portfolio, and they’re good at making things look... cool."

You nod. "Yeah, that makes sense. I can totally do that."

Then, Dina’s smile falters just a little, and she bites her lip like she’s hesitating. You narrow your eyes at her, sensing a “but” coming. "What? What’s wrong?"

Dina looks you dead in the eye, her voice a little quieter now. "Well... you’ll have to ask the president of the art club before promoting anything to the club."

You shrug nonchalantly, tugging your bag back over your shoulder. "Yeah, I can do that. No big deal."

Dina hesitates again, but this time, it’s more obvious. She chews her lip, clearly torn about whether or not to spill the details.

"The president... is Ellie."

For a moment, you just stare at her, trying to process what she just said. It doesn’t quite hit you right away—but when it does, your eyes widen and your jaw slackens.

"Of course the president is Ellie," you groan, closing your eyes in disbelief. "It’s only right that the biggest annoyance of my life is now supposed to be my savior in all this."

Dina can’t suppress her grin. "I mean... you two have a history together, right?"

"Yeah, a history of me wanting to throw her off a cliff," you mutter, crossing your arms in exasperation. “But seriously? This is just un-fucking-believable.”

Dina laughs, completely unbothered by your frustration. "Well, you better suck it up, babe. Looks like Ellie’s about to become your best friend."

You bury your face in your hands for a second. "This is going to be a disaster. What if she says I can’t ask the club just because she hates me? Maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll just have some random people help, so I won’t even have to talk to her?"

But Dina’s already bouncing on her feet, clearly entertained by your misery. “Yeah, sure. It’ll be fine. Just... try not to kill each other in the process, yeah? It’ll be fun getting the whole crew together to work on your film.”

You sigh, throwing her one last look of pure annoyance. "Sure it will."

You’re still cursing the universe as you make your way back toward the courtyard, scanning the crowd until you spot her.

Ellie Williams. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hands stuffed in her pockets, head tilted as she talks to Professor Miller—your shared Art and Film History professor. Even from a distance, you can tell Ellie looks tense, almost frustrated, though she’s doing a decent job pretending otherwise.

You slow your steps, watching them. Maybe you should wait. Maybe you should just pretend you didn’t see her?

Then you catch the tail end of their conversation.

"I don’t care how much you ‘get it’ in theory, Ellie," Professor Miller says, stern but not unkind. "If you can't keep your grades up, you’re risking your scholarship. You need to prove you’re putting in the work."

"But, Maria—"

"Ellie."

Ellie rubs the back of her neck, her posture visibly stiffening. "Sorry. Professor Miller. Look, I know I need to prove it. I just—I’ve been distracted. I’ll figure it out. Get rid of whatever it is that's clogging up my head."

Professor Miller sighs. "Look, if you can get involved in any extra projects, I’ll count them toward bonus credits. But you need to start now. No waiting until the last minute."

Extra credit. You perk up.

This is it. This is your chance.

You square your shoulders, force your legs to move, and approach before you can talk yourself out of it. "Hey, Professor," you say, flashing an innocent smile, ignoring the way Ellie visibly stiffens at the sound of your voice. "Mind if I steal Ellie for a sec?"

Professor Miller gives you a small smile. "Go ahead. And Ellie?" she points at her. "Seriously. Get it together. When Joel asks how you're doing in my class, I don't want to have to tell him you're practically failing."

"Then don’t tell him?"

"Ellie."

"Alright, alright. I’ll get it together."

With that, Maria walks off, leaving you and Ellie standing alone. The tension immediately thickens, almost suffocating.

Ellie turns toward you, arms crossing tightly over her chest. "What do you want?" she mutters under her breath, eyes narrowing.

You plaster on your best fake-sweet smile. "Lucky for you, I’m about to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime."

She scoffs. "Pretty sure I’d rather be hit by a truck."

You refuse to let her get to you. "Professor Miller said you needed extra credit, right?"

Ellie’s eyes narrow further, guarded. "Maybe. Why? Wanna rub it in my face?"

You take a deep breath, gripping the strap of your bag to ground yourself. "I need help with my film project. Big help. I’m putting together a short film for my final and... it’s a lot. Sets, costumes, art direction. The works. But the art plays a big part in it so I need someone to help with that part."

Ellie frowns, suspicious. "And you want me to help you with that? After spending all year bitching about me to anyone who’ll listen?"

You smile even wider. "Aww, how cute. You actually think I talk about you to others. Or at all, for that matter."

Her mouth twitches, almost like she wants to laugh, but she quickly smothers it.

"Look," you say, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible, "you need extra credit. I need someone good with art stuff. This is mutually beneficial. I was just gonna ask you to ask your club about it, but it's better this way—we’re both getting something out of it."

Ellie opens her mouth to argue—you can see it—but before she can get a word out, Professor Miller calls over her shoulder: "Sounds perfect, Ellie! Help her out, and I’ll add it to your grade!"

Ellie visibly deflates, turning to glare at you like this is somehow your fault. "You’re evil."

You bat your eyelashes at her. "A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do."

Ellie groans, dragging a hand down her face like this is physically painful. "Fuck," she mutters. "Fine. But if this ends with me strangling you, it’s your own fault."

You grin. "Wouldn’t be the first time you wanted to get your hands on me."

Her face turns an alarming shade of red—so fast it makes you blink. She turns sharply, muttering something you can’t quite catch, but you definitely hear the words "fucking insufferable" somewhere in there.

You watch her storm off down the hall, an obnoxious amount of smug satisfaction bubbling up in your chest.

As unfortunate as the pairing may be, this just might work out. You’ve seen some of Ellie’s work at the art shows her professor practically begs her to participate in. She’s… good, to say the least. It’d be nice to have some solid quality behind your film.

You don’t waste any time.

After barely surviving your encounter with Ellie (seriously, one more minute, and you might’ve actually thrown hands), you book it to the library, determined to ride the small wave of momentum before it crashes.

The familiar fluorescent buzz of the library lights fills the quiet space, interrupted only by the occasional clack of keyboards and the muted shuffle of students trying to cram a semester’s worth of knowledge into their skulls. You weave your way past a group arguing over citation styles and make a beeline for the printer station, balancing your laptop against your hip.

The flyer is nothing fancy—just a quick design you threw together between classes. Bold letters at the top:

"Actors Needed for Student Film Project"

A few quick details about the short film, a promise of pizza once everything's all done (because let’s be honest, starving college students will do anything for free food), and your contact info at the bottom.

You hit print and watch as the printer sputters noisily, like it’s fighting for its life to produce your one lonely page.

You can’t help but grin a little when you pin it to the campus message board on your way out, right between a hand-drawn "Need a Math Tutor" ad and a long-forgotten "Lost Cat" poster that’s basically become a campus relic by now. You smooth the corners down, admiring your handiwork for a second.

Your phone buzzes before you can even step back.

jesse Dina said you needed help with props? Count me in. Got a couple buddies who owe me favors too I’ll rope 'em in for you.

You exhale through your nose, shoulders sagging in relief. Jesse is a lifesaver.

You type back quickly.

you thank you thank you thank you u just saved my life big time

One lead role? Check. Art support? (Reluctantly, but still technically) check. Props? Check.

All that’s left now is filling a few more parts and praying your half-baked script doesn’t crash and burn.

Feeling slightly less like you’re on the verge of a complete breakdown, you head toward your dorm. The afternoon sun has started to dip, painting the campus in that soft, golden light that makes everything look a little less miserable.

You pass a group of freshmen dragging skateboards behind them, deep in animated conversation about who can do a kickflip, and dodge a stray frisbee that sails a little too close for comfort.

Your phone buzzes again as you climb the stairs to your building.

dina sooooo? how'd begging the art club prez go? did u survive?

you guess who somehow convinced ellie to help me with the project?

dina SHUT UP this is PERFECT it's fate

you sure i’ll be lucky if i survive this project without committing murder

dina how cute

You snort out loud, earning a weird look from a girl passing by. Whatever. You’re way past caring at this point.

Your dorm room greets you with its usual mess—an open textbook face-down on your desk, your jacket half-draped over your chair, the window cracked just enough to let in the cool breeze but not enough to get rid of the slight smell of microwave popcorn still lingering in the air.

You toss your bag onto the chair with a thud, flop back onto your bed, and pull your laptop onto your stomach. You open the file labeled “Film Project (Don’t Fuck This Up)” and stare at the blinking cursor.

Still there. Still judging you.

Your half-assed outline isn’t cutting it anymore. A main concept, a few character names, and a vague idea about a setting—that’s about as far as you’ve gotten before your brain collectively decided to peace out.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

It’s not like your entire grade and future career depends on this project or anything. Totally casual. Super chill.

Your mind wanders, half out of panic and half out of exhaustion. Maybe you could pivot the story into something simpler—a slice-of-life thing? Or something a little surreal? A dreamscape? A mystery? A story about two idiots falling in love in spite of themselves?

(...nope. Wonder why that idea popped up.)

You stare at the screen for another full minute before slamming the laptop shut. Nope. It’s time to work on something else—even if that means texting her.

You pull out your phone and thumb down to Ellie’s name in your contacts. Just seeing it there makes your stomach do something weird and unwarranted.

You hover for a second, debating. You could… wait. Pretend you’re too busy to message her tonight. You could put it off until tomorrow, when you’ll have your shit together.

Or you could be a grown-up for once in your life and just get it over with.

You sigh, then type out a quick message.

you hey since we’re apparently working together now want to meet up sometime to go over everything?

You hover your thumb over the send button again—this is getting ridiculous—before finally jabbing it and tossing the phone onto your bed like it’s on fire.

You immediately regret everything.

Was that too casual? Too formal? Should you have added a smiley face? No, you don’t want to look desperate or out of character.

Your phone buzzes before you can spiral any harder.

ellie yeah sure u free tomorrow after class?

Your heart does something stupid in your chest. You tell yourself it’s just relief — just normal project relief. Not anything else. Definitely not. You're over that.

You type back quickly

you tomorrow works. lmk where u wanna meet.

You stare at the ceiling for a second after sending it, feeling the anxiety settle somewhere between your ribs.

You’re stuck with Ellie. For the next few months. Stuck with her stupidly perfect hands and ridiculously annoying nice hair and aggravating talent and—

You groan again and bury your face in your pillow.

ellie Sure. What’s your schedule like tomorrow?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You’re actually coordinating with Ellie Williams. The same girl who once rolled her eyes so hard during your class presentation you’re surprised they didn’t get stuck that way.

Is she gonna take this seriously? Of course—she needs this almost as much as you do, right? She wouldn’t sabotage her chances at extra credit.

you i’m free after 2. got film theory until then. you?

She replies almost immediately.

ellie same. wanna meet in the library? or are you allergic to academic buildings unless there's a camera involved?

You let out a soft snort and type back.

you bold talk from someone whose GPA is hanging on by a thread

ellie wow. that’s crazy. i don’t remember asking.

you and yet i said it anyways <3

There’s a pause.

ellie whatever. library it is. 2:15. bring your genius vision, spielberg.

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the little grin tugging at your lips. Spielberg. God, you hate that.

you only if you bring your tragic little sketchbook.

ellie it’s not little. tragic maybe but not little.

You stifle a laugh as you stare at the screen. For someone who can’t stand you, Ellie’s got an impressive dedication to this bit.

you fine. tomorrow. 2:15. don’t be late.

ellie yeah

You hesitate for half a second before typing your final message.

you thanks for helping, btw

There’s a longer pause this time. You start to wonder if maybe you said too much—maybe it was too sincere, maybe she’ll turn it into a joke.

But then, finally:

ellie yeah no problem

It’s simple. Not a joke. Not a brush-off.

You close your laptop and sink back into your pillow, heart thumping a little too loudly for someone who just texted their academic nemesis.

Tomorrow, you’ll sit across from Ellie Williams and pretend you’re not at war. Or maybe you are still at war. But it’ll be collaborative. Like… co-op warfare.

You stare at the ceiling for a while, already picturing how she’s going to roll her eyes at your requests. Already bracing for her smart mouth and her sharp looks and annoying smile and that way she fidgets with her fingers whenever things get—fuck, why are you thinking so hard about this?

You close out of your messages with Ellie, toss your phone to the other side of the bed, and sigh—not with frustration, for once, but something lighter.

Relieved.

Productive.

Maybe even… excited?

You don’t want to think too hard about why that last part is true.

Instead, you let the momentum carry you. You tug your laptop back into your lap, open your script, and blink at the cursor that’s been blinking back at you for days. The empty white page feels a little less intimidating now. Maybe it’s because things are finally falling into place. Maybe it’s because you’ve got people in your corner. Dina. Jesse. Even… Ellie. You’re not sure if “in your corner” is the right term for her, but still. She said yes. That counts for something.

You exhale slowly, crack your knuckles, and start to type.

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT The girl wakes up again. Same dream. Same woman. Soft eyes. A quiet smile. A voice that only exists in fragments. She reaches for her sketchbook before the details can fade. She captures the way her hair falls, the way her eyes glint in the light.

The words come easier now. You don’t second-guess every line. You just write. Fingers flying. Scene by scene, the story unfolds: a girl who dreams of someone she’s never met, sketches her like it’ll make the feeling last longer. Like drawing this woman is the only way to understand herself. Then, against all odds, she meets her. In the real world. And she’s nothing like the girl in the dreams.

Until she is.

You pause, reading the scene back to yourself. It’s not perfect—not yet—but it’s something. It has a pulse. A voice. And more than anything, it feels real.

You scroll up and highlight the scene you just wrote, then jot a quick note in the margin: Ask Ellie to sketch this part. Something soft. Intimate. Not too polished.

You chew the inside of your cheek. You're not sure how Ellie’s going to react to the dream sequence—to the woman with the guarded eyes and the gentle smile—but somehow, you can already imagine the way she’ll bring her to life. Maybe that’s what gives you the most hope of all. Art is the most important aspect of your film and having Ellie around to bring that part to life makes everything feel so real now.

You save your progress and sit back in your chair, the buzz of creative satisfaction still humming under your skin.

Tomorrow, you’ll deal with Ellie in the library. And you’ll put aside your… issues, for the sake of your project. You're just hoping she's willing to do so as well.

tags ✩ @vahnilla @yasmilks @chappellroankisser @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123

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