#ellie1

[ophelia-pierce]

@elliespierce

Ophelia practically ran from Callum's house to the bed and breakfast where Ellie was staying, wiping her eyes slightly as she looked at the person behind the desk. Clearing her voice because she had a feeling it would crack, she asked for her sister's room number and walked down the hall to find her room. Standing outside the door, she knocked softly.

[slightlyconceited]

@ellietramp​ (continued from here)

“Strangers? Annette hasn’t even mentioned her favorite sister?” Danielle asked with a playful pout, the alcohol in her system making her feel more upbeat and warm. It was far better than how low she had felt when she first arrived. “I’m Ellie. Next time you see my sister, tell her she’s rude .. Actually, that’s my job. You should probably avoid getting on her bad side.”

.    

Oh. This wasn’t going how he assumed it would. After already being cornered and vaguely threatened by Annette’s older brother just before this, he was not eager to meet another one of her (potentially overprotective or unfriendly) siblings—so he pretended not to recognize Ellie from the pictures he had seen. She surprised him with her response, though, and it was refreshing and amusing to have her imply that he was the one who might need protection from Annette rather than vice versa (though he would never get on her bad side.) “Sorry,” he laughed, “She has talked about you. I just thought you would be more like your brother and I did not want to have that conversation again…” He shuddered, but his smile returned when he faced Ellie again. “It's nice to finally meet you!”

[inviisibleprr]

"There was nothing you could've done." -Danielle

Letting out a small snort of sarcasm, the younger of the two shot the other girl a pointed stare. When it comes to the kids of the Tramp/Deare family, especially that of the twins, Violet never really considered herself close to them. Not in the same way her mom was with their mother or how Jack-Jack was literally and not-so-secretly dating the youngest daughter, Colette. Even Dash was close enough friends with Scamp, but Violet? She grew up around them, sure, and got along fine enough with both Scamp and Danielle, especially the sister, but it wasn’t like she was best friends with either of the two. Although, that might be due to her constant siding with another childhood friend, Wendy, whenever she got into a disagreement with Scamp and the fact that Scamp always had to verbalized how weird or strange Violet was when for the most part it was all due to her quite and introverted personality. It also didn’t help that she wasn’t too keen on him now thanks to recent events that had came to light, so to have his twin sister say to her that there wasn’t anything Violet could have done when the two of them had somehow fallen into a conversation talking about her twins reappearance at the isle, all the ravenette did was shrug.

“Obviously. And even if there was— I doubt he would’ve listened anyways.” Violet remarked, taking a sip out from the drink she thankfully had on hand. It was kinda ridiculous how they were talking about this at a party of all places, but it beats doing anything else around here at the moment. “Besides….” Taking a pause, it would be a lie to say that she hadn’t ever taken into consideration the reasons to why Scamp ran away from home in the first place. Sure, she didn’t know the full extent to how bad his home life actually was like, but it wasn’t like Violet didn’t have an idea of why he may have felt the way he did. In fact, while his family didn’t agree with his leaving, she on the other hand? “…..I kinda get why he did it.”  ( @ellietramp )

[henryparnold-blog]

Oh, What a Life | Ellie

The water hit his back, hot. Scalding. Henry wished it would burn away the flesh until there was nothing left but bones. He could have sunk into the ceramic floor of his shower. He could have disappeared. He shouldn’t have been there. His eyes stung, his throat sore from the shouting that seemed inevitable, unavoidable. Only now, he couldn’t form sounds at all. Nothing came from his voice. He could only cry silently, and even that had seemed to run its course. The thing about the shower was it made the tears seem obsolete. They washed away everything physical. He wished it would take care of the sinking feeling in his stomach, the persistent ache that wouldn’t leave but only spread up into his lungs, seeping through his ribs, reaching his heart.

Heartbreak.

He knew that’s what it was. Ainsley Shafiq was dead. That god damn job of her fucked them both over, he thought selfishly. She was such a bright, vibrant woman. Attractive and with legs he wanted to wrap himself in for days. An intoxicating smile, eyes he got lost in. Ainsley Shafiq wasn’t only the best shag he’d had, but the best friend Henry Arnold ever caught. Henry thought of everything. There were a billion and one things running through his mind. Her family, her friends, Ellie. Her job, her life. Him. She’d invited him to her flat, even. Wasn’t it sickening how he couldn’t realize what he had right in front of him until it was gone? All the possibilities. The woman he took for granted, who was there for him through a whirlwind spring and summer. He didn’t thank her enough. He didn’t kiss her enough or give her enough. He didn’t tell her enough how much she meant to him. How much she could’ve meant.

The silver faucet screeched as Henry turned it to off and the water stopped. He felt instantly cold, bitter. His skin developed goosebumps, his hair standing up straight on his arms. He paused, leaning over the sink and staring at his reflection in the mirror. It was a blurred memory, a vague impression of a reflection masked behind the steam from the shower. Despite that, Henry knew what was there, clear without the image. Red-faced, eyes bloodshot, hair wet and sticking in all directions. He could’ve bashed his head against the mirror; maybe then he’d feel something again. Something familiar. Physical pain would’ve been better than what he was feeling.

Henry Arnold would have given up everything Quidditch to have Ainsley Shafiq back.

At the sound of his door, his head perked up. He hurried up to put on clothes—trousers that he was sure were in his dirty pile, but they were the first ones he found; a plain green t-shirt—before rushing to the door. He was thankful to have someone who might have an inkling what he was feeling. Someone who could understand, who knew Ainsley at least as well as he did. He wondered whether Ainsley had mentioned him, their situations to Ellie. He wondered if she admitted anything further, and the stirrings at his stomach pulled tight. He took a moment to breathe, eyes shut, to keep from vomiting then and there.

“COME IN! I’m in the kitchen!” Henry shouted, instantly reaching for a bottle of unopened tequila in his freezer. A glass would be unnecessary.