matchstick girl

Helene Calore. XVIII.

[wildfireashes-blog]

♛ (O/H)

Who’s more likely to find who wearing their clothes?: Helene wears his clothes all the time, but she pretends they're hers. "Oh, this hoodie? I've been having it for ages. No, I haven't seen yours." 

Who initiates hand holding?: Helene.

Who likes having their hair washed by who?: Oliver loves being pampered. Fact. 

Who likes to slow dance?: Oliver, if they're at a place where everyone else is. Helene loves to dance when drunk, so if they've been drinking, she'll want to dance — slow or not. 

Muse that’s more likely to fall asleep with their head in the others lap?: Both. And both wake the other up because you wanted to watch this movie so badly, so watch it. 

Muse that does all the cuddling in a blanket fort?: Helene? But they don't do blanket forts. 

Who hogs most of the covers at night?: HELENE.

Muse who nuzzles the others shoulder to get them to give them a head rub?: Oliver. Or he just complains. 

How do they share a desert? Two forks or one?: Two. They don’t share well.

Who gets jealous more easily?: Helene. Very easily. It's obvious, too. She's all over him when she's jealous. 

Who gets angered more easily?: Probably Helene. Because of him, mostly. 

How do they go to sleep at night?: Some nights, they just migrate from the couch to the bed. Some nights, she passes out immediately once they get home, and some nights, they lie in bed and either cuddle (they can be sweet sometimes) or argue (this happens often) about something. The argument doesn't last long, and they don't go to bed angry. Helene hogs the sheets and Oliver is a pain to sleep with. 

Who gets the most shoulder rubs?: Helene would give him one if he begged her and she was in a good mood. 

What are their arguments/fights like? How often do they fight?: OFTEN. OFTEN!!!! Several times a week, if not once a day. They're over pretty dumb stuff, though. Rarely ever serious, and they never last. 

Who is more likely to throw things in fights?: Helene. 

How do they make it up to each other/apologize after an argument?: Let's just say they don't go to bed angry. ;) 

Do they have nicknames for each other?: Oliver hates when she calls him "Ollie," so she does it to spite him. He calls her Hell. 

Caring for each other while ill, how does the other muse go about it?: Oliver is useless when he's sick. Useless. She has to do everything for him, and she pretends to be pissed about it, but she's really not. He steals whatever food she fixes for herself, but he does that healthy, too. Oliver makes fun of her when she's sick, but he brings her whatever food/medicine she wants/needs. Probably steals fries from the bag before he gives it to her. 

Who’s more likely to be patching the others wound?: Oliver can't fight. He can't fight. FACT. So, when he gets his ass handed to him one day, Helene would be the one to patch up his wound. 

Muse that says ‘I told you so’, after they come home from the beach and other muse is burnt to a crisp while whining how bad it hurts for not listening and putting on sunblock after the other muse repeatedly told them they’d get burnt?: Helene says "I told you so." 

Your otp has a newborn baby, who gets up in the middle of the night when he/she cries?: They both do, and they argue about it a lot. Oliver does it a little less. 

Your muse’s of the otp reaction to finding the others crying about something? And how do they make them feel better?: I'm gonna do Oliver's reaction because we discussed it. He'll figure out what's wrong (her parents probably), and then more or less say "fuck them you don't need them you've got me." It helps. Also, she's probably at least a little tipsy if she's crying about it. 

What would they be like as parents?: A hot mess. Helene has no idea what a healthy parental relationship is and Oliver is spoiled and remarkably lazy. But they'd figure it out. 

What would they have been like as childhood sweethearts?: A living embodiment of the idea that you're an asshole to people that you have a crush on. 

Who initiates taking a bath together?: Helene. Oliver is happy to oblige.

Who likes who playing with their hair?: Helene loves playing with his hair. 

The place they mostly likely accidentally fall asleep together?: His bed or his backseat.

[lerolans-blog]

Unlike a vast majority of his peers, Oliver didn’t particularly mind attending these types of events. He was, after all, the son of a diplomat and “intimate” gatherings such as these were his bread and butter. In truth, he found them comfortable, a reminder of his life across the ocean, and though things weren’t all good there, he found that he missed it on occasion. Breaking off from his current conversation with a rather stoic individual, he moved through the crowd to a less populated area and in a practiced motion, he withdrew a cigarette from its case, lit it, and put it to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar blonde dip her head in what appeared to be submission. Amused, he decided to interject, their last conversation still fresh in his mind, “Oh look, she has manners.”

[wildfireashes-blog]

A familiar voice broke in, effectively drowning out the older woman's kind dismissal, and as she turned her head to look at him, blonde locks swinging softly behind her, she couldn't help but wish she'd been a bit more careful and stepped on his foot instead. Oliver Lerolan was a sight in his tux, but his snide remark and the cigarette poised between his lips compelled her to wrinkle her nose, her distaste for the smoke and the man breathing it out clearly evident. "But you don't. I'm asthmatic," Helene falsely informed him, voice just loud enough for the woman she'd stepped on to hear, and once she'd given him a disapproving look, she slipped away, leaving the two alone. 

Regrettably empty wine glass still in hand, she maneuvered around him with delicate steps and set it down on the stone table at last. "Good evening, Mr. Lerolan," the blonde said pointedly, exemplifying the manners he'd sarcastically acknowledged she had.

[lerolans-blog]

He had to say he was mildly disappointed, though Oliver was by no means surprised by her knee-jerk reaction. It mirrored the one he had seen years ago when they were both far younger. However, he thought that over time she would learn to harden her heart to such an obvious attack, but that had not been the case. He supposed that after he left, she had been surrounded by ass-kissers, people all too ready to brown nose in order to gain favor with the future president’s youngest daughter as insufferable as she was. Even though she tried to outgrow it ( almost fooling him in the process ), Helene Calore was still that insecure little girl bent on provoking some sort of reaction from her daddy who frankly couldn’t care less about her and that realization was enough to take the bite out of her next slew of insults. 

“Perhaps.” He stated simply, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “But at least both mommy and daddy love me enough to do so — can’t say the same for you, now can I?” Oliver had quieted down, but he was sure his words still packed quite a punch. Smugly, he smiled to himself, pleased with the turn of events.

[wildfireashes-blog]

"You don't know anything about me, Lerolan," she nearly spat, blue eyes ablaze. And he didn't — not really; it was no secret that Aurelian Calore favored his oldest two children and all but shunned his fourth (Eveline was comfortably situated in the middle), therefore it was no feat that he knew and chose to bring it up at every available opportunity.

She'd heard it so many times before — both from him and from a handful of others, though he was certainly the most persistent — that NOTHING pertaining to her family, be it her questionable parentage or the lack of love she received from her father, should've fazed her, but Helene Calore had never known how to be numb; passion — white-hot and often bitter — coursed through her veins. "Shoving money down your throat to keep you occupied isn't love, Oliver, but whatever helps you sleep at night."

[wildfireashes-blog]

The lithe blonde lifted the wine glass to her lips, blue eyes widening a bit when the long sip she’d been expecting was cut dreadfully short; she’d already reached the bottom of her second glass of wine (her self-assigned limit, considering she’d driven herself), and having grown rather SICK of answering questions pertaining to her father and the election, Helene was strongly considering leaving early. A rather sizable cluster of guests had gathered near the door since she’d last looked, however, making the idea of an immediate escape far less attractive. If only to kill time (and to avoid looking a fool with an empty glass in hand), she took a step back with the intention of setting her glass down on the end of the buffet table and stepped on what she could only assume had been a foot in the process.

“Excuse me.”

[wildfireashes-blog]

Super Long Ship Meme (Hell/Ollie)

who would be the one to randomly adopt a puppy without consultation: definitely Helene, because Oliver is allergic to dogs AND cats. an argument would ensue, including the ever-popular ultimatum: “it’s me or the dog.” Helene strongly considers picking the dog.

who would force the other to take aesthetic pictures of them: Oliver, conceited little prick. “Take a picture of me driving/with my car.”

who would do stuff they think is stupid just to make the other one happy: Oliver, probably, but she would too

who picks out the horror movies to watch just so the other will cling to them: Oliver, but she rarely clings

who is constantly studying and who is constantly trying to distract them: Helene is studying, Oliver is trying to distract her

who initiates the facetime calls whenever they’re separated: neither of them have an issue doing it, but considering he’s probably playing videogames, she does

who is more likely to storm out after a fight and who is more likely to cry when they do: they’re equally likely to storm out and equally unlikely to cry. They don’t go to bed angry though ;)

who stays up way too late binge-watching their favorite shows: Oliver

who bites the other’s ear when they’re feeling frisky: Helene bites his ear (results may vary)

who sprays the other with water when they’re washing the car: Oliver sprays her because SHE HATES GETTING WET

who has more fun decorating the house during holidays: definitely not Oliver, he doesn’t like moving his stuff out of its “organization”

who is more likely to give the silent treatment when they’re mad at the other: Oliver, littlE BRAT

who plays with the others’ hair more: she plays with his

who is more likely to climb all over the other one when they’re bored: Helene climbs all over him (results may vary)

who tries to kiss the other as often as they can: Oliver tries to kiss her

who pouts when the other one tells them to shut the fuck up: OLIVER LEROLAN POUTS

who initiates the sex and who walks away when the other is riled up: Oliver initiates it and Helene walks away

who always forgets the umbrella and who holds it when they actually have one: Oliver forgets the umbrella and is also in charge of holding it

who demands showering first in the mornings: Oliver

who sneaks into the shower with the other one in the mornings: Oliver

who prefers riding the roller coasters and who prefers playing the games: Oliver likes the roller coasters and Helene likes the games (they’re both sore losers)

who will text the other one thirty times in a row until they respond: Oliver, probably

who always forgets to charge their phone overnight: Oliver

who comes up behind the other and slide their hands into their back pockets: both, but Helene likes to do this and stuff like it in public

who tries to get hugs from the other as often as they can: Helene, in private

who is louder and who constantly has the tell the other to be quiet: Oliver is louder, Helene tells him to be quiet (arguments occur often)

[aconcreteheart-blog]

You kids are home, his mother had said, glancing around the living room to the various millennials she’d raised, all sprawled out over furniture expensive enough for them to have been banned from sitting on it for the better part of two decades. They were all old and grown now, though. Gerard was sure he’d seen a grey hair on Graham the last time his older brother had been home, so it was no surprise his mother was actually paying them attention now. 

They were useful to her. 

“You can invite all of your friends,” Lavina reminded them all, staring him dead in the face when she’d added, “provided you have any.” 

So they’d ended up here, at a party that was supposedly for all of them but mostly was just for Graham. 

Where the fuck was Brooks, Gerard wondered. Or Prosperina. 

He set off for the backyard after downing the rest of his drink, but his search for the rest of his friends was interrupted by a shove at his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Gerard said instantly, already looking to catch his mother’s gaze, ready and willing to start a fight with her if she scolded him for this. “That was my fault.” 

[wildfireashes-blog]

She'd technically been invited by Prosperina, the invitation to the Macanthos family party extended from who she could only assume had been Gerard to the Titanos girl, and from the brunette to her friends. Helene had never considered herself to be close to Pros, but they ran in the same social circles and got along well enough, so both she and Eveline had been told of it a few days prior.

Eveline had all but begged her to come, and if only for the sake of no longer having to fend off her insistent text messages, she'd obliged, hellbent on driving herself so she could leave once she'd had her fill of seeing people she most certainly could've gone without seeing for years. After pestering the younger Calore girl relentlessly for a little less than a week, her older sister had backed out an hour or two before the party began, mourning an opportunity to socialize stolen by a charity event she'd volunteered for.

Now, Helene stood in the backyard, alone save for a few stragglers that seemed to have the same idea as she: fresh air and a distinct lack of the hosts' cousin. A man strode past, looking everywhere but at her, and she was nearly knocked into the pool (arguably the WORST thing that could've happened). The blonde instinctually gave the man's shoulder a shove, hissing, "Watch it!"

Once the initial panic of nearly falling in had subsided and she'd taken a few pointed steps away from the edge, the blonde realized who it was: Gerard Macanthos. "Oh, it's you," she said lamely, at a loss for any other way to greet him. They'd never been overtly friendly, but they'd also never been at odds like she and his younger cousin. More for the sake of appearing unperturbed than to reassure him, she shook her head. "It's fine."

[lerolans-blog]

It was true, he was big enough to admit it — Oliver was lazy, unmotivated, and squandering his talents. He had heard the spiel before and though it was often said with veiled disappointment, Helene had neither the grace nor the tact to even attempt such an approach. Being a diplomat’s son, Oliver himself was well versed in subtlety, but if she wanted to deal in sharp barbs, he was going to fight fire with fire.

“And you were always rather unlikable, but that just goes to prove the discrepancy in your parentage, now doesn’t it?” He, of course, was referring to her mother’s little affair though things that made national headlines could hardly be called little. Typically, he wasn’t so cruel, but there was something about her that always got under his skin. 

Eyes narrowing, he found that the humidity and warmth was doing little to help the situation — in fact, Oliver felt only more heated as the minutes ticked by. It seemed as if things could only escalate which was unfortunate since the quad was such a public forum. Yelling matches could be fun, but he preferred private ones, especially when they were of a personal nature. This, he knew, was going to be just that. 

[wildfireashes-blog]

Her mother's affair — by no means the blonde's fault but an incredibly sore topic nonetheless — was the older man's favorite taunt, and (much to her dismay), a relatively difficult jibe to rival. Though she had a great deal of demeaning things to say about Oliver Lerolan, none were quite as insulting as his persistent prodding at the question of her parentage.

Was she the daughter of Aurelian Calore, the next President of the United States? Absolutely. And until a DNA test proved otherwise (he'd declined to have one taken simply to avoid the publicity, but she liked to think he was certain she was his child), even a diplomat's son had no argument, no solid proof — no rock to stand on.

"It doesn't," she simpered, "because all of the fidelity in the world couldn't save you." As far as she knew, his parents had remained faithful to each other, yet he'd still grown into a cocky little — maybe not in the literal sense — PRICK. "Did mommy and daddy get you into Georgetown? Your grades certainly didn't."

[lerolans-blog]

He flashed a pinched smile at her, quickly relapsing into old habits by picking up where they had last left off. The antipathy between them was years in the making and apparently it aged like a fine wine. Like all great and notable feuds, Oliver forgot how it came to be, but there was absolutely no denying its existence. 

“Doubtful,” he fired back, deciding not to budge from his position in an act of petty defiance, “I’m sure a bright girl like you can figure it out sans map. Besides, neither my ego nor my head want to move, so I think I’ll stay.”

She had grown since he had last seen her and although she was still inches shorter than him, Helene was no longer the knobby-kneed girl with the loud mouth — no, instead she was the knobby-kneed woman with the loud mouth. Both, he thought, were equally grating. 

[wildfireashes-blog]

Nothing had changed in two years; he flashed her something akin to a smile (really, it strongly resembled the grimace one made after devouring a lemon) and proceeded to act an absolute ASS, and though she didn't remember how, exactly, they'd come to be the way they were, she could easily decipher why.

"You always were rather lazy," she sneered, recalling countless times in which he'd neglected to turn in his homework not because he'd forgotten, but because he simply hadn't felt the need to do it. It was a wonder and — though she'd never openly admit it — a testament to his intelligence that he'd made the grades to attend Georgetown with such a distinct lack of motivation.

Maybe his parents had bribed the board of admissions; Helene wouldn't put up with his extended presence for all of the money in the world (she had enough to speak of without boiling blood to match). The last time she'd seen him, he'd been in a prep school uniform with a dumb haircut, but his hair had grown out a bit (even curling at the edges a bit), and he now donned street clothes. He looked different in a strangely good way, but she'd be damned if she told him so.

[lerolans-blog]

Her face was a blast from the past ( and not in a good way ). He knew he was gambling when he picked a college situated in his town of origin, but for the most part, Oliver thought he was safe from awkward encounters like this. However, the person before him was none other than Helene Calore and with an eye roll, he answered her, amusement abound in his tone of voice. “No — but I can point you in the direction of a map or exit? Your choice, of course.”

Of all the fucking universities in the world, the next president’s daughter ( and an utter annoyance ) picked his. How fucking fantastic. Stance wide, he awaited for what was sure to be a fiery comeback.

[wildfireashes-blog]

Oliver Lerolan. He'd graduated two years prior, and although she'd heard he'd decided to attend Georgetown, she'd hoped that the bastard would've failed out or transferred before she found her way to campus. No such luck, it seemed, as here he was, in the flesh — irritatingly handsome (and he knew it) and just as much of an asshole as she remembered. Oh, the comforts of home.

She'd known before he opened his mouth that he wouldn't be helpful, and when he didn't disappoint, she was glad. Helene would sooner be late or miss orientation altogether than follow any directions of his.

He sounded like he was enjoying this, however, and the thought itself drew a scoff from her pink lips. She mimicked his eye roll with one of her own. "How kind of you. If you could be so courteous as to move your ego or your head — your choice, of course — I could probably find it on my own."

[angelsanarchy]

♥ Send a ship and I'll give you who:

Gives nose/forehead kisses

Gets jealous the most

Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive

Takes care of on sick days

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day

Gives unprompted massages

Drives/rides shotgun

Brings the other lunch at work

Has the better parental relationship

Tries to start role-playing in bed

Embarrassingly drunk dancer

Still cries watching Titanic

Firmly believes in couples costumes

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas

Makes the other eat breakfast

Remembers anniversaries

Brings up having kids

[wildfireashes-blog]

She'd forgone a campus map specifically to avoid looking like a clueless freshman (wearing the Georgetown shirt she'd been sent had been utterly and completely out of the question as well), but the more time she spent looking for the library with no luck to speak of, the more Helene realized her plan had backfired. Miserably. 

A drop of sweat had just begun its slow descent down her spine when, visibly annoyed, she tapped the nearest individual on the shoulder; neglecting to wait for them to turn around, she asked, "Could you point me in the direction of the library?"

[wildfireashes-blog]

HELENE CALORE + social media

ft. @mehawrites, @lerolans, & @limelighting

[wildfireashes-blog]

[text] i can assure you that there are no fat bald men in my sex life.

[text] proud of you & all but[text] did I ask

[wildfireashes-blog]

[ drunk text ] can you jsut leave me alone fkor five minutes (Oliver)

[text] you texted me first??

[wildfireashes-blog]

[ text ] [ ✓ Read 00:00 AM ] (Oliver)

[drunk text] dog your suck a prick

[wildfireashes-blog]

[text] Why the fuck would you do something like that? (Oliver)

[text] You're the philosophy minor. Why the fuck not??

[wildfireashes-blog]

[drunk text] don’t order me around it’s my kink.

[text] Good thing I'm not your type.