cynthiafalvey - Tumblr blog

[cynthiafalvey]

"Rude!" Cynthia immediately scoffed around her chip, shoving at James's shoulder with salty fingers. "Just for that, I'm not sharing any of my nachos."

Even if she'd end up having no room for them after already consuming one basket of the free tortilla chips, a ploy she'd happily fall prey to every time.

"Why are you just assuming I have the time? I'll have you know I'm a very busy woman who, by the way, has much better things to do than stalk the--sorry, what was it? Head of the Books Written by Boring Dead Guys department?" She nodded, as if that sounded right to her, though she was well aware (and proud) of his true title. "I have a life, and it sounds like maybe, just maybe, you could use one. I mean, seriously, what have you been up to other than work and staring longingly at your PC, hm?"

Not that Cynthia was one to talk about a healthy work life balance, but she was trying, at least.

@jamesxreed

James let Cynthia rattle on but that smirk that slowly crept into a full laugh couldn't be held back. This was exactly what it was like back when they were in New York, their conversations going on and on in absolute randomness. Aside from the time he spent in therapy, he was glad he actually found a friend that he could—to use her term—"trauma bond" with.

Without glancing at her, he listened and nodded as he sipped his iced tea. He finally turned to look at her when she finished and took another long sip of his drink. "Right," he finally said followed by a lengthy pause. "Sorry, I wasn't exactly following."

It was the ribbing he used to give her back in the city. He broke out in a laugh and shook his head. "Well, if anyone's stalking anyone, it's you. I've got absolutely no time in my hands to stalk." He sighed. "My PC misses me. I haven't gamed in ages."

[cynthiafalvey]

"Oh, trust me, that first year? I was scared shitless. There were so many times I thought about just dropping out and coming home." Hearing it out loud, it struck Cynthia that it just might have been the first time she'd ever admitted as much to anybody. "I'd never been away from my family before, I'd be in debt up to my eyeballs just from that first year alone and didn't know if I'd even have anything to show for it. I'm pretty sure I cried on the subway at least once a week that whole first semester. That's actually like a New Yorker rite of passage, but still."

As was accidentally taking the Express train. Sometimes that was what would make her cry on the subway.

"I don't know if I'd even call it ambition, though. That came later. Every day was honestly just...waking up and faking it 'til I made it."

A good cry on the subway on the way home from ending up in the Bronx, and then sucking it up to call mom and dad when she made it back to her dorm to tell them how much she loved it there and was having so much fun. Eventually, it stopped being a lie.

"You don't need to think you have it in you to have it in you. You've just gotta get real good at pretending you do until everyone else gets the memo."

@estherclements

Esther gives her a look, much less concerned about whatever Cynthia's gonna decide to order for takeout than what her answer's gonna be, because honestly, Esther's completely fascinated by Cynthia. She's been places, and done stuff, and been behind the scenes in a way Esther's really only imagined in private moments in the middle of night, when it doesn't feel embarrassing just thinking about wanting something like that.

(Or more than that...being in front of the cameras, not just behind them.)

It's, like, impossible to imagine though. It's impossible enough to imagine just going 2,000 miles away for school the way Cynthia had.

"I couldn't have done that," Esther says, with a small, slightly self-deprecating laugh. "Like, genuinely, there's just no way I'd have had it in me, it's so cool you said fuck it like that. I wish I had that kind of, like..." She gestures vaguely with her free hand, searching for the right words. "Like, ambition, I guess. I get too comfortable being complacent." @cynthiafalvey

[cynthiafalvey]

Frowning down at what she now heavily suspected had not been her tequila soda, Cynthia shrugged, the mixup not stopping her from finishing the remnants of the glass.

"I don't know. I thought maybe it was, like, a cheer pyramid situation." She explained around an ice cube. "And I feel like clowns aren't too far off! Maybe that's exactly what she wants you to be thinking of! How do you know, Phoebes?" Unable to help herself, she couldn't help but lean closer to add, "what would happen if you just...called Taylor up?"

(Advice that, much like Kim Kardashian herself, Cynthia knew Phoebe wouldn't take...but only due to a lack of resources, like Taylor's phone number.)

Maybe she'd just ask Eli for his professional interpretation of the lyrics. He was the closest they could get...which wasn't that close in the grand scheme of things, but still.

Before she could get half a mind to call him and ask, the bartender reappeared at their end of he bar, eyeing Cynthia warily--he must've caught her performance--but ultimately nodding as she ordered their next round of drinks.

"What do you mean they aren't real?" She scoffed, turning back to her friend. "Tell that to the thousands of people who remember the Bernstein Bears."

Cynthia not amongst them, but aware enough to know they were at the top of every BuzzFeed 62 Examples Of The Mandela Effect That'll Make You Question Everything clickbait article out there.

"How else do you explain a collective shared memory? Hm?"

@phoebeyates

Phoebe had to constantly remind herself that it simply wasn't that serious, and that Cynthia — in true Falvey nature — would only wind her up more if she knew how to heart slip-up Phoebe took it, but the alcohol in her system, and her willingness to go to war for Taylor Swift meant that, of course, this was very serious. "Because why would it be freaks? How could you make a castle of freaks when like...they're made of bricks? Also —," She paused, looking down to take a sip of her drink, noticing that Cynthia had claimed it as her own, grimacing, before shaking her head. "Also, think of the imagery! I'm like imagining those little clowns in the canons? Taylor Swift doesn't want you to imagine that!"

Needing a fresh drink now that hers was contaminated (nothing against Cynthia of course, but Phoebe hadn't shared drinks since college where she was convinced the act gave her strep) she began to flag down the bartender, snorting as her friend began to list Mandela effects, turning back to her, giving her a pointed look.

"Those aren't real. And not all monkeys have tails."

Also, not all monkeys were little shits like George, as far as Phoebe was aware. But that seemed a moot point.

☆ @cynthiafalvey

[cynthiafalvey]

for: @jacobklee

where: holy spirits

"Okay, I didn't hate her..."

The unspoken but hung in the air between them, punctuated only by the long sip of her drink. It wasn't Cynthia's first of the evening, which she would use to excuse her sudden bout of honesty as the straw was released from her lips and she tilted her head back with a groan.

The sound just about summed up how she'd felt about Jacob's ex.

"Except I did, because she was literally the worst." And she'd only had to work with the woman. She couldn't imagine what it'd been like to date her, though from what she'd witnessed as just an outsider to her and Jacob's relationship, it was nothing short of awful. She'd hardly contained her desire to do a happy dance and cheer when he'd revealed to her they'd broken up. "That woman made the Devil look like a saint."

[cynthiafalvey]

for: @sammypersaud

where: high rollers

"--I don't know why I said it. It was like an out of body experience, I swear. Like I was watching my lips move, and I was hearing--no, stop, closer to the right--it was like I was hearing myself speak, but I had no control over what I was saying, and I just had to sit there and watch it happen in this horrific slow motion knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it or take it back--Jesus, no, now you're too far to the right. Hold this."

Cynthia's half eaten pretzel and slushie cup (Blue Raspberry, the only flavor that mattered if you asked her) were shoved into Sammy's chest, all but hip checking him out of the way of the claw machine's controls. It's so reminiscent of the first day that they met that she'd have been struck with a strong sense of déjà vu if her attention hadn't been split between finishing her story and securing the turtle plushie that'd evaded them twice already.

"It's just...I thought I was over the whole explaining what I'm doing back home thing. It's been almost a year." Not that anyone, her family included, had yet to get the whole story. "And I know, I know, it's not a competition...but she said that she was engaged and of course I was happy for her....but all I could think about was that look people get on their face when you can't top their good news. Like they're winning at life and if you're not winning at the same level as them, you're losing."

Ironic, considering the look of victory that gets tossed over her shoulder at him as she bends to retrieve the obtained plushie from the chute. Looking into it's big plastic eyes, Cynthia knew it would score her some major points with her niece (giving her the one-up on Reggie for her favorite of Elijah's siblings...not that it was much of a competition), but she still couldn't help but sigh as she leaned back against the machine and held it close to her chest.

"Does it help at all that I'm at least hearing how crazy I sound? Because I am."

[cynthiafalvey]

for: @jamesxreed

where: tequila little time

"Do you believe in fate?"

Fate was a very weighty word to be throwing around over a $5 margarita, maybe, but Cynthia wasn't sure what else to call it.

"Like, think about it. I move from Providence Peak to New York, where you're from. We don't cross paths before you move from New York to Providence Peak, where I'm from, and then back to New York...which, crazy, because the size of the population here compared to there?"

She paused partly to allow him to really grasp the difference, and partly to swipe at the salt around the rim of her glass and take a sip of her margarita before continuing.

"We meet, trauma bond, go our separate ways, whatever...and now two years later, we're both here, sat next to each other in a place we both separately had lived in but never at the same time...except now we both live here again."

Cynthia's eyes narrowed as she thought about it, biting distractedly at her straw.

"I mean, it's either fate, or one of us is stalking the other." She shrugged, reaching for a chip. "We won't be talking about what might just be my slight Amazon problem, if that's the case." Which he either already knew about or that Cynthia had just exposed herself for. "I can stop any time I want to, I swear."

[cynthiafalvey]

"Okay, boomer."

A slightly outdated reference on Cynthia's part, she would admit, but if Roman wanted to act as if he were born in a generation far beyond her understanding (despite them being only seven years apart in age), she'd happily play along.

"Would it make you feel better if I let you explain them to me like I'm not?" Cynthia leaned against the countertop opposite of him, cheek propped up on her open palm as she batted her eyelashes helplessly, before her eyes rolled beneath them.

If thirteen year old Cynthia could hear the way that she was speaking to him now, she'd most likely have fainted, and not just from the typical swooning effect Roman Daniels' presence used to inflict on her all those years ago in her adolescence. It'd (mostly) worn off by now, in spite of him somehow only growing more handsome with age.

"Your customer service could use some work, you know. You're lucky I only use my Elite status on Yelp for good." Her head cocked to the side as she thought about it, free hand waving vaguely in the vicinity of his face. "Your people skills in general, actually. What happened to hello? How are you?" For good measure, she added, "'wow, Cynthia, you're somehow even more beautiful than the last time I saw you?'"

Again. Mostly worn off.

"Here, I'll go first." Straightening up, Cynthia made a show of fixing her hair and clearing her throat into her fist before perking up with a dazzling smile. "Hi, Roman. It's so nice to see you, my eldest's brother's longest and dearest friend." Maybe not so much these days, something Cynthia and Ophelia brought up almost every brunch date. "How are you?"

@rcmandaniels

→ the vinyl countdown. closed for @cynthiafalvey

It had been a rather quiet day in the record store, and for once, Roman was genuinely close to enjoying himself. No one was bothering him, no one was making baseless debates about records that were popular before said people were even born, and his arm wasn’t aching as bad as it normally did in this colder climate. Nothing could dampen this rare good mood of Roman’s.

Unless, of course, your surname was Falvey. That could do a lot to damper a rare Roman Daniels good mood. 

His jaw set the moment Cynthia entered the store. It had been a few years since he last saw her, under the original context of him being his former bandmate’s baby sister, but he knew from Ophelia that she was in the same media circuits, and the two of them had crossed paths a couple of times over the years. But, for once, she had respected his wishes to not hear anymore about it. 

Now all he wished was that his own sister had trampled over his boundaries so he knew how to deal with Elijah’s sister. 

“Are you even old enough to know what a record is?” He found himself asking as she approached where he leaned on the counter, finding it a much more apt greeting than the whole ‘welcome’ spiel he had yet to use on an actual living, breathing customer yet.

[cynthiafalvey]

The thing is, Cynthia knew that Yasemin didn't even know just how fair of a question that was.

She smiled, albeit tightly, at the teasing, grateful for the distraction of the coffee mug set before her. If she ends up taking a much too hot sip from it without even adding it's necessary condiments, she at least hides it well, though she knows the tip of her tongue will be burnt for days.

"Even my evil powers are no match for a real life Disney princess." This time, Cynthia did allow herself to reach for the milk and sugar, adding a liberal amount of each to her mug before her next sip. Much better. "Shit, sorry, I mean a friend of a Disney princess."

Her eyes cut around the room suspiciously, as if expecting the Big Mouse himself to make a personal appearance to punish her for her transgression, before fixing back on Yasemin.

"Please. I don't think I've ever even seen you have a bad hair day. Seriously. Not even one out of place, not even now. Honestly, it kinda makes me hate you. Like what the fuck? Do you just wake up like this?" She gestured vaguely to Yasemin's person. Maybe she was laying it on thick (and only slightly exaggerating), but one skill she'd taken with her from her last position had been knowing just how to hype her talent up.

Mostly so she knew just how to knock them back down, but still.

"All that to say...I don't think I could make you look like a moron, even if I tried. Which I'm not going to, obviously, so it's a total nonissue. You're going to be great, you're going to look great, and the funding the donations will bring in will be so great that they're probably gonna wanna name a whole wing of the hospital in your honor, so. Maybe even rename the entire hospital itself. I can totally see it now: Yasemin Dogan Memorial. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Her eyebrows wiggled playfully, grin hidden behind the rim of her mug.

@yasdogan

closed starter for @cynthiafalvey at yasemin's house

"Honestly, I can't believe I let myself get talked into doing this," Yas admitted with a laugh as she shuffled around the kitchen getting coffee and snacks set out for Cynthia. Despite doing musical theatre all through school and even professionally for a time at Disney, there was something comical about the idea of being in a commercial now in her life. However, it was hard for her to say no when the hospital came knocking to see if she would be willing to be a part of a commercial they were looking to have filmed. Yas had trouble saying no in general, but even more so when it came to helping the hospital she worked for. If it had even the smallest chance of helping someone get better, she would always take it.

Setting the coffee cups down, Yas took a seat herself at the table, relaxing into the seat as she sipped at the coffee. "You won't make me look like a complete moron on local television, though, right?" she teased, though the small part of her that had a bit of vanity couldn't help but worry that it could end up being the case. Luckily, with Cynthia producing it, she felt comfortable that at the very least she had someone she knew overseeing the project. Inviting Cynthia over for coffee to catch up and talk about the project a bit had seemed like a perfect way to spend her morning off before the commercial got into full swing in the coming weeks.

[cynthiafalvey]

Cynthia: reggie u literally KNOW that i'm on an instagram cleanse rn i don't know how many times i have to tell you Cynthia: the fact that u would rather have me risk my mental wellbeing to post abt a holiday none of us even celebrate is kinda fucked up actually wow...that hurts. i'm hurt. 💔 Cynthia: speaking of holidays tho would also loveeeee to see what u posted for international women's day??? that might heal some of the hurt u caused here today 😔

reggie 📲 reggie rescue squad.

Reggie: Stop changing the name back to this Reggie: Didn't see any St. David's Day posts from either of you 🤨 Reggie: Twmffats

[cynthiafalvey]

It wasn't a competition, and Cynthia felt a little guilty thinking it, but sometimes it felt like the two of them were playing a game of chicken, waiting to see who would be the first to cut off communication completely, to drop the ball and be the one to let the other off the hook from pretending that they even really knew one another anymore.

It was sad, but it was life and the reality of almost fifteen years out of each other's orbits. New York had felt like another planet compared to Providence Peak, and the only way for Cynthia not to get crushed in the change of atmosphere had been to throw herself into it completely, like she did most things.

"Ha, yeah, well...surprise?" She laughed, gesturing towards the empty chair in silent invitation, even as Thea's words made her stomach churn. After eight months of hearing similar sentiments, she'd naively thought that she'd run out of people to surprise with her return.

Reaching for a sip of her drink, just for something to do with her hands, Cynthia swallowed just in time for Thea's shared news, nearly choking on it.

"Oh, wow, Thea, that's--" Her eyes widened over her straw, taking a second to collect herself and cough into her fist. "You know," she started again, taking a more careful sip, "I absolutely remember seeing that on Insta--but, oh my God, congratulations again, T. That's great, I'm so happy for you."

And she was. Of course she was.

But, the thing was--

"I'm doing just...so good. Just visiting, actually. I have a niece now--Eli's daughter, thank God, right?--and I'm just trying to get in some family time before," now she's not sure just what possessed her to her finish her sentence with, "I start my own wedding planning."

(A useful first step to that plan might have been to actually say yes when proposed to.)

@theaxharris

Thea knew that high school friends were not always friends forever, but considering she'd been in Providence Peak her whole life now, it was harder for her not to remain friends with people who had stayed here too. However it was a different story when people left and then made their way back to their hometown. Cynthia would have been someone she once considered one of her best friend. They'd bonded over plenty of things but the thing about it was that once those interests shifted and Cynthia went off to New York, there was a small part of Thea that was a bit envious. It wasn't that she didn't want all the success for her friend, but also it was harder to relate to the grand adventures she was growing into.

They'd trade messages every so often, which she felt like had both of them feeling less like they were giving up entirely on the idea that they could still talk and hang out and relate to each other. It was how adulthood worked though. But she hadn't really realized that Cynthia was back in town now until she entered into Deja Brew, deciding to treat herself this morning.

When they made eye contact she tried her best to smile genuinely. She let out a small laugh as the petite woman came off a little too enthusiastic to see her. "Hey Thia, not going to lie, I'm surprised to see you here." She spoke honestly as she moved closer to the table, taking a sip of her vanilla cream cold brew. "I'm doing good. Lots of stuff happening. I just got engaged." Thea shared feeling like this was the most unceremonious of ways she'd announced her engagement thus far. "What about you? You good? What brings you back?"

@cynthiafalvey

[cynthiafalvey]

for: @phoebeyates

where: one note stand

"What do you mean she's not saying I could build a castle out of all the freaks they threw at me?"

(Cynthia hadn't been an English major or anything, but she thought her interpretation of the lyrics had made perfect sense, at least compared to some of her others, and especially considering some of the men Taylor had been with over the years. Looking at you, John Mayer.)

Having just finished her solid, if just maybe lyrically and musically imperfect, performance, Cynthia was successfully rendered out of breath and in dire need of a drink, hands immediately reaching for a glass she thought she remembered to be hers, but might have actually been Phoebe's upon taking a sip and some further reflection.

Looks like the next round would just be on her, then.

"Okay, but literally since when? Maybe it's just one of those, uh--what are they called?" Her eyes squinted as she forced her brain to focus. "Ooh, Mandela Effects! Like Mr. Monopoly or--oh, Curious George's tail? Like, sorry, he's a literal fucking monkey, why wouldn't he have a tail?"

A little besides the point, but several tequila sodas had a habit of sending Cynthia's train of thought off the rails.

[cynthiafalvey]

Fletcher smiled at her, and it was impossible not to smile back, forget for the moment that they were living in the limbo of after, and even if it was only a fraction of what she knew to be the real thing, unguarded and real and up close like it'd been that night, in the before--

No. She wasn't there for him.

He'd had nearly four whole months to bring that night up to her, and yes, Reggie's impromptu move back home had complicated the already complicated, and no, Cynthia hadn't brought it up herself, and of course, they'd seen each other since, all very polite if not decidedly awkward and doing the delicate dance of making sure they were not the only two in a room together, lest they did something completely unthinkable like talk about it--

Focus, Cynthia. You're not here for him.

"How about a gnat?" Her smile was tight-lipped, though she finds herself softening as he does, snorting at his attempted joke back. "Open shelving? Very trendy."

Impossibly, she'd almost forgotten about the third, and arguably most important, resident of the cabin, immediately lightning up as Boone began to sniff around her knees and, as she crouched to pet him, the tote bag hanging off of her shoulder, the real reason behind her visit.

"Hi, Boone-y baby. Oh, you're such a good boy. Yes, you are." A kiss was placed to the center of his forehead.

Glancing back up as if suddenly realizing Fletcher was still there, Cynthia slowly raised back to her feet (though one hand still hung down for sniffs and pets).

"What? Oh, no, I was kidding." Well, he did owe her money, actually, but she'd long accepted that as a wash. The state of Reggie's laundry was something she could live without nightmares of, thank you very much. "I'm here on Erica Falvey business, actually." The tote bag slid down her shoulder and it's spoils were held up in her hand. "Leftovers from yesterday's dinner, which I'm supposed to inform you are also yours to enjoy."

After a pause, she added, "I'd suggest adding some salt."

@fletcher-braley

Three (or is it four, now?) months on a freeze out, since they'd drawn their borders, their latitude and longitude lines and left her on side, and him on the other. Fletcher still remains at a loss which is why there's a pause at the bottom of his porch steps. It's an easy thing to not talk about something, but only when you don't have to be reminded about it from time to time.

A teetering towards something can be forgotten, anyway, if the air was cleared, but if she's not addressing it, then why would he bother with it?

(No. He will choose suffocating himself by overthinking it, because it's the healthy thing to do.)

"Cynth-" Fletch begins when he finally ascends the three stairs, cutting himself off the moment a cloud of her vape hits him to allow for a pause and the air to clear. Then his mouth twitches into a close-mouthed smile in return, and he appreciates her joke. Really, he does, as it eases the tension out of his shoulders and in the way the crease of his brow lessens.

"I wouldn't hurt a fly. Not even if living with him is almost like having a poltergeist," He slips the key into the lock and turns it, tilting his head toward Cynthia to add, "I almost considered just taking the cabinet doors off." The door swings open in time for Boone to come up and greet both of them, his nose touching Fletcher's knee and then hers.

"I really can't say when he'll be back, and I don't really condone snooping in his room, but maybe he has cash in a pocket in the pants in his laundry basket."

@cynthiafalvey

[cynthiafalvey]

"Hm, like right now? It's whether I'm feeling more like pizza or Indian. Thoughts?"

With one hand on her phone pursuing the Postmates options and the other topping off their wine glasses with the half filled bottle she'd just returned from the kitchen to retrieve, Cynthia dropped back onto the couch next to Estie.

She knew better than to think her cop out answer would satiate the younger woman, but it at least bought her a second to come up with one that wasn't such detectable bullshit.

With only the last dredges of the bottle remaining, any sense of decorum left her in favor of simply drinking straight from it. If this was the turn their conversation would be taking so early in the night, she had a feeling she would be needing every last drop.

Cynthia ran through her mental rolodex of Big Decisions, cataloged in the back of her mind where she tried very hard to forget they took up space: what she now knew to have been practically signing her soul over when taking her producing job, Jonas down on one knee asking her to spend the rest of their lives together, her typed resignation left cowardly with her boss's new PA...

"I mean, I guess the first big decision I ever made was moving almost 2,000 miles away for school." Which seemed small in comparison to the over 4,500 miles they'd moved from Cardiff to Colorado, but Cynthia wouldn't exactly say that that'd been her decision. "Moving to New York in general, really. Eli was in LA already, and part of me wanted to be out there to be closer to him, but I changed my mind at the last second."

Sometimes, more recently, she wondered what her life would've looked like if she had chosen LA. If she'd still have found herself back home now, pouring over the very decisions that'd lead her there in the first place.

@estherclements

open starter for @providencepeakstarters at any place you want!

"You know how, like, some life-changing decisions, you don't even realize how big they are in the moment?" Esther says thoughtfully. "I need all my shit to be like that, I don't wanna know when I'm changing the course of my life. Like, what's the biggest decision you've ever had to make?" she asks, eyebrows raised sincerely.

[cynthiafalvey]

"Shut up!"

It's tossed out in unison with Eli's own retort. Ever predictable, his go to response when he couldn't think of a more creative comeback fast enough. With four incredibly quick witted Falvey children, all with a penchant for speaking over each other in increasing volumes when together, one upping one another at a lightning speed, sometimes it was simply about just getting a last word in, never mind what it actually was.

Of course, even it only being the two of them then, she couldn't just let him have it so easily.

There's half a moment that Cynthia all but holds her breath waiting for their mother to make an appearance out the door with a reprimand for their choice words. Shut up and all it's variations were practically Erica Falvey's personal Bat-Signal, but when her alter ego (dubbed affectionally as the Vibe Killer™ for her affinity to ruin even the most lighthearted of ribbings) didn't come to her perceived rescue, she allowed herself a shared grin with Elijah.

"Noted." She didn't have to be told twice. She'd more than learned her lesson as to not linger in the kitchen where their dad was concerned, lest they wanted a repeat of the overcooked scallop fiasco of last October.

(In her defense, their dad's instructions had been to watch them in the pan, which she had! Just that Cynthia had apparently watched them overcook. She still remained that he could've been more specific.)

"Don't I always?" She asked with raised brows, in a tone that suggested she was not looking for an actual response.

There was something just slightly off about watching Eli take a drag from the neon pink plastic, not too unlike a dog wearing a sweater. Separately, each part of the equation made perfect sense, but the combination of them together would have you taking pause. Similar, it seemed, to how he felt about Cynthia's choice in flavors.

"Oh, are you, E? Are you concerned?" She plucked it from his fingers, taking one last (admittedly not the most pleasant) drag of her own from it before stashing it back in her pocket. Her nose scrunched as she exhaled. "Listen, I usually get Strawberry Piña Colada, but Standards was out. It was this or grape."

And Hell would sooner freeze over than Cynthia Falvey would ever willingly choose an artificially grape flavored anything, so the strawberry donut monstrosity it was.

"Have you, I don't know, ever considered that maybe I would love you a little more if you didn't say shit like of my loins?"

Her eyes rolled, but a hand reached out to affectionally pat at his cheek, leverage for the brief peck against the other...and also for the gentle shove that followed as she moved past Eli to open the front door.

"My perfect princess Rhia, grouchy? Never."

@elifalvey

Oh, so it was going to be like that today. In a meek effort to retaliate that he happened to believe was just as mature — because he would never truly learn to not give in to the plentiful ways in which his youngest siblings loved to tease him, obviously — he called back a resounding, “Shut up!”

Even if it did little in the way of actually getting Cynthia to stop mocking him, at the very least he couldn’t get in trouble for it in the same way that he used to in his youth. He remembered clear as day that his longest grounding ever was when he was sixteen and she was eight, and he accidentally told her to ‘shut the fuck up’ instead. Their mother hated that. And even though his sister looked more proud to get him in trouble than anything else as he was told to head up to his room (where he essentially had to stay for over a week in the middle of the summer), he never found himself swearing at her like that again.

Well, until he moved out. Then all bets were off.

Their mother still had the tendency to get upset about things like that, but his punishment was merely a light scolding these days, on account of her lack of agency. Which, don't get him wrong, was still reason enough for him to be glad that they'd been the only ones outside — but it was refreshing, because Cynthia definitely deserved to be told, from time to time.

“Maybe just stay out of his way all together until it’s done,” Elijah advised, paying no mind to the casualty in which she pulled the vape free from her pocket. His years of trying to reprimand her for such a thing had long since passed, and he was unable to deny the hypocrisy of steering her clear of the wretched things when he’d been the one smoking Malboro Menthols and American Spirits almost exclusively since he was a teenager.

It was why he extended his hand with the same casualty, plucking the vape from her grasp. Even if he didn't necessarily like them.

“Alright, you make a fair point.” He brought the device to his lips and took a drag. The unexpected taste made his expression wrinkle in disgust and he tilted his head away from his sister to blow the smoke into the air, his opinion overall unpleasant as he turned it over in his palm to read the given description of the flavor. “What the fuck is this — ‘Strawberry Cereal Donut Milk’? That’s absolutely vile, Cynthie. There’s no way you find that even remotely pleasant,” he coughed, “That’s concerning, actually. I’m concerned.” He offered a disapproving shake of his head before he handed it back to her, deciding then and there that it was probably best to politely decline next time unless she could procure one that appeared somewhat normal by his standards.

Which were low, but not that low.

“Oh, right. You know, there was a brief second where I forgot you didn’t love me. You only love the fruit of my loins.” He was joking. Mostly. Despite that, he stepped out of Cynthia’s way, deciding that he’d said everything he needed to in order to prepare the youngest Falvey for this week’s dinner. If Reggie wasn’t going to show up late alongside her in order to receive the same debrief, then there was no point in them waiting outside any longer. He'd get here when he'd get here. “I’ll have you know, I just put her down. So if you go in there and wake her up, it's on you if she's grouchy.”

( @cynthiafalvey )

[cynthiafalvey]

[cynthiafalvey]

So scratch what she'd thought about Reggie being fashionably late.

Cynthia didn't dignify his question with an answer, opting instead for a long, pointed sip from the straw of her Dr. Pepper that she continued to stare at him over the top of. She found herself wishing suddenly that it was a beer, already able to tell that she'd be needing one by the time she was ready for her next refill.

(Eyes narrowing as she read the words that were plastered too tightly across her brother's chest for the first time, she might actually be needing that beer much, much sooner.)

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with the concept of a crop top, thank you, Reginald." Her foot caught his ankle sharply beneath the table. "But it's also fifty degrees out and I think I've just been blinded by how pale you are. You're practically radiating. Jesus. My poor eyes."

Cynthia wasn't a prude. She'd been out in much, much less in much colder weather. And it wasn't his modesty she was concerned for--Reggie would have had to have any left to begin with for that to be the case--but rather her own selfish desire to, say, eat her pizza with someone who didn't look like he was too old to be an extra on the set of Euphoria?

"Did you take your own advice?" Her eyebrow raised, gesturing with her chin to the dump him text on the shirt, as the red plastic basket was nudged closer towards the middle of the table. "I ordered them for you, and they're still hot. You're welcome."

She knew better than to assume he'd want any of her salad, so the bowl remained firmly in front of her as she attempted to spear a crouton onto the end of her fork.

"It's a good color on you, actually. The blue, not the orange." Cynthia clarified, her attempt at doing better. "But don't tell me this is some deep cut Amethyst merch that I trauma blocked from my memory?"

Or at least that she would certainly be trying to now, right there alongside the Elijah Falvey edit that had sneak attacked it's way onto her TikTok FYP.

@reggiefalvey

"Dressed like what?"

Reggie's tone was far too accusatory for someone sat in a pizzeria in an ill-fitting crop top that was very clearly not his. If the cool breeze on his stomach wasn't cold enough, his sister's expression made his surroundings feel glacial enough to sink the Titanic.

His attire and his lateness were intertwined in a singular bad decision he had made after work the night before, one drink leading to three which lead to him leaving Holy Spirits with what he fast discovered was someone more akin to the devil. If the high heel he had gotten to the back of the head on his quick exit hadn't solidified that, the outright refusal to let him part ways with his own shirt had rang it home and he had to make do while scattering from her apartment before the left heel could be weaponised.

( If anything, he feels like he deserved some sort of thanks for showing up at all, all things considered. )

"It's a crop top, Cynthia. It's also Colorado in 2024, not Massachusetts in... Whatever year they tried those witches in Salem. There's no law enforcing modesty. Do better, honestly."

Reggie isn't aiming for moral superiority, nor does he care about possessing it, but he does hope to evade having to elaborate any further on his unusual outfit choice.

It's only then does he notice something he deems twice as offensive as his ensemble

"Did you order mozarella sticks without me? That's fucked up."

@cynthiafalvey

[cynthiafalvey]

for: @theaxharris

where: deja brew

It hadn't been some huge falling out, but rather a quiet, gradual end to their friendship.

In some ways, Cynthia wonders if that was worse.

She wouldn't go as far as to say they weren't friends at all anymore; there was still the obligatory Instagram likes and annual happy birthday! messages, a false sense of connection for the split second their names appeared on each other's screens the few times a year, almost like clockwork, only to be forgotten again until the next post.

It's not either of their faults, or maybe they were both to blame, but it didn't make this first run in since Cynthia had moved back any less awkward. She wasn't sure she would have even said anything to draw Thea's attention if they hadn't accidentally made direct eye contact first.

"Oh my God, T, hey..." She forced a smile, looking up from where she sat set up in front of her laptop and oat milk matcha latte. "How are you?"