#this gifset is a nice little . . appetizer

[silksdream]

*      🎞      ›      𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄      𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄      ﹕      THE      HONEYDRAG      CINEMATIC      UNIVERSE      .

MILES      &      TAMSIN      ,      dir      .      @goldwingd      .

[cal-kestis]

If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl​ [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.  

“Where are you?” He screams.  

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated —  the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!

[macaroni-rascal]

Wax poetry about their lifts please

On the very long, long, long list of things that vm do exceptionally well and better than anyone else, their lifts sit easily among the top three. I definitely think it’s part of the reason that they were/are set apart from the rest of the competition. For me, there are a few things that stand out which contribute to why their lifts are so iconic and so far above anyone else’s

Tessa and Scott’s lifts:

Get integrated seamlessly into the program

Are incredibly musical

Acrobatic, yet precise

Explore varying levels, positions, and shapes

Always in the character of the program

Have equal participation

Hardly ever get reused

Are constantly improving and pushing boundaries

In fact, for that second to last bullet point, the wonderful Tina (@bartowskis) made an entire gifset of different lifts that vm only every used once. 

For the purposes of time and gif space, I’m only going to focus on their senior career, because that is when their lifts really began to emerge as something distinct and unique onto them. 

Get integrated seamlessly into the program

One thing that has always bothered me about lifts in ice dance is that they are just used as tricks to make the audience gasp. Far too often I find they also get telegraphed, more pre-Gadbois days/pre-Canton days, it was very much skatingskating – and here’s a lift – and more skatingskatingskating and there was no rhyme or reason for the lift to be placed where it was, it just needed to be in the program. I think Tessa and Scott were really the first team to utilize lifts in a completely new and interesting way – they made their lifts part of the story of their programs, not just an element to be completed, and I think Valse Triste is one of the best examples of this.

I love the lifts in Valse Triste because they help so much to build the program; the music in this free program starts very slow and sweeping with the violin and the entire beginning of the free dance their movements are very purposeful, drawn out, extended, and sweeping, to match that music. When we get to the first lift, its almost the end of that first part and so they have this wonderful little straight line lift that you do not see coming, Tessa’s arm are lovely, the arch in her back, and the strong base from Scott creates such a lovely picture and creates with sort of “swooning” picture that fits the story they are trying to tell. It is just placed so perfectly, as soon as the lift ends, the music changes and it feels like the next part of the story is about to be told.

Incorporating lifts always ties in with musicality, because they are using the music to add little accents to the lifts. The combination lift is so quick in with Tessa just popping up, grabbing her leg and Scott holding that lovely edge before they go into the rotational aspect. Their rotational lift builds speed and momentum just as the music swells, and their final lift fits the theme so perfectly! They gain speed around the corner as the music becomes frenzied, Tessa lifts her arms into the air right when their is a small break in the music, she changes position, and Scott’s arm comes out as Tessa uses her core to balance right when the music stops and they get back on the ice as the music starts up again. So, as the music starts sweeping and simple, their lift matches, and as the music swells into a flurry, their lift matches, which helps to integrate the lifts and make the program seem like one complete movement and story, not a series of starts and stops and vignettes. 

I think Valse Triste was a perfect little appetizer to what they were working towards and what was in store for their skating careers. 

Are incredibly musical 

Umbrellas was a whole different story – and their short dance that year had one of their one off lifts and a reused an old rotational lifts, and every. single. lift. in their free dance that year, was new. New and wonderfully musical. 

The first lift I think especially is so unbelievably gorgeous. I have talked and ranted at length about how boring I find around the shoulder lifts because they always look labored, the man’s posture is terrible, and the lady’s position is awful…then there are these two, hitting this stunning lift right when the music swells triumphantly, they wait until the singer stops singing, and they hit this lift so quickly and so on time, it feels like the music was composed for the lift, not the other way around.

They are so fast into the first position, Tessa’s legs are extended, there is toe point and Scott is so strong to glide on one foot! And that is all only the first part of the lift, the rest of it is just as lovely and just as musical. The shapes they are creating and how seamlessly it is integrated into the program is just beautiful. This was the year they really started working with acrobats and cirque du soleil as well. And it certainly shows.

Once more, with their straight line lift – it comes right at the end of a piece of singing as the music swells so they are not only creating interesting shapes and adding to the story, they are using the music to make the story come alive and make the flow of the program match the flow of the music, as soon as the lift ends, the singing begins again. Just brilliant.

The last two lifts back to back at the end of the program during the din of the music are so wonderfully effective: how after a stunning step sequence where the singer is crooning “je t’aime je t’aime je t’aime” over and over again to have them choreograph to hug desperately, let go of each other then go into the lift that picks up right when the music does creates a wonderful moment that is only then compounded by the serpentine lift of Tessa standing on Scott’s leg and hitting her position right on the boom of the music and hitting her second position right when the music is beginning to soften – so the exultant position of Tessa standing tall fits the music just as the second position of Tessa upside down and lower fits the music just as well. 

It is no wonder this was their breakout year, the lifts just contributed to the overall impression. 

Acrobatic, yet precise

Now the next year, post surgery, Tessa and Scott still decided to put nothing but new lifts in the free dance yet again, like the legends they truly are. Must give a shoutout to the first iteration of the goose with Scott’s arms on his knees, that some honest to god ridiculousness and such a cool moment, such an interesting balance point. Of course the serpentine lift, The Serpentine Lift, is such an amazing moment, with Tessa literally just diving head first towards the ice as Scott catches her, the changes of position without getting messy, and the last part where they create of a sort of guitar looking shape to match their rock anthem free dance. That curve lift as well, is so interesting, the entrance and Tessa’s position along with Scott’s posture make such a wonderful impression on the ice. 

What I especially love is that even though their lifts became more and more acrobatic, they didn’t loose any of their speed or precision, rather they worked to improve is constantly to the lifts would have even more of an impact. 

Explore varying levels, positions, and shapes

What has always bothered me about lifts in ice dance is when they man holds a base and the lady just flips and flies into all these different positions without ever created a nice picture. To me, it points to a lack of core strength or a desire to hide a lack of extension and posture.

Tessa and Scott cannot relate.

I love that they always maintain a position, even in lifts with changes of positions, they are held long enough to create a gorgeous picture and wonderful effect on the ice. Special shout out to the Farrucas lift for being a perfect example of everything they do well in lifts: the quick, interesting, and acrobatic entrance, the gorgeous position and extension, Scott’s posture and strong base, in the character of the program with the Flamenco hands, right on the music and perfectly integrated. It’s just a masterclass in everything lifts can and should be. I love that Tessa has the core strength to get out of the lift by herself, her free leg doesn’t lose the extension and she just drops her leg and glides smoothly back to the ice.

I couldn’t make a waxing poetic post about their lifts without mentioning The Lift, the VM Lift: the Goose. I’m trying to think of any other team that has an official name of their lift, you have elements in singles named after skaters: the (brian boi)tano, the (adam) rippon, the (nancy) kerrigan spiral, etc. etc. But what other team has a lift so iconic, so recognizable, so unbelievable, as vm?

No one, that’s who.

As an aside, the fact that they learned the most iconic lift in ice dance post Tessa’s first surgery, when they weren’t on the best terms, and then continued to improve it constantly and consistently up until the olympics, makes me feel very soft and tender towards two young Canadian ice dancers. I remember reading, I think it was from their book, that they only started to really get back on terms and work together when they had to figure out a new exit of this lift, because lets not forget, originally, Tessa does a motherfucking half loop jump off of Scott’s thigh to land one footed on the ice, only to change it to maybe the only equally difficult and dangerous exit of Tessa just falling forward into Scott’s arms. I also love the little music lick that happens right when Tessa gets into and holds position, its just radiant ice dance.

The position they create is gorgeous, the parallel arms, the view for the judges where Tessa’s leg is hidden and she looks like she’s floating magically above Scott. Not the mention the exit itself creates a gorgeous position even though it lasts a half a second. I wish I had the words for the emotion this program gives me, but its completely ineffable. 

Across all the lifts vm do in this free dance, they create wonderful shapes and move into varying levels perfectly. Whether Tessa is reaching her hands up to the heavens only to go upside down and right side up again in the rotational lift, or the expansive nature of the goose, the shapes are just gorgeous. 

I especially love the stationary lift! This was during a time when stationary lifts were far more rare in ice dance than they are now, and this lift doesn’t even look like a lift, it just looks like a stunning and interesting transition until you realize the balance point. They get into it so seamlessly, Tessa’s extension and toe point is beautiful, her arm reaching up only to come down and wrap around Scott’s neck as if they aren’t defying gravity and physics, but are just in their own little world. 

Always in the character of the program 

Then we have the second surgery, and vm come back with, you guessed, all new lifts(-ish) in both their short dance (a one off lift) and their free dance – their straight line had the same position as the curve in Farrucas, but a different entry. I love the curve lift in Hip Hip Chin Chin, how it lasts for the entirety of the singer singing “temptaa-a-tion”, the lift itself fits the dance and the music change so well – Scott holds an amazing edge as Tessa winds herself around his body. The debut of the rotational lift that would serve them well in the olympics also appears here and the baby twist Tessa does into the lift is right out of Latin ballroom.

Shout out to Funny Face for having the most in character lifts, each one feels like it came out of an old movie. I especially love the curve lift and the combination lift, the curve lift is so in character, Scott is giving Fred Astaire face and Tessa’s positions are so interesting. The rotational lift, the entrance and the arch in Tessa’s back with her arms thrown out backwards is so triumphant and glorious. Not only are the lift positions in character, but vm stay in character during the lift itself. It’s always awkward to see ice dancers thinking in the middle of a lift, it takes you right out of the program. I love that Scott pulls Fred face in the middle of a lift, it makes the program come alive. 

I also love that they will change and workshop lifts if they aren’t working, during the 2011-2012 season, they changed their short dance lift a couple times before settling, they don’t let a program or a lift become stagnant or rote, rather the lifts stay alive and engaging as the skaters themselves.

Have equal participation

 Chaotic shoutout to Carmen for having the most sexual and gravity defying lifts. I’ve mentioned it before but I’m always annoyed by lifts that are clearly just the lady being dragged and thrown into different positions while she either hangs on for dear life or does the absolute least. With Tessa’s ballerina training and dancing experience, she knows how to hold herself, she is getting herself into position before Scott puts her there. 

To be totally honest Scott and Tessa’s lifts are not really lifts because Tessa isn’t getting lifted, she is just already there. Their lifts would not be possible if were not for Tessa and her core. It supports her, it supports me, it supports us all.

(tiny shoutout to the seasons for being both their most underwhelming program with the most underwhelming lifts – underwhelming for vm, that is to say amazing for any other team, the first part of the rotational lift is stunning and the curve lift at the end is gorgeous, but they had the same exit for multiple lifts and because of the music cuts in the music the program didn’t feel harmonious and that feeling bled into their lifts as well)

Hardly ever get reused

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir said if we are going to do a comeback, we are going to comeback with new lifts.

And we are going to come back in style.

And did they ever.

God bless this curve lift, Scott’s strong squat and amazing edge quality giving them an amazing lean, Tessa’s core and strength letting her abandon herself into the lift, her arms gesturing expansively and expressively with the swell of the music and the tension in Prince’s voice during Purple Rain…I love the entrance because they get into it quick, Tessa’s leg kicks up SO high, the position and speed are wonderful, then the exit, so ridiculous if you realize the millisecond Tessa is in the air and completely flipping her body, Scott gets out of the squat and has to catch her, while she turns again and exits in a cool and amazing lunge right into their end pose.

Iconic. 

Latch, just like with several others of their programs, they came in with all new lifts. The first position in the stationary lift is similar to the mahler stationary lift but Tessa’s leg is bent underneath her and her arms are around Scott’s neck, and the other positions create such amazing shapes, and they’ve done a similar position in the second part of the rotational lift as well, though they altered it. Let’s take a moment to appreciate that vm book ended Latch with similar yet different lifts, because I love it and it makes me happy inside.

I love the rotational lift so much, I love how musical it is, how Scott does a small jump right before the entrance, how quickly Tessa flips up into position, then she slides down Scott’s body just as the music cascades to match her. It’s just a lovely moment.

My favourite lift in Latch is without a doubt the straight line lift, for a few reasons: I love that they changed it from what it was originally, a lift that worked better in theory than in practice. So rather than keeping the lift they did at ACI and SC, they came up with a completely new lift between their first and second grand prix. 

I love the entrance (similar to the entrance into the choreo lift from carmen, but so different as well). Tessa’s free leg does a complete circle from the entrance into the position she holds all while Scott changes direction and gets into a squat. The position she hits is so stunning, I see her make a full moon with her free leg then holding the position of a half moon during the lift. The arch in her back, her arms, her posture is gorgeous. The exit is just breathtaking, Tessa glides down Scott’s body so effortlessly she looks weightless, and to top it all off, Scott changes position again, turns on one foot (!!) and sets Tessa back on the ice.

It is just perfection.

Are constantly improving and pushing boundaries

Just as with everything else in their skating, they never remain stagnant and are always working to improve and sharpen their craft, which I appreciate so much. There is no complacency here. 

Watching The Rotational lift from Carmen versus Moulin Rouge is so amazing, how much more speed they have into the lift, how much faster Tessa gets up and into position and the much more difficult position change. It is truly such a mark of greatness to be constantly and consistently wanting to grow and learn and improve. Let’s also not forget that they changed this lift for the team event only to change it back for the free dance. Just because they could. In the same vein, going from the rotational lift in 2011 Hip Hip Chin Chin to 2018 Sympathy for the Devil, the lift improved so much! The entrance was quicker, the position is better, they are much faster, and the exit is far more seamless. It’s wonderful and fascinating. 

I love that for their curve lift, as they changed the music they also changed the lift in certain specific ways, Tessa’s arm movements changed to her powerful thrust up into the air and the exit became far more intense with Tessa jumping and twisting into Scott’s arms rather than gliding down his body, they shifted and improved the lift when they changed the program. 

Like, let us never forget that this is what is happening mid lift: she is flying.

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir invented stationary lifts.

As this gif set shows, one of these things is not like the others.

No one has entrances and exits like that, Tessa vaulting herself backwards blindly knowing Scott will stop at the right time in the right spot, going from a full stop to the momentum to turn, switch positions twice, all the while maintaining speed, staying centered, holding positions and even holding eye contact. It was the perfect beginning of the free dance and set the tone for the next four minutes.

Lifts can so easily be just an element to check off where ice dancers look into their repertoire and chose what fits best, I appreciate so much that Tessa and Scott refused to be complacent when it came to their lifts, that at the beginning of their senior career they were completely committed to making their lifts more difficult, more interesting, just more more more.

Their lifts go above and beyond what we think is possible, literally and figuratively.