#thread: cynthia falvey

[theaxharris]

"How long have you been back?" Thea was nervous to know the answer, because if she did then it would mean either she'd failed or that Cynthia might have been going out of her way to avoid her. And even if they were barely friends now, the idea of that would still hurt her feelings somehow. She couldn't remember if she'd seen anything in recent that would have hinted that she was here, but was that onus on her or the other woman for not mentioning she was coming back in the first place? Thea didn't really know and wasn't necessarily wanting to jump to conclusions.

She watched the reaction and found some amusement in shocking her old friend. Thea smiled a bit more as she gave a nod, which she couldn't tell if Cynthia if had actually, but to be fair it was on her Instagram and she hadn't kept up with who had liked it or commented on it after awhile since a lot of people had shared their well wished which she'd appreciated quite a bit. "Yeah, thanks. Do you remember Elliot Chapman? He was a year behind us in school. My twerp of a neighbor?" It was a small town, but it didn't meant that every time that she mentioned someone she would expect the other woman to remember, but Elliot had been a constant nuisance to Thea and she'd definitely mentioned his antics constantly in school.

Thea didn't know much about Cynthia's eldest brother other than him being in a band and then she'd definitely seen the tragedy and had reached out even if Cynthia had been already off and tried to lend support as best she could, but didn't know much about his life now even if he was in Providence Peak. But it sounded nice that he had a niece now. "Wow, so you're an aunt now. You can officially enter your weird aunt era now." She tried to joke but her brows raised at the other piece of news. "Your own wedding plans? Wow. I definitely don't think I saw that on social media. Congrats, Thia."

@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

[reggiefalvey]

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]

for: @reggiefalvey

where: basic kneads

They'd agreed to meet for dinner at five, which Cynthia knew Reggie thought meant 5:30, which meant that they were really meeting for dinner at six.

Even then, she'd been the first to arrive to Basic Kneads and seated at their table, and had no shame in placing part of an order before he eventually decided to grace her with his fashionably late presence.

She was half of her Caesar salad and a mozzarella stick in by the time she glanced up from her phone (two out of six guesses deep into the daily Wordle) to see the familiar shape of her brother making his way to her. Unimpressed, Cynthia returned her attention back to the screen to try and sus out if there was a double letter that day, but as he continued to approach, something told her to take another look at him.

"I'm sorry," she started, in a tone that was anything but, as he slid into the booth opposite of her, "but are you truly expecting me to sit here across from you while you're dressed like that?" Her eyebrows drew together. He even had an extra half an hour to choose quite literally anything else, for God's sake. "What are you wearing?"

[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 )

[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

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 their run ins 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?"

[reggiefalvey]

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I needed a spray tan to be dinner ready. Next time we go out to eat I'll make sure to look like I just stepped off of Jersey Shore."

Gym, Tan, Laundy had been a mantra he had adopted from that very same show for a solid portion of 2010, but he's not about to let Cynthia know that. That was between him and his time in Ibiza.

He eyes her suspiciously, not quite buying her mozarella philanthropy. He plucks one from the basket and bites half of it off, the minor cheese pull cooperating her story somewhat. A still suspect 'uh huh' sound can be heard as he chews, the second half of the stick getting dunked in the marinara sauce beside it before it's down the hatch in the same way.

"Amethyst wishes they had merch like this." More than that, Reggie wishes he had been allowed a chance at designing some when the band was still active. The knock offs that he had commissioned for shits and giggles were better than any that had been officially released, according to him.

"I have no idea what this is. It's not mine." He assumed that much was obvious, but he confirms it nonetheless as he wipes away the remnants of breadcrumbs on his finger tips with a napkin before the feel of it on his skin could start to wig him out.

"I had a very beautiful encounter with a young lady who was so devastated by the idea of it ending she just had to keep something of mine. So I took something of hers."

Like most tales he told, they fell into the category of tall by virtue of the key details he omits.

"Don't tell mum."

@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

[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

[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

for: @reggiefalvey

where: basic kneads

They'd agreed to meet for dinner at five, which Cynthia knew Reggie thought meant 5:30, which meant that they were really meeting for dinner at six.

Even then, she'd been the first to arrive to Basic Kneads and seated at their table, and had no shame in placing part of an order before he eventually decided to grace her with his fashionably late presence.

She was half of her Caesar salad and a mozzarella stick in by the time she glanced up from her phone (two out of six guesses deep into the daily Wordle) to see the familiar shape of her brother making his way to her. Unimpressed, Cynthia returned her attention back to the screen to try and sus out if there was a double letter that day, but as he continued to approach, something told her to take another look at him.

"I'm sorry," she started, in a tone that was anything but, as he slid into the booth opposite of her, "but are you truly expecting me to sit here across from you while you're dressed like that?" Her eyebrows drew together. He even had an extra half an hour to choose quite literally anything else, for God's sake. "What are you wearing?"

[cynthiafalvey]

Cynthia loved her family.

She felt it was important she preface with that any time before bringing them up. Not as a reminder to herself, but more as reassurance that whoever she's speaking to knows where it's coming from: always a place of love. Temporarily frustrating love, maybe, but love all the same. I love my family, followed by a but and whatever complaint against them plagued her at the time, whether long withstanding or a more current grievance.

I love my family, but sometimes they can be a lot. I love my family, but if my mom tells me I'm overreacting and to calm down one more time, I'll scream. I love my family, but if my brother doesn't return my call, I'm gonna fly out just to strangle him. I love my family, I love my family, I love my family--

(Okay, so those last few might have been reminders to herself.)

The weekly dinners were nice. After more than a decade of only reconvening around the major holidays and occasional tragedy, the notion that for the most part, all Falvey's could enjoy regular meals together underneath the same roof was one Cynthia was hard pressed to pass up. Even if it meant elaborate meals and fancy dinnerware that was perhaps more suited for, say, the King's arrival than for a casual weeknight dinner.

Luckily, the novelty had started to wear off; either that, or their parents had started to lose steam as they aged, and were back to a lack of care about single use plastics. She hadn't thought to ask before she'd left her apartment, but Cynthia hoped that tonight they'd opted to order in.

By Elijah's presence on the porch as she unlatched the gate to enter the yard, she could tell she had no such luck.

"Took you long enough," she mocked back, nose scrunched and tongue stuck out in what she considered a mature response to his teasing, middle finger raised swiftly in the air. While her own penchant for tardiness was something she typically worked double time to correct, both personally and professionally, she doesn't mention the extra minutes she'd taken just moments before had actually been to make sure that she hadn't accidentally hit Elijah's car while parking next to him in the driveway. Oops.

His greeting was a playful push to his shoulder, Cynthia prepared to brush by him and into the house (out of the pan and into the fire or whatever they say), when he made himself an immovable object in front of the door, effectively bringing her unstoppable force to a pause.

"Yikes, that bad, huh?" Her eyebrows raised, suddenly grateful for the vape tucked inside her pocket if a pep talk before heading inside was deemed necessary, though she was grateful for that as well. She reached to take a hit from it as she listened, head nodding while turning to blow the vapor out of Elijah's face. "So assure him that it's perfectly seasoned, got it."

The chances of it actually being so were low, but Cynthia's tastebuds would get over it.

"Are we positive that Reg even knows where he is most of the time?" Her hand extended the pen his way in offering. "Haven't heard from him. Now is this debrief sesh over? You should've lead with bringing Rhia, I would've been here much sooner."

@elifalvey

LOCATION — Their parent's home in Claret Park.

WHO — Elijah & Cynthia ( @cynthiafalvey ).

The (hopefully) permanent relocation of their youngest son to Providence Peak meant one simple thing for Erica and Rodney Falvey: they could finally try their hand at proper family dinners again. With all of their kids traveling in different directions around the globe — never slowing down, hardly taking a second to breathe — it was easy for Falvey get-togethers to land on the back burner of priorities over the years, save for big holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas that they’d never dare to miss. Elijah could tell that their mother had been ecstatic about it at first, too, busting out truly unnecessary dishware and cutlery that he was surprised had made it to see the year 2024; their father was ecstatic in his own muted way, spending afternoons in the kitchen making sure that all the food was prepared perfectly for the newfound occasion.

In recent weeks, it turned into a much more casual affair. The shininess of weekly dinners wore off — sometimes, the term looser than usual as it meant pizza and a movie in the living room, where maybe one or two siblings were missing from the equation — and they were allowed to use plastic dishware and cutlery again, but it was still just as rewarding.

This week in particular, Elijah had been the first to arrive with Rhiannon in tow. He’d gotten her settled down for a quick nap in his old bedroom (that they turned into a nursery for her now, funnily enough) before he tried to join his parents in the kitchen, except he’d been shoo’d away by Dad who insisted he wasn’t of any help just standing there. After that, he wandered out to the garden, fiending for a cigarette to pass the time with until one of his other siblings happened to show up — or, well, realistically, Nikolas or Cynthia (he couldn’t count on Reggie to not be last, unless a miracle struck).

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long. He’d only been out there for maybe two minutes, tops, until he heard the latch of the gate unhook and he saw his sister pushing through the other side. “Took you long enough!” he chastised teasingly from where he stood on the porch, shaking his head in disapproval like he’d been there forever without company. “Woah, woah, woah — pause.” He sidestepped in front of the screen door, blocking her entrance. “First of all, Dad’s in a mood about the food again, so . . . you know, proceed with caution. He pushed me out of the kitchen for asking him if he put the salt in, which —” He held up both of his hands, as if to say ‘whatever’. “Second of all, have you heard from Reg at all? Do we know if he’s even coming? I brought Rhia as his replacement, just in case.”

[reggiefalvey]

Reggie: Googling might be your lived experience but some of us don't forget our roots 🤨 Reggie: I was cutting about this town in my Welsh rugby jersey, you couldnt miss me I was a blur of red Reggie: Cleanse??? Lie again, I know you're still creeping Reggie: I saw you accidentally like my last grid pic

ELIJAH: Stop acting like u didn't google what Twmffats means 2 secs ago .. ELIJAH: Twat ELIJAH: what did U do for st. davids then id Love to hear it