maximoffs who know the language of every country they’ve ever lived in but are still a little confused about the tenses of English verbs
maximoffs swearing in Yiddish because they picked it up from Magneto
maximoffs loading the cart up with exotic, unfamiliar American candy (“what is a Hershey’s? Will we like it?) every time they make a supermarket run
maximoffs working to combat anti-Romani stereotypes
maximoffs helping people get across the ocean or the border or the desert to America, Pietro zipping around to restock supply points while Wanda stares very pointedly at electric fences until they feel ashamed of themselves and lumber away
maximoffs celebrating Thanksgiving for the very first time
maximoffs walking around New York during December and admiring all the pretty displays in the windows
There’s no sadder feeling than finding out that an old childhood friend secretly hated your guts the whole time you were growing up.
You had fond memories of long summer days gaily playing in the woods, camping overnight to find a dead body down by the railway line, winning first prize at the breakdancing competition and saving the youth centre from closure.
All they remembered was being forced to hang out with you because their had mum felt bad that you were friendless and fat and bribed them to be your mate with promises a new bike.
You had a vague feeling that you’d grown apart, that you weren’t as tight as you’d been back in the day, but this was a real slap in the face.
How many other cherished boyhood memories will turn out to be the half-remembered plots of eighties movies?
Movies you spent the summer watching alone in front of the the video player, a lukewarm bowl of Alphabetti Spaghetti your only companion.