oceanlover1111 · 1 month ago
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that was june and now it's october
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normal-people-travel · 11 months ago
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Surfing in El Paredon, Guatemala
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txttletale · 1 year ago
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I'm asking this genuinely, as a 19 yo with no education in economics and a pretty surface level understanding of socialism: can you explain the whole Bananas discourse in a way someone like me might understand? In my understanding it's just "This is just a product we can give up to create better worker conditions and that's fine" but apparently that's not the full picture?
alright so some pretty important background to all this is that we're all talking about the fact that bananas, grown in the global south, are available year-round at extremely low prices all around europe and the USA. it's not really about bananas per so--the banana in this discourse is a synechdoche for all the economic benefits of imperialism.
so how are cheap bananas a result of imperialism? first of all i want to tackle a common and v. silly counterargument: 'oh, these ridiculous communists think it's imperialist for produce to be shipped internationally'. nah. believing that this is the communist objection requires believing in a deeply naive view of international traide. this view goes something like 'well, if honduras has lots of bananas, and people in the usa want bananas and are willing to pay for them, surely everyone wins when the usa buys bananas!'.
there are of course two key errors here and they are both packed into 'honduras has lots of bananas'. for a start, although the bananas are grown in honduras, honduras doesn't really 'have' them, because the plantations are mostly owned by chiquita (formerly known as united fruit) dole, del monte, and other multinationals--when they're not, those multinationals will usually purchase the bananas from honduran growers and conduct the export themselves. and wouldn't you know it, it's those intervening middleman steps--export, import, and retail, where the vast majority of money is made off bananas! so in the process of a banana making its way from honduras to a 7/11, usamerican multinationals make money selling the bananas to usamerican importers who make money selling them to usamerican retailers who make money selling them to usamerican customers.
when chiquita sells a banana to be sold in walmart, a magic trick is being performed: a banana is disappearing from honduras, and yet somehow an american company is paying a second american company for it! this is economic imperialism, the usamerican multinational extracting resources from a nation while simultaneously pocketing the value of those resources.
why does the honduran government allow this? if selling bananas is such a bad deal for the nation, why do they continue to export millions of dollars of banans a year? well, obviously, there's the fact that if they didn't, they would face a coup. the united states is more than willing to intervene and cause mass death and war to protect the profits of its multinationals. but the second, more subtle thing keeping honduras bound to this ridiculously unbalanced relationship is the need for dollars. because the US dollar is the global reserve currency, and the de facto currency of international trade, exporting to the USA is a basic necessity for nations like honduras, guatemala, &c. why is the dollar the global reserve currency? because of usamerican military and economic hegemony, of course. imperialism built upon imperialism!
this is unequal exchange, the neoimperialist terms of international trade that make the 'global economy' a tool of siphoning value and resources from the global south to the imperial core. & this is the second flaw to unravel in 'honduras has a lot of bananas' -- honduras only 'has a lot of bananas' because this global economic hegemony has led to vast unsustainable monoculture banana plantations to dominate the agriculture of honduras. it's long-attested how monoculture growth is unsustainable because it destroys soil and leads to easily-wiped-out-by-infection plants.
so, bananas in the USA are cheap because:
the workers that grow them are barely paid, mistreated, prevented from unionizing, and sometimes murdered
the nations in which the bananas are grown accept brutally unfair trade and tariff terms with the USA because they desperately need a supply of US dollars and so have little position to negotiate
shipping is also much cheaper than it should be because sailors are chronically underpaid and often not paid at all or forced to pay to work (!)
bananas are cheap, in conclusion, because they're produced by underpaid and brutalized workers and then imported on extortionate and unfair terms.
so what, should we all give up bananas? no, and it's a sign of total lack of understanding of socialism as a global movement that all the pearl-clutching usamericans have latched onto the scary communists telling them to stop buying bananas. communism does not care about you as a consumer. individual consumptive choices are not a meaningful arena of political action. the socialist position is not "if there was a socialist reovlution in the usa, we would all stop eating bananas like good little boys", but rather, "if there's a socialist revolution in the countries where bananas are grown, then the availability of bananas in the usa is going to drop, and if you want to be an anti-imperialist in the imperial core you have to accept that".
(this is where the second argument i see about this, 'oh what are you catholic you want me to eat dirt like a monk?' reveals itself as a silly fucking solipsistic misunderstanding)
and again, let's note that the case of the banana can very easily be generalised out to coffee, chocolate, sugar, etc, and that it's not about individual consumptive habits, but about global economic systems. if you are donkey fucking kong and you eat 100 bananas a day i don't care and neither does anyone else. it's about trying to illustrate just one tiny mundane way in which economic imperialism makes the lives of people in the global north more convenient and simpler and so of course there is enormous pushback from people who attach moral value to this and therefore feel like the mean commies are personally calling them evil for eating a nutella or whatever which is frankly pretty tiring. Sad!
tldr: it is not imperialism when produce go on boat but it is imperialism when produce grown for dirt cheap by underpaid workers in a country with a devalued currency is then bought and exported and sold by usamerican companies creating huge amounts of economic value of which the nation in which the banana was grown, let alone the people who actually fucking grew it, don't see a cent -- and this is the engine behind the cheap, available-every-day-all-year-everywhere presence of bananas in the usa (and other places!)
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herpsandbirds · 2 months ago
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Do you perchance have birds with reaally long tails?
Do I have just the thing(s) for you!
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Long-tailed Paradise Whydah (Vidua paradisaea), male, family Viduidae, order Passeriformes, southern Africa
photograph by Dajan Chiou
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Pin-tailed Whydah (Vidua macroura), male, family Viduidae, found in most of Sub-Saharan Africa
photograph by Annemarie Davis
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Pin-tailed Whydah (Vidua macroura), male, family Viduidae, order Passeriformes, Londolozi Private Game Reserve, South Africa
photograph by New Jersey Birds
AND ALSO...
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Resplendent Quetzal (Pharomachrus mocinno), male, family Trogonidae, order Trogoniformes, Costa Rica
photograph by Sreejith Sreedharan
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Resplendent Quetzal (Pharomachrus mocinno), male returns home with a TASTY LIZARD!!!, family Trogonidae, order Trogoniformes, Guatemala
photograph by Andres Novales Wildlife
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Resplendent Quetzal (Pharomachrus mocinno), male, family Trogonidae, order Trogoniformes, Costa Rica
photograph by @rainforest_photo_tours
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determinate-negation · 1 year ago
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leftists on twitter are so mad at this guy for pointing out something that is fundamental to economic organization under modern imperialism lol. imperialist powers take over other nations economies, transform them to be primarily focused on key commodities for export and destroy the rest of their markets for other goods so they depend on selling these specific few commodities to the rest of the world. do you think that under a socialist government people in these countries would want to continue economies based on export of one thing or reorganize their economy to be more self sufficient and actually serve the people directly involved in it. everyone loves to point out stuff like the CIA’s involvement in the coup in guatemala but lose their shit if you point out the implications in their daily american life
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reasonsforhope · 5 months ago
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Early mornings are chilly in Los Romero, a village high up in the mountains of western Guatemala. As in other predominantly Mam villages – Indigenous Maya people who have lived here since pre-Columbian times – households come quietly to life before dawn. Isabel Romero, a grandmother with long black hair, used to feel somewhat trapped in hers.
“I was afraid of speaking because I was cooped up at home. I didn’t go out,” she says, explaining that like many Mam women, her days were dedicated to the hard work of running a household with little money, and she rarely spoke with other women. “I worried a lot and had headaches.”
Residents of Los Romero live mainly from subsistence farming, growing maize, beans and squash, or grazing livestock. Almost 50% of the population is Indigenous in Guatemala, Central America’s biggest economy, but they do not share in its prosperity. Indigenous women in particular are discriminated against and dispossessed, with a life expectancy 13 years lower, and a maternal mortality rate two times higher, than the national average, according to the World Bank.
In Romero’s village and throughout the region, a community-based collective of women’s circles has been quietly improving Indigenous women’s lives, empowering them to find voices that have been suppressed through centuries of marginalisation.
It was a long process, but Romero’s headaches and fear are now a thing of the past. These days she gets out to workshops, meetings and women’s circles. She shares her knowledge of weaving traditional textiles on a backstrap loom and has a leadership role in the women’s group she co- founded: Buena Semilla (Good Seed).
The initiative emerged from Maya Mam women’s experiences, when French physician Anne Marie Chomat brought them together for interviews for her doctoral fieldwork in 2010- 2012. The simple act of gathering with others and sharing their experiences had a profound impact on the women, many of whom are still dealing with the traumatic legacy of Guatemala’s civil war.
During the 1960-1996 armed conflict between leftist guerrilla groups and the military, more than 200,000 people were killed, overwhelmingly Indigenous Maya civilians killed by the army. Another 45,000 were ‘disappeared’. A truth commission concluded that the state committed acts of genocide...
“There’s so much chronic stress and other issues that are not being addressed,” says Chomat, Buena Semilla’s international coordinator, who now lives in Canada. “So much healing happened in that space of women connecting with other women, getting out of their houses, realising: ‘I’m not alone’.”
Once Chomat’s fieldwork was finalised, several participants decided they wanted to continue meeting and with Chomat came up with the idea of women’s circles. With the help of a grant, the project got going in 2013 and now more than 300 women in two municipalities participate every week or two in circles, each comprising roughly 10 to 25 women.
Wearing traditional embroidered huipil blouses and hand-loomed skirts, the women gather, arriving on foot via the dirt roads that weave through the villages. They meet in a home or community building, or outside when they can for the connection with nature. The circle opens with a welcome and a prayer and then the group engages in breathing and movement exercises. Next up is discussion of the nahual, the day’s name and energy according to one of the interlocking ancient Mayan calendars, traditionally used for ceremonial practices. “Here in Santiago Atitlán it is only maybe 20% of people who speak about [knowledge of nahuals], so we are reviving it,” says Quiejú.
Then it’s time for the sharing circle. “More than anything, it is speaking what they have in their hearts,” says Quiejú. But every time and each circle is different, even though the leaders all work from the same guide, she says.
Sometimes circles will have a guided meditation. Sometimes they’ll have a workshop to learn weaving, or another skill that can help them earn money. Sometimes they eat together. Sometimes they cry. Often they laugh. No matter what, they generally end with a group embrace...
Only 1% of Guatemala’s national health budget is designated for mental health, and nearly all of that goes to the country’s one psychiatric hospital. Most mental health professionals are concentrated in the capital, offering psychotherapy and prescribing medications. For those in rural areas, there is little discussion of mental health or access to services.
“There is nothing for the preventative side, to work with families, to work with communities,” says Garavito. However, he emphasised that the concept of buen vivir (good living) among many Indigenous peoples in Latin America, which includes the traditional festivities, ceremonies and community of everyday village life, inherently incorporates good mental health. “Mental health is a fundamentally social concept and that has been a historical and common practice among Indigenous peoples, without them calling it that.”
...Financial constraints also pose challenges. Since 2020, Buena Semilla’s budget has been funded through crowdfunding and small grants. Staff and leaders all work part-time and many volunteer unpaid, but most circles now meet bi-weekly due to a squeeze on funds...
[Note: If you'd like to help, you can find out more and support Buena Semilla here, at their website.]
Despite the challenges, interest keeps growing. Elsa Cortez joined a circle earlier this year, motivated by her sister’s positive experience with Buena Semilla. In her mid-20s, she lives with her parents and as well as helping to run the household, she weaves belts, drawing from a basket full of spools of brightly coloured thread. She did not go out much before.
“There was a mentality that women were only supposed to be in the home or should only do certain things. That’s how we were raised,” she says. “My family was like that too.”
Thanks to Buena Semilla, those dynamics have started to shift in some families, including her own, says Cortez. Now she is exploring the idea of starting a circle specifically for girls, to help build their self-worth and self-esteem.
“It used to be difficult for me to socialise or chat, but now I am starting to socialise more easily,” says Cortez. “In the group I feel like it is psychological therapy every time we meet.”
-via Positive.News, December 8, 2023
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songdrop · 3 months ago
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i don't understand why people shit on the good doctor
yeah the autism representation is not perfect, it never going to be cuase it's a spectrum. But it's not the worst?
i hear people say they infantilize Shaun but it's said time and time again that Shaun can do things on his own and even told directly to people in the show and to the audience as a result that we don't need to cuddle Shaun.
It's like the criticism of the first trans episode being transphobic. as a trans person myself, i don't think the ep was transphobic but i had transphobia as part of the events and message of the ep. just cuase it shows the bad stuff, it doesn't mean it is actually condoning it.
and outside of the rep or minorities, it's a damn good show
it makes me feel things, i fuckin cried in some of the episodes
the sound design, AAH the MUSIC it's soft and light and fluffy and feels good and yet it using music to bring out emotion and makes big moments bigger.
i don't like how in the Guatemala special episodes they made it all orange and brown like they do in 3rd world counties, or what americans think any country is outside of Europe. they do that shit to mexico and southern california. I live in socal and it is not brown, well the ground is during the summer but you know what i mean
this is one of my favorite shows, David Shore was made two of my mine now, The Good Doctor and House. Two autistics as leads, one being intentional lol
and yeah it sucks that the actor of shaun isn't autistic, but it's funny that both house and good doctor leads are british and i bet alot people don't know lol
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romanarose · 5 months ago
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To Have and to Hold
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Marc Spector x fem!reader
Masterlist : Moon Knight Masterlist : Marc Spector Masterlist
Read on AO3
Summary: You and Marc just get married and he can't wait to get his dick inside you.
Warnings: Blowjob, butt stuff, anal play, cumming untouched, make-up smearing. I tried my best with some spanish and hebrew.
Immersivity: Reader is fem but no gentitle mentions for reader. Wears make up and a dress but I tried to write thing in a way that would make sense for a wedding in most cultures. Header is just for aesthetics, not mention of skin, dress, any of that. reader had grabable hair (theres a line about getting semi undressed so if you wear veils or hair covers that is you guys taking it off to smash.) Reader wears heavier make up and Marc can pick her up. Marc says the traditional chritian wedding vows (that doesnt mention anything religous) but thats not neccecarily the vows the said at the actual wedding. I know marc is jewish and the reader can be christian or not I knooooooooow
A/n: Jewish Marc <3 I tried to get pics of weddings from different cultures, the bottom one is from Guatemala is pintrest is to be believed! Add this to the list of fics i've written for @whatthefishh
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*****************
Married. Finally married. Marc Spector was your husband, and absolutely no one was going to take him away from you.
After the ceremony, you and Marc run off to the nearest side room you could find, dodging all your family and friends in order to consummate your marriage right away. Giggling and laughing like children, Marc pulled you by your hand, dress flouncing around and his Kippah secure on his head. All alone finally after days of family surrounding you, the two of you quickly get into just enough state of undress for what you need. His dick in your mouth.
“My beautiful wife…” Marc grunts, thrusting into your mouth and stretching your lips around his considerable length. “My perfect girl…” Your mouth was so wet and warm. So soft around him, accommodating his hardness and beautiful eyes gazing up adoringly through your wet lashes. Marc placed his large, rough hand on your cheek, pulling his cock out just enough to turn and press it into your cheeks. He loved to feel himself inside you. 
You, in turn, love feeling him. It didn’t matter if he was stuffing himself inside your cunt, if you were feeling the vein of his cock along your tongue, his finger in your asshole with his sweet lips locked in on your tender flesh, or simply lying together watching TV with your fingers entangled in his deep brown curls. You were his and he was yours, and now it was sealed forever.
Marc’s dick slid down your throat, making you gag a little but Marc knew what you could handle. He didn’t want to hurt you, especially not today of all days, but he also knew what you liked. He also knew how to fix your make up, which you knew he was going to need to do as the tears began to blur in your eyes. 
You’re dripping wet, absolutely incomprehensibly turned on by the simple fact you are married, married to the most amazing man in the entire world. Oh, and an amazing ass. That was an aside. A side that your fingernails were digging into right now, anyway. He was built like a fucking PEACH.
Marc murmured, growing breathless. He was so fucking easy to get off with blowjobs, it made you laugh. “I love you so goddamn much…”
You relinquish his right buttcheek, but you don’t leave his cute little booty be. No, your hands stay busy, reaching under him to play with his balls, but that wasn’t their final destination, merely a pitstop to sliding a finger up his butt. One time you did that and he came on the spot, which embarrassed him but you thought incredibly hot.
Marc moans loud enough you swear you were going to get caught. He’s so fucking easy. Marc likes to act like a tough guy, but really he’s just a whimpering mess who likes his butt played with, and you were happy to oblige. When he’s particularly a mess, Marc-y Marc rambles, and today was no exception as you slobber all over his length.
“Perfect fucking wife, ahuvati, can’t believe I actually got you to marry me.” he chuckles a bit in disbelief. “How’d that happen, huh?��
You mumble around his dick. You’re a bit preoccupied to answer.
He laughs again. “Oh, right.” He shakes his head, cradling yours in his hands before sighing contently, balls beginning to draw up. “My wife, my wife, eeshtee, mi esposa… my fucking wife.” Marc thrusts in deep at that, and you know he’s about ready to cum because he’s losing control. What he doesn’t know is under your dress your thighs are rubbing together, as turned on as he was and you haven't even been touched yet. You just needed him to keep talking… Luckily, Marc always knew what you needed. Marc was strangely much more talkative during sex than he was outside of it.
“To have and to hold, from this day forward.” Wet thrust into your drooling mouth, mascara running down your cheeks and neck.
“For better or for worse.” Fuck, you were getting as close as he was, the heavy smell of sex heating up the small room. Everything felt erotic and warm, your dress suddenly getting sweaty.
“For richer or for poorer” His face was getting sloppy, but no less strong. You remove your hands from his sweet cheeks to play with his balls.
“In sickness and in health.” You scrape your nails across his left asscheek, no doubt taking some skin with you. You’re whimpering at this point, slit throbbing to be touched but you wanted to cum from his voice alone.
“Forsaking all others.” It was dizzying, the tone of his voice strong and sure and just so certain in his words. He was so certain this was forever and ever, and so were you.
“To love and- and to ch-cherish, shitshitshitshit!” He grips your hair and you grip his thighs, both of you cumming in time as he says his last words.
“UntilDeathDoUsPart” Marc spills out the final phrase in a hurry fucking his cum down your throat as he cries out your name, your own toes attempting to curl up in the wedding shoes.
Sliding his softening cock out your mouth, you see the remnants of your lipstick on him. Yeah, you were going to need him to fix your face. For now though, Marc puts his dick in his pants and drops to his knees, looking you in the eye with a shit eating grin on his face. “Did you just cum untouched, baby?”
Playful, you smack his face knee. “Shut up!”
Full of joyous laughter, Marc picks you up and spins you around, making you squeal in delight. “Ani ohev otah! So fucking much!”
Nothing in the world felt better than being in Marc Spector's arms.
***************
This goes out to my beleoved Mona who alway shared ehr thirst idea with me lolololol this is something we were workshopping together while I was in line for Bleacher lol (fun fact I stopped a fight there.)
For now, Im going to be focusing on my work for the ZIne, my pride event, and trying to finish either awakening or blessed be the fruit. thats my goal this month. Maybe more if you wanna be wild if were luky, but that series means so much to me I don't wanna half ass it. It needs to be perfect bc were about to deal with Santi's trauma.
Want to see more? Want to keep up? I dont have a tag list for follow @romana-updates and turn on noifications!
Thank you all so much for your support! Im considering doing something MK for the pride event (see my pinned post) but Im unsure yet. I know I'll have lots of joel and a Santi.
love yall lots!
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the-gimmick-archive · 6 months ago
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Pinned post. (Will update.)
This is a shared blog made to archive important things that happen in the gimmickverse.
The current mods are: @justazebra (admin), @i-dont-know-how-to-name-this.
If we make a mistake, please tell us.
Please @ us if you see an important event happen, especially wars.
Send us an ask if you want to know about a certain event, we’ll do our best to find it.
If you have the link to something important that we didn't archive yet (especially if it happened before this blog started existing), please send it to us.
Shadowban Survival Guide
(scroll down on the guide)
List of arcs and events:
The color war:
Earliest point in the arc we could find. The purple revolution begins. Green joins the revolution.
That time when figuratively everyone got possessed:
Earliest point in the arc we could find.
The UwU revolution:
Earliest point in the arc we could find.
Sealand dying and being revived:
Death. Revival. Death again, but this time they become death's assistant.
IKEA-Party City War:
Earliest point in the arc.
Goose god vs. Waste management war:
Earliest point. Waste management also declaring war. Goose god and waste management making an alliance to stop @/france-unofficial from attacking bean and making Bean sad.
New Zealand vs. Australia war:
Earliest point. New Zealand changing targets to England instead.
Bean getting kidnapped:
Earliest point.
Bean getting kidnapped again (by gimmick nose thief this time.):
Earliest point. Waste management selling their soul so they can see bean again. Molossia scratching and paralyzing Sealand. Sealand getting their souls stolen by gimmick nose thief.
List of gimmick blogs (copied from @/gimmick-simp, @/antarcitica-official, and @/celestial-same-picverse, and then added some missing ones):
@totally-official-gmail @totally-amazon @pizza-hut-official @spotify-official @truly-jcjenson
@bigbasket-notreally @discorddotcum-official @homedepot @im-pandora-i-promise @femboy-totally-bing
@kahoot-official @100percent-shell-oil @assistant-to-the-shell @truly-bath-and-body-works @definitely-tiktok-trust
@unofficially-joann-fabric @its-sanrio-official @the-real-gmail @apple-unofficial @jack-in-the-box-official
@official-arbys @officialtinder @realgoogleslides @reallytimhortons @officially-ikea
@claires-unofficial @barnes-and-noble-official @realgoogleclassroom @real-sephora @pizza-hut-unofficial
@google-news-official @totally-official-gmail @bingle-official @basically-bumble @def-bjs-guys
@official-opera-gx @official-firefox-nightly @the-mcdonalds @realgoogledocs @mcdonalds-official
@totally-bing @operagxreal @official-fedex @firehouse-subs-fr @k-f-c-official
@the-real-google @totally-ikea @taco-bell-unofficial @spotify-kids-real @the-real-victorias-secret
@subway-official @big-mayo-official @/realsafari @incognito-mode-official @burgerking-official
@definitely-wikipedia @the-one-and-only-pornhub @the-one-and-only-duckduckgo @its-target-official @yes-im-youtube-kids
@walmart-the-official @duothelingo @firefox-official @femboy-hooters-real @fedex-official
@yamaha-official @youtubefr @actually-x @reality-official
@femboy-google-news-official @50percent-shell-oil @yahooo-official @totally-airbus @the-official-spirit-airlines
@100percent-chipotle @unofficialvine
@totally-brazil @totally-italy @very-real-australia @the-province-of-nova-scotia-real @official-new-zealand
@russia-totallyofficial @quebec-official @india-official @india-reblogs @telangana-official
@denmark-official @pakistan-official @definitely-brasil @non-tyrannical-usa @antarcitica-official
@spain-unofficial @definitely-canada @france-unofficial @the-state-of-georgia-official @official-denmark
@denmark-forreal @official-ireland @texas-real @massachusetts-official @new-york-for-real
@definitelytherepublicofireland @true-blue-straya @totally-germany @official-the-united-states @totally-france
@forever-scotland @germany-official @sovereign-state-of-alaska @guatemala-official @republic-of-molossia
@actually-alberta @the-principality-of-sealand @totally-oregon @yugoslavia-official
@the-chill-planet-uranus @the-serene-moon-luna @earth-fan @deimos-moon-of-terror @officially-capricorn
@the-radiant-sun @the-ringed-planet-saturn @the-red-planet-mars @the-real-uranus @celestial-same-picverse
@officially-taurus @the-lovely-planet-earth @posts-with-10000-notes-in-spirit @/i-hesitantly-say-ok
@i-say-not-ok @i-say-ok @the-us-navy-offical
@woo-in-different-lengths @official-garlic-bread @shakespeare-official-reblogs @gimmick-thief @hold-my-dr-pepper
@oscar-wilde-official-account @the-real-illinois @i-say-grape @the-kingdom-of-norway @denmarklandia-official
@i-say-bean @sweden-official @antarcitica-official @gimmick-nose-thief @gimmick-thief-thief
@tamil-nadu-official @tamilnadu-official @anti-totally-bing @antiquitian-empire @rocks-anon
@tagswoman @actual-aspec-military @pansexual-spaceforce @the-aplatonic-cavalry @the-pointing-anon
@bi-poly-space-station @bisexual-airforce @aro-sp-ace-force @nonbinary-coastguard @demi-demolitions
@queer-military-authorities @queer-military-treasury @the-missiles-guy @the-official-goose-god @the-official-gemini
@actual-transgender-navy @genderfluid-marine-corp @real-australian-army @real-hottopic
@same-pic-of-venus-everyday @same-pic-of-the-earth-everyday @same-pic-of-the-moon-everyday @same-pic-of-mars-everyday @same-pic-of-jupiter-everyday
@same-pic-of-saturn-everyday @the-real-uranus @same-pic-of-neptune-everyday @steve-not-anon @metal-frisbee
@earth-fan @not-10-salmon-in-a-png @same-pic-of-halleys-comet @same-pic-of-callisto-everyday @same-pic-of-eris-everyday @same-pic-of-kepler-186f-everyday
@same-pic-of-haumea-everyday @same-image-of-7-iris @book-nonsie-not-anon @celestial-same-picverse @same-pic-of-pluto-everyday
@same-pic-of-juno-everyday @same-pic-of-polaris-everyday @tomblrmartian @same-pic-of-a-blackhole-everyday @same-pic-of-the-stars-everyday
@alpha-centauri-everyday @same-cosmic-cliffs-pic-every-day @rose-nebula-always @same-pic-of-makemake-everyday @same-picture-of-europa
@same-pic-of-the-lagoon-nebula @star-that-eats-the-sun @jupiter-fan
@same-pic-of-triton-everyday @pq-anon @same-pic-of-ceres-everyday @same-pic-of-wolftopia-everyday
@same-pic-of-mars-everyday @same-pic-of-tres2b-everyday @samepicofthewowsignaleveryday @same-pic-of-the-blue-moon @same-image-of-hr8799e-every-day
@samepictureofsednadaily @moon-of-fear-phobos @totally-neptune-official @corvus-the-constellation @official-nissan
@hollowknight-reference @microsoft-edge-official @arethosewordsinthebible @the-gimmick-doctor @i-say-doot-doot
@i-say-ok @discord-marriage-bot-real @literally-leo @literally-luxembourg
@/same-pic-of-a-dictionary-daily @/same-pic-of-mercury-everyday @/hateful-daystar @//court-artist-under-the-stars @/samepicofproximacentaurieveryday @/same-pic-of-the-sun-everyday @/same-pic-of-the-blood-moon @/same-pic-of-uranus-everyday @/same-pic-of-venus-every-day @/same-pic-of-trans-jupiter @/ton-618-real @/same-pic-of-alpha-centaur-24-7 @/same-pic-of-andromeda-everyday @/same-pic-of-a-bagel-everyday @/same-pic-of-titan-every-day
@putting-iris-in-places @communist-usa-real
(Sorry if you didn't want to get tagged.)
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fuck-customers · 3 months ago
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🦈🐘🐩🐇
I absolutely HATE the way customers at work think it’s normal to start guessing my ethnicity. The only time it doesn’t annoy me is if someone genuinely thought I was from the same country as they were. Like when Indian people think I’m Indian it’s okay.
But when a white person or Latino person incorrectly guesses that I’m Indian it makes my fucking blood boil, and then they start making even more wrong guesses. “Are you Persian ? Are you Middle Eastern? Are you Egyptian? Are you Native? Are you from Guatemala?”
No, no, no and no. What’s with the guessing? Why does it even fucking matter?? If I can be frank, it seems like white men & latinos of any gender are SUPER OBSESSED with guessing where people are from. And sometimes they start guessing things that aren’t even countries or ethnicities- like Latino people constantly trying to guess if I’m Jewish or Muslim (two very different things but apparently they’re the same thing to white Latinos because they both have dark hair + big noses)
Some of them have literally confessed into my face “oh it’s the nose and the hair, and your skin tone” Oh so you just confessed to racially profiling me based on my fucking nose.. And not to mention it’s highly racist that they want to act confused that I’m not middle eastern as if only middle eastern people have unique noses.
It’s like they’re basically saying this to me through a series of questions and responses:
wait you’re not middle eastern???? You’re not Jewish???? You’re not from IRAQ?’?!!?,,,, BUT I THOUGHT PEOPLE WITH BLACK HAIR AND BIG NOSES ARE ALL FROM JEWISH AND MIDDLE EAST. MY BRAIN IS BROKEN I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS… WHERE ARE YOU FROM THEN??? YOU MUST BE SOME SORT OF NATIVE PERSON?? NO?? OK THEN YOU MUST BE FROM GUATEMALA BECAUSE THATS THE ONLY LATIN COUNTRY WHERE PEOPLE HAVE SUPER DARK HAIR AND BIG NOSES? AM I RIGHT? DID I GUESS YOUR RACE CORRECTLY? NO??
I guess I’m the only one who was taught by my parents that probing anyone on their ethnic background is fucking rude? It’s also the fact that they are not saying things like “oh you’re so pretty, where are you from?” they are asking me where I am from just point blank. It’s weird.
I know there’s a word for this kind of thing, when people guess your ethnicity based on the size of your head or the shape of your nose.. but it’s 2024 what the fuck is going here? No one should be that stupid to believe only Persians or Guatemalans have big noses. The whole thing is just fucking stupid man.
-Pissed off Cashier xoxo
Posted by admin Rodney
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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago
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Hello! May I please request Indiana Jones x fem!Reader and the comfort prompt 13. Getting or giving a long hug when one of you walks through the door?
Sure thing!
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You're expecting to come home to an empty house, so when you hear the clink of a glass in the kitchen, you freeze in the doorway. Your stomach twists with panic. Has someone broken in? Did you leave your window open and did a racoon or a squirrel get in?
You cautiously lower your bag to the floor, and your keys to the side table by the front door before quietly pushing the door shut behind you. You glance around nervously. What the hell can you do? There's an umbrella in the stand, but that's not going to make much of an impact; there's a large, heavy vase by the stairs, but it's too awkward to lift and carry. If it is a burglar, the vase won't exactly get one over on them.
Shit, what the hell could you do? Indy had kept a gun in the bedside table when he stayed over, but he'd taken it with him on his latest excursion to Guatemala. Hell, what on Earth are you going to—?
"Are you just going to stand there, sweetheart?"
Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound of his voice. You charge down the hall, throwing your arms around Indiana Jones. His chuckle grows louder as he wraps his arms around your in turn.
"Missed me?" He adds.
"More than you could possibly imagine...But you scared the hell out of me," You scold, leaning back and socking him in the shoulder. It doesn't dim his mirth. He just reaches out, cupping your jaw and tipping your head toward his.
"I missed you, too."
"Did you?"
"Course I did," He nudges the tip of his nose against yours. Your eyelids flutter as his lips brush yours. And then—
"Didn't have anyone down there to help me with my laundry."
You scoff, reeling away from Indiana and making to turn away. You don't get far before Indiana is drawing you back in for a warm kiss. You hook your hands in his collar, lips pulling into a smile as he curls you into his chest.
"You're an ass, Jones," You mumble.
"You wouldn't have me any other way."
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humansofnewyork · 2 years ago
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“We’re unpacking it, little by little. She held us all together. Always made sure there was food on the table, always washed our clothes, always took care of me when I was sick.  But she was fierce when we were kids. She’d get angry with me, zero to a hundred, in a second. I could never understand why. I know she had a tough upbringing: Guatemala, small town, no father. And I’ve had my own share of demons. It’s been a twenty-year struggle with alcohol. I would come over here completely blacked out, blasting music, acting like a dirtbag. There are neighbors in this building who still won’t talk to me. I also said some hurtful things to my dad. He wanted nothing to do with me in his final years. But I’m seven months sober now, so God willing we’re done with all that. Little by little I’m trying to be the man of the household. I’m suppressing old feelings and just trying to help her be comfortable. I’m not a good cook. But I kill it for breakfast. So on Saturdays I make breakfast: eggs, beans, bread, soup. She’s a very good soup eater. I try to get everyone seated at the table, and involve my daughters in the conversation. Afterwards I line up some good entertainment. She likes the television. When it’s warm I’ll take her to the park. A few months ago I brought her to a soccer game at the Red Bull Arena. It was Colombia vs Guatemala, too perfect. My father was Colombian, so we’re all half-and-half. I maxed out my credit card and bought the whole family tickets. It was unbelievable. A year ago I wouldn’t have even been able to enjoy it. I’d have been drinking beers nonstop. I’d probably have blacked out by halftime. But I was completely sober, watching the field, watching my family enjoy the game. My mom was loving it. She was cheering like crazy. Wearing her Guatemalan jersey.  Guatemalan flags everywhere, and lots of quetzals, the national bird. She was in heaven. I honestly think it was one of the best days of her life. Of course I’m seeing how happy she is, and I’m like damn. I only wish my dad was here to see all this.”
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hisbucky · 4 months ago
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A 9-1-1 Fic: Bones!AU
Summary:
“I’m Dr. Evan Buckley, an anthropologist working for the National History Museum in Los Angeles. I’ve been in Guatemala for about two months, helping a very renowned and well-regarded colleague, mind you, to identify victims of a genocide. Including that one on your table right there.”
He pointed to the skull in question, the same one that got him into this mess.
-/-
AKA Buck is Dr Brennan, but he's not, he's still Buck
Rating: Mature
Main Ship: Pre-Buddie
Warnings: Some descriptions of (staged) intimacy NOT between Buddie to gather information, inaccurate depictions of PTSD, and the Typical Crime Show Warnings; depictions of murder, death, substances, crime, violence, etc.
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As what has been hinted, here is the Bones AU I've been working on.
Shoutout to my pocket friends @nibblyssacrifice & @bluroux who beta-read this - literally could not have made the final editing for this fic any smoother 💜💜💜
Read here
There's also a (really short) snippet you can preview below.
... “Not a sociopath,” he denied. “Just not neurotypical.” “I feel like I should know what that means,” the officer had said it with an odd inflection, he noticed, which led Buck to believe that the man knew exactly what he’d meant, but for some reason was choosing not to disclose that fact. It was that insight that held him back from spilling out the wealth of information he had on the matter. Instead, Buck was left feeling a little bit wary. “I’ll send you a few audiobooks on it after you tell me how we can make this go faster. I’m missing lunch with my sister,” he shrugged, restraining himself from narrowing his eyes at the man, wondering if the officer’s slow reading was part of a farce too. As if answering his thoughts, Buck saw movement from the corner of his eyes. Leaning against the doorway was the figure of man he could hardly forget, and even with those shades he could feel that heavy gaze on him. “What are you doing here?” he squawked, mouth gaping at the unexpected visitor. Said visitor merely took off his aviators and walked in, brandishing his badge in one motion — face carefully neutral as he introduced himself to the room, ���FBI, Special Agent Edmundo Diaz. Major Crime, Los Angeles.” He tipped his head in Buck’s direction. “Dr. Buckley here identifies remains for us.” Nonplussed, Buck amended. “I do more than just identify by the way.” “He also does podcasts.” Without missing a beat, a smartphone was brought out from that form-fitting suit coat he was wearing. Buck could only stare as the agent proceeded to carelessly toss the device over and across the table, somehow managing to land the thing safely in the other officer’s hands in a perfect arc. “That one’s pretty popular among the kids and college students. ‘Voices from the Vertebrae’, don’t know if you’ve heard of it.” Fully offended, Buck scrunched his nose. “Rude.” ...
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herpsandbirds · 4 months ago
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if ur still doing, can i have some birds/herps from mexico… 🦔
Birds and Herps of Mexico:
Sure thing, lets see what I can find for you...
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Pink-headed Warbler (Cardellina versicolor), family Parulidae, order Passeriformes, found in far southern Mexico and Guatemala
photograph by Francesca Albini
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Giant Mexican Musk Turtles (Staurotypus triporcatus), family Kinosternidae, found in Mexico and northern Central America
photograph by Parker Gibbons
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Yucatan Jays (Cyanocorax yucatanicus), juveniles, family Corvidae, order Passeriformes, endemic to the Yucatán Peninsula of Mexico
photograph by Tony Hisgett 
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Mexican Cantil (Agkistrodon bilineatus), juvenile, family Viperidae, found in Mexico and Central America
Venomous.
photograph by Dick Bartlett
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Northern Jacana (Jacana spinosa), father with chick, family Jacanidae, Mexico
In this photo, the yellow bone spur on the wing is visible. They use these to defend their chicks and themselves.
photograph by Juan Miguel Artigas Azas
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Bell’s False Brook Salamander aka Tlaconete Pinto Salamander (Isthmura bellii), family Plethodontidae, endemic to Mexico
photograph by JMRC Photo
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Brown-hooded Parrot (Pyrilia haematotis), family Psittacidae, found in Mexico, Central America, and Colombia
photograph by @ercan_uc
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Mexican Beaded Lizard (Heloderma horridum), family Helodermatidae, Mexico
Venomous.
photograph by @vibes.and.snakes
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rayman-chibi · 26 days ago
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Hey guess what.
New Rayman art event announcement.
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@emo-rabbit and I have agreed to co-host a Rayman art event involving a Secret Santa kind of event, but with Rayman! Kind of like a
m a s s a r t t r a d e
Here's how it's gonna go!
Firstly, you're gonna have to read through all of this, just... everything in this post. Skimming is fine; just make sure you understand literally everything listed here.
Next, find and go to this form made by Edge and write your Tumblr @ as well as what you want your Secret Santa Ray to draw for you.
Once you've done that, you may contact me on my Tumblr DMs or on my Discord DMs (or Edge's Tumblr DMs, that's fine too) to confirm that you've completed the form (you don't have to actually, but it is recommended that you do because then it makes our job easier :D). Edge will be checking on who signed up and we will be giving you a number for you to hold onto.
Other things to note:
By signing the form, you are agreeing to become a Secret Santa Ray yourself.
Please do not spoil your number or you're gonna be out and we'll have to give the number to someone else.
The form will be closed on October the 20th (10/20/2024), and I will soon post how many submissions we got as well as further instructions on what to do next.
Some things you CANNOT request are: bigoted or generally severely offensive stuff, nudity, extreme blood & gore, just anything that's extremely nsfw.
Also, I know that I'm expanding the Rayman Chibi universe to include other Ubisoft characters and whatnot and I know that Rayman himself appeared in Captain Laserhawk, but uhh... Rayman-related characters only. Captain Laserhawk characters don't count. Sorry.
It's okay to ask for a drawing that: supports a country falling victim to something extremely horrible (Ukraine, Palestine, Guatemala, Syria, etc.; it doesn't have to be your country, what matters is that you're comforting the people living in them while they're going through hard times), has mild/moderate blood & gore, recreates memes that don't go against the don'ts above, includes selfsonas, include ships (so long as they, again, don't break the don'ts of the above), etc.
Okay, there you go! Have fun!
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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago
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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (21/23)
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Chapter summary: Christmas Eve; A person from Wanda's past prompts another bout of jealousy in you; Wanda surprises you with a Christmas present; You and Pietro talk it out after the festivities
Chapter word count: 7.5k+ | Tags: Mild Angst, Healing, Comfort | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader
Author's note: The second part of Christmas in LA. We continue wrapping up some relationships. Enjoy! :)
AO3 | Masterlist 
Next part: Twenty-two
--
Twenty-One
Christmas Eve
The ride with Shannon begins in an uneasy silence. With the only sound being the hum of the car and the occasional directions from the GPS, the quietness feels heavy, making your palms sweat against the leather steering wheel. 
“We need to pick up groceries first, then dry cleaning, and oh, there's a new shop selling artisanal cheese I've been dying to try,” she reels off her list of errands, her tone light and almost jovial, easing some of the tension in the car.
However, as the silence descends once again, there's a question that's been burning on your tongue since you stepped into her house, and it seems like the perfect opportunity to ask it.
“Shannon,” you start, your voice sounding unusually loud in the quiet car, “This might be a strange question, but...did you recognize me when I walked into your office for that interview at Stark Industries?”
There's a momentary pause, and you worry you've crossed some invisible line. But then Shannon chuckles, a light, easy sound, that oddly enough, puts you at ease.
“Well, I was wondering when you would ask,” she admits with a smirk. “Yes, I recognized you. But I didn't want to make things awkward by bringing it up.”
As you reach the grocery store and park the car, Shannon turns to you, offering a grateful smile. “Thanks for helping out, Y/N. It's been quite hectic with the preparations and all.”
On the way back, you spot a small coffee shop nestled between a bookstore and a flower shop. The sign in the window catches your eye–'Single Origin Beans' it reads, and you remember your conversation with Wanda on the plane.
“Shannon," you blurt out without taking your eyes off the signage. “Would you mind if we stop by that coffee store over there? I'd love to check out some of their beans."
She looks over to where you're pointing, and her face lights up in approval. “Oh, I've heard fantastic things about this place. Let's go.”
As you pull over, you can't help but think about Wanda and her upcoming competition, hoping that this little detour might just be the secret ingredient she needs to make her mark at the Cup-off.
As you and Shannon step into the shop, you are immediately enveloped by a blend of heady aromas–nutty, smoky, and unmistakably coffee. The smell is intoxicating, and you can't help but breathe it in deeply. 
A world map on one wall is dotted with markers showing where their beans are sourced–Ethiopia, Colombia, Kenya, Indonesia, Guatemala, and more.
Shannon seems equally impressed, her eyes taking in the array of beans displayed in glass jars behind the counter, each labeled with its country of origin and tasting notes. She glances back at you, her gaze curious.
“You're into coffee as well?” she asks, opening a particular jar to sniff at its contents.
“Well, I love it. I’m the original coffee drinker between the two of us,” you clarify. “But I’m looking mainly for Wanda. She's the enthusiast. I'm... more of the support crew.”
“So Wanda only started drinking coffee because of you?”
“I suppose you could say that,” you say, your mind drifting back to an amusing memory of one of your early dates with Wanda. She had attempted to impress you by ordering your favorite drink, not realizing it was a bold concoction of three shots of espresso and nothing else. “Although I don’t think she enjoys drinking it as much as I do. It's more of a part of her daily routine now.”
A smile spreads across Shannon's face as she shakes her head. You give her a funny look and ask, “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Shannon shrugs off your question. “That girl is so head over heels for you.”
You feel your cheeks heat up. “Why would you say that?”
“She's taken something she's passionate about and turned it into something impactful. Something enjoyed by everyday people,” Shannon explains.
“I wouldn't exactly say coffee is her passion, though–”
“It's you, Y/N,” Shannon interjects, rolling her eyes playfully. “You are her passion. She excelled in coffee-making because it's something you love. And it's a beautiful thing, to shape a passion around someone you care about so deeply.”
“But it's rather strange, isn't it?” Shannon adds a while later. She digs her hand inside a bag of beans and takes a handful, then leans in to inhale its scent. 
“What do you mean?” you ask. 
“Well,” Shannon continues, “Considering how much she adores you, must be one of the universe’ greatest mysteries as to why she would ever cheat on you.”
You find yourself taken aback, unsure if you should feel insulted or if you should just brush it off. Her remark is quite out of the blue, and she doesn't seem to grasp how inappropriate it is. It seems that Shannon may be the sort of person who speaks without considering the impact of her words. 
But, in her candid, albeit tactless, comment, you get a glimpse of another side of her–one that's less reserved and more carefree than you had initially perceived. 
Before you can think of something to reply, a voice cuts in, causing you and Shannon to jerk your heads towards the source.
“Welcome! Can I help you find something particular?”
The voice belongs to the shopkeeper, an elderly gentleman sporting a smile as warming as a hot cup of chocolate. You return his smile with a slightly sheepish one, confessing, “I actually have no idea. My wif–my, uh, partner joined this annual coffee competition in NYC. I thought I might surprise her with some unique beans to experiment with.”
“Sounds like a wonderful gift!” he exclaims, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. He hobbles over to a nearby shelf filled with an array of coffee bags. “Well, if she's in a competition, I'd suggest trying a couple of different single-origin beans to get a variety of flavors.”
He reaches up to a shelf and pulls down a bag of coffee. “This here is a single-origin bean from Ethiopia. Known for its bright and fruity flavors, it's a favorite among many coffee connoisseurs.”
Setting that bag down, he moves over to another shelf. “And over here we have a single-origin bean from Colombia. This one has a richer, more full-bodied profile with notes of dark chocolate and a nutty finish.”
He hands both bags to you, his aged yet firm hands transferring the beans with a sense of reverence. “I think these two could provide some interesting flavors for her to experiment with. What do you think?”
A thoughtful hum escapes you as you consider the shopkeeper's recommendations. The Ethiopian and Colombian beans definitely sound like a good place to start, but you want to give Wanda something a little more... unexpected.
“Do you have anything else?” you ask. “Maybe something more unconventional? A wildcard, if you will.”
The shopkeeper looks at you for a moment, as if sizing up your level of coffee knowledge and daring. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Well, I do have something rather special,” he admits, leading you to the far corner of the shop.
He reaches behind a stack of bags, pulling out a smaller, unassuming bag. “This here is a single-origin bean from a tiny town in the northernmost region of Japan. It's not widely known for its coffee cultivation, but I have a friend there who has been growing these beans using a unique method. He's a former whiskey brewer and has applied some of the techniques from brewing to coffee cultivation.”
He hands over the bag and you take it, intrigued by the origin and backstory. The beans look slightly lighter than the other two bags, and you can almost smell the promise of a unique flavor profile.
“This is a real wildcard,” the shopkeeper adds with a wink. “It's unlike anything else you'll find. But tell your partner to be careful. These beans require a bit more finesse to fully bring out their complex flavors.”
You can't help but smile. This is exactly the kind of thing you were hoping to find. Something different and exciting for Wanda to work with, that would also show your support and faith in her skills. A perfect blend, in more ways than one.
“Seeing you so lovesick over your ex makes me want to gag,” Shannon comments, once you've finished your transaction with the shopkeeper.
You turn to her, eyebrow arched, “Are you always this tactless?”
She just laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet of the shop, and then completely ignores your question. “You know what? Now I see why you and Wanda are so perfect for each other.”
“And why is that?” you blink at her, intrigued despite yourself.
She shrugs, her smile knowing. “Because despite everything, you still do this shit like she’s the best thing that's ever happened to you. And I bet she’s the same.”
With those words, she heads out of the shop, leaving you standing there awkwardly, still processing her words. Her straightforwardness was unexpected but kind of refreshing. You shake your head, smiling to yourself as you follow her out. 
“...Wh-Where was I?” Your words hitch as Wanda tenderly grazes her teeth over your jugular.
“You were saying that Shannon is kind of a bitch,” Wanda whispers, continuing her assault.
You chuckle lightly but it quickly transforms into a low moan. “Well, she is, but I think that's just her way of dealing with things.”
Wanda hums against your skin, a small laugh escaping her lips. “She certainly seems to have a unique perspective,” she concedes, withdrawing slightly to look you in the eyes. “But she's right about one thing.”
“And what would that be?” you ask breathlessly as you feel Wanda’s fingers trail their way up your stomach, under your shirt.
She gives you a teasing grin, the irises of her eyes pitch black as she playfully declares, “That you're smitten with me.”
You blink in surprise. “Wait, what? She said that?”
You feel Wanda’s smile against your skin before her tongue slips out to lick the sweat that has gathered under your ear. “Yes, she did. Told me right when you two got back home earlier.”
“Well, can't argue with that,” you concede, pulling her closer. The conversation drifts, forgotten, drowned in Wanda’s lips against yours and her hand squeezing your tit as she finally pushes her tongue inside your mouth.
“W-Wands,” you whine as your ex-wife’s other hand moves to cup you over your leggings. Wanda ignores you, rubbing your clit achingly slow as her tongue flickers in and out of your mouth, teasing you relentlessly. 
“Wands,” you try again.
“What?” she husks out, her tone dripping with impatience and arousal.
“Is this a good idea? I mean… We… oh god,” you groan against her cheek when she slips her hand inside your underwear and zeroes in on your opening, collecting the wetness there before spreading them upwards towards your clit. 
“Try saying that again, love?” Wanda murmurs with a smirk.
“Uh, w-we scheduled an appointment with–”
Your words fail you at this point when Wanda inserts a finger into your pussy, burying it two knuckles deep at once. 
“Fuck–” 
Wanda swallows your scream with a kiss, and she smiles as she feels the vibrations of your moans as she starts thrusting her finger in and out of your hole.
“I love it when you’re so loud, baby,” Wanda whispers into your ear before biting your lobe. “But we need to keep quiet. Can you do that, sweetheart?”
She senses your nod, but just as she's about to introduce another finger, your laptop interrupts with its ringing sound. 
It’s a video call request from none other than your therapist.
You immediately extricate yourself from Wanda's grasp, causing her to groan in frustration at the untimely interruption. Your skin bears a heated flush and you hurriedly straighten your disheveled hair, trying to ignore how wet your inner thighs have gotten as you hit the accept button on the incoming video call. 
There’s a satisfying grin on Wanda’s face as she observes the way you press your legs together, trying to relieve some of the tension she caused there.
“Y/N? Wanda? Can you hear me?” Calliope’s voice breaks through the speakers. The video is still loading and you can’t see her on the screen yet.
Understanding that the call includes her as well, Wanda quickly composes herself, matching your effort to regain decency. Both of you adjust your clothing, smooth down your hair, and take a deep breath. 
“Am I disturbing anything?” Calliope inquires, an undercurrent of amusement lacing her tone. Your face turns a deeper shade of red at the hint of her insinuation, and you quickly shake your head in denial.
“With Christmas looming so near, I'd totally understand if you two prefer to reschedule–”
“No, it's okay,” you interject hastily. “Wanda and I are ready for this.”
The sound of Wanda's soft chuckle resonates beside you, and in a playful retort, you nudge her rib with your elbow. She responds with a firm, “Yes, we certainly are.” 
Simultaneously, she reaches for your hand, weaving your fingers together in a comforting interlock, resting them gently on her lap. You smile inwardly, feeling more giddy about the intimate nature of this small action than the sex that almost happened.
Without further ado, Calliope delves directly into the agenda of this, your third session. She invites you and Wanda to share what your married life was like prior to the indiscretion, and you find yourself taking the lead.
“Honestly, it felt like we had a perfect marriage,” you start off. “Not just the marriage, but our entire life seemed idyllic. My career was progressing as planned. Wanda... She was my pillar, always there, always supportive.” You look at Wanda adoringly and in return, she offers a shy, hesitant smile, her eyes momentarily flickering away before meeting yours again. You don’t notice, but there’s something else there. Her demeanor has shifted ever since Calliope brought up the session’s main topic.
Her fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours as you continue, recounting the times when you both laughed together, celebrated successes, and held each other through tougher days.
“And it wasn't just that she was supportive,” you add, your voice catching slightly. “She was, and still is, my best friend. We shared everything.”
Wanda's quiet during your monologue. The room is silent except for the low hum of the laptop and the occasional soft exhale from Wanda. After a moment, Calliope's calm voice pierces the quiet.
“Thank you for sharing that,” she says. “Wanda, would you like to share your perspective now?”
Wanda nods and lets go of your hand, her eyes filled with a somber resolve, her voice quieter when she finally speaks.
“Over the course of our five-year marriage, I was mostly content–happy. However, I often found myself feeling like a shadow, rather than an…equal partner.”
You whip your head towards Wanda, but her eyes stay stuck on the laptop screen. It takes a few seconds longer before she finally turns her gaze towards you and says, “For the last few months before I–before what happened–it felt like I was just trailing behind you, almost constantly. But it's not your fault.
“I was grappling with feelings of inadequacy when I... made that mistake,” she continues, her voice faltering slightly as she alludes to her infidelity. “I was in a state of confusion, and despite your joy and accomplishments, I was unable to share in that same level of happiness,” Wanda finishes.
Just when you believe you're set for an easygoing session, life throws you a curveball. It seems each encounter with Calliope pops the cozy bubble you've created with Wanda. Each time you're certain you've navigated the thickest of storms, another one brews on the horizon, causing your heart to question–yet again–the durability of this second shot at a relationship with your ex-wife.
Wanda swallows hard, before adding, “And then there was the struggle to start a family. You were the one who wanted children, but when it got tough... I felt like I was in it far deeper than you were. You were supportive, yes, but it felt like I was alone in the intensity of wanting it, needing it.”
“What made you feel like I wasn't with you through this?" you ask, a tinge of frustration seeping in your tone.
She takes a moment before responding, “When I couldn't get pregnant, you seemed so quick to dismiss our failure... it made me feel even more isolated.”
You shake your head. She couldn’t be further from how it really was for you, but you can’t blame her if that was how she felt during those times.
“I'm sorry if it seemed like I was dismissive,” you whisper as memories play back in your mind, each one revealing nuances you hadn't recognized at the time. “It wasn't my intention to belittle our struggle. I guess... I just didn't want to see you in more pain than you were already in. I thought being optimistic and pushing forward would help us cope, but I see now how that might have come across as indifference.”
“Weren't you upset with me?” Wanda asks, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We invested so much for me to conceive and... and I failed. Do you... do you resent me for that?”
“Wanda,” you say, your voice choked with emotion, “I never cared about the money. And you didn't fail. It's a process, and sometimes it's a tough one. But I don't resent you, not for a moment. My disappointment was never with you, but with the situation. I felt...helpless.”
“Helpless,” you reiterate, your eyes steadfastly meeting Wanda's. “Because I was at a loss on how to support you... how to alleviate your pain.”
Your voice, once steady, falters slightly as you confess, “Each doctor's appointment, every unsuccessful attempt... It felt like I was failing you, like I couldn't provide the comfort or solution you needed.”
You draw a shaky breath before adding, “And in my helplessness, I pushed for us to move forward right away. But now I realize...it might have felt to you like I was dismissing your pain, dismissing our shared struggle. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Wanda murmurs, her voice heavy with regret. There's a softness in her gaze as she looks at you. “I’m sorry for not telling you what I was feeling.”
Just as you're about to respond, Calliope cuts in. “The reason I asked you both to share your perspectives on your marriage before is to gauge the level of openness and communication between you two. Communication is one of the key bridges to trust. If we understand where we each stood before, we can better see clearly where we want to go.”
With this new revelation, you can't help but wonder about other instances where your and Wanda's perspectives may have diverged significantly.
It makes you wonder, what other moments had been experienced so differently by the two of you? How many times have you found yourselves adrift on separate pages of the same story?
A cold shiver of uncertainty sweeps through you. You're not sure you're ready to dive deep into the past, to unpack five years of the life you had shared with Wanda. 
The thought of your dissolved marriage possibly being built on illusion rather than truth feels scary, like realizing a favorite story might not be as real as you once thought.
The topic left untouched so far is how this disconnect relates to Wanda's act of infidelity. Despite your discomfort, the question lingers in your mind: If you were to misunderstand her feelings once more, would it drive Wanda away again? 
You hold your tongue for the time being. Maybe there'll be a moment later to wrestle with this thought... or perhaps, you find yourself wishing, it might simply fade away with time.
A couple of hours later, you and Wanda find yourselves working together in the kitchen. The session with Calliope has ended on a less intense note (thankfully) with an anecdote about her cat after Wanda made a request for Calliope to share something about herself for a change.
Afterwards, Calliope, not one to shy away from uncomfortable questions, had boldly asked about your and Wanda's physical intimacy. In response to your surprised silence, she suggested a temporary pause on sexual activities. Her reasoning was that sex, while a key component in a relationship, could sometimes blur the perception of the emotional state of the partnership and hinder the process of rebuilding trust.
In place of physical intimacy, Calliope suggested an exercise known as “Eye Gazing”. The idea was simple: sit across from each other in a quiet room, looking into each other's eyes without speaking. It's an exercise designed to foster emotional connection and understanding, without the distraction of words.
As you stir the simmering soup and Wanda deftly slices the vegetables, the appetizing smell of your evening meal fills the room. The intensity of the session's discussions seems to recede, replaced by the cheer that Christmas Eve unfailingly brings as it approaches.
“Mom's home!” Pietro yells from outside, his voice bubbling with excitement over the Taylor Swift songs that Shannon has playing in the kitchen. Shannon's taken charge of directing the preparation of the prime rib and turkey, even though she's doing little more than calling the shots. It's almost as if she's forgotten that there's a seasoned cook in the house–someone who actually runs their own food and beverage business.
Wanda freezes at Pietro’s announcement and you put a hand on the small of her back and lean in to ask, “Are you okay?”
She nods and assures you further with a smile. 
A few seconds later, the arrival of the twins’ mother is heralded by her appreciative comment about the tantalizing aroma wafting from the kitchen. You've only seen Iryna twice. The first time was when you drove Wanda to her hometown for a visit, and the last time was at a hospital, following a drug overdose just before you and Wanda tied the knot–an incident that was the final push for Wanda to sever all ties with her.
She appears significantly healthier compared to the grim memory etched in your mind. Her skin has a renewed vitality to it, and she's gained enough weight to fill out the hollow cheeks that you recall. Without the traces of addiction evident on her physique, she’s a dead ringer for Wanda.
You stop what you're doing, curious to see the reunion that would unfold.
Pietro’s arm is slung over Iryna’s shoulders as she laughs at something her son said. Wanda appears small and uneasy in the corner, waiting for her mother's recognition, uncertain whether she should be the one to make the first move. 
“Wanda, dear!” Iryna calls out to Wanda with a wide smile, but as she makes her way to her daughter, she is intercepted by Shannon who greets her with a kiss on the cheek and engages her briefly in small talk. Wanda looks on, the corners of her lips downturned, and you can almost see the conflict of emotions in her wide, green eyes. 
Finally, Pietro pulls his pregnant wife aside so that Iryna can have her moment with Wanda. 
“Iryna,” Wanda murmurs, her voice choked with emotion. As her mother comes to a stop in front of her, Wanda can't help but notice how the years have softened her features.
“Hello, Dove,” Iryna's voice is tender, brimming with an affection Wanda had almost forgotten. Without another word, Iryna wraps her arms around Wanda, pulling her into a hug that feels like home.
Wanda stiffens momentarily, the walls she's built over the years making her hesitate. But as her mother's familiar scent fills her senses, she can't help but let go, letting the warmth of the hug thaw her frozen heart. Her hands tentatively rise, resting on her mother's back.
Tears prick at her eyes, tears she stubbornly fights back. She'd told herself countless times she never wanted to see her mother again, that she could live without her. But standing here, enveloped in her, she realizes just how much she had missed Iryna. At the same time, this woman feels like a new person, and she realizes she’s more than willing to embrace this opportunity to get to know her.
“Hey, where should I put this?”
All heads swivel toward the door where a man stands, holding a case of beer and sporting a friendly smile. With his chiseled features and confident posture, he could easily be mistaken for a model straight out of a Men's Health magazine. Around your age and undeniably attractive, your eyes quickly dart to Wanda, trying to read her reaction.
Wanda looks genuinely surprised, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the newcomer. 
And there it is again, that constricting feeling in your chest, the sudden, inexplicable need to claim Wanda as yours and yours alone. You're unable to shake off the feeling, even as you remind yourself that Wanda's reaction is likely just a response to an unexpected guest. 
You should trust her, after all.
Pietro is the first to recover from the surprise, a grin breaking across his face. “Tom!” he exclaims, laughing as he moves to take the beer from him. “Kitchen counter's fine.”
You wrack your brain to place this “Tom,” mentally sifting through the countless Maximoff family photos you've seen, but come up empty.
But then, as he strides towards Wanda with a familiarity that tugs at a memory, it suddenly clicks.
Yes, Tom. Wanda and Pietro's childhood friend, and also Wanda's ex-boyfriend. 
“I forgot to mention,” Pietro starts, turning to the rest of the room with an apologetic grin, “Tom, our friend from back home, recently moved to town. He's new here and doesn't really know anyone yet, so I thought he could join us for tonight's dinner.” 
 A casual round of handshakes and friendly smiles makes its way to Tom, each person sharing a word or two of welcome.
When the introductions circle back to you, you accept his handshake, offering your name and a casual, “Merry Christmas,” before excusing yourself to grab a beer from the fridge. 
A second later, Wanda is at your side, her fingers finding yours. She leans close to your ear and murmurs, “I've told you about Tom, right?”
“Your ex-boyfriend?” You keep your tone neutral. “Yeah, you did.”
“Yup, that's him,” she confirms, nodding in his direction, her eyes searching yours for any signs of distress.
Finding your gaze locked onto Tom, you can't help but analyze him in every way. It's not your nature to be the jealous type, but after Wanda's affair, insecurity has a way of creeping into your thoughts every now and then. Perhaps Calliope hit the nail on the head; having sex with Wanda frequently might have lulled you into a false sense of security.
Meanwhile, Wanda's eyes are trained on you, her attention riveted to your reactions. Her indifference to Tom's presence is obvious, but you miss this entirely, too occupied with quelling the unexpected stir of jealousy within you. 
She squeezes your fingers to get you to look at her, and when you do, you see nothing but total devotion in those green orbs.
“Why don't we get back to our cooking, huh?” she suggests with a small, warm smile.
It’s a reprieve from being helpless to your not entirely baseless worries. That’s Wanda for you–always able to draw you back, grounding you in moments like this.
Dinner is a massive success. Shannon revels in the praise, beaming with satisfaction. You and Wanda let her take all the credit, just happy to see everyone enjoy themselves.
Iryna keeps everyone entertained with funny stories from when Wanda and Pietro were kids, and the whole table is laughing. Tom joins in, too, sharing some memories and even shooting friendly smiles at you and Wanda. It still bothers you a little, but seeing Wanda enjoy herself helps you push it aside.
You can't help but watch Wanda throughout the evening. She's completely caught up in the Christmas cheer, her eyes lighting up like the twinkling lights around the room. Every once in a while, she looks your way, and when your eyes meet, you feel a warmth that's hard to describe. 
After eleven years together, you'd think the initial thrill would fade, the love might settle into something comfortable and familiar. But with Wanda, it's different. It's almost frightening how you keep falling for her harder as the years go by.
Fortunately, no one bothers to reminisce about Tom and Wanda’s dating history, and you’re grateful for everybody’s consideration and respect for you and Wanda’s attempts at a reconciliation. 
Still, a knot tightens in your stomach each time you notice Wanda and Tom sharing a knowing smile over Pietro's tales from their hometown. Your grip on your cutlery hardens as Tom attempts to engage Wanda in a casual chat or praises her culinary skills.
You find yourself imagining quite a few things, your mind drifting to their shared past and what they might have once been to each other. The more you think about it, the more you spiral into an unpleasant series of what-ifs and maybes.
Silently, you push your chair back and stand, excusing yourself. Except for Wanda, they don’t find anything amiss at your departure, their cheerful chatter resuming unimpeded. 
A minute or so later, Wanda takes her leave as well, seeking you out. She discovers you in the guest room, the one both of you have been sharing, standing on the balcony, staring off into the distance.
She joins you at the balcony, her hand instinctively finding yours. “Is everything okay?” she asks, her voice soft, threading with concern. 
In front of you, the landscape of Los Angeles stretches out, utterly unlike the steel jungle of New York you're used to. There are hills undulating in the distance, a patchwork of houses and greenery, the quiet echo of the ocean's waves caressing the shore, and an abundance of space that makes you feel both small and infinite at once.
Her thumb gently rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand. 
“Talk to me,” she gently urges.
You've always prided yourself on your level-headedness, your rational thinking. But jealousy... It is a powerful emotion, tearing at the edges of your pride.
“I don't know how to say this without sounding pathetic,” you sigh, your eyes dropping to where your fingers are entwined. “But watching you and Tom, laughing and sharing stories, it stirred up feelings I didn't expect. I felt... jealous. And I know it's ridiculous and irrational. I know you're not... you're not going to just... But I can't help how I feel.”
The confession leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You don't know what you're expecting Wanda to say. An apology, reassurance, a confession of her own perhaps. The silence stretches, heavy and awkward, but you can't find the courage to look at her.
“I get why you're feeling this way. It's because of me. Because of what I did… and I’m sorry for that,” Wanda’s voice comes out hoarse from laughing so many times at the dinner table.
It’s becoming a pattern: you being upset and Wanda apologizing over and over again. And it’s not even her fault this time.
“I can't control how you feel, and I don't want to pretend that I know what you're going through. But what I can do is keep showing up for you, keep proving that I'm all yours. That's all I can do, and that's what I promise,” she says. She moves closer, hugging you from behind, her arms encircling your waist. You feel her chin resting on your shoulder, and her warmth begins to envelop you. You let out a soft sigh.
Her honesty strikes a chord within you. You look at her, her eyes reflecting the moonlight, and in that moment, you want to believe her. 
You want and want and want. But when does the wanting transform into reality?
Still keeping her hold, she murmurs in your ear, “You know, I think now might be a good time for your Christmas gift.”
You turn to face her in surprise, the earlier heavy conversation momentarily forgotten. “A Christmas gift?” you echo, and she simply nods, her smile widening a touch.
“Yep, and I've been holding onto it for the right moment,” she explains, releasing you from her embrace to reach into her pocket. She retrieves a small box, its exterior adorned with intricate details and a shiny ribbon.
Her eyes find yours, alive with anticipation and a flicker of nervousness that is so uncharacteristic of her. She hands the box over to you, maintaining eye contact all the while.
"Go on, open it," she urges.
You look at her once more before directing your attention to the small package in your hands. Unraveling the ribbon and lifting the lid, you're met with a glint of silver catching the ambient light.
Inside the box lies a delicate silver chain, a pendant attached at its center. The pendant is a small compass, intricately detailed and with a vintage aura. What surprises you more is the small photo inside the compass. It's a picture of you and Wanda, the first one you took together as friends inside a photobooth.
Your breath catches in your throat as you carefully lift the necklace from its cushioned home. You can't take your eyes off the image. It's a snapshot of a time when you both were deeply in love but unaware of it, where everything was fresh and new and brimming with hope and ambition.
A memory of pure, undiluted happiness.
“Wanda…” you start, feeling an inexplicable lump in your throat.
“I know we can't go back in time,” she interrupts softly. “But this...this is my promise to you. I want to go forward, create more moments like these, and give you a reason to trust me again.”
You glance at the necklace in your hand, then at the one adorning Wanda's neck–the necklace that carries her wedding ring. An overwhelming desire washes over you to remove it from its chain and place it back where it truly belongs: on Wanda's finger. But you swiftly check yourself. You're moving too fast, allowing your hopes to get ahead of reality. You resolve to not act impulsively, to not assume anything.
You turn in Wanda’s arms to face her, a sheepish grin on your lips. “You know, I also got you a Christmas gift,” you confess, a bit hesitant. “Though it's nothing compared to this, and now I feel... a little embarrassed.”
Wanda's eyes sparkle with anticipation and a hint of amusement. She releases you and steps back, crossing her arms in front of her. “Oh, really? And here I thought you were going to outdo me,” she teases, chuckling at the red hue now spreading across your cheeks.
You let out a resigned sigh, knowing there's no way you can compete with the sentimentality of her gift. “Just... don't laugh, okay?” you warn her, but she's already grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Nervously, you reach into your suitcase, pulling out a box about the size of a shoebox, wrapped carefully in nondescript brown paper. As you hand it over to Wanda, your heartbeat escalates, thumping loudly in your ears.
“I just... I mean, it's nothing grand like yours,” you stutter, your cheeks flushing. “It feels a bit silly now, to be honest.”
Wanda merely smiles at you. “Stop it, I'm sure it's wonderful.”
Gently, she tears into the paper wrapping, unveiling a box. Inside it, three distinct bags of single-origin coffee beans sit.
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she takes in the contents of the box. “You got me coffee?” she echoes, an undertone of laughter coloring her voice.
Nodding bashfully, you say, “Yeah, I figured it could come in handy for the Cup-off.”
A chuckle escapes Wanda, and she lifts one of the bags to her nose, inhaling deeply. “These smell incredible,” she says, grinning at you. “This is such a thoughtful gift. Thank you. It’s just perfect.”
Your chest warms as you watch Wanda cradle the bags of coffee, a genuine smile lighting up her face.
“I’m sure this will help me make the best cup,” Wanda says.
You pull her in for a short but sweet kiss and say, “You already do.”
Much later, when everyone’s dozing off (Shannon) and catching up in small groups (Wanda and Iryna), Tom bids his goodbye to everyone, much to your relief. Your discomfort around him lingered in the background, even as you and Wanda returned to the living room to continue the celebrations and watch everyone else exchange Christmas presents.
Just as you're beginning to feel a bit more relaxed, Pietro approaches you, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Hey, mind if I steal you for a second?” he asks, nodding towards the garden visible through the glass doors.
Puzzled, you glance at Wanda, but she’s in a deep and serious conversation with her mother. 
You shrug your shoulders and say, “Sure, Pietro, lead the way.”
He walks you out into the cool night; it’s completely quiet except for the serenade of crickets hiding in the backyard. 
Pietro settles onto a stone bench, and then gestures for you to join him.
As you take a seat, he fishes out a rolled blunt from his pocket. You merely raise an eyebrow and shake your head, waving away his offer.
His smirk broadens at your reaction. “Well, maybe it's worth a try. Might help you chill out a bit,” he suggests with a teasing note in his voice.
“No, thanks. I’m chill as it is,” you say.
“Really? Because I couldn't help but notice you weren't so 'chill' when Tom was around earlier.”
You hesitate, not expecting Pietro to call you out like this. “Was it that obvious?”
You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. He then takes a generous puff of his blunt before exhaling slowly.
Suddenly, Pietro looks you in the eyes and asks, “Do you love Wanda?” 
The directness of the question catches you off guard, more so than his earlier suggestion to try a blunt. You’re slightly offended that he feels the need to ask you this.
When you remain quiet and withdrawn for a long time, Pietro speaks again. “It’s not a rhetorical question by the way. I do want to know if you love Wanda.”
Finally, you turn towards him, brow furrowed, a hint of indignation in your eyes. “What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one. Do you love my sister?”
Yes.
Always.
Nevertheless.
The answer has always been clear to you, but instead, you return the volley. “Why are you asking? What's this about?” You challenge, more skeptical now about his motives behind such a question than providing him with an answer.
He meets your gaze, an uncharacteristic intensity in his eyes. “Because if you really loved her, why did you let it come to this?” he asks pointedly. “Why did you let things fall apart? Why didn't you fight for your marriage? You hurt her, Y/N. You hurt my sister.”
He continues, “And I know the extent of how much you hurt her. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“Wait, what?” You choke out, disbelieving.
Pietro simply shrugs. “It was me,” he repeats, his voice steady, unrepentant. “I was the one who sent you that photo of Wanda in the hospital. I wanted you to see. To know.”
The shock is enough to rob you of words. Shame wells up inside you. 
He smirks in satisfaction and mumbles to himself, “Yeah, that kinda felt good.”
The words seem to get stuck in your throat; they press in on you, making it hard to breathe.
Finally, you find your voice, though it comes out as more of a whisper, your eyes fixed on a nondescript point on the floor. “At that time... I was so deeply hurt. I believed, truly believed, that Wanda didn't love me anymore.” You swallow hard, your throat feeling painfully dry.
“And I didn't want to fight for our marriage because... I was scared. Scared to fail if I tried, scared to prolong the agony only to find out in the end that there’s nothing to save.” Your voice cracks slightly, as if the wound is still fresh despite the passage of time.
Even now, you can't say that you're a hundred percent confident that Wanda's love for you is certain. Perhaps nothing she does will ever completely assure you. Maybe this time, it's really up to you to have faith.
“I just wanted the pain to stop. So, I did the only thing I thought would help. I... I walked away,” you finish, staring into nothingness as the memory of your decision reverberates painfully within you.
Pietro falls silent, his eyes narrowing as he studies you, taking in what you've said. Then, with a penetrating look, he says, “Sounds more like you wanted to be the one to walk away first.”
You blink at him, taken aback. “What?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes are sharp. “You just didn't want to be the one left behind.”
A part of you can't deny it–perhaps you did preemptively end things out of fear of being the one left behind. A self-preservation measure that's caused more harm than good. But admitting that to yourself is another thing entirely, let alone to Pietro.
“Maybe,” you concede after a moment. “But can you blame me for it? You’ve never been in my shoes. Have you ever paused to consider what it was like for your ex-wives? What it was like for Shannon?” Your voice rises with each question, frustration finally breaking free from its confines. 
Pietro looks at you, his expression inscrutable for a moment, before he gives you a curt nod. 
“Touché,” he admits grudgingly, and then attempts a chuckle. “We suck at celebrating this Christmas thing together, aren’t we?”
Despite everything, the corner of your mouth twitches up in a small, matching smile. But then it’s gone almost instantly because the topic of loving Wanda is something you’ve always taken seriously.
“I think things would’ve been worse if I didn’t walk away. I was in a really dark place. I only realized it when several months later, seeing the bastard she slept with sent me off the rails.
“If I hadn't stepped away, things would've gotten even worse,” you explain. “It felt like I was stuck in never-ending darkness, with no hope of seeing the dawn. It was really bad. I didn't know how much until I ran into that guy she cheated with, months later. I just completely lost it.”
“That... actually makes a lot of sense,” Pietro says, his tone softer than before. “It might not have been the best approach, but I get it. It's tough to see things clearly when you're caught in a storm, isn't it?”
You nod, grateful for his understanding. This empathy from Pietro, who usually comes across as nonchalant, helps ease some of the tightness in your chest.
“But then,” Pietro continues, locking eyes with you. “That still leaves my question unanswered. Despite everything that's happened... Do you love Wanda?” His tone is serious, almost challenging, making it clear that he expects an honest answer this time.
You give him your answer this time.
***
You and Wanda arrive back in Manhattan around noon the next day.
The plane touches down smoothly on the John F. Kennedy runway, marking the end of an unforgettable weekend. As you collect your belongings, you turn to Wanda, gratitude in your eyes.
“Thank you,” you say, sincerity lacing your voice. “This weekend... It was something special. Really.”
Her lips curl into a soft smile as she meets your eyes. “I'm glad you had a good time,” she says. “But now, it's back to work. The coffee showdown won't prep itself.”
“Need any help with that?” you ask, eager to stay close, not ready to say goodbye just yet. 
She looks at you, her eyes wide with surprise, then her face softens into a grateful smile. “You're probably worn out from the trip,” she says, “and honestly, it might take me all night to get it right.”
Undeterred, you reply, “Well, you need a test subject, right?”
She thinks about it some more.
“I promise I won't be biased. I won’t just say everything tastes delicious,” you add, trying to win her over.
Her laughter rings through the air as she finally nods, accepting your offer. “Alright, you're on.”
What follows is an all-night coffee marathon, filled with experimentation, flirty banter, and more cups of coffee than you can count. 
Despite the late hour and the caffeine jitters, you wouldn't have it any other way.
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