#gatekeeping isn’t very glam of you!!!!!!!!

[cadavercowboy]

The one downside of Edward McMunson is all the elitists who can identify James Hetfield by a single strand of his asscrack hair thinking they’re special and trying to gatekeep 80s metal from everyone else.

[maeve-of-winter]

what makes you think that kent is a flashy player? is it his plays? his cellys? his risk-taking? his strong presence on the ice? (after all, he has been described by ngozi as reserved, deliberate and flirty) I don’t really follow irl hocley but it’s interesting to know how one’s playing styles reflects (or perhaps contradict) their personality! even more so bc kent is the captain, and how he leads, the team follows...

Thanks for the ask, anon! I’m still pretty new to hockey myself, but I’ll do my best to explain my thoughts!

Off the ice, I really like the idea that Kent generally dresses pretty boring, usually in the jeans and plaid that we see him wear in canon. But when he’s in his game day suits? He’s the epitome of a sharp-dressed man. Sharply cut pale gray, jewel tones, ivory over a burgundy dress shirt and a black tie, a tasteful light blue that really sets off his eyes--you name it, and Kent has that suit, and he wears it spectacularly. Fans are 😍 when they see him in his game day suits, but rarely recognize him when he’s just in his typical street clothing, because he looks like approximately a billion other dudes.

Also, as you mentioned, I really like the idea that Kent has reputation for being unpredictable on the ice and isn’t afraid to take risks, like that time we saw him crash the net in canon. I take the line “Typical Aces’ hockey!” as a judgement from the Falcs about Kent’s style, and I do like the idea that it’s riskier than usual, but it gets results, as we saw in that chapter. In general, I really like the idea that Kent is a wildcard on the ice and hard to pin down, and I feel like game commentators have a nickname for whatever totally unpredictable play he makes and call it “the Parson special,” because no one else would think about doing it, let alone try it.

I also really like the idea presented in this lovely fic by IProtectKennyP that he’s able to quickly strategize and come up with plays on the fly. I feel like that ties in well with his Juniors on-ice chemistry with Jack, that he has very adept anticipation of the way the players and the puck will move.

I personally don’t feel like Kent’s on-ice cellies would be particularly noteworthy, so nothing really Carolina Hurricanes style for him personally, but I love the ideas of the Aces deciding to go with the typical Vegas glitz and glam for victories and ending up doing some stuff that’s pretty showy. And they should definitely borrow the “hockey stick limbo” from the Canes--it’s so comparatively mild, but so much fun all the same. 

Still, some hockey commentators can get really grouchy and nit-picky about players’ individual cellies, ie, Don Cherry regarding Ovechkin. And I love the idea of them taking a tape of Kent’s post-win celly with his teammates and going through it frame-by-frame on the air and squabbling about when the celly becomes “too much” and “not in good taste.” I feel like Kent being almost obnoxiously American (blond-haired and born of the Fourth of July, really?) would not endear him at all to the crusty old Canadians who operate as gatekeepers of the sport, so his cellies are always much discussed and debated even when they’re actually pretty dull to watch. 

(I honestly like the idea that it becomes a meme online in the Check Please universe to post a picture of Kent just talking to one of his teammates on the ice or at a barbecue with a caption like, “Look at this disgraceful celly! So tasteless!😤” while they laugh about all the crazier stuff Kent does that no one actually criticizes him for.)

Thanks for the ask! Sorry for the wait, but I had fun thinking about your questions!

[rittz]

thoughts about being trans, idk where else to put them so here u go

it’s not like i don’t have trans guy friends to talk to about this, it’s just usually in the form of jokes or passing comments rather than an actually serious conversation. also, the transmasc people that i’m closest to identify more with the label “nonbinary” than i do-- it’s not like they couldn’t understand or relate to things i’m saying, but i’m just assuming that they probably don’t feel the exact same way i do

anyway, as a trans person we get often asked “so why do you feel like a [gender]?”, and the answer is usually some variation of “i just feel like it”. this is the most accurate but also vaguest possible answer, so i kinda wanted to break down my personal answer to that question?

basically, i identify as a man because i identify with men. in a general and also personal sense. gender stereotypes are something that trans people by necessity both embrace and reject. i relate to gender stereotypes about men more than those of women-- i’m less outwardly emotional, i like being handy, i don’t like kids, i have questionable personal hygiene, etc-- but obviously these things alone don’t make someone a man. however... you can’t deny that there is some general truth about behavioral differences between men and women (bc of society, not biology). men and women both experience different problems in the world, and each have trouble understanding the experiences and problems of the other. generally, i can relate to the experiences and problems of men more than those of women, even if it seems like i shouldn’t (for example, i am not afraid of walking alone at night, even though i am very tiny).

i, from a young age, have had a constant yearning for more male friends. i would occasionally choose to play video games as a male character. i was upset that i couldn’t be in boy scouts. i have been jealous of my younger brothers being treated by my parents the ways i wished i was treated. when i imagined myself older, i pictured myself less like my mom and more like my dad. when i’m around men, i want them to treat me like one of them. i want to be seen as a man.

and i think that’s what being trans really boils down to. wanting to be seen as someone other than how everyone sees you. wanting what you see on the outside to match how you feel on the inside. this obviously extends to nonbinary individuals, who face their own struggle when it comes to presentation. but at the end of the day, i think that presentation is equally important to gender identity as internal feelings. i mean, i think we’re all familiar with the research proving that transitioning makes trans people happier. surgery is an invasive, expensive, painful process that i DON’T think is necessary for every trans person, and HRT isn’t always easy to get. but changing a name, getting a new haircut, dressing differently, binding, etc. counts as transitioning. you don’t have to hate your body to be trans, but wanting to alter it in order to better connect your internal identity with your presentation, i think is necessary in order to consider yourself to be trans. 

i will admit i am confused by “GNC trans men” i see on tumblr and insta, who use he/him pronouns but exclusively present femininely. i’m not talking about trans guys who don’t yet pass, i mean trans guys who don’t want to. i don’t harbor any ill will, i’m just confused. if i understand being trans to mean “wanting what you see on the outside to match how you feel on the inside”, you can see how. doesn’t that make you feel dysphoric? don’t you want people who see you to read you as male? how is your life different from when you didn’t identify as male but presented the same way? this isn’t me trying to gatekeep on who’s “trans enough”, and especially when it comes to nonbinary identities it’s arbitrary to harp on presentation like this. but like, what’s going on here?

taking a turn here that will come back around, an extremely key component to why i identify as and with men is my sexuality. i have always idolized, envied, and evoked various queer icons from media and real life. the hunky, grunting, macho, hetero version of “man” never appealed to me the way that the fashionable, artsy, flirty, homo version of “man” did. drag queens, my mom’s hairdresser, glam rock stars, i could go on. associating my more feminine qualities with GAY stereotypes instead of FEMALE stereotypes suddenly made more sense, and made me feel less dysphoric. it’s also something that took me a long time to realize, because i had surrounded myself with queers who were mostly attracted to women. transmascs and butch lesbians historically have a lot in common, but personally, i didn’t relate as much to lesbians as i did to drag queens. in dating and loving men, i developed my understanding of them. but my attraction to men was why it had taken me so long to realize i felt more like a man-- i thought i was just some weird straight girl.

now, am i calling these “GNC gay trans men” with long pink hair and poofy skirts and conventionally attractive bisexual boyfriends “weird straight girls”? ...well, not to their faces. but i have to admit that i’m thinking it. these people would never go to a predominantly-male gay bar, these people would never be harassed on the street. i’m not saying i know someone’s identity better than they do, but i don’t agree with the liberal utopian ideal of “let everyone do whatever they want as long as they aren’t hurting anyone” when taken to mean that we can’t question other people’s choices. “why do you feel like a man?” is a question that, coming from another trans person, isn’t inherently transphobic. it’s not “forcing” someone to “prove” their “transness”, no one “owes” me an explanation of their identity. i’m just confused. i don’t disapprove of the way these people live their lives, i just want to know why.

a straight girl being feminine is different from a gay man being feminine, because it has less to do with personality and more to do with society’s historic view of gay men as closer to female than male because of the loving and fucking men aspect. an AMAB gay man wearing makeup and a crop top probably just wants to look good, but he is also signaling to other men that he’s gay via gender non-conformance. by being AFAB and female-passing, wearing makeup and a crop top is not GNC. in fact it’s pretty GC, and gay men will not recognize you as a gay man.

it’s easy to say “gender is fake so do whatever you want”, but like, we have to acknowledge reality. time is a social construct too, but we still use days of the week when talking to each other. strangers will treat you differently depending on what gender they interpret you as. different people will be willing to date you or not. you have to choose which public bathroom to go in. if being misgendered doesn’t bother these people, then who cares? but if it DOES, which it usually does, wouldn’t you want to take steps to prevent being misgendered in the future? if your desire to present femininely is stronger then your desire to be seen as male, then like... why call yourself a male at all? ultimately nothing these people do will really affect me in any way. it just makes me wonder if these people will eventually go on to present as male, or if they will later ID as nonbinary or even cis. i encourage people trying out different labels and exploring their identity, so it’s not like i think these people SHOULDN’T identify as trans guys. it’s more like, i wish they were able to articulate WHY they identify as trans more than “because i said so”. not wanting to be a woman doesn’t automatically make you a man, it just makes you not a woman.

maybe i’m particularly cynical because of the MULTIPLE times that people with larger online followings who identify and present this way have later turned out to be lying, manipulative people. hopefully it goes without saying that i do NOT think that everyone who identifies and presents this way is a toxic liar. the reason i bring it up is because some people genuinely can’t understand the possibility or purpose of misleadingly claiming a marginalized identity, but it can and does happen. an analogy could be made here about white people claiming indigenous heritage. we all WANT to believe what people say about themselves, and asking for “proof” is a social no-no. but we shouldn’t just... automatically trust everything someone says about themselves, right? and as bad as i WANT to live in a world where gender doesn’t matter and everyone default uses neutral pronouns and there are no divisions in clothing stores and bathrooms, we don’t live in that world (yet). when you are AFAB, /extremely/ femininely presenting, and have little to no plans of transitioning, saying “i am a man” will not make other people see you as one. and if you don’t want to be seen as a man, then maybe you aren’t one.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 8 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Guess what? We’re posting this today instead of tomorrow because we just love you guys so much, and your comments made us very productive today! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: A wild night in the club led to a miserable, hangover-fueled day for Violet--and then a frustrating week, as Fame rejected all of the assistant candidates.

This Chapter: In a last-ditch effort to find a new assistant for Fame, Violet gives Courtney a shot.

***

Never in Courtney’s life had she seen a room as white, spotless and intimidating as Galactica’s reception area. She sat on the pristine sofa, hands folded in her lap, anxiety gnawing at her stomach. She’d been sending out resumes for almost 2 months, ever since she’d gotten to New York, in a desperate attempt to find a job--any job--that would allow her to stay in the United States.

This was only her second interview so far, the first one being a disaster - she’d missed her train connection and arrived late and sweaty from running ten blocks, and then the hiring manager had spent the entire time talking straight to her chest, patting her on the ass as she left while telling her that she was unqualified.

Of course she was unqualified.

Courtney was a 21-year-old who’d just graduated a few months earlier with a philosophy degree and zero office experience. Her current under-the-table job, waitressing at an Aussie-themed steakhouse in Times Square, was not going to keep her in the country. (Although she was grateful to her friend Morgan for hooking her up with it, since she’d be flat broke otherwise.)

Courtney had to stay in the country if there was any hope of her real dream coming true, which was to become a professional singer and songwriter, and maybe even a Broadway actress, if she was lucky. If she could ever get so much as an audition, which had also not happened yet. The best she’d done so far was sometimes singing with Adore’s band, but punk rock wasn’t really her style, and though she was grateful to her bestie for giving her a shot, it always felt awkward and wrong.

While she waited to be called for her interview, she prayed with all her heart; she wasn’t sure she believed in god, but it couldn’t hurt, right?

She prayed that her connection to Adore would mean something here. That Violet would remember her. That Miss Fame would like her. That the hours she’d spent carefully putting together her current outfit, getting her roots touched up and press-on nails to cover her real ones (bitten down to the quick) wouldn’t all be a waste.

Courtney heard the sound of heels coming down the hall, and then Violet appeared from around the corner. Courtney felt relief washing over her, happy to see the beautiful girl she had instantly bonded with the other night.

It was actually amazing that Violet had come through for her, making sure that her application had made it to Fame herself. Courtney smiled brightly.

“Good morning, babes!”

Violet gave her a cursory smile back, quickly checking her watch. “It’s almost noon.”

“Oh, yeah,” Courtney swallowed, feeling like an idiot as Violet looked her up and down like a zoo animal. “I was just making conversa-”

“This isn’t a place for small talk,” Violet said, then pointed at her purse. “Leave that with Roxy.”

“What?” Courtney clutched the bag to her chest. “No!” It was one of her favorite accessories, a star-shaped silver handbag with pink iridescent piping. Not to mention, it contained her phone, wallet, keys, and pretty much everything important.

“Courtney.” Violet made a small, aggravated noise. “If you want any hope of getting this job, you will leave that thing here at the front desk where Miss Fame can’t ever see it.”

Whoever this Violet was, she was very very different from the fun, friendly girl she’d met at the club.

“Okay,” Courtney agreed reluctantly, handing the bag over to the receptionist, who pinched it between her thumb and forefinger as if it was covered in dog shit.

Courtney rolled her eyes.

It wasn’t an expensive designer handbag. So what? Surely she wasn’t the first girl to own a fun, cute, novelty purse.

“Come with me,” Violet then said, taking off back down the hall.

Courtney hurried after her, following her into an immaculate conference room with a huge table. Violet gestured to one of the chairs.

“Sit down please.”

Courtney sat, nerves still on edge.

“So…” Violet sat down across from her, notebook open, looking at Courtney’s resume. She clicked her pen. “How much do you know about Galactica? Miss Fame? What research have you done on the company?”

“Oh, um…” Courtney paused, deflating a bit. She’d been prepared to talk about herself, not realizing that there was going to be a quiz. “Well, I know that it’s a very...uh, influential fashion house. And that Miss Fame is the CEO. And…”

Violet waited for another second, before she sighed deeply.

“Let me explain. Miss Fame is one of the busiest and most sought-after people in town. She started this company with Raja Gemini when she was only 26 years old. They got accepted and won the Fashion Fund on their first try. They’re visionaries. Why do you want to work here?”

“Well, I’ve always loved fashion-”

“Have you now?” Violet said, giving her a stern once-over.

Courtney felt like those judgmental eyes would melt her very soul, and suddenly became extremely self-conscious about her choice of outfit. Was her skirt too short? Did her jacket not fit right? Was she wearing anything as offensive as that purse she couldn’t even take into the office? She gulped.

“Y-yes.” It was the truth, even if Violet didn’t believe her. Ever since she could remember, Courtney had loved putting together fabulous outfits. Usually with her brother, both of them getting glammed up and prancing around the house, pretending that they were posh ladies with all the money in the world. And when they were older, he was the one who dressed her up and escorted her to talent agents and auditions--her own little stage mom. “And I did some modeling as a kid in Brisbane.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “Please don’t say that, it won’t impress her at all.”

“Alright. Well, it seems like it would be a really exciting job. And Adore always talks about how wonderful Fame is-”

“Miss Fame,” Violet corrected her. “You aren’t her friend, call her Miss. And don’t mention Adore.”

“No? But she said-”

“She’ll think it’s tacky. She would never hire someone because of a personal connection. If you get the job, it’ll be on your own merits, not because you know Adore. And not because we danced in a club the other night. Don’t mention that either.”

“Okay. Got it.” Courtney bit her lip. This whole situation seemed less and less likely to work out, the few advantages Courtney thought she might have coming in slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Look, Courtney. Working as Miss Fame’s assistant is not some frivolous job full of exciting parties and fancy clothes, okay? It requires you to be organized, and smart, and always stay ten steps ahead of everyone. You’ll need to anticipate Miss Fame’s every need, before she even knows she has them. Is that something you think you can do?”

Anticipate needs before Miss Fame knows she has them? What in the fuck was Violet talking about? She wasn’t a psychic. But this was a job interview, and Courtney supposed that she should nod and smile.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Courtney said. “I’m...very intuitive.”

“Mmhmm. And how are you with Microsoft office?”

“Pretty good, I think. And I learn very fast,” Courtney said.

“What about communication? Written, verbal...are you a good communicator?”

“Very!” Courtney exclaimed, gaining a little bit of confidence. Finally, something she knew she could handle.

“I’m gonna be honest with you. You don’t have a lot of experience and she has been very, very picky. So your best bet, when you go in with her, is to keep your mouth shut and just listen. This job isn’t about you, it’s about what you can do for her. You don’t matter. Does that make sense?”

Courtney nodded slowly.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being harsh. I’m just trying to prepare you so that you have half a chance.”

“Oh, I know! And thank you, honestly. I really need this job. My visa is-”

“For god’s sake, don’t mention your visa. If you get the job, HR will deal with that.”

“Right, of course.” Don’t mention the visa. Don’t mention Adore. Don’t mention the club. Don’t mention modeling. Courtney’s head spun, praying she’d remember anything she was allowed to say when Fame asked her questions.

“Look. Everyone in New York wants something from Miss Fame. If you’re her assistant, your most important job is to be the gatekeeper. You need to say no to people without them realizing it’s happening. You protect her from all the madness, support her so that her brilliant creative mind can thrive. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Definitely.” Courtney nodded emphatically, and she saw the first thing that almost looked like a smile on Violet’s face since she had arrived.

“Good.” Violet glanced at her watch. “I need to get back. You can stay here until she’s ready for you. But remember...don’t say anything unless you’re answering a direct question. Okay?”

“Okay,” Courtney said.

“Good luck Courtney, and don’t fuck it up.”

With that, Violet picked up her things and sailed out of the room, leaving Courtney alone. She held her breath for a full 10 seconds before letting out a huge sigh, head dropping onto her arms.

Soon, the sound of heels approaching again caused her to jump, spine ramrod straight as Violet threw open the door and snapped her fingers.

“She’s ready. Let’s go.”

***

Fame leaned back in her chair, assessing the girl in front of her with a discerning eye.

She was certainly a pretty little thing, bright-eyed and well-groomed, definitely the right look. Of course, her shoes were cheap and a bit scuffed, the chunky heels absolutely horrifying, but that could be fixed.

She was trembling like a leaf--although Fame didn’t particularly mind that part.  

Courtney had said very little (another mark in her favor), but from what she had offered, Fame appreciated the accent right away. Something about an Australian accent tended to both impress and intimidate Americans, which could easily work in her favor.

After watching her suffer in silence for a few moments, Fame leaned forward, asking, “So...Courtney, was it?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think you’ll bring to this job that no one else can?”

“Well...I work very hard, and I’m very organized, and, uh...I’m really good at playing dumb.”

Fame tilted her head. Well, this was certainly an interesting answer.

“Go on.”

“Violet, she said that most of the job is protecting your privacy and being a...gatekeeper for people who want your attention. That you have to do it in a nice way.” Courtney cleared her throat, continuing nervously. “I think I would be good at pretending I don’t know things, like where you are when you’re in the middle of something that they’re not allowed to know about. Like, um, acting innocent or like...”

Fame continued to listen, eyes narrowed slightly, watching with amusement as Courtney cringed a bit.

“I’m sorry, that was very long-winded. I think I’d be good at making people feel good even when I’m saying no to them.”  

“Hm.” Fame lifted her resume, looking it over one more time. She was inexperienced. Very inexperienced. But there was something about her that Fame found charming, even shrewd.

Besides, if she took longer to train, well, then Violet would just have to stay longer. Which was no skin off Fame’s back.

“Thank you, Courtney.”

“Oh.” Courtney seemed to realize that this was her cue to leave, standing awkwardly. “Thank you so much for the opportunity. It was an honor to meet you,” she said, looking like she wanted to say more, but deciding against it. Another plus.

“That’s all.”

***

Violet had never been happier to see the end of the workweek than when the clock struck 7 on Friday.

Fame would leave soon and then Violet would finally have time to tie up the loose ends of the day, which had gone by like a whirlwind.

Violet kicked off her shoes to rest for just a moment. She was feeling utterly exhausted but victorious.

Courtney had been hired, the girl shrieking so loudly when Violet had called to tell her the news that she almost burst Violet’s eardrum.

Violet leaned back, looking up at the ceiling, her eyes slipped closed. It was just a moment, just for one single moment.

“Ahem.”

Violet heard the cleared throat, but she was so tired she could barely open her eyes. The front doors were closed, the alarm set up on most floors, so it had to be someone from their own company.

“What can I help you with?”

“Is Fame still here?” Violet didn’t recognize the voice, the tone of it clearly male, but it didn’t matter who it was. They weren’t going to be allowed in.

“She is, but Miss Fame is not taking anymore meetings for today,” Violet sat up straight, and opened her eyes, “so if you could plea-”

Violet froze in place, the man in front of her someone she knew very, very well.

“Mr. Bertschy!”

“Hello.” Patrick smiled.

“Oh god, I am so sorry.” Violet stood up straight, quickly smoothing down her dress. Of course it was Fame’s husband. Of course. He often worked just as late as Fame, and since his offices were also in the building, he had keys and codes for everything. “I’ll call her right away for you sir, I’m so sorr-”

“There will be no need for that, Violet.”

Violet stopped immediately as she heard Fame’s soft voice coming from her office, the woman herself walking through her door seconds later.

“Hello darling.” Fame smiled, a tenderness in her eyes as she walked over that Violet very rarely saw. Fame leaned forward, gently kissing her husband.

Violet looked away quickly, Fame always preferring to keep her privacy around employees, from what Violet knew.

She felt like an absolute idiot that she hadn’t made the connection that the visitor would be Fame’s husband, Violet herself making the very dinner reservation they were on their way to now.

“Are you ready to go, darling?”

Patrick nodded and Violet hurried over to get Fame’s coat and purse from the closet. She walked over, holding it up so Fame could slip into it, the scent of her perfume filling Violet’s nose as she did just that.

“I expect everything to be ready Monday for our new employee.” Fame took her purse. “It will be your responsibility to train her, so be prepared to work overtime.”

Violet nodded. “Yes Miss.”

“Good.” Fame took her husband's arm, the two of them walking to the door where Fame stopped.  “Oh, and Violet.” Fame looked over her shoulder. “Put on some shoes.”

Violet looked down, horror rushing over her when she realized that she had forgotten to put her shoes on.

“Yes Miss, it will happen Miss, right away.”

***

Katya would be hard-pressed to name a place in the world she loved more than their building’s rooftop. What had begun as a little community herb garden and grilling station had expanded over the years into a sanctuary. The rows of trees and potted plants lining the sides provided shade, their own little oasis in the urban jungle. They were chosen specifically to attract birds and butterflies as a tribute to Max, her very favorite birder and someone whom Katya relied on as a source of calm in a hectic world.

With permission from Fame, Katya had blown through the last of her own personal trust fund with a complete renovation to the barbecue area, turning it into a fully functional outdoor kitchen and lounge area, perfect for their weekend brunches.

Trixie had gently questioned her at the time; as someone who grew up with so little, he needed money in the bank or he’d get anxious. But what he might never understand was how much joy Katya had gotten creating a place to share with their friends and neighbors, how the time they spent together was more valuable to her than money had ever been.

Katya’s father was an ambassador, and after their family moved to Washington D.C. from Russia when she was just 3 years old, her life was full of stiff formal dinners, itchy fabrics that made it impossible to sit still, and so many rules that it made her head spin.

What followed were years of stuffy New England boarding schools and regimented summer camps. Every second of every day was planned for her: Latin and classical piano, cotillion and horseback riding lessons. Katya tried, she really did, to live up to all of the overwhelming expectations, but at some point along the line, the pressure was too much and she’d just caved in.

Katya shook her head, not wanting to think about the dark years, how hard it had been to get to this point. Instead, she inhaled deeply, looking across the patio at her wonderful boyfriend, doing his very best to squeeze oranges into juice for their brunch.

“Looking good, sugarbutt!” she called out. “Work those muscles.”

Trixie flexed for her, making her giggle delightedly before returning to the table, arranging the baskets of warm breads and pastries that she had been baking since 6 am. She unwrapped the fruit and veggie platter, artfully carved into elaborate rosettes and whimsical little animals, admiring a particularly cute little kiwi turtle, giving him a secret kiss just before the door swung open to reveal their first guest.

“Kimberly!” Katya skipped over to Kim, greeting her excitedly. Helping her with the mountain of French toast and platter of bacon that she’d brought to share.

As usual, her generosity was overwhelming to Katya, part of the reason that she was one of her favorite neighbors. The other part being her absolute artistry. Katya had been in awe of her makeup skills since the first time she’d seen her work, that Galactica show she’d attended with Trixie so many years ago, nervous to return to a place which had been the scene of one of her most dramatic failures in life.

She and Kim were soon chattering away as they set the table, discussing the latest collection at the Brooklyn museum, an anime-inspired artist who they both adored.

Max showed up next, with a beautiful garden veggie frittata and a carafe of hot tea.

“Thank you, Maxi, this looks delicious,” Katya said, giving him a tight squeeze.

Shangela arrived soon after, with a tray of Southern-style mac and cheese that caused both Kim and Trixie to burst into spontaneous applause, and a large bouquet of colorful flowers, presented to Katya with a wink. Shangela was someone that Katya thought she’d never win over - she’d created a major headache for her during her brief time at Galactica, and would certainly not have blamed her if she’d kept a distance.

But Shangela was a forgiving sort of person—after all, she worked daily with her ex-girlfriend—and had no problem at all giving Katya a chance on her own terms when she moved in. Soon, they’d established a mischievous sort of friendship, a playful flirtation and little inside jokes that Katya wouldn’t trade for anything.

Shangela was just explaining the intricacies of her mac recipe to Kim’s wide-eyed appreciation when the door opened again, revealing Violet in a characteristically chic set of work-out clothes—only instead of brunch offerings, she held a yoga mat in her hands, a surprised look on her face as she backed away.  

“Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Don’t be silly!” Katya called, beckoning her over. “So glad you’re here!”

“I’m, uh…” Violet glanced at the yoga mat in her hands, tugging at the bottom of her matte black tank top.

“Trixie…” Katya put her hands on her hips. “I told you to invite Violet to brunch. You didn’t forget, did you?”

Trixie set the pitcher of orange juice on the table, a sheepish look on his face.

“Oops.”

“Ha! Busted,” Shangela teased, punching Trixie on the arm.

“Hey, come on. It’s been a rough week,” Trixie defended himself.

“I know,” Katya said, putting her arms around him from behind. “Violet, please stay. I promise next time, you’ll get a formal invite, but trust me, we’re thrilled that you’re here.”

“Oh, I...don’t know if-”

“Hey hey hey, it’s my favorite people…” Pearl said, strolling up to the table. The last to show up, as usual, holding a partially empty bottle of vodka and container of strawberries.

“Aren’t those the strawberries that Katya bought?” Trixie asked, one eyebrow raised. He gestured to the platter, where a handful of said strawberries had been transformed into jaunty little penguins.

“Are they?” Pearl asked.

“And thank you for bringing them up to share with our friends!” Katya enthused, hugging her roommate tightly. “You’re so thoughtful.”

Pearl cast a glance over at Violet, lips turning up in a smirk as she assessed her skimpy attire.

“Nice shorts, pumpkin.”

“I-I didn’t know, I’m sorry, I-”

Katya watched as Violet attempted to stammer out a reply, immediately noticing how pink her cheeks got under Pearl’s bold gaze. Well, that would either be the cutest match in history, or end in total disaster. For Violet’s sake, Katya hoped for the former.  

“Don’t be sorry. You look cute.” Pearl gave her a sexy wink and sat down, pouring some vodka into her glass.

“So, are we brunching or what?”

The rest of the group slid into their seats, helping themselves to the bountiful spread.

Max raised a judgmental eye at Pearl as he asked, “I assume you’re the one responsible for the racket at 3 am?”

“She said she’d be quiet,” Pearl shrugged, barely containing a sly grin. “Not my fault she lied.”

“No it ain’t, baby,” Shangela laughed, giving the blonde a fist bump.

“Can we please say grace? I’d like to give thanks that I don’t share a wall with Pearl,” Kim chimed in.

“Awww, Kimmy. Don’t be jealous,” Pearl licked her lips, “I’ve always got time for you.”

Kim threw back her head in laughter, a piece of Katya’s blueberry muffins in her mouth as she said, “Never change, Pearl. The women of New York would really be losing out.”

Katya seemed to be the only one noticing Violet’s face getting redder and redder at all the talk of Pearl’s sex life, as tame as the discussion was. Her fingers were twisted into the hem of her top, and seemed to be pulling at a loose thread.

All too familiar with the telltale signs of anxiety, Katya put a reassuring hand on her back and began to fill her plate. Something told her that Violet wasn’t big on rich, indulgent foods, so she began with a slice of fresh whole-grain bread and then some of her favorite little fruit creatures: a few of the penguin strawberries, of course, a kiwi turtle, and a little tangerine bear. She lined them up on Violet’s plate like she was arranging toys for a child, feeling unusually protective of this strange and beautiful new friend.

It took Violet a few moments to tear her eyes away from the very conversation making her so uncomfortable. She saw Katya’s handiwork and then glanced up at her, the two of them sharing a secret smile of camaraderie before Katya placed one last offering on her plate: an elaborate carrot rose.

Violet giggled, mouthing ‘Thanks,’ and Katya winked, leaning back happily to bask in the warm sunshine. Yes, she’d fit in just fine.