#george and goose

[dravenxivuk]

What I've been knitting while my brain has been migraine related soup (Cheeto for scale)

[hungriestheidi]

just saw someone call the kimi x george duo 'bratcedes'. i'm afraid they might have ate with that one.

[kafka-ohdear]

tall men are so ridiculous tbh. what are your legs that long for? to put on another man's shoulders?

[hellsite-hungergames]

The Feast

The tributes are informed that a feast has been set up at the cornucopia! Consisting of both food and valuable equipment, this announcement draws out every remaining tribute.

The top four tributes will progress

[dwtdog]

does the nyc livefeed have a chat and is it full of confused dteam stans rn

[3lix13]

#cartoonist #kayfabetober Day 13 prompt: Comic Strips - refreshing to revisit all these great artists for Friday the 13th 

[blood-mocha-latte]

I would move like. Literal mountains for some kind of luztoye coworker au. Its so vague but you know joe toye is my favorite coworker i just want to see him happy

ALEKS my bestie my beloved. i LOVE this for a thousand years you understand. you Get It truly. i quite licherally never write from toye’s perspective, but i suppose you’ve inspired me in some way to give it a go with (with a bat. at a beehive). i hope this is what you had in mind <3

~

Joe just needs to get up the urge to talk to the guy.

“You look like an idiot.” Malarkey informs him, chewing on a mouthful of some sort of bread and meat monstrosity. Guarnere hums in agreement, mustard on his chin.

“Like a real schmuck, Joe.” He says agreeably, reaching across the table to pat Joe on the shoulder. “A moron, if you will.”

Joe needs new friends.

“I’m not doing anything.” He says, eyes back on his own sandwich, which has been precariously picked at and none so much as eaten. “This is just – do you think that’s a new shirt?”

He feels his face burn as soon as he says it, and hopes to god no one can see it on his face. Still, Malarkey stops chewing to stare at him, briefly, before snorting and shaking his head, taking another bite of his food. He doesn’t say anything, but Bill does for him, like a Philadelphian gremlin invented solely to bother him.

“This is one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen.” He says solemnly, mustard still on his chin, and Joe resists the urge to smack it off. “Just go talk to him.”

“I am.” Joe says, and doesn’t move.

“Okay, so go over there!”

“I will!” He stays in place. Malarkey sighs, muffled by a still-full mouth.

“He’s been working here for three weeks, this is ridiculous.” He says, talking to Bill, who snorts. Joe glares at him again, back still to the guy, and Malarkey just shrugs.

“I think what Malark means to say is that you’re acting like a real blockhead and just need to go and talk to the guy.” Guarno says helpfully, gesturing with his hoagie over Joe’s shoulder. “You know. Before you don’t get the chance to and regret it. Or, much more likely, your head pops off and you die from just staring at him.”

“Okay, I am not staring—” Joe starts, because that makes him sound like a creeper, and he’s not creeping, per se, he’s just—

“Hey, Luz!” Malarkey shouts, while Joe is distracted trying to argue with Bill, and Joe resists the urge to duck out of his seat when he looks over his shoulder and sees Luz, in question, coming towards him. 

“You’ve got mustard all over your face.” Luz says easily, like he’s already in the middle of a conversation, sitting kitty corner to Joe at the table they’ve lodged at. Guarnere just grunts, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and shoving at George’s head with the other. Joe says nothing, picking up his hoagie for the first time since he’d grabbed it and taking a bite.

George greets Bill in much of the same way before nodding to Malarkey, shifting in his seat to cross his legs under him. He greets Joe with a silent smile, the corner of his mouth crooked up, and Joe nods around a full mouth.

Guarnere and Malarkey are laughing at him. He knows they’re laughing at him, the bastards, but they’re doing it in their heads so Joe can’t accuse them of laughing at him without sounding like a crazy person.

It’s not awkward, although it has every right to be, mainly because it’s Luz and there’s something about him that just completely diffuses a situation. He was over there, now he’s over here. Nothing strange.

Joe may have tuned out, slightly, from whatever conversation Bill picked up, as when he next actively listens to whatever chatter the other three have adopted, it’s circled around to work again.

“You on break, yet?”

“Nah. In, like—” Luz turned, looking over his shoulder at the clock in the wall before turning back towards their table. He’s fiddling with a paper napkin, folding the corner of it over before smoothing it out again. “—five minutes. So. I’m just sitting here unless there’s something Lip wants me to do.” 

There won’t be, because it’s Lip and Lip never needs help with anything (which is, in Joe’s opinion, a problem). But Malarkey brightens, grinning with lettuce in his teeth, and says, “so you and Joe are off at the same time.”

Murder is bad. It’ll do Joe good to remember that.

George turns to look at him, dark eyes sparkling with something that Joe can’t really read. “That so?” He asks, and Guarnere hums, mustard still all over his face.

“Yeah. Our break ends in five minutes.” He says, which is just an outright lie, and Joe takes another bite of his sandwich, expression impartial. “Someone’s gotta man the mixers.”

“We’re mixer men.” Malarkey agrees. “Real yeasters.”

“Bakery boys.” Guarnere says. “Joe lifts weights.”

Joe coughs around his sandwich and is pushing his chair out from the table before he ever realizes what he’s doing. “I’m gonna go see if Lip needs help with anything.” He says, which Lip won’t, but it’s always good to check.

He pushes through the door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY (handwritten on lined paper and attached with scotch tape, because Skip had somehow broken the actual sign a month ago) with only a small degree of relief, scrubbing at the back of his neck as he moves around the ovens.

He doesn’t find Lip, but Speirs is staring at dough like he’s expecting it to rise out of pure force of will, so Joe figures that’s close enough.

“Need help?” He asks, and Speirs looks up from the dough to stare at him, instead.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a break?” He says, and sometimes Joe forgets he’s a newer addition to the bakery, because he just sort of fits. At times, though, it becomes clearer that it’s only been a few months. Like now, when Speirs stares at Joe like he’s never seen him before in his entire life. Joe shrugs.

“Yeah.” He says. “You folded that dough wrong. The edges are all fucked up.” Speirs turns back to blink at the dough, almost a dismissal, before turning back to Joe.

“I’m waiting for it to rise.” He says. “Go away. You’re on break.”

“It’s – it’s for croissants, it’s not supposed to rise.” Joe says. “That’s the opposite of what you want it to do.”

Speirs squints at him, apparently not concerned by the state of the croissants. “Is this about the delivery boy?”

Joe liked it better when Speirs wasn’t here. “No.” He says, and turns around, looking for gloves. “Lemme fix the edges.”

He can feel Speirs staring at the side of his head, like some sort of intense dog. “No, I’ll fix the edges.” He says, like Joe had instead offered to fix the codes of a nuclear bomb. “Go away. You’re on break.”

Joe grimaces, weighs his options. Deciding that the likelihood of him surviving a confrontation with Luz is more likely than whatever Speirs’ is doing, he turns on his heel. 

“Those croissants are gonna be fucked up!” He says over his shoulder, just because, as Speirs goes back to staring at them.

——

Joe hates his friends.

Luz is eating a sandwich identical to the one Malarkey had earlier, before he and Bill carted up everything at their table and abandoned Joe to his fate. He seems, if anything, unbothered by Joe’s state of affairs, chewing and occasionally remarking on a few odds and ends of whatever crosses his mind.

“Plus, I bet if it wasn’t aired out of order, we would have at least gotten another season.” Luz is saying, pushing his hair back from his forehead absent-mindedly, other hand gesturing nonsensically at nothing. “I mean, it really was good, but I can’t imagine seeing the episodes out of order. Hey, Joe.”

Joe jolts, startled out of his train of thought (which was no thoughts whatsoever), shifting in his seat. “Yeah?” He asks gruffly, and George tilts his head at him, slightly, almost a nonverbal question.

“D’you wanna see a movie with me?” He asks, brusque, and Joe blinks at him. Luz just shrugs. “I’ve been told – and I’m quoting, here, that you’re not as much of an unfeeling hard-ass as you seem.” He says, and it startles a huff out of Joe, who’s half-surprised by the bluntness.

“I hate my friends.” He says dryly, and Luz grins, eyes bright.

“Have you ever seen Firefly?” He asks, and Joe leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a movie.” He said, wry, and Luz waved a hand dismissively. 

“Specifics.” He says, soft and bright and Joe can’t really look away from him, until the EMPLOYEES ONLY door is clanging open and Malarkey is poking his head out of it.

“Hey, man.” He says, and sounds rather casual. “One of the ovens is on fire, which I’m pretty sure is Speirs’ fault.” 

Luz laughs, bright, and it’s not exactly the reaction Joe was expecting, and it makes the corner of his mouth crook up, traitorous. “I’ll be right back.” He mutters, pushing out of his seat a second time. 

“I’ll be right here.” George says evenly, and takes another bite of his sandwich.

Joe turns around and Malarkey is grinning at him like an idiot, lettuce still in his teeth, flashing a double thumbs up. Behind him, the smoke alarm has started to go off.

Yeah, Joe definitely needs new friends.

[schokoleibniz]

yeah, this is a shit meme even by *my* standards.

Anyway, I wrote a new fic today. As in, I started writing it on my way to work this morning, and finished once I got home.

Prompt: soulmate au where one person finds a goose who leads them to the other person. the difficulty comes in not being mauled by a goose

[mote-historie]

Georges Lepape, La Plume (Large goose feather pen), 1914.

For sale: NCAG Biarritz

[dravenxivuk]

It has been a day for enjoying the sunshine

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Gotta watch out for those coworkers. The Bronx, 1958.

Photo: George S. Zimbel via the Int'l Center of Photography

[hungriestheidi]

no im not rewatching bodies (2023) just to get inspiration for a potential hypersoft fest work, what are you talking about

[bulletproofjohnny]

Johnny is such a yapper

[bookcub]

have you made any posts comparing/ranking all the goose girl retellings you've read? you seem to be Goose Girl Retellings Georg at this point!!

i haven't yet! i have a few more books i want to read first before i do but it is absolutely on my to do list in the future!

i absolutely have read more goose girl retellings than the average person, however, this started after i was assigned thorn by intisar khanani the summer after reading little thieves by margaret owen and then reading the goose girl by shannon hale for comparison. my fairy tales professor then told me about another short story and then a read a fifth book where the goose girl all the sudden showed up and i was like,,,, well now i need to commit to this lol

i also have a goose girl tag where i have written reviews for them all and hope to read at least one more this summer (also im planning on writing one for my class this semester!!)

[3nchantedoll]

George making art🎨

[dravenxivuk]

He's falling asleep...

George in maximum relaxation mode.