l o s e r (tm)

ezra "bergmann" 23 he/him podcast host (allegedly) pizza delivery guy (most definitely) artist occasional bassist

[bbergmann]

bristolbox·:

The Crashdown was always busy, and it seemed like everyone was getting put in her section today.  Frazzled, and taking her break way too late, she finally plopped down in the free space on the booth, letting out a soft sigh, hair coming out of her usually sleek ponytail.

“I’d say this is all worth it for the extra tips I’m getting, but it seems like everyone thinks service is too slow.”

@roswellstarters·

Bergmann hated bars. If he was being honest, he was only here because he was supposed to meet up with a prospective buyer - one who’d been interested in one of the paintings he’d posted on Facebook marketplace. It was the first one in a while, but he’d been hoping his work would gain a little more traction with the holidays coming up. People needing gifts, ideally. He’d had more luck in the city, where people had become familiar with him through art shows and street vendors. But Rosewell was slower. Different. The art scene felt underdeveloped and dried out by comparison. 

He was sitting with folded arms when Bristol slipped into the open seat. He shifted and pushed the wrapped canvas so she had more room. “Glad one of us is making some money.” He wasn’t glad but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say. 

[bbergmann]

kaspermarr·:

open starter // kasper & @roswellstarters·

perhaps test driving the vehicles he was working on at sander’s autobody wasn’t the greatest of past times , especially since he was being paid to fix the things not conduct his own personal races with his cracked phone as a stopwatch . kasper was about to beat his record in a beat-up beemer , one that had a flashing engine light ( that dimmed with a well placed slap , he’d discovered ) but the roswell temperature had plummeted and he was left navigating mounds , the outlines of angels on the ground and looming , intimidating snowmen with carrot noses sharp enough to impale . “ shit , “ the male growled , wheels sticking against one of the frost-covered lumps littered across the desert – he’d assume it was an animal skull , a spare tire , a rock .. the surroundings were deserted other than a singular body moving through the flurry . 

       “ hey – are you able to give me a push ?? “ 

Bergmann didn’t realize the man was talking to him, partially because he’d  had his headphones in, and partially because he wasn’t used to people addressing him. Being near-invisible had always been one of the benefits of being a social outcast in high school and living in the city as a college student. One of the quirks of small towns, apparently, was asking random strangers for help. Bergmann been loading the back of his van with some painting equipment - a few canvases, some tubes of his most frequently used colors, a palette, and handful of brushes. He kept the best stuff locked up in his apartment, along with his more expensive recording equipment and valued research, but the boredom of his lunch break had coaxed him into keeping a few supplies in the back so he could have something to do besides sitting around and dreading getting back to the job. He set the supplies down, nudged safely inside the back of his van and closed the trunk.

Bergmann rubbed his hands on his jeans, glancing from the vehicle to the man. It was blistering cold and the wind was starting to pick up. Helping him out was the decent think to do. But the thought of trying to push the car, of failing to move the car because he hadn’t worked out since he was forced to run the mile in high school gym? His stomach was in knots. But what was he gonna say? No? Seemed like a recipe for confrontation, and Bergmann was not interested in being cursed out in the middle of a growing storm. 

“Uh - sure.” He mumbled, tugging out one of his headphones and trekking through the snow to the back of the car. He paused for a moment when he reached the rear, hands shifting into several, awkward positions before he found a grip that seemed promising. “When you hit the gas, right?”

[bbergmann]

caseyproctor​:

This wasn’t the first time his hyperactivity had gotten him into trouble, years of breaking things and trying to cover them up tucked safely beneath his belt. But the moment the candle had hit the ground, the squirrely boy panicked, green eyes widening so much that he thought they’d pop right out of his head. He couldn’t help but look around franticly, feet beginning to kick the glass around, pushing it into a neat pile so he could try and clean up the mess he’d just created. Casey managed to avoid all eye contact, trying to mask all suspicious behavior that he was partaking in, though he knew that he would get caught eventually. That’s why, when he heard the approaching footsteps, Casey moved quickly, stepping in front of the demolished candle, resting his elbow on the wall next to him, hand on the back of his head as he gave a tentative smile. “Oh, hey,” he spoke quickly, words almost incoherent. “Didn’t see you there. I was just…y’know.”

@roswellstarters​

Bergmann didn’t know, but he also wasn’t particularly inclined to find out, either. As far as he was concerned, he was there to deliver a pizza, pick up a disappointing tip, then steer off to his next location. Talking was minimal. It was why he was a driver not a server. People who wanted food delivered to their doors didn’t want to talk. Half the time they opened the door just a crack, enough room for a trade off, sometimes followed by a hasty thank you. That was the way Bergmann preferred it. Delivering pizzas to establishments, though? Stores hosting late-night meetings or offices burning the midnight oil were where things got dangerous. And by dangerous, he meant social. Luckily he usually had the excuse of needing to make other deliveries on his side. But even then, his customers were never so clearly suspicious. If this was his customer a all. Did he read the address right? If he hadn’t it would throw off his whole route. Bergmann grumbled, shifting the pizza bag on his shoulder. “Yeah...” he said, brow arched. “So did you order a pizza or something?” He gestured to the bag. “Large pepperoni? Extra cheese?”

[bbergmann]

hi hi hellooo! i hope you are all doing well. just dropping in to introduce ezra bergmann! Here’s a link to his bio and his wanted connections/plots that being said, please totally feel free to suggest any ideas you may have! i absolutely adore plotting, so please don’t be shy. i’m super stoked to be here : ) sooo go ahead and like this to plot? just be aware that there is a death tw in bergmann’s backstory, as well as a bullying tw.

[olivia-crain]

Little Women (2019) dir. Greta Gerwig