pizza gear


selfie dump because i may or may not have had a couple breakdowns at practice tonight and also i dont think i’ve posted any since the shitshow of election day soooooo yeah here i am friends. you’ll notice a theme from all the ones with words. im doin great friends. my knee really hurts. also probably my right boob and stomach tomorrow. also would be 0/10 surprised if my shoulder hurts. i need to sleep. immediately. and for like two weeks. while magically completing every single assignment


Thank You, Nintendo. Finally in sm4sh we can play with fat plumber with 7 weird people others company: astroboy, sanic, pizza, metal gear, zack fair, kyo from streets and leg woman

And Fat Plumber still the strongest like his company.

Rise Above

October 24, 2075 - Marymoor, mid-afternoon

Armed with an insulated to-go box of pizza and a head full of Bliss, Kestrel walked through the streets of Marymoor under a haze of fog and smog. The sidewalks were already starting to go slick under her boots as the fog condensed and froze around her, and there was little to be done about the cold seeping through the bullet-holes in her well-worn leather jacket. The cold had her shivering and shaking all over, but the Bliss made her care little and feel less of it.

She’d gotten a draw on her funds from Gold Sun before the shaman had left the hotel room over half a week prior, and half that had already gone to a smaller, but steadier supply of the drug. She hadn’t meant to hit up before leaving the pizza place, but the gears in her stomach were already turning. Another dose or two was tucked neatly into her rear pocket, just in case.

Porter’s machine shop came into view, lights on inside barely visible through the haze. Kestrel had, of course, checked to be sure of the hours. She should have called prior to even getting on the first bus it took to get all the way out here–over an hour and a half and three bus lines–but here she was anyway. It was, she reminded herself, a visit long past due.

Kestrel took in a breath, adopted a grin, and sauntered on over. She took a moment to brush aside brownish-blonde locks and tugged the entry door open.

“Yo! Porter? You in?”


Bill’s fifty-two years old, has a mountain man beard, and delivers pizza on a fixie in Brooklyn. Over the course of several shifts, DELIVERY unveils an intriguing man rushing food to your door while it’s still hot and fresh.