#doorstep plumbers

[apomaro-mellow]

steddie falls into porn cliches on accident

Steve was in the middle of washing the conditioner out of his hair, loving the silky smooth feeling and watching the water turn from cloudy to clear as it was all rinsed out. He was ready to start washing his body in earnest now, when he heard the doorbell ring.

For a second, he was ready to just ignore it, thinking it might be a delivery or someone trying to solicit. They could leave whatever they had on the doorstep or keep moving. Then the bell rang a second time and Steve remembered that he was in fact supposed to answer it.

Robin had hired a plumber to fix their sink. She told him they'd be coming between 8 am to noon. Steve had gotten in the shower exactly at eight, thinking surely he had enough time in that window. What kind of plumber showed up this promptly!?

Steve turned the shower off and grabbed the first robe off the hook. It wasn't his, he knew that. But in his defense, Robin wasn't home and he liked to air dry when he could. She could get mad at him later for snagging hers. He tied it hastily, rushing to the door before the plumber left.

-------------------

Eddie waited for the door to be answered, checking his watch while he did. Today was his only appointment, so he thought he was doing well by showing up on the early end of the window. He was ready to spout the rehearsed script when the door opened. Good morning, Munson and Son Plumbing. You got a problem with your drain pipe? Well I'm here to fix it. Fun fact, I'm a guitarist, so I'm pretty good with my hands. Anyone you know looking for lessons?

His uncle didn't always like him plugging his side gig, but putting up posters around neighborhoods wasn't quite as successful as actual face time. Then the door fully opened and he got an entire eyeful. A dripping wet god of a man, his modesty just barely preserved in a bath robe. It did nothing to hide his thick, hairy thighs or impressive chest.

"Hi I'm here to handle your pipe!", Eddie blurted out. "I'm mean I'm good with my hands! P...plumbing! I'm the plumber, I'm here for your plumbing."

"Oh, y-yeah, we've been expecting you", Steve tried to close the top of his robe more and that made Eddie self conscious about staring.

Steve introduced himself and Eddie did the same as he was let into the house, somehow not putting his foot in his mouth as he did. Steve took him to the problem sink and Eddie got to work while Steve excused himself.

He went into his room, looking for something presentable only to find it was mostly his stuff for the club. Definitely not appropriate for a plumber visit. Then he remembered why. He had started a load of laundry last night. And when he woke up this morning, putting it in the dryer so it'd be ready once he was done with his shower.

He went to the laundry room to do just that, emptying the contents of the dryer into his hamper, bending over to do so. Once he was done, he'd be able to put together an outfit that didn't make him look like a desperate housewife.

Eddie had just finished tangling with the pipe. It didn't take as long as he had expected but his shirt was drenched now. He listened out for Steve, hoping he was nearby so that he didn't have to call for him, only to hear something...odd.

He followed the sound until he came to an open door and realized what the sounds were - little grunts of effort. Eddie bit his lip, letting logic and reason work themselves out. Steve knew he had someone in the house and the door was wide open so he couldn't be-

Eddie walked through the door and there was Steve, bent over, top half in the dryer, bottom half sticking out. His robe had began to hitch up, revealing just the bottom of that perfect ass.

"Holy shit", Eddie squeaked out.

"Hey? Plumber guy? I know this is awkward but would you mind helping me out? My robe got caught on something and I can't-I can't free myself."

"Um, okay? So should I just...should I just?", Eddie got behind Steve, hands fumbling. Should he adjust the robe or would that be rude?

"Just grab me and pull", Steve said, wriggling around more and stopping when he heard a rip.

"Yeah, okay, yeah I'll just", Eddie grabbed Steve's hips and pulled, to no avail.

"Gonna have to do it a bit harder than that", Steve said. "Here I'll, I'll try and push too."

Eddie swallowed as he pulled again, Steve's hips coming flush with his own and eliciting a gasp from the other man.

"A...again."

Eddie pulled again, harder this time. He had kind of been working with a half chub. The kind Steve had to feel right between his cheeks every time Eddie pulled on him.

Steve gasped with each time their hips came together and it was getting hard to pretend his asshole didn't flutter with each movement.

"Fuck, just fuck me already", Steve whined.

Eddie wasted no time in dropping his pants and rubbing his cock against Steve's ass, precum dripping and Steve still wet from the shower. The tip slipped in with ease and then the rest of him and Steve's hips wouldn't stay still and then he was fucking him oh shit he was fucking him he was fucking a client while on the clock.

Steve's voice sounded goddamn ethereal, echoing inside the tub of the dryer. He was giving as good as he got, pushing back with each thrust and Eddie got to watch his dotted cheeks jiggle with each impact.

Eddie pushed the robe up more, licking his lips as he was rewarded with the sluttiest back arch that he'd ever seen. He wasn't going to last and this Steve guy wasn't either. Eddie came first, one hand on Steve's hip and the other bracing itself on the dryer so that he didn't fall over. Steve's cock spilled into the floor, a mess to be dealt with later.

"Fuck...you really are good at handling pipes", Steve laughed through his panting.

When Eddie left that day, he didn't get Steve's number. But a week later their company got a call about a clogged toilet and specifically requested that Eddie come over, that they only trusted his expertise. This time, Eddie wouldn't let it slip through his fingers. And this time when Steve greeted him in a half open robe, it was on purpose.

[profoundbondfanfic]

Bees Knees Plumbing, At Your Service

Bees Knees Plumbing, At Your Service by hollyblue2 (@envydeanwrites) Rating: Teen Wordcount: 1k

Dean needs a professional hand in fixing his toilet, he's already had to deal with the hot voice on the phone… and then a very attractive man turns up on his doorstep.

In which the plumber's hot voice leaves Dean with high expectations of the man coming to repair his toilet the next day, and Cas actually exceeds them. Now the only problem is how to ask him out on a date.

This is a short, absolutely adorable meet-cute based on a tumblr prompt. It's all rainbows and Dean's bi disastrousness, and it features an orange cat that is sure to steal your heart with his attitude. It truly combines everything our fandom loves - including, Castiel's fondness of bees. It's perfect for a small dose of fluff between chores, or while waiting in a queue, or even as a palate cleanser between more angsty fics. Don't miss it!

[ejzah]

A/N: Sam has some unexpected guests.

***

Sam: Deeks, what are you and your entire family doing on my doorstep?

Deeks, handing him a twin: My mom has a burst water pipe.

Sam, frowning at the baby in his arms: So, hire a plumber.

Kensi, edging past him with Sophia: Oh, we did. Unfortunately, she’s decided she can’t stay there while they’re working. *Sam glares but puts his arm down to let out them all pass*

Deeks: Which means naturally she came to our house. You know, since she lives less than a minute from our house, if she intrudes on our neighbor’s property. And by extension, that probably means Arkady is coming as well.

Sam, watching them take over his living room: So tell her she can’t come in.

Deeks, shrugging: We would if we could. Unfortunately, she has a key for emergencies.

Sam, desperately: Guys, you know I’ve got my dad here and he gets confused easily.

Rosa, piping up: He loves Sophia and Caleb.

Sam: He does. *he sighs in a resigned way* Fine, you can stay, but not for long.

Kensi: Great. Thank you, Sam. Now where would be a good place to change these two?

Deeks, slinging his arm around Sam’s shoulder: You’re a good man, Sam Hanna. Love you, brother.

Sam: Yeah, next time I move I’m not giving you the address.

[legobiwan]

Happy MAR10!

I was going to wait on releasing this until I had all three chapters ready to go, but I haven't posted any writing in a dog's age and I figured, "why not?"

This story might not make total sense unless you've read bisbigliando and jet whistle, as it takes place in the same universe/deals with the fallout from the same series of events. YMMV, as they say.

Despite the fact the catalyst for the events of this story is Luigi, he doesn't actually make an appearance here. Instead, I give you a couple hundred words of Bowser and Mario griping at each other, with a side of Bowser's bureaucratic headaches.

Working title: guttural flutter

(Yes, the origin of all the titles in this series is extended flute techniques. Yes, I am a massive nerd).

~~~~~~

It all started when Red showed up on his doorstep.

Showed up. Right. Like that pipsqueak ever did anything in his castle that didn’t involve crashing, banging, pounding, or general destruction of state and personal property.  

No. Red never showed up anywhere. He arrived. Today, the puny human had catapulted through two sets of iron doors and at least eight Koopatrol guards (eight soon-to-be former Koopatrol guards, that was). All of this accomplished with the grace of a cherry-colored, irate bowling ball. Coin counts and manpower reports hovered menacingly on the periphery of Bowser’s mind as Red marched down towards the center of his throne room, tossing aside bits of metal debris with a growl, kicking aside a hapless Goomba tailor caught in the plumber’s angry crossfire. 

Great. Not only would he have to go groveling to Sylmar in order to increase Red’s destruction byline in the royal budget - again - but on top of it all, he was going to have to break in a new tailor.

I haven't even done anything this time! Bowser groused. No kidnappings, no invasions, no schemes. Granted, it was still early in the day, but give a Koopa a break!

“I just had those doors replaced!” Bowser squawked, jabbing a single claw in the direction of the massacred bits of wood and metal. “And don’t think I won’t be sending you the bill by express Parakarry. With interest!”

Like that mattered to Red. He didn’t have to worry about his accountants breathing down his neck. Not that the plumber was listening, anyway, not when he was looking as steamed as a Goomba in a firebath.

“Shut it, Bowser. I don’t give a damn about your stupid doors.”

Bowser rocketed from his throne, swinging his fist above his head. “Hey, you don’t get to barge in here and tell me - “

“I need your help, you dumb reptile!”

That was enough to stop Bowser dead in his tracks, jaw frozen open like those gaudy statues over in the west corridor. Fire and ash, he hated those things. Almost as much as the growling, coiled spring of a man before him. Had Red hit his head one too many times or something? Bowser knew guy hadn’t been quite the same after the whole Chaos Heart fiasco a few months back - everyone knew that, even if they never talked about it - but he didn’t think things had gotten this bad.

Mario gave a vicious cut with his arm, slicing through empty air. “No, forget that,” he muttered, kicking at the floor, scowling. A group of wide-eyed Goombas tittered nervously off to the side, torn between cleaning up the mess of splinters and strewn metal and ogling the unstable plumber. “He’s going to help, he has to,” Mario mumbled as he turned on his heel, stabbing a pointed finger in Bowser’s direction. “You’re going to help me."

“I am?” Bowser asked, dumbly. What had gotten into Red?

“You - we - we need to break into the lab. That’s step one. And then we need to pull off a kidnapping. That’s what you do, right? You’re good at that.” Mario paused, letting out a humorless, half-huff. “Well, at least you like kidnapping, and that’s good enough for me.”

Like kidnapping? Not like those stupid treaties have given me any other choice. I ain’t telling Red that, though. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Put the brakes on, Red!” Bowser fumed as he stalked down the small dais, coming to meet Mario snout-to-eye. It was one thing to storm into his castle demanding help. It was quite another to insult his foreign policy prowess at the same time. “I’m the best kidnapper there is and you know it!”

Mario gave a jagged, toothy grin. “Yeah, well,” he sneered, “we’re going after somebody who might have you beat in that department.”

“Oh yeah? What’d they do that I can’t?” Bowser huffed, crossing his arms with a fiery, disgusted snort. Wait, we're going after someone? Why am I even a conversation conversation with a man who broke into my home and looks like he’s downed five cups of Chuckoccino?

“Simple.” Red’s smile turned rancid as he pressed his thumbs into his chest. “They managed to kidnap me.”

Kidnap Red? Yeah, right. If only. Not that thought hadn’t crossed Bowser’s mind more than once. Shanghai Red and make the pesky plumber a permanent resident of his dungeons. Then he could make some actual progress on reclaiming his ancestral land. Save his Koopa power for infrastructure projects. Take a damn vacation. All of his problems solved, in one fell Koopa swoop.

Almost as many problems solved as created, your Scheming-ness, Kamek would remind him every time they danced around the topic. If nothing else, consider the massive increase in Mario’s budget byline that would need to get approved by Akooptant Sylmar. The doors, alone…

Ugh. That was enough to drape a damp tortoiseshell on the whole plan. Sylmar was more ancient than his ancestor’s ashes and half as pleasant to deal with, which wasn’t saying much.

Who could have kidnapped Red and gotten away with it? (And kept their doors intact, as well?) And why hadn’t Bowser known about it? That should have been front-page news, plastered all over the Mushroom Kingdom media. 

…or maybe not. Broadcasting Red’s capture would have been equivalent to lighting up a neon sign flashing the words ‘Invade Now!’ The little fungus-faces might as well have escorted their enemies through the door personally if they had let that tidbit get out. Bowser tried to mentally run through any information his spies had gathered over the past year or so, recall any transmissions received through the completely legal (and compliant within the technical bounds of the Treaty of the Dunelands, lava bless his lawyers) Goomba Radio Network. 

Gah, this was giving him a headache. Where the hell was Kamek when you needed him? Remembering old bits of useless trivia was his job. Bowser crossed his arms, tapping his clawed foot on the floor. 

Wait a minute. Did this have something to so with that whole debacle last month? Red couldn’t mean - 

Bowser squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his snout as he swallowed down a massive groan.

This was insane. Even for him.

“You’re crazy, Red.”

Mario grit his teeth, shaking his head. “Not crazy. We break into the lab, grab the machine. Then we bring it here and get Iggy or Ludwig to work on the operating requirements - “

“Now wait a damned minute!” Bowser roared, taking a wide, thunderous stride forward. “You asked me for help, not my kids! I’m not dragging them into this suicidal circus!”

“I just need them to explain how to work the damned thing!”

Over my dead body. “Then get your engineering genius brother to explain it. He certainly seemed to know a lot about killer machines when he was working for - “

Mario was on him in an instant, barreling into Bowser’s abdomen, breath knocked clean from the Koopa as the two of them crashed to the solid floor in a tangle of flailing limbs. The harsh, metallic sigh of a dozen weapons being primed for combat sang throughout the high-ceilinged, bare throne room, Bowser having enough cognizance to wrest his left hand from Red’s iron grip, relaying the motion for “steady” to the High General of his personal guard.

“Don’t ever mention that again,” Mario hissed, spraying spittle all over the Koopa’s face, grabbing at Bowser’s spiked collar. “Capisce?”

Ca-what? “Yeah, great. Whatever. Now get the hell off me before my guards lose their patience.”

Twelve well-honed pikes hovered dangerously close to the soft, exposed skin of the plumber’s throat, razor-sharp points glinting with bloody promise. At the end of each long, wooden shaft, a dual set of coal-dark, implacable eyes narrowed in anticipation. The slightest whisper of an aggressive movement, a too-deep breath or a misplaced cough - Bowser knew it would be enough to result in a plumber shish-kabob.

And he really didn’t need that headache right now. Lay off, Red. For your own good.

Mario frowned, then paled slightly as his gaze landed on one of the hungry pinpoints floating near his Adam’s apple. Slowly, he relinquished his grip on Bowser’s collar, bringing both his open palms up by his shoulders as he stood. Bowser made a mental note to give his personal guard a raise sometime in the next month before waving a claw in the direction of the High General, who gave curt nod, pulling his weapon back to his side in one swift movement, the eleven other guards quickly following suit.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Bowser grumbled as he came to his feet, trying to muster whatever dregs of dignity he had left in this ridiculous situation.

Red’s only answer was an awful, vicious look.

“What, are you trying to get information about another invasion? Peach put you up to this? Doesn’t seem like her style.” Not that Peach wouldn’t resort to underhanded tactics - he knew that well enough by now. But there was no way she would have sent the perfect hero of the Mushroom Kingdom on some kind of secret hostage mission, and certainly not against someone who had technically saved all their hides not less than one month ago.

No, this was something else.

A thought occurred to him. Wispy secrets traded in dark corridors, undertones of speculation patched together in a noisy weapons room, rumors spilling from the painkiller-induced gossip of recovering soldiers in the healer’s den. 

Bowser knew what vengeance looked like on a man, had seen it in the mirror a thousand times. He just never thought he’d recognize the same murderous intent staring back at him from Red’s face.

“This is about your brother, isn’t it? About the Glawackus invasion.”

Mario’s voice dropped to a dark, harsh whisper. “Information first. Then revenge.”

[twopoppies]

hii gina!!

i was wondering if you know this fic by any chance. I've looked through all of my history, bookmarks, reblogs but couldn't find it. :(((

harry is a sculptor and niall tells him he's sending him a "gift" for his birthday and when louis shows up at his doorstep with balloons(?) he found on the porch, harry thinks he's the gift but in reality louis' the plumber and between all this they make a sculpture of louis' ass lmao i can't find it 😭😭😭

LOLLL! I don’t know that one, I’m afraid. But it sounds very cute.

Does anyone know this fic?

[koopzilla]

@timid-plumber​

His muzzle housed a grotesque mishmash of dried snot, sweat, and soup. Strained blood vessels outlined the corners of his pinkened eyes. His feet hardly left the ground with each step. His tail lumbered miserably, leaving a flat trail behind. Bowser was the perfect picture of poor health– this is no hay fever. 

But that would not stop him from stealing his princess!

King Stubbornness Koopa had marched himself right to the doorstep of the Mushroom Kingdom. Toads were already starting to throw their arms up in a panic. 

“BOWSER IS HERE. WARN THE PRINCESS– CALL THE MARIO BROS!!” 

Civilians were getting ready for a war! Not a single cannon would be needed to take him down though. A gentle breeze, stuffed to the brim with springtime pollen and particles, whisked past and saved the day. It surpassed the king’s stuffed passages with ease and– 

Aaaaa– AAAAA… AAAAACHOOOOO–

His legs crossed just a little too far attempting to keep the balance. As if the wind had merely pushed him over, the towering tortoise crashed onto his tummy. Peach’s castle was so close, but so far. Muscles betrayed him though. A single push-up ended in failure halfway. 

“Peachesssss…” A hopeless mumble melted into nothingness. “It’s our anniversaryyyy… Come ouuuut…!” His chin smeared the ground and his eyes fell shut. 

Perhaps Kamek was right. Perhaps he was pushing himself too far today. But, he cannot miss their special day…! Even if Peach doesn’t know about it yet. “Peeeaaaach… urrrghh…”

[envydeanwrites]

Bees Knees Plumbing, At Your Service

Pairing: Destiel Rating: Teen & Up Tags: Plumber!Cas, Dean owns a cat, Fluff, meet cute, cats interfering, Orange Cat Word Count: 1,074 Summary:  Dean needs a professional hand in fixing his toilet, he's already had to deal with the hot voice on the phone... and then a very attractive man turns up on his doorstep.

Read on AO3

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it! Dean tells himself as he heads towards the front door. Outside is the plumber he called two days ago about his toilet doing something weird. He’s not such an idiot that he didn’t give it a good go himself, but he was closer to fucking it up further than he was to fixing it. Give him the innards of a crapped-out car any day and he’ll have it sorted in a few hours… plumbing? No chance.

The phone call had been easy enough and would have been easier if the plumber hadn’t had an earth-spinning voice that grumbled and rolled over his ears and all the way through his body. Dean’s almost ashamed that he took care of himself that night to the voice he could remember.

Now, the man is at his door.

Dean opens it to find an instantly attractive man on his doorstep. Oh fuck.

“Hey.”

“Hello, I’m Cas Novak, from Bees Knees Plumbing. You’ve got an issue with your toilet?”

Dean swallows hard and takes a breath. “Yeah, bathroom’s this way. Thanks for this.”

He shows Cas to the bathroom, explaining on the way the things he’d tried in order to fix the problem. It’s just a pesky little leak but Dean’s had enough. He probably rambles on a little too long when he realises he’s telling the guy about how he’s a mechanic.

“Alright, I think I’ve got everything in the truck to sort this out. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Dean watches him leave and stands awkwardly in the hallway. He’s only disturbed from his quickly spiralling thoughts by an insistent meow behind him. Right, Dean’s got a guest so Atticus absolutely needs to get involved. He twirls himself around Dean’s legs before stretching up and looking at Dean expectantly.  

He gives in easily for Atticus, it's hard not to. He's got the cutest face and the most orange sense of self — wanting to be the centre of attention, causing chaos, and being the best cuddle buddy a single guy could ask for.

Cas comes back with a toolbox and a handful of rags, giving Dean a quick nod and another nod to Atticus.

Butterflies jump in Dean's stomach. Why couldn't his plumber have been some crotchety sixty-year-old and not some hot as fuck thirty-something?

Atticus chirps in his arms, wriggling to get down again. "Alright alright, mister demanding." He lands semi-gracefully on his feet and trots off to the bathroom.

Dean sighs and goes after him.

"Oh hello," Cas says with a little surprise as Atticus hops onto the side of the bath. One leg misses the tub and Dean has to stifle his amusement.

"I'm sorry about the cat. He thinks everyone is his best friend," Dean tells him.

Cas flashes him a smile that pretty much melts Dean's insides. "It's okay, I'm used to people's cats." He turns to Atticus and gives him a gentle boop on the nose which Atticus responds with a soft meow.

Dean rolls his eyes, he's got no chance of being the favourite with someone else in the house, so he heads into the living room to keep out of the way. He feels odd sitting there while the guy is doing all the work, but it's not like he can help and he is paying the guy to solve the issue.

He gives him twenty minutes before his own boredom kicks in and goes to see what's going on.

"Mr Smitten you are a born plumber. After this we will get a nice sandwich," Dean hears Cas' say, presumably to Atticus.

Dean bites his lip so he can't laugh and finds Atticus sitting on the toilet seat, batting at the pipe grips in Cas' hand.

"Find the problem?"

"Oh yes, just corrosion at one of the joints. It's further back from where you were looking and I've put everything back properly too. I even renewed the chain in your flush since it wasn't looking too good."

"Oh, thanks," Dean says, leaning against the door jamb. "I trust Atticus was helpful too?"

"Very!"

Dean had heard him talking about a sandwich. It's probably too forward to say he'll make one for him. The man's here for a job, not a date. He should definitely not ask. "I could make you that sandwich you — and Atticus — deserve?" Well, there he goes.

"Sandwich? Oh… um." Cas pats down his pockets.

"It's okay. You're probably busy. It was a stupid suggestion."

"Dean," Cas says and the word halts Dean's thoughts. "The suggestion was just fine. I don't have a lot of time, but I was looking for my notebook. Maybe… you'd take my number? Officially that is, since you already called… to get me here."

Cas is standing up straight, looking a little lost and awkward, but at least that makes two of them.

Dean thrusts his phone towards him and Cas smiles, grateful. He watches Cas enter his number before handing the phone back.

There's Cas' name there at the top with a little bee emoticon next to it. Dean furrows his brow for a moment before remembering Cas' business name and chuckles to himself.

"Thanks," Dean says with a blush to his cheeks.

"You're welcome. Call me, if you get any more issues, or if you want to get dinner sometime."

"Maybe Friday? At seven?"

Cas just smiles again, then bends down to Atticus who has crept back into the room and decided to sit between them.

His tail flicks excitedly as Cas strokes him and gives his head scritches, chirping and meowing when he stands and makes his way to the door.

"Bye, Dean. Bye Atticus. Hope to see you soon."

Cas leaves with a wave and Dean knocks his forehead against the door as he locks it.

That went… nothing like he expected. But apparently, he asked the guy out on a date.

"Huh," Dean muses. He scoops an unsuspecting Atticus off the floor who lets out a funky yowl as Dean hugs him. "I have a date, buddy!"

Atticus doesn't seem overly impressed, squirming to leave Dean's arms and giving him a look before darting off into Dean's bedroom.

"I'm excited for me too, bud." Dean laughs and throws himself on the couch.

He opens his messaging app and finds Cas' name in his contacts.

Dean | 2:38pm | Hey

Cas Novak 🐝| 2:38pm | hello Dean 👋

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Chocolate." Buddy Swanson X AFAB! Reader.

The divorce is hard but Triple X Bexxx works harder. Have some Buddy Swanson comfort fic! You and he cooking, baking and fucking, a classic date night in! Enjoy it! I’ve wanted to write this one for too long.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 4K. Buddy Swanson X AFAB! Reader. Warnings: Softness. Domesticity. Fluff. Cooking. Baking. Alcohol Consumption. Couch Sex Vaginal Sex. Pre-Mature Ejaculation. Praise. Confessions Of Love. Eating Out, Mild Overstimulation. Slight Pain Play. Hair Pulling. Buddy Is So Soft For You. Established Relationship.

—

You had a hard day. A very long, very difficult day, the kind of day that makes you doubt everything, how you got here, the job you are in, every single small action that brought you to this fucking awful day. It was so bad that when work was done you didn’t even go home, you had one place you wanted to be and knew just one thing you wanted to do.

Buddy was off tonight but he wasn’t supposed to be, an unexpected issue at the restaurant, the pipes in the bathroom burst and was being dealt with via an emergency plumber so he was at his apartment. He texted you to let you know what went down less than an hour ago, and you responded with a simple, “Perfect.” and a half hour after that there was a knock on his door. 

He answered it to find you at his front door still in your work clothes, bags in your hands as you say with a tired smile, “Hey.”

He returns the greeting in kind, “Hi.” 

You then ask as you raise your arms slightly, shaking the bags, “Date night?”

The response comes with a wide smile and his eyes crinkling at the sides as he confirms with a nod, “Date night.” 

He lets you in and takes the bags so you can get your shoes off, you trail behind him to the kitchen and he sets the bags on the counter and you start to rummage through them, “I bought stuff to make dinner, I assume you haven’t eaten?”

“I have not.”  You figured, he normally ate late, making himself something at the end of his shift and eating after that so it being the regular dinner hour right now means that you can have the rare time of eating not only together, but at a reasonable time. 

“Good! I was thinking tonight we could cook together.” You begin to pull out items from the plastic and that surprised him, a warm grin as he asked, “Really?”

“Really! You cook for me all the damn time, but why not make something together?” When you showed up on his doorstep he wasn’t expecting this but man was it the best possible thing that could have come from this. He hadn’t cooked with anyone who he didn’t work with at his job in years, not in a casual context, never with someone he dated but you were his first real and serious relationship.  

“That sounds great.” He sighed with a smile, one hand leaning on the countertop and you glanced up at him as you say, “I thought you’d like it. I hope you like the menu I planned.” 

He is so used to taking the lead on this front that you making this effort without the smallest prompting from him means more than he can say. A smile and a raise of his eyebrows as he asked, “You planned the menu?”

“Well, I came up with a basic framework but I still wanted to leave room for us to improvise and come together on it, you know? So it really is a collaboration. I know you got a lotta stuff in here that we can jazz this up with.”

You were going to kill him. 

“You are perfect, you know that?” He asked as he moved, a hand snaked around, rested on your hip, fingers having hooked into your pants belt loop, tugging you a hair closer to him, you tell him confidently, “I know.” 

You stay like that for a moment, him holding your hip, happy to have you in his place, in his kitchen about to make a meal together. The items you got were as follows: a few large russet potatoes, a whole chicken, green beans, and a rather nice looking bottle of white wine. 

“Oooh, alright, I must admit, a versatile spread.” He praised you and you said, “Thank you! And I went to that small time grocer you love-” 

“On third?” He asked, grin brightening, and you said, “Yeah! You always talk it up, I went and got only the best for this.” 

You say “for this” but really it means “for him.” He picks up on the meaning even though you don’t say it explicitly. 

Before he can add a thought or express anything you interject and say, “So I am thinking we spatchcock the chicken.”

The grin splits his face now, his teeth show and he says jokingly, “Dirty talking? In MY kitchen?”

“Oh c’mon you know what spatchcocking means.” You sigh with a roll of your eyes and he cuts in, “I am just surprised, you know what it is.”

“You think I dunno how to break down a bird?” You ask incredulously and he says genuinely surprised, “I just didn’t know you could! Not like I usually doubt you but I am still unconvinced.” 

You scoff and reach forward, you pick out a knife from the block and say with a sideways glance, “Watch and learn Swanson.” 

He takes a step back, you wash your hands and set up the cutting board to your liking and then with sleeves rolled up and apron on, you set to work. First paper towels are gotten, you pat dry the chicken and then is the next step, you can feel Buddy’s eyes on you the whole time. You upend the bird, the spine is facing you and with the knife you place it to the left of the tail and at the base of it’s backbone before moving down quickly, you cut down, separating the small and weak rib bones that connect to the back.

You switch to the next side and do the same thing. You remove the spine and set it side before flipping the bird over and cutting into the soft cartilage, your pointer finger digs in along the cut and you use it to separate the meat from the main breast bone and then fingers gripping it tight, you pull it out. Next you cut out the ribs and then once all the bones excluding the wing and leg bones you ask, “You want to keep these to make stock I assume?”

It was the first time you looked at him in the less than three minutes it took for you to de-bone the chicken to this point. His face betrayed his true feelings. Brows raised, mouth open, eyes filled with pleasant shock and affection. You nudge him with your elbow as you asked, “You good?”

He cleared his throat and closed his mouth before he said trying to sound casual and unaffected, “Yeah, totally cool and yes, I’d love to make some stock with this.” 

He turned and got out tupperware, you put the bones into it and he closed it up and put the container into the fridge. You asked next, “What kinda seasoning you are thinking?”

“Hmm. Not sure, you got a jones?” He asked and you said, “Classic kinda vibe? Salt, fresh cracked pepper, that smoked onion paprika you got, garlic powder, rosemary?” 

“How very classic Sunday dinner. I love it.” 

You talk further about how you want the rest of the menu to go as a butter herb mixture was made, you spread it heavily onto the meat, making sure to get under the skin and then into a roast pan, on a rack, went the seasoned and broken down chicken with lemon halves, celery, carrots and onion in the base working as your aromatics. The oven was preheated while you both stood shoulder to shoulder and started peeling potatoes. 

“Your stance on mash?” You asked casually and he said, “Oh love it. A good mashed potato is a staple, a timeless side dish that never goes out of style.”

“Versatile too, right?” You ask and he nods, “Sooo versatile it is insane.”

“What do you like to do?” 

The question you posed had him responding with, “Butter, half and half, salt, pepper, parmesan, parsley.”

“Amature hour.” You sigh and he asks with a smile, “Oh okay, and how would you do em?”

“First off, cook them in chicken stock for added flavour, then, mash with butter, buttermilk, garlic powder, salt, pepper, paprika, and cream cheese.” He responded with, “I give it up that sounds so good but you gunning for a heart attack before fifty?”

“Uh, yeah, obviously. Live fast, die young, leave a hot corpse.” You joke and he laughs before you add on, “C’mon Swanson, live a little, have the decadent mashed potatoes from time to time.”

“Twist my arm.” He shakes his head with a fond expression and you said, “Tempting, tempting.” 

Chicken broth is boiling as you put the peeled, rinsed and cubed potatoes into the pot. The chicken is in the oven and next you set onto the green beans. Oil is heated in a pan while you wash the green beans thoroughly in a strainer, they are tossed in and you fry them as Buddy preps the buttermilk mix for the mash, you both talking easily as you push beans about the pan with a spatula and he gets the spice levels just right. “So then what happened?”

“She told me she had prepped the app station and when I went over she didn’t have any cheese pre-wrapped at all! No cake was cut for desserts later and the salad dressings were barely half full.” He vented and you shake your head, “What a fucking idiot. Like did she seriously think you wouldn’t check?”

“Apparently!” 

“What a fucking idiot.” You repeat with a sigh.

One might assume, incorrectly, that Buddy didn't like to cook with other people, far from it, he loved to, so long as the people didn't step on his toes and had common sense and skills to back up their big talk. That was part of it, he didn't know you even HAD these skills, you kept it hush hush, it was humble, this air to you even now that you just knew what you were doing, not showing off, just confident in yourself. It was endlessly attractive to him. Sharing his kitchen, in his home, to make a great meal with you, he doesn't think there is a better date possible.

Buddy got the mix ready for the potatoes and then you added the prepped garlic, green onions and chilli paste into the pan. A few minutes later came the soy sauce, rice vinegar, sugar and chilli flakes. A couple more stirs and two minutes later it was done, the potatoes were mashed and the chicken was just about done which led to one of the best moments in Buddy’s opinion of your whole relationship. He got the plates, you got the silverware and you both set the table without speaking a single word to each other.

An intimate dance of comfortable domesticity and familiarity. Glasses were gotten, napkins too, candles lit, all without having to say a thing and while you were simply going through the motions, Buddy kept stealing glances to you, setting polished silverware down, lighting candles, the warm light playing off your face, Christ he had it so bad for you. 

The only thing that pulled him out of his reverie was the oven clock timer going off before he could make a move you say, “Oh let me.” 

You know just the drawer, you pull out the mitts, slip them on, the oven is open, you pull out the chicken and set the roasting pan on top of the stove next to the finished pot of covered mashed potatoes and the frying pan of chilli garlic green beans. You turn to him with a smile and ask, “The chicken has to rest for twenty minutes at least, wanna make dessert now?”

“More than anything.” He admits and you grin, a small question of, “Brownies?”

It’s brownies you want? It is brownies you will get. 

The oven temperature was changed, ingredients got out and soon Buddy was having a moment that somehow topped the setting the table one in less than ten minutes. You were whisking together eggs and vanilla into the already creamed together butter and sugar mixture while he was right behind you. His hands on your hips, chin resting on your shoulder, his chest to your back, holding you as you work. 

“Awfully quiet there Swanson.” You tease and he hums before placing a kiss on top of your head, “Just happy.” 

“Yeah?” You asked and he responded in a tone that tattled on the smile on his face, “Yeah, very.” 

Your hair askew, sweat on your brow, still dressed from work and wearing one of his aprons as you and he make brownies together and you look more beautiful than he had ever seen you.

"I'm happy too."

The pan is greased, the mix finished and brownie batter is poured into the pan, chocolate chips are thrown on top and then the finished product is in the oven before you plated up and he poured the wine. 

He is sitting across from you in short order, starting to cut into the chicken, knife slicing through the tender meat as if there was no resistance at all and the taste once the end of the fork passed his lips was divine, it had Buddy wanting to suppress a moan. You did this, together, both of you, and he couldn’t be happier. He could get used to this, he is sure that you could live together no issue, to get to do this much more regularly is a dream come true and one he hopes can become a reality soon. He hopes that you would say yes, when should he ask-

But you are talking and all thought stops. He hangs off every word, watches the smile spread on your face as you excitedly start to talk about how good the meal came out and he enthusiastically agreed. You were always so good at that, pulling him out of his head, instead of feeling stuck in the past or thinking of the future, you tether him to the moment, to now and allow him to totally indulge and enjoy. 

“So, verdict on the mash?” You asked and he had already almost finished his portion and was debating getting another scoop which should have been enough to tell you his thoughts but he still communicated them, “Amazing. Making me think we need to do better at the restaurant.” 

 “Oh stop, are you serious?” You asked and he set down his fork and took your hand as he said with a soft smile, “As the dead themselves, I'll bring it up Monday when we are talking the seasonal menu change.” 

You believe him.

He removed the brownies from the oven and they were set on a wire baking tray to cool as you both continued in on your dinner. The wine was mostly gone, the conversation lively and Buddy felt insanely good. He made sure to save some room for dessert and with dishes soaking in the sink you cut a few brownies and put them on a small plate to split, the pair of you ended up on the couch, sitting side saddle and facing each other. 

Buddy has craved this kind of thing, domestic life, a serious relationship, real connection and romance, someone who got him. But even when he pined for all that he would see couples who feed each other and thought that it was too corny to ever be possibly enjoyable, even with the right person.

And yet.

Just like with many things throughout your time together, you had proved him wrong. You were holding out a warm piece of brownie between your fingers, almost crumbling from how moist it was, melty chocolate chips studded throughout and a nearly unbearably crispy top, the perfect dessert held out and offered in the hand of his favourite person, a dream.  

“You gonna just look at it or are you gonna eat it?” You ask in a teasing tone, a joke harks back to one of your first dates where he ended up admiring you soaked and exposed self before going down on you for the first time. It broke the tension and made you both laugh until his tongue was halfway inside you and that was replaced with a series of moans and curses.

Currently however, he scoffs before he leaned in and took a bite, this time he does moan indulgently, the flavour, the texture, he thinks he has never made a better dessert. He is sure it is because you did it together.

“So?” You ask, excited and extra hopeful because you insisted you use your recipe and he nodded, a swipe of his pink tongue over his plump bottom lip to catch the stray mess of chocolate before he said, “Astounding. You sure you don’t wanna open a bakery?” 

“Pffft, and you do know we would be on even more opposite schedules than we already are right? When would we see each other?” You ask and he said like it was plain as day, “I’d come work for you, duh.”

“You think you can work under me, Buddy?” You ask and he says, “On top of, under, beside, however you want me.” 

You giggle and he has taken the plate and is holding out a piece for you and you take him up on it. You bite down and holy shit yes they came out so good. You might have worried he talked them up or oversold to spare your feelings but they were fucking incredible. A hand covering your mouth you say, “Wow you weren’t bullshitting!”

“You think I was bullshitting?” He asked a bit too loudly with a sly grin and you shrug and say, “I mean, you’ve been known to bullshit.”

“I have dabbled in bullshit, true, but never with you!” The admission is very sweet and yet you crave more sugar still, insatiable you take another bite and notice the smears of melted chocolate on his fingers and without a second thought your tongue laps some of it up. The response is immediate, eyebrows raise, smile falls just slightly as his breath catches and you pull back, you hold up your hand still full of delectable dessert, “Before it gets cold Buddy.”

He nods with a laugh and leans in, holding your gaze he takes another bite and just like you there is mess and he just like you, moves to dutifully clean it up. But unlike you he is more thorough, his portion is mostly done, all that is left is sticky spots and crumbles of crumbs, in his haste and eagerness over how delicious it was he finished his square much faster, meaning he sets to properly tending to your fingers. His non-messy hand is on your wrist, holding you still as his tongue lathes up one finger before sliding down the other side, he draws them into his mouth, he sucks, he indulges in you until you are clean and he is high on you and the brownie in his hand is back on the plate before it is shunted to the coffee table next to the couch. You and he are kissing, the taste of your shared effort from baking passed between your lips and tongues. The soft moans radiate into the space between heated kisses and it gets much messier from there. 

How he used his mouth on you while staring into your eyes had such a strong effect on you, not dissimilar from how it is when he meets your gaze while he is touching you, his hand in your damp underwear. His tongue on your fingers shouldn’t do that but it does, it makes your clit throb, when he sucks it makes you clench around nothing and you break up the heated make out to beg, “Buddy, need you-”

That is all he needs to hear. 

You get your pants off, throw them aside and he helps with your shirt before you do the same, his own t-shirt discarded and his comfortable sweatpants are yanked down so they are around his knees before you are straddling him. You slide him inside yourself with one solid downward motion and you share a moan. You are slick, tight, so hot. His hands go to your back, his hand still messy from before is leaving smudges marks of sweetness against your skin but you need him far too much to complain or care. You roll your hips and he does the same, arcing up into you, fucking upwards to meet your downwards strokes, the pace slow and deliberate.

He is looking up at you, the way your head tips back, exposing your throat, the rise and fall of your chest, he revels in the feeling of your nails biting into his shoulders as he moves with you. It isn’t so much outright fucking as it is a series of slow grinds with your whole bodies, you lead it, abuse your sweetest spots with perfect precision, just the right angles to find your bliss, he is transfixed by you. All the moans, sharp breaths, shudders and trembles. 

“Oh my God.” He breathes and you hum, eyes opening halfway he meets your gaze, his hands draw you closer, nearly chest to chest, so much skin on skin contact he tells you, “You’re fucking stunning.”

You laugh lightly, “Thanks Buddy-” He cuts you off, his mouth latches onto your neck, he kisses fervently, overtaken by the moment and his feeling for you, he gets out between kisses and nips against your sensitive skin, “No I mean it, you’re gorgeous. I fucking love you-”

He rolls his hips harder, he hadn't counted on the first time he said it would be while he is inside you, but it feel right, he doesn't regret it. You cry his name out and he feels it bares repeating and so he does, the three words matching the pace of his thrusts, every time he bottoms out another moan is dragged from you, “-I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

You pick up the pace, harder, faster, matching him, heart hammering, slamming yourself down on him quicker, you gasp out as you clench down on him, just as swept up in the moment, you return the sentiment, “I love you too!”

It sneaks up on him unexpectedly, he curses, his head thrown against the back of the couch he moans your name, a final push upwards of his hips he buries himself all the way inside and he cums. It is one of those climaxes that he feels down to his bones, it sits in his marrow, makes him curl his toes in the living room carpet and bite his bottom lip so hard he might make himself bleed. It lasts longer than usual, your hands locking around his wrists and lifting his hands so he isn’t holding you down into place you ride him, bounce up and down, just so half of him is slipping in and out, quick, swallow, forcing yourself to clench all the while to draw out his orgasm and his eyes squeeze shut as he groans before finally when he starts nearly whimpering from overstimulation you relent. 

You sit with him buried inside of you, still once more and his hands reach out, coming to the back of your neck he leans forward and tugs you to meet him in the middle. He kisses you deeply, his tongue slips into your mouth and he no longer tastes like the treat you made, he just tastes like him. You return the affection, breathless and when you clench on him once more he gasps and his head jerks back and you laugh, “Awe, what’s the matter?”

You make yourself do it again and ask, “This?” And he groans, “Yes! That, fuck, s’ almost too much.”

“Oh only almost?” You ask with a grin, your hands slip up from his shoulders, up his neck and into those soft and sweat soaked curls. You tug and pull him nearer, you kiss him and he gives you just as much energy in return.

This time you break it and ask, "So. You love me?"

"I do. I love you so fucking much." He admits and you reaffirm. I love you too."

The moment hangs and he wants to linger in it always until you ask, once again pulling him into the current moment with you, “So what now?”

He shakes your hands off, they come to your waist and he pulls you up, he slips out of you with a wince and sets you down onto the couch next to him before he starts to move. You were about to question before he started to slide down, his knees resting on the floor, his hands on your inner thighs, fingers stroking affectionately. Your gaze follows his, coming to land right between your legs, to your well fucked but still unsatisfied cunt and he tells you just want he wanted to do. “I wanna clean up.”

His hands move so they are high enough that his thumbs spread open your lips, showing off the leaking mess and mix of you and him, he curses and then leans down, his tongue laps up you from hole to clit and you arch with an ample moan. Your hand ends up back in his curls, “You always make such a mess Buddy.”

He hums in acknowledgment, his eyes falling closed he focuses on the two fold task at hand of disposing of the leaking mess and making you cum, he pulls back only briefly, “Not the only one I’m plannin’ on making tonight but you know me, I always clean up my messes.” 

That was true. Dishes could wait till later on, right now you just wanted to indulge with him and as he sucks on your clit sloppily you are confident you don’t have the ability to do anything but just that very thing. 

[fastigiums]

[OP-ED: This post reflects the opinions of the author and not necessarily those of allkpop.] 

If you haven't spent the past year living under a rock, then you've probably heard of Boys Planet. And if you're gay or an Mnet stan, you've probably seen it. And if you've seen it, then you've heard of a certain Hwang Jaesun.

For the uninitiated (feel free to skip this paragraph if you saw the show), Jaesun competed as an independent trainee specializing in dance. He's a former Cube Entertainment trainee, presumably having brushed shoulders with Sung Hanbin and Seok Matthew before BP. After the show, he signed with Zenith Entertainment (best known for so-called cultural representatives Fable, but that's a different story) and debuted almost immediately.

Now, onto the point. Jaesun's second mini album released last week. It's a bastardized, commercialized, watered down excuse of a punk/rock album. The pop-punk-ification of kpop was a mistake. We need to put back whatever Olivia Rodrigo released into society. As if it couldn't get worse, Jaesun's album was supported by an NME cover and the worst interview I've ever read. Every sentence was physically painful, like the author had shown up to my doorstep to stab me with her pen. 

In the interview, it becomes very, very obvious that Jaesun is playing at being an idol. He speaks about his veteran actor parents in a way Lam (the author of the piece) refers to as "refreshing." It is not. She refuses to call it what it is. Nepotism. Jaesun is an idol because his parents pay for it. (That's also Zenith Entertainment's biggest issue, but again, a different story.) What happened to sheer grit and determination? Plain old good luck? Working a part-time job to finance your dream? It’s unlikely Jaesun has ever worked a day in his life.

Every word out of his mouth about his music reeks of inauthenticity. He sounds robotic and spoon-fed. He names Bring Me the Horizon, My Chemical Romance, and Paramore as his favorite bands. Anyone who’s listened to music in the past year could name the three of them. Jaesun never offers anything more concrete. There’s no “That’s the Spirit made me fall in love with rock” or “Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge inspired me to make music” or “Brand New Eyes was the first CD I bought.” Why? Because I doubt Jaesun could name any of these albums on his own.

In an era of kpop that puts so much emphasis on artistry and self-production, it’s shocking to see him succeed when so many other talented musicians remain unheard of. For all his faults, Jaesun is surprisingly open about his reliance on his producer, who wrote both of his albums. Lam describes his debut mini as "distinctly kpop" which could mean any number of things. It's average pop? Every song is three at once? The boundaries of music as we know it are being expanded upon? If it’s anything like his second album, it’s the first category (but I haven’t heard it, so you’ll have to let me know).

One thing remains obvious: Hwang Jaesun has no idea what he’s doing.

[+71, -3] not olivia and fable catching strays 💀💀

[+51, -8] if you’ve listened to his new album you’d know jaesun has writing credits. wtf are you talking about.

[+49, -3] there are other nepo babies in kpop. why is he the problem?

[+15, -10] you're not missing anything... this new album is better than his debut

[+14, -26] I agree. K-pop is so oversaturated recently. Anyone with a lot of money or the slightest interest is an idol nowadays. We still need plumbers and electricians.

WHAT DO YOU THINK? LEAVE A COMMENT HERE.

[destielficsread]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel Additional Tags: Plumber!Cas, Dean owns a cat, Fluff, meet cute, cats interfering, Orange Cat Series: Part 41 of Prompt Galore Summary:

Dean needs a professional hand in fixing his toilet, he's already had to deal with the hot voice on the phone... and then a very attractive man turns up on his doorstep.

[auroraknux]

(Twisted Destinies AU)

EDIT: This post is somewhat out of date now (mostly the part about Mario and Luigi being plumbers and wearing overalls).

When Mario and Bowser have their falling out, Mario doesn't just lose his husband. He loses his son, his friends, his home...everything he has ever known. Needless to say, he initially doesn't cope very well.

When he first moves in with Luigi, he's a broken shell of himself. He barely speaks, doesn't eat much, doesn't even sleep in the bed Luigi set up for him. He keeps losing control of his Firebrand, as his emotions spiral. Luigi does everything he can for him.

Luigi starts getting Mario to eat more. He quickly finds out that pasta wasn't really a thing in the Darklands. Their brother has never had pasta before?! How tragic! He starts making all of his favorite dishes for Mario to try. Pasta soon becomes one of Mario's favorite things in the world.

Luigi starts getting Mario out of the house more and more. He gets Mario to go grocery shopping with him. They properly introduce him to their friends. He gets him to come along and watch when he's doing plumbing work. The townsfolk are wary of Mario at first, given the kingdom's history with him. But as they realize he doesn't intend to cause them any more harm, and see how friendly he actually is, they slowly warm up to him. (It helps that Toads are very accepting people.)

Since Mario isn't ruling a kingdom or commanding an army anymore, he doesn't really know what to do with his time. Luigi decides to teach him the ways of plumbing. Turns out, he's a natural at it. The two find that they make a pretty great team.

And it's not just plumbing that they work well together on. While Peach has been acting as Luigi's mentor this whole time, there's still plenty that Mario can teach him about fighting too. He teaches them new skills and moves, and helps them learn how to control their Thunderhand. The two start creating combo moves. They're so perfectly in sync, like they've always been doing this. They both feel like this is how things were meant to be.

As Mario spends more time with his brother, getting know him and becoming more comfortable around him, his attire changes. He ditches the black, but keeps the red. He starts wearing overalls like Luigi. And eventually, he starts to wear his matching hat too (the one he was found with as a baby, but has never worn until now). Luigi, on the other hand, starts letting his hair down more. Eventually, they only tie/pin it up when they're working.

Mario still misses his family in the Koopa Kingdom, but his brother and his new friends are slowly helping to fill the void in his heart. For the first time in a while, he feels like he's going to be okay.

And then Bowser Jr. shows up on his and Luigi's doorstep

[waterboylui]

Please welcome Mariano Luis 'Lui' Julian de la Luna (HE/HIM) to Huntsville, WV. They are a 31-year-old RESIDENT who lives in TOWN. You may see them around working as a PLUMBER. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

quick facts

Name: Mariano Luis Julian de la Luna (formerly Reyes Ortega) Nickname: Lui, Julio but only from family Age: 32 Faceclaim: Sean Teale Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Tragically Straight But I'm Trans So It's Ok Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Occupation: Plumber Role: Hunter

[+] kind, even-tempered, insightful, down-to-earth [-] self-conscious, clumsy, single-minded, overconfident

background

TW: Child Neglect, Child abandonment

Lui is the fourth born Reyes Ortega sibling, up until he was ten years old, he like the rest of his siblings, had thought that he was Vero's twin brother. When the eldest of the siblings ran off, the twins tried to stop him, asking him to stay and help with the family. Their older brother on his way out decided to burn all bridges, letting it slip that Lui and Vero were affair babies from both sides. Lui the result of their mother having an affair whereas Vero was from their father's own affair. Also bringing in the realization they weren't related by blood.

In any other family this might have been a breaking point, but they were nothing if not resilient. Celia at 13 managing to keep the family together despite it all. His dynamic with Vero also didn't change, they still shared a birthday and siblings, so as far the family was concerned they were still the twins. While talking things over with Vero, the concept of gender came up, the two admitting being envious of the other in that respect.

A few conversations later and the two simply opted to switch their names along with their wardrobe. They managed to keep it mostly under wraps that they'd switched until Celia gently confronted them to ask how they wanted to move forward. After that Lui was officially Lui to the family and now the 2nd son in the family. Considering the family lacked any real male role models he felt a lot of pressure to be a good role model for the youngest sibling, Mo. Even greater pressure when Celia's boyfriend abandoned Felipe.

While he would have liked to study music in school, he doubted that be a career that would help pay the bills. Especially with his mom running away from the family, later finding out she'd reconnected with Lui's biological dad and opting to have a solo life with him. It didn't help that less than a few years later they gained another mouth to feed when Mo's dad dumped Marisol on their doorstep.

Opting instead to go to trade school alongside Vero, while it was out of town it was close enough they could come and help out when needed. Being a plumber had never been the dream, but it was a stable career which was about all he could ask for. He was in the middle of his training when the weekly phone call from home never came. Opting to follow Vero home to check in on everyone, which now over a decade later still has him in town, but hey the family is still resilient.

misc

When they were in middle school Lui and Vero switched places at school, using every trick in the book to keep it under wraps. Eventually Celia caught on and made the change official for their family, though only those in their close circle know about the switch.

At 18, Celia took the twins to legally change their names along with their gender markers. Before this they'd been going out of town for gender affirming care thanks to a non profit organization.

While he considers all his siblings except their eldest brother to simply be his siblings, nothing half about it. Marisol is the exception in he calls her his niece, opting to be an uncle figure rather than an older brother.

[simiansmoke]

@timid-plumber

"I think he thinks he's hiding his feelings," Luigi replied. "But he's totally not. He's so bad at it! Anyone with ears and listening could tell he likes my bro."

"Funky. Got it. Technically he did mention you when he told me to come here... And then picked me up and dropped me outside your door, then left in a hurry. But... Nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll end up here again as soon as I mention you and this place to Daisy."

"Yeah, sounds like it. He'll fight you tooth and nail on it, though." A chuckle and a head shake. He's lived with DK all this time to know better than to think better of him.

Some what surprised DK would unload a potential customer on his doorstep, Funky raised a hand in a shrug as he reached down to start scrubbing at the board again. "Ah hah...repeat customers? Sweet. Business isn't booming around here lately."

[sunlightandsuffering]

Mikasa feels so bad, she keeps wasting plumber Eren's time but he looks so adorable every time he shows up on her doorstep totally oblivious to her little schemes😫 She just just leaves him a big tip and cannot even meet his eyes without stuttering and turning red in the face

Sasha keeps making fun of her, she says Eren is basically Mikasa's prostitute except she's not getting any😂

He's so cute, he rolls up in his grey coveralls and a big toolbox in his hand, she always comments on how strong he is. He's so nice about it all too, he's like 'so you lost your ring again huh?" BEST BOY!

[abba-disc0unt-plumbing]

Calling all tumblr users! Did your toilet overflow again? Don’t worry, we’re here to help. Our plumber is on his way and will be at your doorstep in no time.    🚹

[echologname]

This is what I could gather:

Sparky/lekie (Scotland) - Electrician

Bricky - Construction/bricklayer

Chippie - Carpenter (they make wood chips when they cut wood)

Grease monkey - Mechanic

Ambo - EMT

Firey/Crack - Fire fighter

Garbo/Garbologist - Garbage man

Journo - Journalist

Muso - Musician

Postie - Postman

Acca - Academic

Chalky - Teacher

Truckie - Truck driver

Saltie - Sailor/fisherman

Techie - IT

Janny - Janitor

Cop/Copper - Police officer

Peeler - Police officer (archaic, British)

Plod - Police officer (British slang)

Bobby - Police officer (British slang, historic)

Cabbie - Taxi driver

Gumshoe - Detective

Hoofer - Dancer

Bouncer - Doorman

Pug - Boxer

Bean counter - Accountant

Shrink - Psychologist/Psychiatrist

Quack/Doc - Doctor (often used disparagingly)

Sawbones - Surgeon

Pen pusher - Office worker/Clerk

Gas jockey - Gas station attendant

Scribe - Writer/Journalist

Hacker - Computer programmer (modern usage)

Pencil pusher - Office worker/Clerk

Beanie - Accountant

Gaffer - Boss or head of a crew, often in film production or on construction sites

Roadie - Someone who works with a touring music band, setting up equipment

Snow plow - Ski resort worker (slang, often derogatory)

Jarhead - Marine (US military slang)

Mud slinger - Plasterer or Mason

Hoop jumper - Bureaucrat or someone dealing with paperwork tasks

Information witch/book farmer/book keeper/book jockey - librarian

Tradie (Australian) - short for tradesman

Handyman - tradesman

Dunny diver — plumber (they fix toilets or in colloquial English ‘dunnies’)

Shiny bum — an office worker or executive (because they sit on their bottom all day so it gets shiny)

Desk driver — also an office worker or executive.

Milko — a milkman who delivers the milk to your doorstep (not sure this job still exists)

Checkout chick — for a female cashier in a supermarket or shop

Tooth man/woman - dentist

Food wizard/Foodie/Kitchen commander - chef

Book keeper/information wizard - librarian

Froggie - job hopper, someone who gets a new job about every 2 months

House bum - unemployed

australians were so correct for coming up with funny nicknames for occupations