#plumber in

[plumbinglakecity]

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[alliswyattonthewesternfront]

i don't have positive or negative feelings about NYC, but in Alan Wiesman's book The World Without Us he has a chapter on the sewer system there and how high maintenance it is, how without humans there to keep it running NYC would get entirely reclaimed by water in a matter of days, and how on 9/11 the entire city was one mistake away from being completely submerged Atlantis-style under millions of gallons of sewage. so now that's the only thing i can think about when i think about new york.

[themetalhiro]

Ladies, would you rather walk over hot coals or go to the 7/11 serving butthole in these pants?

[dustybones]

for anon! happy international plumbers day!

lae'zel's delayed reaction

[wylansvanhendriks]

“i’m gay” “i’m straight” okay well??? i got no use for moonlight???? or sappy poetry???? love at first sight’s for suckers???? at least it used to be????

[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.

[heavenbarnes]

“He’s here again.”

You could swear the girl from reception says it like she knows something. Like there’s some swirling inside joke that everyone was in on,

except you.

Instead, you were left with that swirling feeling in your stomach as the elevator traveled to reception. A swirling that should’ve been laced with fear, but wasn’t.

One that was gripping tight in your stomach as the doors opened and you were eclipsed by a sun wearing blue tradesman’s clothes.

Ugly bastard.

Mean face with a shorn head, snarled lip and cauliflower ears. Tattooed arms like battering rams and tree trunk legs leading to steel cap boots like anvils.

And he was here for you.

“Um- I’m not actually in facilities.”

You could’ve cursed yourself for sounding so small. You’ve lead meetings, addressed crowds, argued points with a voice like cracked thunder.

But he takes one step towards you and,

“B-but that’s okay, I’ll take you.”

And he doesn’t say a word, just grunts as he steps into the lift with you and you feel the tension spring.

He never says a word.

He met you for the first time three years ago, the girl from facilities was on maternity leave and you happened to be the lucky duck who sat beside the reception door.

Three years later you’d changed floors and you hadn’t even seen him for at least six months. But he still asks for you.

“He always asks for you.”

You’d shushed your colleague, boasting about being helpful and having a tendency to be in office more often than not.

“Probably doesn’t want to remember another name.”

“Then how do you explain the time he refused the job when you were off sick?”

You don’t explain it, you actually try not to think about it.

When the doors open on the floor with the broken toilet, he follows you along the hall like a dog.

Like a hound.

The floor shakes every time he puts his boot on it and he actually manages to make you feel very small against picture windows.

Your colleagues look away when he walks past.

The sign for the ladies toilet at the end of the hall is like a beacon of hope, you can let him in and leave him be and then pretend to be on a phone call when it’s time for him to leave.

Until you get inside.

The sound of running water from the broken cistern echoes off the walls as you show him to the cubicle.

“It’s that one.”

He gives you a look that says “no shit” before he lowers his head to step through the stall door. He must hear your shoes scuff against the floor as you break for your exit.

“Stay put.”

You tell yourself you’re just shocked it’s the first time you’ve heard his voice. He’s British, Mancunian you reckon. Caught you by surprise.

That’s why you obediently spin on your heel and press your back to the wall.

No other reason.

You listen to the sound of grating porcelain as he removes the cistern lid and messes about with the flushing mechanism.

Your eyes catch him in the mirror, watching the way his back flexes under his work shirt as he reaches a bloody great paw into the water.

“Piece of shit.”

Second thing you’ve ever heard him say. Granted, it’s under his breath but he definitely said it. You try not to show any expression lest he have eyes in the back of his head.

Wouldn’t put it past him.

The sound of running water stops but you can tell by the huffing and puffing that he’s not fixed it, you can tell by his next outburst he’s not even close.

“Cunt of a thing.”

You almost let a smile slip onto your face before you’re blanching at the sound of your name.

“In ‘ere.”

He’s the mutt, he’s the hound with sharp teeth and clipped ears. He’s mean and he’s nasty and he’s not good with others, definitely not house trained.

But it’s you whose ears prick up at his call and immediately walk to join him in the small space. Show dog.

A retriever, running towards the sound of a gun.

The cubicle is small enough as is but with Simon (the embroidered patch on his shirt tells you, he’s never actually given you his name) in here it feels like a coffin.

You end up with your back to the wall again, this time with his elbow all but digging into your stomach. He’s got pieces of the flusher in his hand and he’s sending them your way.

Obedience in spades, you’re letting him place the dirty parts right in the flat of your hand.

Getting you as dirty as the rest of him.

“Oh, okay.”

You catch him look at you out the corner of his eye before he huffs, again, and reaches right back into the cistern.

He almost looks disappointed, dissatisfied- like he’d hope you’d put up more of a fight with him. Like you’d shove the metal right into his chest and really give him something to huff about.

But you leave your hand out stretched and let him pick from it at his leisure. Take from you as he pleases.

(He wonders if that’s a transferable skill)

To your delight (and his dismay) the toilet is back in perfect order and after three test flushes you can both leave the tiny fluorescent cave you’d been inhabiting for the last fifteen minutes.

“Um, do you need to go back upstairs or are you good to go?”

He dries his hands on the thighs of his trousers before he stares at you blankly. He snarls his lip in a way the makes the scar above it stretch and you wonder if it hurts him.

(If it does, you wonder if that’s why he does it)

He turns without warning and suddenly it’s you following him back down the hall. Struggling to keep up, pretty pampered little dog following this great big mutt around on his heels.

“Need t’go down to my van- I’ll show you.”

You could probably stop walking here. It would’ve been very easy for you to break to your desk and honestly? He probably would’ve let you.

“Oh, you don’t need me to access the garage.”

But you’re following him to the elevator anyway and you think you see that same air of disappointment drift across his features as he realises how easy you’ve made yourself.

“Don’t tell me what I don’t need.”

[fleshisfun]

man I can really go for some saltys

[ozzgin]

I’m going to hesitantly ask about reader x plumber guy

he just seems like he has a stable job and would be a much better boyfriend than the current boyfriend, y’know? Plus he’s cute 👀

feel free to ignore this

In reference to this house monster doodle. Mild NSFW!

Can you imagine the plumber guy's POV? He's an average guy, living the average life. He gets up, goes to work, then returns to his empty apartment to eat and sleep. Rinse and repeat.

He gets the usual call about some clogged shower and drives over. Now, to his credit, he's seen a fair share of gross or crazy things. It comes with the job. But he wasn't exactly anticipating a pair of tentacles to squeeze out and quickly grope him. He would've had a heart attack then and there, if it wasn't for you rushing downstairs to his aid.

Uh oh. Maybe it was the terrifying discovery of a cosmic monster, but his heart throbbed significantly harder when he first saw you. Your bright eyes, your soft voice as you helped him up and apologized. The firm, confident slap to the tentacle using the rolled-up newspaper.

"I'm afraid I'll have to come a second time", he says, sipping on the coffee you so kindly made for him to calm his nerves.

It's an obvious lie. There's nothing wrong with the pipes, and both of you are painfully aware of it. Well, except for the boyfriend, who is still focused on his match upstairs. But the plumber cannot think of any other excuse to see you again.

He straddles his motorcycle and starts the engine. He's just an average guy, on his way to have a threesome with someone he met last week, and their tentacle house monster. While the boyfriend plays video games in his room.

Today, however, is different. He ponders his next words carefully while he pounds into you. He's about to suggest that you dump the useless pal, and instead settle for him and the ancient Beast.

Would you accept his offer?

[Korean drama ending credits]

[dmitryanya]

you ever think about the rooftop being sacred, where people get to see jack as he really is ?? just me ??

[plumbinglakecity]

Beneath the Surface: The Hidden World of Water Line Replacement

Journey underground as we uncover the mysteries and challenges of water line replacement. From aging infrastructure to innovative solutions, this presentation delves into the vital but often unseen network that sustains our daily lives. More details visit here:-  https://bit.ly/3PaEh72

[paperbooart]

sketches from a couple different newsies productions

[wistfulpoltergeist]

Amadeo Goldfield

Son of Elon Goldfield (filthy rich real estate developer and investor). A gorgeous young man of high origin trying to cut ties with his influential, oppressive family by setting up his own business. Awfully cheap Victorian house on the hill seems like a good start.

Dr. Mark Stonefall

Professor of Psychology, war veteran and member of the Parapsychological Association, investigates the paranormal with his loyal army pal and assistant, Jason. Author of several works on telepathy and extrasensory perception.

Gloria Heartaway

Mark's ex-girlfriend and therapy couch for a short time after the war. They graduated together from one faculty, yet Gloria is skeptical and finds parapsychology all fake, has strong belief in scientific methods and medicine. Mostly deals with trivia problems of high society wives.

Jason Analu

Former soldier and war veteran, Mark's flatmate and assistant. His family came from a lineage of (Sulani) healers and shamans, making him curious about his friend's research.

Elliot O'Brian

Wonder boy, a young man who beat the telepathy test giving 90% correct answers. While the world admires his abilities, his own family wishes him dead. Simply because you can't hide anything from Elliot. A cook from some small pizzeria who dreams about opening his own restaurant.

Pani Freya Burana

Hereditary witch, Tarot expert and medium who speaks with the dead through automatic writing. She lives in her own world of occult and believes she was born to give the living a well-deserved magic kick (for a small, almost insignificant fee of a few thousand). Author of ten books on how to open a Goddess within you and one on how to buy all your Goddess wants but can't afford.

Mr and Mrs Rogers

Servants in Hillhouse, strange pious, somber siblings who look after the mansion as their parents did before them, and their grandparents before that… They know that the house is haunted and the only way to avoid being cursed is to leave before dark, stay loyal and do their bids solemnly.

Hecate Moreno

15-years old Russell's half-sister, left by their father to Russell's care. Her mother died in a car crash when she was five. After Mr Moreno married a prosperous journalist and TV hostess and had three more kids with her, he lost any interest in his older kids as a painful reminder of his stressful past. Hecate is a grim, angry teen with a heart filled with dark thoughts and an irresistible appeal to horror movies. The only person she truly cares for is her brother. Secretly, she dreams about Russell turning into a vampire and eating up all their happy, successful family. She'd buy popcorn to watch that.

Russell Moreno

The plumber.

[inkskinned]

the rise of AI art isn't surprising to us. for our entire lives, the attitude towards our skills has always been - that's not a real thing. it has been consistently, repeatedly devalued.

people treat art - all forms of it - as if it could exist by accident, by rote. they don't understand how much art is in the world. someone designed your home. someone designed the sign inside of your local grocery store. when you quote a character or line from something in media, that's a line a real person wrote.

"i could do that." sure, but you didn't. there's this joke where a plumber comes over to a house and twists a single knob. charges the guy 10k. the guy, furious, asks how the hell the bill is so high. the plumber says - "turning the knob was a dollar. the knowledge is the rest of the money."

the trouble is that nobody believes artists have knowledge. that we actively study. that we work hard, beyond doing our scales and occasionally writing a poem. the trouble is that unless you are already framed in a museum or have a book on a shelf or some kind of product, you aren't really an artist. hell, because of where i post my work, i'll never be considered a poet.

the thing that makes you an artist is choice. the thing that makes all art is choice. AI art is the fetid belief that art is instead an equation. that it must answer a specific question. Even with machine learning, AI cannot make a choice the way we can - because the choices we make have always been personal, complicated. our skills cannot be confined to "prompt and execution." what we are "solving" isn't just a system of numbers - it is how we process our entire existence. it isn't just "2 and 2 is 4", it's staring hard at the numbers and making the four into an alligator. it's rearranging the letters to say ow and it is the ugly drawing we make in the margin.

at some point, you will be able to write something by feeding my work into a machine. it will be perfectly legible and even might sound like me. but a machine doesn't understand why i do these things. it can be taught preferences, habits, statistical probability. it doesn't know why certain vowels sound good to me. it doesn't know the private rules i keep. it doesn't know how to keep evolving.

"but i want something to exist that doesn't exist yet." great. i'm glad you feel creative. go ahead and pay a fucking artist for it.

this is all saying something we all already knew. the sad fucking truth: we have to die to remind you. only when we're gone do we suddenly finally fucking mean something to you. artists are not replicable. we each genuinely have a skill, talent, and process that makes us unique. and there's actual quiet power in everything we do.

[pianokantzart]

I've been doing a bit of research, and it turns out in New York City you are required to have at least seven years of experience to become certified as a "master plumber." A minimum of two of these years need to be spent as a "journeyman plumber," where you're licensed to repair pipes so long as you're working under the supervision of a master plumber.

Mario and Luigi can't legally run their business if they're both journeyman plumbers, but that would mean (if they are really both 24-25 like Shigeru Miyamoto says) at least one of them began training to be a plumber the instant he got out of high school. But if that's the case, how did they end up working in demolition?

My theory is that, since demolition companies sometimes locate and strip fixtures in commercial and residential properties for reuse or resale, plumbing fittings included, The Wrecking Crew hired the two plumbers-in-training to spot salvageable materials and take them apart. But if Foreman Spike happens to have a bone to pick and/or is on a power trip, I can easily imagine him adding hard labor on top of whatever plumbing-related jobs they were assigned until their schedule was filled with far more wrecking than plumbing.

But eventually, Mario got all his hours logged, passed his master plumber exam, got his commercial activity license, and got him and his brother the heck out of there. Which brings me to an additional theory that Luigi is still a journeyman plumber and not yet a master plumber.

There's a few bits of Nintendo lore that describe Luigi as something of an "understudy," or otherwise not quite as experienced as his brother in the realm of plumbing.

Which makes sense given the way Luigi seems to take on the apprentice role, closely watching the way Mario works and carrying around all the tools.

I think Luigi didn't immediately know what he wanted to do the moment he graduated high school the way Mario did. Maybe he dabbled in mechanics for a little bit before he ultimately decided to join his bro in his plumbing venture, but as a result he's a few years behind.

[dustybones]

i believe the follow up to this got lost so HERE IT IS AGAIN