#handyman!james potter

[inkdrinkerworld]

jack of all trades

wc: 3.7k

pairing: handyman!james x teacher!reader [though can be read as any reader]

cw: fluff, life mishaps, handyman!james, mention of a break in, family dynamics [healthy], mention of food

You were fucked. You should’ve just called a plumber from the beginning.

Now your pipes were all wrinkled and your sink wasn’t draining.

Your heart was in your throat as you pulled out your phone and called your brother, Michael.

“Do you know any plumbers? My sink’s pipe is fucked,” you send him a picture and he chuckles down the line. Your brother is a mechanic, but he's got friends in many places.

Places you hope include wherever they hire plumbers.

“Yeah, I’ll call someone. Make sure you don’t use it again, dummy.” you nod, chewing at your cuticle.

“Thanks,” your voice shakes and you know your brother is frowning.

Life had been fucking you with no prep for the last couple months. Someone had broken into your house almost five weeks ago, stolen a couple small pieces of jewellery and fucked with your locks.

You’d had to change the locks, your front door and you’d taken to sleeping in the living room with a three inch knife under your pillow.

That had put you out of money for groceries and your brother had taken over doing it for you till you could again.

Now you can’t wash your dishes and your anxiety is all over the place.

“Stop it, go get ice cream or something. I’ll come over with him if he can swing it, okay?”

“You're the best,” you say earnestly and he chuckles, “I’ll buy shit to make the buns you like as payment.”

Your brother doesn’t deny himself the delicacy- it had taken a while for you to get back into doing things that made you happy and he was also a sucker for them.

“I’ll text you what he says, be safe. Love you.”

You return the sentiment and head out, double checking that you’d locked the gate and the front door.

You’d gotten a pint of orange creamsicle, and a pint of caramel biscuit and cream before getting the stuff to make the buns for your brother.

As you set them all down on your counter your phone pings off.

‘He can come tomorrow morning at 9, I’ll come with him. He’s a good guy though, don’t worry.’

You send your brother a thumbs up and then he sends you a photo of the man you suppose is coming to fix your pipes. He’s good looking, his hair is long in the photo, tied back in a low bun but there’s curls on his forehead. Another thing you notice is how massive he is. He’s broad and muscular but in the photo you’re looking at he’s got a warm smile on his face that shows off a dimple.

He looks friendly enough. Maybe tomorrow won’t be so bad.

You try to sleep in your bed, you don’t want your brother to notice that you’re still on the sofa in the morning, but being so far from the door makes your heart clench and you find yourself dragging your blanket out to the sofa that you’re sure by now has your body’s impression.

“Last night,” you say to yourself as you cuddle your pillow and tuck your blankets under your chin.

Your alarm has you groaning. 6:30 is a nice time, but not so nice when you don’t actually have to go into the preschool to teach, but for parent meetings at 11. Rubbing your eyes, you sit up, legs already moving to the kitchen to set the kettle on.

You go through your morning routine and only feel alive when you have a cup of tea and a bite of the last of sourdough toast you’d made last week. Your phone rings and you already know it’s your brother, “Yes I’m awake, dork.” he might be older than you by four years but you’re really close so the teasing is nice.

“Open the door then, and make sure you have on your glasses.” you flip him off over the phone but walk across the floor, glasses on, to unlock the door.

“Where’s your key?” you ask as you open the door, finding your brother holding two brown paper bags and the man in the photo standing next to him in grimy coveralls.

“I hooked it on the look of my pants, James was being prudish about touching me.”

“I wasn’t,” the beefy man starts, jingling his toolkits as an answer. His voice is nice, deep, cherry and his drawl is a little slow, but still very pleasant.

“Come in,” you step to the side and open the door wider. “Don’t worry about him, he just likes people touching him.” your brother scowls but doesn’t deny it.

“Don’t laugh when you see it, this one already did. I know it’s bad.” you say nervously as James sets down his stuff.

“S’fine, can’t be much worse than some of the other stuff I’ve seen.”

“Come eat, I got you that breakfast cake thing you like.” your brother sets the box before you, sliding over your cup of tea and a bottle of orange juice.

“Did you eat?” you eye him as you sit on the island.

“Shanice made eggs and toast.” you love your future sister-in-law, but the mention of her in the kitchen has enough merit to make your stomach roll in discomfort and your body to produce a gag.

“There’s chicken salad in the fridge and the bread’s there too,” you turn to James, “Do you want anything to eat, James? There’s vegan stuff in the fridge too if you don’t eat meat.”

Your brother rolls his eyes, “He could eat an entire chicken if he really wanted to.” You’re positive there’s a small blush on James’ face. He’s even prettier in person and you’re really trying not to stare.

His hair is tied back like it was in the photo, inky curly spirals slipping out around his ears and the nape of his neck. His eyes are a shade of brown that reminds you of sand- dark but flecked with lighter hues; he’s captivating.

He’s almost as wide as your fridge and his arms are huge, but he looks soft, even with all the corded muscles. You will your eyes not to linger on his hands.

Your brother makes himself a triple sandwich and takes one of your iced teas.

“I’m alright,” he eyes your cup of tea, “I could do with a cuppa though.” you nod and set the kettle on.

“One sugar or two?” He holds up a single finger before opening the cupboards. He hisses and you suppose that’s better than the laugh that bursts from your brother.

“S’not that bad,” you can tell he’s being extra nice when he sees the embarrassed look on your face, “I’ll have to change all the pipes though. Whoever installed these ones used really thin PVC so under the heat it crumpled.” James stands and accepts the tea from the dainty mug without a complaint.

“Will it be super expensive?” you ask, and your brother flicks your forehead. “What? You know I can’t afford many more swings right now.” You only feel a twinge of embarrassed heat licking at your neck as you look between James and Michael.

“You’re such an idiot, I’ll go half with you.” He says and you nod, giving him your best smile but your brother draws the line when you try to hug him.

“It won’t be, but I can’t do it today. The better pipes have to be ordered in, but they only take like a day to get here.” James explains and you nod.

“That’s fine, I’ve got most of my stuff already cooked so there won’t be much dishwashing.” James finishes the tea and pulls out a pen and paper from his bag. “Here’s my number, you can text me in like two days about it if I don’t call Michael first.”

You nod again, thanking him as he gathers all his stuff and moves for the door. Your brother waves him away and then turns to you, frowning.

“You still sleeping on the sofa?” It’s then that you realise you hadn’t put your blanket or your pillow away and scowl.

“I can’t sleep in the bed, my mind just runs wild.” you say as you finish your tea and cake. “I’ve been trying though.”

The door shuts and you realise James has probably heard what you’ve said. Your mouth can’t seem to not run away from you when he’s around.

You brush the slight shame away with the semi-reassuring thought that ‘at least he doesn’t know why a grown woman can’t sleep in her own bed,’ it doesn’t last long, but it mellows the initial sting.

Michael ruffles your hair and you shrug, “It’ll just take some time,” he says softly, “Want me to get a security system?” You shake your head at that.

“You’re already going half and half with me on this, and you paid for my groceries for like three weeks. I’ll be okay.”

Your brother doesn’t look convinced, but he can’t argue with you because his phone rings.

“Work, I gotta go, but think about it okay? Shanice won’t mind either,” you nod but you both know you won’t be thinking about anything.

“Have a good day at work, I’ll bake those buns the second the sink’s all good.”

-

You’re coming back from work the next day when your phone rings, an unknown number. You frown and then realise it might be James.

“Hello?”

“Hi, angel. This is James,” he says, like you’ve forgotten his name over the last twenty four hours.

“Hi James, is everything okay?” you ask, shoving a couple folders into your bag from the passenger seat of your car.

“Yeah, was calling about the pipes. I’ve just picked them up and I’m near-by. Would you mind at all if I came to install them today?”

You stick the key in the ignition, “I wouldn’t mind, but I’m about twenty minutes from my house, would you wait?”

You really hope he can, you want this problem resolved as soon as possible.

“I can, angel. Don’t sweat it,” he says before he hangs up. You do a happy shimmy in your seat before pulling out of the school’s parking lot.

Next, you call Michael.

“James is coming over to fix the pipes today, just in case you know, I go missing or something.”

Your brother laughs, “He’s a sweetheart. Maybe stop listening to your crime podcasts, you’re getting even more morbid.”

“Oh whatever, I’ll stop by tomorrow with the buns.”

“Make sure you get some sleep,”

“Yeah yeah, I’m going now.”

James is in his car when you pull up, a bronco that looks very well kept. “Sorry for the wait,” you say as you unlock your door.

“S’fine, had enough time to have a late lunch.”

You check your watch, “It’s almost four James, that’s more like an early dinner.”

The man lifts his shoulder and drops it with a smile, “It’s been one of those days.”

“Do you want a cup of tea or iced tea?” you ask as you open your fridge. “I should warn you though, they’re addictive.”

“What flavour iced tea do you have?” you smile, James might be someone else you get hooked on them.

“Peach, hibiscus and I think I see one last cucumber melon.”

“Which is your favourite?”

“Peach! It’s not really that sweet though, but if you like it super sweet maybe hibiscus would be better.”

James smiles at the way you ramble as he opens up his toolkit and then the pipes.

“I’ll take the peach angel,” you pass him the glass bottle after tipping it upside down. James takes a long sip and sighs, “That’s good.” you nod and then move to take out a bowl of rice and chicken.

“Do you need me to get anything? To help?” you ask and James shakes his head.

“Not right now,” you think about going to eat before asking,

“Can I watch? Just to know what you’re doing?” then you back track as James doesn’t say anything.

“Not because I don’t trust you to do it well, I just like knowing. Like with my door, I learned how to put it up when I had to change it,” you realise you’re rambling when James smiles and his dimple is visible through his stubble.

“You can watch angel, you can hand me the tools I’ll need.”

You and James make a good team- you’d been nervous at first and then when James was so close you could smell his coconutty cologne you felt your head go a little light but almost two hours later, your pipes were changed.

“Moment of truth is if the water goes down,” you say as you stand, knees cracking in the process.

James nods, “You’re not a bad assistant, if you ever change professions I’ll put in a good word for you.”

You beam at that before opening up the tap and letting the water flow. Not even a drop of it pools in the sink and your heart feels like a feather floating away in the breeze.

“You did it!” you turn to James with a pleased smile and he blushes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you exclaim and he chuckles, already packing up his toolkit.

“You’re welcome angel, Michael already paid by the way.”

You shake your head at your brother’s actions, but you can’t find it in you to be upset, not when your sink is fixed. “Can I entice you to have dinner then? I’ll feel bad if you just go,” you tack on when James doesn’t answer. “I’ve got pizza or taco bowls.” you sing-song and that breaks him.

“What kind of pizza?”

It’s how James ends up on your sofa, overalls hanging off his hips, revealing a dark red compression shirt as he holds his plate.

Your blanket is still on the sofa, but you shove it to the armchair.

“Wanna watch anything specific? I’m going through Christmas movies right now,” James’ eyes are wide at your confession.

“It’s the middle of August,” you nod and bite your bar-b-que chicken pizza.

“I’m making a short list of Christmas movies for this Christmas. Last three years in a row I did one.”

James grins, “So I take it you like the season.”

You nod, “If you ask Michael, he’d tell you I was obsessed with it,” you shrug, setting down the slice of pizza.

“When we were kids, I used to go crazy about it. Write letters to Santa with our address and mail it, play Christmas songs all through the month and I was a little excessive with the decorations- especially when I started working and could buy the ones I wanted. It just always feels like a good time- eternal joy and hope and all that jazz I guess.”

James looks around your house now and finds a few trinkets in the space and for a moment he can imagine it decked out for Christmas. “I can see it,” he groans as he takes a bite. “That’s delicious, angel.”

Your face gets hot under the compliment and you give James a small smile.

“What are you watching now?” he asks, taking another bite.

“The Holiday,” you search for the remote and find the movie. “It makes the shortlist every year, but it’s so good.”

James and you watch the remaining forty five minutes, and he nudges your shoulder during the sad parts so you don’t let the tears in your eyes fall.

“Do you think people rent that cottage?” He asks you and you frown.

“I dunno, but if it’s for rent it’ll be so nice! It’s so cosy looking.”

James doesn’t point out that your house looks just as cosy. It reminds him of the houses you see in magazines- not the boring ones that’s all one colour and minimalistic, but the ones that seem to be alive with colour and things.

He’s sure they all serve a purpose- the small statues in one corner near your window, the coasters that look like flowers, it all seems to complement you and your home and James thinks to himself, ‘this is what a home should be.’

He stretches as he stands and you do as well, reaching for his plate that he doesn’t give. Instead he takes your own and walks to the kitchen.

“You’re a guest, guests don’t do the dishes.” you try to get your plate back but it’s no use, James is already washing them and stacking them in the draining board.

“Thanks for dinner angel,” he picks up his toolkit and the bucket of parts that need to be tossed out.

“You’re welcome, thanks for fixing my pipes.”

James waves it off, “I’d say we should do this again sometime, but changing your pipes so frequently isn’t ideal.”

It isn’t till after you hear the innuendo in his words. You do laugh a little in the moment, so James counts it as a win. Your laugh reminds him of that fairy in the show his niece loves- a sweet tinkering, bell-like sound that makes him smile.

“It was nice though. You’re good company.”

You walk James to the door, “Make sure and lock up,” he says kindly and you nod.

You notice that you don’t hear his boots don’t move till he hears the locks click and your heart flutters stupidly at the action.

You can’t like him already, you barely know him. A voice in the back of your head says, “But he’s already so dreamy,” you’re very inclined to agree.

-

You’d thought that would’ve been the last time you saw James too, but three weeks later, he’s at your brother’s house for his summer party and you’re fucked all over again.

He’s not a bad sight to be greeted with, arms exposed in his black tank top and his thighs. They’re thick and you can see the outline of muscle on them, even from far away. There’s a couple smattering of tattoos that peak from the hem of his shorts and you have to stop yourself from drooling.

He’s laughing at something Shanice is telling him, and he looks even more gorgeous.

It should be illegal, you think to yourself, for the man to look that effortlessly beautiful.

“You made it!” Michael says, handing you the drink in his hand before gesturing for you to follow him.

“You said if I didn’t come you’d have called me non-stop. I love you, but that’s annoying.” Michael leads you over to his fiance and James. You hug Shanice and wave politely at James.

Conversation is easy, and James hopes he’s being discrete as his gaze falls to you a little longer than necessary. You catch him once, and the look in his eyes confuses you just a little.

You don’t think badly of yourself, but you’re just in a pair of jean shorts and the top of your bikini- a pretty pink colour, after you’d read an article about lifeguards having a hard time spotting people in pools and the ocean if they had on blues and greens- is exposed by your lack of shirt.

In any case, you didn’t think it was cause for his stares to linger and look so… primal if that was even the right word.

Michael says, “James, do you know any good alarm systems?” as you sip your peach iced tea and vodka. You elbow your brother as James nods.

“There’s a few out there that I’d recommend, why?”

“Don’t,” you murmur to Michael who ignores you entirely.

Your brother doesn’t hesitate as he says, “Someone broke into her house a couple weeks ago and she hasn’t been able to sleep in her room since.”

“Yeah, just talk about me like I’m invisible,” you mutter and James feels anger and fury for you fester in his chest. It blooms rapidly and takes him by surprise.

“You’re not invisible, you’re just a hard head.” your brother says, James is inclined to agree as well- especially after the portion of the conversation he had overheard that first day you met.

“I can stop by the hardware tomorrow if you want, should have some of the ones I usually recommend.”

Your brother smirks and you feel shame and something you can’t yet name balloon your belly.

“Thank you, James,” you say as you finish off your vodka iced tea, already feeling for another one.

As the food comes out, you help yourself; ensuring to avoid James’ gaze because over the last couple weeks he’s seemed to come to know a lot of the bad things about your life. You pile watermelon and pineapple on one side of your plate before picking some fries and a bar-b-que chicken breast. Your hand reaches for a lemonade when a bigger one grabs it.

“I got it angel,” James’ own plate is full too. More meat than fruit but it’s fuel either way so it doesn’t bother you. “Where’re you sitting?”

You point to the seat near the pool.

“You don’t have to be so nice, James. Michael’s mouth is just too big for his own good.”

James rolls his eyes, “I’m not being nice because of him,” he says, taking the seat beside you and handing over your lemonade after cracking the seal. “Or because I fixed your pipes, or anything else.”

You frown as you chomp on a piece of watermelon. “You’re not?”

James shakes his head, digging into his food.

You squint at him and James chuckles, “No, you should feel safe in your house.”

You don’t say anything much after that, overwhelmed by his care- even if you’re stopping yourself from reading too far into it.

“You’re real sweet, James.” you say after a while, spearing a look at him to find his eyes already on you; that same kind of hungry look in his eyes like earlier.

“Yeah?” he hums and for a moment you want him to kiss you. You want to feel the press and the heat of his lips on yours, then you catch the thought. You hardly know him. But you want him and him coming over to install the security system might not go as smoothly as the plumbing had gone. You find you wouldn’t mind if James does something other than install the alarm system.

“Yeah.”

[hitmewithsomebooks]

Handyman

Just a lil idea :)

251 words

~

“Oh, I hired a handyman to fix that stupid window.” Regulus told his flatmates, one of whom looked up.

“When’ll he be here?” Pandora asked, half-heartedly filing her nails.

“Tomorrow.” Regulus told her, before settling down so they could watch Gilmore Girls for the fiftieth time.

*

This was not what any of them had expected. Regulus had been thinking maybe a middle-aged-dad kind of guy with a tool belt. Pandora had been thinking along similar lines, maybe even older. Barty had been expecting an Italian. Evan hadn’t really cared.

But now, all the attention was very much on this expectation-breaking man. Because he was gorgeous.

Strong, bulging biceps and veiny forearms, sun-kissed skin with scattered freckles, silver glasses resting on a straight nose, and a mop of wild, gorgeous brown curls. He looked like a fucking dream. Except, he was very much real, because in less than 15 minutes, he’d fixed their miserable, impossible window, and sported a blinding smile afterwards.

*

reggie weggie bear: guys

pandoratheexplora: u fucked the handyman

reggie weggie bear: i fucked the handyman

bartemius: yayy slut era

Evan: you’d be the expert

Bartemius: i can show u my expertise evvy ;)

Evan: sure i could use a lesson

Bartemius: wait fr

Bartemius: stay in ur room I’m coming

Evan: well not so soon i hope

pandoratheexplora: grossss

reggie weggie bear: I hate u two

pandoratheexplora: Reggie start the car

pandoratheexplora: they’re getting loud I don’t wanna hear this

Reggie weggie bear: on it

~

Pray for Pandora 🫡🙏

[jegulily-stuff]

Ship prompt: Who calls the handyman and who tries to fix the roof/plumbing/stove themselves?

Lily - tries to fix it herself, theres no need to spend money on something you can work out how to do on your own, methodical but doesn't know when to give up for better or worse, maybe you come home and the boiler is working better than ever or maybe you come home and every radiator is about to burst

James - 'of course i can fix it' and sometimes he does but sometimes he just breaks it more, he's not incompetent but sometimes theres more 'man of the house' ego than precise knowledge or skill, he's usually mirror calling sirius who does understand at least mechanics

Reg - that's not his job, it's literally someone else's job and you can employ them for it, why would he not do that?, then he's either the type to hover over workers in his house to 'oversee' or to hide away until the strangers are out of his personal space no inbetween

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2023.07.31 ~ Harry J. Potter’s birthday

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. Between the jars of chocolate spread by @nelweensfic [G, 1k]

►It's Harry's morning birthday and Draco wants some pancakes, nothing can't go wrong, right?

2. Denial and its Side Effects by A_MX [T, 81k]

►Shortly after returning to Hogwarts to complete his education, Harry begins to suffer from nightmares. At the same time, he begins to form some sort of friendship with Draco Malfoy, the disgraced heir of the Malfoy family. His friends don't approve of this, but Harry insists that everyone deserves a second chance.

3. The Luckiest by epiphany_dex [E, 10k, series]

►It’s Harry’s birthday and Draco is determined to make it absolutely perfect.

---

Fest/Exchange

★ Harry James Potter Week 2023 | @harryjamespotterweek

A Glimmer of Hope by @drarrypotterrenaissance [T, 1k]

Love To Hate You by @starlitsilvereyes [E, 1k]

Magic from the Start by @drarrypotterrenaissance [T, 2k]

You win. by @poljupci [M, 1k]

5. Sun Thief by Anonymous [E, 28k]

►It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs. Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again. ★ HD Wireless 2023 | @hd-wireless

[myriadparacosm]

Marauders but it's a Charmed AU (I don't know if it makes it very cursed or the opposite)

The precedent charmed ones were Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa but Bellatrix became evil and Andromeda chose to give up on the craft for her husband's safety. SADLY the Charmed ones never happened for long years because of how strong Evil is and all that but then--

Sirius is the one coming back to their 'ancient home' after running away because their uncle Alphard dies - so he comes to see Regulus (TransRegulus) and the funeral. Evan Rosier is actually living with Regulus because he ran away from his overwhelming father, with Pandora, but they don't know that their family is deeply close as in Evan is Walburga's /forbidden child/ with Rosier (maybe she also killed her husband because she wanted the whole Black heritage for herself and might as well steal the Rosiers) but Evan is actually Sirius and Regulus half-brother (INCESTUOUS FAMILIES SIRIUS SCREAMS) so the power of three triggers when Sirius comes for the funeral.

Pandora is also here because she is the best, also living with them, but Evan took her witchcraft as a simple hobby and Regulus lets her hex the noisy neighbour and always thinks she is just that lucky. Pandora is a bit annoyed that Evan gets to be a Charmed One, since she is her twin and so Sirius & Regulus' half-sister, but she still decides to include herself. "The Charmed Ones and the secret sister!"

Their first enemy is Walburga's ghost because she is awful (it's also how they learnt that Evan is their half-brother) who is mad that all her shameful son are back home and don't deserve to be wizards because they will be /good/ and that's a big no-no!

Sirius sleeps with the hot bookish neighbour who is actually a werewolf.

"Are you mad?! We should vanquish him not give him a bloody orgasm!"

"Reggie, you don't have all the facts."

"Which are?"

"I love him. AND EVAN ALMOST SLEPT WITH A DEMON!"

"And he learnt from that!"

"And I'm never going to do that again."

Barty sneezes from the underworld and decides to go visit the human world and maybe see what's so hard about killing the Charmed Ones (he becomes a simp for Evan with just a glance)

Regulus isn't that better because he falls in love with their "gardian angel" James Potter, who is far too friendly with Sirius for his comfort, and he is very weak to their muscular 'handyman'.

[roonilwazlibimagines]

You know those girls whose dads build everything for them and expect their boyfriend to do the same? That’s James Potters daughter right there.

Like at first I don’t think James knows how to do anything because his parents did everything for him growing up + magic but then when they have Harry, James has to put the cot together and he has this realisation that he wants to be the handyman dad who doesn’t take 12 hours to build a basic cot from the box

And so by the time their baby girl arrives James is the handyman dad like he can do all the little jobs around the house, he made little quidditch goals for Harry like he is an electrician, a builder, a plumber, a gardener you name it, James can do it

And so their little baby girl gets used to this because James absolutely spoils her and loves doing his handyman things and so one day she moves out with her boyfriend and a light goes out or something and he tells her he’ll call the electrician tomorrow and she’s just like ?! What do you mean? Just fix it? And he’s like idk how to fix a lightbulb wtf who knows how to fix a lightbulb??? And she’s like well my dad could fix it

And you can safely assume that James gets an owl from his 20 something daughter asking him to come fix her light and he’s there within the minute even if it is almost 12am

Her boyfriend always rolls his eyes because her favourite words are ‘well my dad could fix it’ and James thinks it’s funny but he also is kind and so he teaches her bf how to do things even if it breaks his heart because he liked that she still relied on him for these things

[flyinglotus777]

Fleeting Lotus

An usually sunny day on September 22nd. Reminiscing on the great remembrance of the 21st night of September. Although the sky was clear, my thoughts were cloudy. 3 years had passed since the death of my mother and I celebrated how I celebrated any other anniversary in my life, with a pack of menthol cigarettes and a book to get lost in. The pick for the day was Harry Potter: Order of the Phoenix. My mother and I shared a love for Harry Potter, she introduced me to the series. I had a strange feeling that judgement was coming to me swiftly much as it met our three estranged heroes.

A knock at the door.

“Los Angeles police, open up.” an assertive, but comforting voice commanded.

I open the door to be greeted by a beautiful detective James. First name unknown. She had a slicked back, long curly ponytail and eyes of warm chocolate. Her skin was sun kissed and I found her presence to be encapturing. I wonder what she wants with me.

“Good morning sir. I am detective James. I am aware that your girlfriend, Lauren, has been missing for a couple of days and I would like to ask you some questions.” Her eyes pierced at me with persistence. Her tone sounded as if she was asking a question, but I knew she would come again if I denied. Maybe with more reinforcement.

“Uh, sure. Come on in.” I shut the green door behind her and light a cigarette. If I am to be interrogated, I shall answer in smoke.

“Sir, can you put that out?” 

“No, but I’ll open a window for you. You can sit by it.” I turn on a fan and open a window. I open the blinds slightly to see the families laugh and play in the shallow, motel infested pool. What a bunch of turds, I laugh to myself. 

I grab a seat for the lady and one for myself next to the ashtray. I see her eyes wander in silent judgement and amazement of the room. 

“There you go, Ms. James. Now what can I help you with?”

“Your girlfriend, Lauren Alexander-”

“Ex. I don’t make love to the dead,” I chuckle.

“She has been missing for over five days. We are doing an investigation and asking all close friends and family members about her whereabouts and when they saw her last. Why do you say she is dead?” she asks unsteadily, gripping the upholstered arm chair.

“Well, five days missing in this city means you’ve been kidnapped or killed. Especially for women, I’m sure you know that all too well yourself ma’am. Besides, I am the one who called to inform the police of her absence.” I take a drag and relinquish the air and stress I had built up inside of me for the past few days. She eyed me up and down as I spoke, taking notice of my fully unbuttoned beige, roaring tiger print shirt to reveal my white Hanes undershirt matched with my khaki capris. I placed my leg over my ankle so maybe she would catch a glance of my Nike socks and birkenstock combination. I did dress myself today after all. Her eyes read suspicion, but somehow I could tell she was doubtful of me. 

“Well, I would just like to ask some questions and I will be on my way.”

“Ask away. How rude of me. I forgot to mention, my name is Jacob Whitmore. My friends call me Jakey, but they haven’t been calling me as much lately.” I took another drag. Nothing screams rise and shine like a nicotine coated menthol and sitting across from an upgraded police officer.

She shakes her head in disgust and despair. “Mr. Whitmore-”

‘Please, call me Jacob.”

A heavy breath followed by a restrained urge to eye roll left the detective. 

“No more interruptions please. Where were you on Thursday, September 18th?”

“Well let’s see.” I begin to close my eyes and play in my hair in an attempt to rush my memory to the present. I need more nicotine for this. “I remember waking up that morning in my downtown Los Angeles apartment, noisier than ever that morning. Lauren had made me her classic breakfast special: bland eggs with turkey bacon and 3 chocolate chip Eggos before rushing off to work. She worked multiple jobs. She walked dogs in the morning before heading off to her fabulous mansion tour of house cleaning. Demeaning, but rewarding as me and the bills always thanked her.  I had suspicions that she had been cheating on me. I found love letters in her pockets while doing the laundry. I was a stay at home while she took care of me in between jobs. I know, you don’t find too many of us house husbands,” I said, smirking at the unimpressed detective. 

“Anyways, I decided that day I was going to follow her. Do some investigating of my own. I could’ve asked her, but I wanted to see for my own eyes the poor bastard that she was playing. You see, she loved me. We were in love and inseparable. She would be playing this rascal, but still wishing the man sweetening her gears was me.” I lit another cigarette, thankful for the lotus shaped ashtray that contained a mountain of my remnants over these past few days.

“Self absorbed, maybe but that was the kind of love her and I shared.” A smile shot across my face uncontrollably. “To my great fortune, she was loyal. I watched her rip the gardening boy a new one as she proclaimed her love for me. Lauren had the mouth of a New Yorker with the face of an angel.” A chuckle escaped through my lips along with the smoke. “I was so happy I bought her roses, her favorites. Yellow bodies with pinked tipped petals. I bought her three bouquets and decided I was going to make her favorite, fettuccine alfredo. Then I was going to lay her down like I was a handyman and the Lord hand delivered me a golden pipe to fix all broken faucets in the city.” I ashed my cigarette and began to spiral as the next menthol met my lips. I could see the concern on the detective’s face as my demeanor began to colden. 

“I made her dinner. I cleaned the apartment. I lit candles on the table and on the counter. I wasn’t too big of a romantic, but I knew how to set the mood.” I chuckled as I hunched over in my chair, staring at the ground. My hands began to tremble. I abandoned my dear ashtray for the floor. “I called her five times in the first round, no response. The clock struck 5:30, and I knew that was the time she was usually getting onto the bus. Sometimes she had went to the gay bar on Melrose, the one with the illuminated turtle splashing into an ale of beer. That quacky place,” I begin to rub my head in distress. “But she texted me that she had a long day and would be coming home as soon as possible to run a bubble bath. I was going to fuck her in the tub too.” I place my hands in my head as I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes, sucking them back into their place. The detective has been silent, but watching me in suspense like an audience member of a Shakespearan tragedy. 

“By 8 o’clock, I still had no response or sight of her. The candles were melting down to the stem and the alfredo might as well have been frozen. That’s when I made a call to the station.” I stepped on the menthol delight to extinguish it before lighting another. Only four left in the pack. Fuck. I hope this wasn’t going to take much longer.

The detective nodded and I noticed she was taking notes. She seemed very good at her job. “I have some more questions for you...Jacob” she ended her sentence hesitantly, but her soft tone comforted my damaged soul. She shifted in her seat to her legs being crossed as if she was finally finding comfort in her 1940s styled chair. “Now we visited some of her colleagues and friends who reported a similar story to you, minus some details. We have no leads, as we have already contacted the gardener who had matching alibis. The bar said she had not come in that day. We’re still recovering city footage of her traveling throughout the county.” I picked my head up to meet her eyes. My emerald eyes glisten as she asks, “why did you decide to rent out this motel room the night of September 18th?”

“Well, I couldn’t stay in the apartment knowing that something had happened. You see, today marks the anniversary of my mother’s death. She would come here often.” Detective James nodded as if she understood. 

“I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. Would you all come to vacation here?”

“My mother was a hooker. She would bring male and occasionally female clients to this location.” I said nonchalantly as if I were telling a relic of an old friend. “My father abandoned us when I was freshly born and she needed some way to support me and my brother. When she couldn’t find someone to watch us she would have us sit in the parking lot. In the parked car of course. One night I came stumbling in to beg my mother  to take us home as the clock was striking midnight and the car felt like an overworked camel hump to sleep on. I didn’t know what she was doing at first, she would always say business. I thought she was like a wall street business shark working men for their hard earned cash. I was partially right. I remember hearing these weird, promiscuous noises screaming through the lotus flower tapered walls. That’s my favorite part about this place.” I said drawing our attention to the decorum. “The pink flowers draped on the walls. Lotus flowers are supposed to be a symbol of purity. My innocence was extracted from me that night.” I take a hard drag on my cigarette in pain of irony. The detective stared at me in awe and pity. Before she could speak, I continued on with my story.

“Something inside of me told me to stay out, but my 7 year old brain was too curious not to open the door to see my mother getting pounded like the whore she was. The man just smiled at me and asked if I wanted a turn. I turned around and ran away. I vowed to never bring it up or let my brother know.” I shake my head reliving the trauma and seeing my last cigarette. “She was a good woman. She took care of me and my brother and made sure we had more than what we needed. Lauren kinda reminded me of her. Now they’re both angels watching over me.”

Detective James watched the flame from the lighter and then proceeded to scribble down an additional note. She had a confusing look on her face as if she was missing a piece of the puzzle.

“You know,” she says softly. “It hasn’t been confirmed that Lauren is dead. She may still be alive.” 

I shrug, “I abandoned false hope long ago. Is there anything else I can help you with, Ms. James?”

She starts to gather her belongings, but pauses for a second as she spots my unzipped suitcase. I could tell the puzzle pieces in her brain were looking for the missing link. Before she can answer, I say “I’ll walk you out,” managing to produce a smile. I’m just happy to reup on Ms. Mary Menthol.

She nods with a smile to mirror mine. “That is all for today. Thank you for your time and I am sorry life has been unkind to you.” Her tone rang defeated. I’m unsure if she was more saddened by my life or the unsolved case. We shake hands and I turn to reach for the door. As my back is turned, the sly bitch kicks open my suitcase to reveal a half kilo of my delicious cocaine, a machete with dried blood painted on it, and hand written notes I had written for my sweet Lauren. The next thing I know, I turn around to a gun pointed in my direction and me being handcuffed. Just as I thought I was in the clear. The scene played like a slow motion, silent film.

You see the cops had been trailing my alias for years as I had developed an itch that only holding a dead female corpse could scratch. Fell for my act didn’t you? I was sure hoping detective James would. I played the role so well I deserve to host the next fucking emmys. You see I’m not a bad guy, just a tortured soul. I was going to marry Lauren, I really was. She discovered I had killed my mother and was horrified by my actions. She was never supposed to find out. That sweet little Sherlock went rummaging through my stuff one day innocently only to be greeted with the same murder weapon that matched the description of my mother’s murder weapon and soon to be hers. I was tormented by my own thoughts and other kids for my mother’s actions. Although her intentions were in good faith, they created a world wind of hell for me. I plotted the move since I was 16. I figured sure people could clown me for having a whore as a mother, but would they say the same if she was dead. Then that makes you a shitty person. Call my mental twisted, but you try walking in my shoes and telling me how the fuck you like those roses. I’m ritualistic in my attacks as to why I was planning on burning the evidence that night on the day of my mother’s death. I figured her soul would take care of it, but it seems as if it had a vendetta to avenge me. As for the cocaine, my only mistake was not head diving straight into the baby powder while sweet cheeks handcuffed me. I hope they sell menthols in prison... 

[sordidgoddess]

Musical Asks, Completed

@quadrant90 sent me an ask last week requesting that I answer every question from the musical asks game I’d just posted.  These are the questions that weren’t specifically asked and answered already. 

As always, all links are to YouTube.  Enjoy! 

2: A song you like with a number in the title: 242 by Meghan Tonjes

4: A song that reminds you of someone you’d rather forget about: I thought about this a lot and I just can’t come up with one.  I firmly believe that we are a product of every experience we’ve ever had and forgetting someone would change who I am. 

However, I am going to throw in this one, for someone I’m extremely happy to have out of my life: Goodbye Earl by The Dixie Chicks

5: A song that needs to be played loud: Phantom of the Opera Overture, original cast recording

8: A song about drugs or alcohol: S.O.B. by Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats

10: A song that makes you sad: Hymn for Those Left Behind by Shannon Moore

11: A song you never get tired of: I Won’t Say I’m in Love from Hercules by Susan Egan

12: A song from your preteen years: Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer

13: One of your favorite 80′s songs:  Talk Dirty to Me by Poison

14: A song that you’d love to have played at your wedding: Awfully presumptuous to assume I’d want to get married again, but if I did... maybe Everyday Love by Grace Potter? 

15: A song that’s a cover by another artist: Dimming of the Day by The Corrs

16: One of your favorite classical songs: Rhapsody in Blue by Gershwin

17: A song you would sing a duet with on karaoke: Am I singing a duet with a song?  What a hilariously poorly worded question!  Assuming you mean a song I want to sing as a duet... You’re the One That I Want from Grease.

18: A song from the year you were born: Handyman by James Taylor 

19: A song that makes you think about life: I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker by Sandi Thom

20: A song that has many meanings to you: Rainbow Connection by Kermit the Frog (Muppet Movie)

21: A favorite song with a person’s name in the title: Sweet Baby James by James Taylor.  I used to sing this entire album to my middle baby when he was small, but this song was a particular favorite. 

23: A song you think everyone should listen to: It’s really not for me to say what people should listen to. 

24: A song by a band you wish were still together: Freewill by Rush

25: A song by an artist no longer living:  Fat Bottomed Girls by Queen

26: A song that makes you want to fall in love: I’m honestly not sure such a creature exists. 

27: A song that breaks your heart: Girl Crush by Little Big Town

28: A song by an artist with a voice you love: Angry Again by Megadeth.  Dave Mustaine’s voice has always done good things for me; I love that throaty growly type of voice. 

29: A song you remember from your childhood: The Devil Went Down to Georgia by Charlie Daniel’s Band.  When I was a child we weren’t allowed to swear, except that one shining exception: if it was in a song that Mom or Dad put on, we could sing the swear word and this song has my earliest memory of saying, “son of a bitch!” 

30: A song that reminds you of yourself:  Unsafe Building by The Alarm

@quadrant90, this was immensely fun and torturously difficult!  Thank you so much!  

[christianmutineers]

By John Peccavi            May 24, 2018

Even in the 1950s, when I was growing up in the Bible Belt and many considered church attendance almost a civic duty, Christianity had a kind of image problem.  It was boring.  To a kid, anyway.

Today, many people regard the religion – and maybe any religion – as worse than dull.  They simply believe it irrelevant.

Some of them, the militant new atheists, go further, claiming that religion is toxic to reason.  Some others do not brand religion as unhealthy but simply unnecessary to living an ethical and meaningful life.

There probably are more people in a third group.   They don't go around arguing that religion is either toxic or unnecessary. But when asked on a form to state their religious affiliation, they write "none."

And, of course, some others go to church because to them the rituals are beautiful or fill a need in their lives, but they are not invested deeply in Christian doctrines.  Perhaps they do not want to look too closely at the actual teachings of the church – that a person was crucified and rose from the dead - because they fear the story would fall apart if examined too carefully.

They may also share some commonly held but misleading assumptions about Christianity that, too often, the church itself has encouraged either directly or by its silence.  For example, they may consider it wrong or even nearly blasphemous to question what the church or Bible says.  They may assume that a "good Christian" does not doubt and come to regard doubt as the enemy of faith.

It's time to mutiny against all this nonsense.

As the theologian Paul Tillich said, doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is one element of faith.  I believe that doubt holds much the same relationship to faith as fear does to courage.   Just as courage produces action by overcoming fear, faith produces action by overcoming doubt.

But fear serves a useful purpose, and so does doubt.  We always need to be skeptical of those who claim to speak with authority and to be particularly vigilant when someone purports to speak with the authority, and purity, of religion.   Christ warned about false prophets and the Apostle Paul urged to "Test all things, hold fast to that which is good."

We also need to get over the notion that Christianity is about believing.  That last sentence may startle you and you may even think I'm being trollish.  But I'm talking about "believing" in the sense of "I believe that the capital of Denmark is Copenhagen" or "I believe that Columbus discovered America in 1492."

The essence of faith is not mere belief in a fact but rather a trust which overcomes inaction and fear; a trust that leads us to treasure that which truly is valuable; a trust which brings us to love other people rather than things.  Such faith starts us on a journey away from our own selfishness and calls us to quiet our inner noise so that we may truly listen.

It is a trust in that which we sometimes cannot see and sometimes doubt.  It hears those who proclaim the universe is random and that life is meaningless but keeps on walking.  It hears those who are in need and stops to help.

Which brings me to the remarkable 3–volume novel pictured above, Blackfire:  The Books of Bairnmoor, by James Daniel Eckblad.  There is certainly nothing boring about this adventure.

The story is fantasy fiction, somewhat like the Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis.  However, notwithstanding richly-imagined creatures, including a 4-winged condor, a unicorn, a dragon, and angels who look like clumsy toads, the saga is, in one respect, absolutely realistic.  The heroic characters carry burdens of doubt, and not just concerning whether they will win the battle against evil.

The heroes labor exhaustively, risk their lives and persevere through brutal conditions, all "in the name of The Good."  Their faith in The Good pushes them forward to fight an evil which seems almost overwhelming and nearly certain to prevail.  Their resolve never falters.  So here is the strange thing:   Sometimes, they doubt whether The Good even exists.

They don't try to hide their doubts.  Faith isn't about holding onto some idea without ever questioning it.  Rather, it's about hanging in there and getting the job done.

At one point, a toad angel named Butterfly explains, "I do know faith is about action more than belief - and that if we act truly, true belief, where it's necessary, will follow.  You will certainly never be ready by waiting for enough belief."

But here, I need to make a disclosure:  Blackfire's author, James Eckblad, is a friend.   Now living in Chicago, he previously had been pastor of the church I attend in Nashville.   And before going to Yale Divinity School he was a trial attorney who represented some of the first plaintiffs to sue the Catholic Church for sexual abuse.  I have a great respect for him as an individual as well as admiration for his talent as a writer.

I know that not everyone likes reading novels in the fantasy genre as much as I do.  But if you enjoyed the Chronicles of Narnia, I highly recommend Blackfire.  It works on a number of levels, telling an exciting story and also stimulating thought about theological issues.   Maybe there should be a genre called "adventure theology."

As in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, the four main protagonists are teenagers who wind up in another world.   They are the good guys but not goody goody.  You won't mistake them for Flanders on "The Simpsons" or televangelists with carefully groomed hair and capped teeth.  They're not high school football jocks who belong to the Society of Christian Athletes.

Rather, they are the kids too often mocked and taunted by members of the "in group."  However, the fact that they are the story’s heroes is in keeping with a recurring theme in Judaism and Christianity.  God chooses unexpected people, sometimes of low social status, to do divine work.   To the ruling class in First Century Jerusalem, Jesus was a yokel, an uneducated handyman from an insignificant small town.

Blackfire's realistic teenage characters find themselves in a setting as fantastic and imaginative as that in the Harry Potter novels.  I'm not sure whether an English professor would call this style "magical realism," but the writing in Blackfire is so vivid I'm tempted to call it real magic.

Bust of Paul Johannes Tillich by James Rosati.  Photo by Richard Keeling (Wikimedia Commons).

[kwonhozhi]

We Could Be Gigantic

for @padfootdidntdoit , whomst i would be lost without 

word count: 4700

part i | AO3 | spotify playlist

November

When the kettle begins boiling in earnest, it drowns out the ticking of that awful clock that Sirius found in a train station, or at the bottom of the Thames, or in nineteen fifty-two. He installed it so far up the wall behind the fridge that Lily hasn’t a hope of reaching it unless she somehow manages to grow an extra three feet, and it drives her mad (especially considering he’s only eight inches taller than her). The point of this is that Lily spends as much time as possible per day boiling the kettle. Lately, her rate of tea consumption is just about levelling James’, which is – well, she sent him a crate of real tea last week so it must be just about time to post him another one.

The clock isn’t even on the right time, which is probably the worst part. Actually, no, the fact that Lily has started automatically adding an hour and six minutes on in her head is probably the worst part.

(She was at work last week when her co-worker Dorcas had asked the time and Lily had told her it was four fifty. Needless to say, their boss had not been pleased to discover Dorcas in the staff room packing up her things an hour before the end of her shift.)

Lily looks at the clock, and it reads two forty-five, which means that in nine minutes’ time, James will be seated in front of his laptop, ready to receive an incoming video call from her. She plugs her own computer into its charger, and waits for it to turn on (too slowly), and then she logs in to Skype.

“Heating’s broken,” she says, the second he picks up the call.

He grins back at her, pixelated and slow, and she tugs on the chain of her necklace. Anxiety tell. “Hello to you, too.”

“This is serious!”

“No,” he says, and he must push his laptop around, because she gets a sweeping look at most of his loft, “this is Sirius.” The man in question freezes with a cup of tea pressed to his lips, and flips her off.

(He might be flipping James off).

She says, “I’m hanging up,” and that’s that.

It takes him 4 minutes and thirty-three seconds to cave and call her back. “Heating still broken?” he asks.

“Yes. London is going to kill me.”

“London can try,” he laughs. “I’ll get someone to come round and have a look at it. Oi Siri,” he calls, looking over the top of the camera, “d’you think I can get your brother to go round ours for free?”

“No,” Sirius shouts back. “He’ll nick whatever booze is in the house.”

James rolls his eyes, and then he’s tapping away at his phone, and without looking up, “There’s a fur coat in the top of the guest bed cupboard, if you’re that cold.”

“I am,” she says, and goes and gets it.

“Regulus says fuck off, which I think means he’s coming over this evening,” he tells her when she plonks back into the desk chair. “I told him you’re going to freeze to death and he just sent back a knife emoji.”

“Aw,” she says, “he does care,” and they both laugh at that. “What have you been up to?”

“You know, this and that – being young and beautiful in a major world city. You know how it is.” He starts listing off on his fingers. “We finally went to that museum and took Gossip Girl pictures on Thursday, which Sirius pretends wasn’t his idea but definitely was. What else? He almost lost it in a Starbucks, again.”

“Still hasn’t found a good order, then?”

“I don’t get it! It’s not like we don’t have Starbucks at home!”

“What’s there to get? It’s an opportunity to be dramatic, Sirius is going to jump right on it.”

“It feels so nice to be known!” shouts Sirius, and Lily wishes desperately she was there with them right then.

“Shut up,” James sings. “Wait – fuck, oh my god, he’s just lit the sink on fire, I’ll call you back – Sirius!”

The screen goes black, and Lily taps her fingernails on the keyboard. He’s not going to call her back, they both know that. A millisecond, and the loneliness settles in.  

Regulus shows up at 11pm which shouldn’t surprise Lily from what she knows about him, but does anyway. He actually has like, a tool belt, slung low, low on his hips, and a leather jacket, just in case she couldn’t figure out he was related to Sirius by his face.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she says, “Batman.”

“Ha.”

“Do you know where the heater is?”

“Yep.”

“Alright then.” She steps aside for him to enter, and goes back to the kitchen. “Do you want a tea?” she calls.

“Yep,” he says again, and she puts on the kettle. She pours the water, checks in on Regulus, and then she puts The King and I back on.

“Hey, so that’s totally fucked,” Regulus says, “and I have no idea how to fix it but I can probably get a guy in mayb— areyouwatchingTheKingandI?”

“Seems that way.”

Regulus vaults the couch to land beside her, and puts his feet up on the coffee table. “Love this film.”

It takes eleven minutes and forty-one seconds for realisation to hit her. She points at the screen. “Yul Brynner.” Points at him. “Reg-yul-us.” The screen. “Yul.” Him. “Yul.”

“Hmm,” he says.

When they swap phone numbers so he can consult her about a real handyman, she saves his contact info as Yul with a knife emoji, and he gives her what must just about count as a smile, for Regulus Black.

He says, “I’ll text you,” and, with half a bottle of tequila that Lily was unaware was even in the flat tucked under his arm, he leaves.

December

“Lil,” Dorcas says, poking her head out from the back room, “phone’s for you.” Lily hadn’t heard it ring, but she carefully folds the ribbon she’d been measuring, and puts it in her apron pocket.

She takes the phone, and she says, “U-huh?” as she puts the receiver up to her ear.

“Finally,” says Petunia, and it sets Lily on edge in less than a heartbeat. “Do you even have your phone on? I’ve been trying to reach you for twenty-five minutes.”

“I don’t know how to put this politely, Petunia, but obviously I’m at work.”

“I know, I had to get the number off Mum. This has been hugely inconvenient for me, you know.”

“What do you want?” Lily asks, trying to suppress her exasperation, and judging by what her sister says next, failing.

“Because you’re being so rude I’m not even going to try to break this gently: you can’t come home for Christmas.”

The world slants and the floor is slipping out from underneath Lily as she manages to say, “What?”

“I booked a table for six at the Pennyworth months ago, because Vernon’s sister was going to be abroad, but she’s not now, and it would be rude to tell her she can’t come after all. I phoned the Pennyworth to see if we could get an extra chair but the place is fully booked out for Christmas dinner and they can’t make any exceptions.”

Lily thinks, as she braces herself against the filing cabinet next to the door, that they probably could make an exception, and Petunia just doesn’t want her strange sister to ruin her perfect Christmas dinner with her future in-laws, but she doesn’t say it.

“And besides, we need your bed because Vernon’s parents are staying at our flat, and they’re very old-fashioned, you see, so we can’t let them know we’re sleeping in the same bed before we get married, so Vernon’s taking the sofa at the flat and I’ll be sleeping in my bed at home. Marjorie will have to sleep in your bed, because it’s the only one left. So there won’t be any room for you.”

Lily doesn’t say that she could sleep in their mother’s bed, doesn’t say that she doesn’t want to go to the Pennyworth anyway, doesn’t say that the Potters would most likely take her in for dinner even without James there, and that the food would be a thousand times better, the company a million times better. She says, “What does Mum think of that?” instead of, “What have you told Mum?” and Petunia pauses in her rambling.

“Of course, she thinks that this is all your idea. You’re so busy with work in London, and you know how important it is for us to welcome all of the Dursleys into the family.”

Lily doesn’t say that that’s complete bullshit, doesn’t say that if Petunia hadn’t been slowly poisoning their mother’s mind since Lily moved away, she’d never have believed it.

There seems to be a lot that Lily isn’t saying, and maybe Petunia senses this, because she says, “Don’t forget to phone in the morning, though,” before she hangs up.

Lily listens to the dial tone, an aural marker of time stretching out from this terrible moment, an anchor to keep her from floating away. She barely realises she’s crying until a sob manages to slip free, and then she’s on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest and a pair of customers staring at her from the wrong side of the counter. Dorcas shuts the door to the back room, has to save face for the business.

It takes the better part of four minutes for Cas to prise the full story out of Lily, after she’s cleared the shop, and put on two teas. Lily’s still shaking, a little, when Cas starts rubbing her back, and she almost sloshes her tea everywhere. If Sirius were here, he might have offered her a cigarette. If Sirius were here, she might have accepted it.

“Your sister’s a right piece of work,” Cas grumbles.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hey,” Dorcas says quietly, looking towards the sound of the bell over the door tinkling, “Take your break early, I’ll be okay alone here for a while.”

When she’s gone, and the door is shut behind her, Lily digs her mobile out of her bag. Her fingers move without needing to be told what to do, and James answers with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Oh my god,” she says. “Oh, no, I didn’t even think about the time difference, I didn’t even – oh, this is so silly. I’m sorry, this was dumb, go back to sleep, I’ll—”

“Evans,” he says, warm and firm. “Calm down, I’m not angry. I’ve been woken up at five in the morning before.” She hears a window open on the other end of the line, and the sound of trainers on metal, then he says, “What’s up?”

He says it so casually, like he wouldn’t mind if she was just calling to tell him she saw a cat he might have liked. Like he wouldn’t mind being woken up before the sun even if it wasn’t urgent. “Petunia just called,” she says quietly.

“Christ,” he says. “Are you alright?”

“I’m officially uninvited from Christmas.”

She can almost hear him grinding his teeth. “Right, I’m getting my laptop, and I’m going to book you flights out here to be with us—”

“No,” she says, though she doesn’t know where the firmness comes from. “No, I’m alright here.” She doesn’t have a passport. She doesn’t have the moral ability to take a handout like that. “I just…” needed to hear your voice. She doesn’t say that, and maybe she doesn’t need to. “What are you doing today?”

“Uhh,” he says. “Hmm, I don’t know. I think Siri’s got an interview for something, but I’ll probably just go in and have a four-hour bath to warm up.”

“Go in?” Lily asks. “James, you’re not outside?”

“Does the fire escape count as outside?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be snowing there?”

“It’s actually not that bad out. I think it’s going to rain, because rain is so weird here, like it gets warmer when it rains. So it’s…” He yawns. “I don’t know, I just know that the stairwell smells like vomit and it’s way too early for Siri to be woken up. Evans, it’s fine. I’d stand out in the Antarctic without a jumper if you needed me to.”

“Under what circumstances would I ever require that?” she asks.

“Oh,” he says breezily, “I wouldn’t know. I’d just be following orders.”

January

She breaches James’ en suite for the first time when she’s gone through all the towels in the linen closet, and the laundrette down the road is closed for repairs. She knows he’s got to have towels in there, and she knows he won’t mind, really, but it still feels like she’s finally taking it too far.

“This is so stupid,” she tells herself. “You sleep in his bed every other night.”

It still smells like him in here, the exact combination of his shampoo and the bar soap his mum’s always gotten from the Indian grocery store down the hill from his house. The rest of the flat has mostly lost that smell. She blinks back tears she knows she doesn’t really have any right to shed.

She takes a towel and presses her face into it, and then she does what any reasonable person would do – she gets distracted by what he has laid out on the counter. Most notably a framed professional portrait of their old head of form.

She gave up several months ago on not talking to herself in this flat, so she breathes, “Why do you have this in your bathroom?” She feels like she’s meant to pray to it, or something, which, well. She can think of worse idols to worship than Minerva McGonagall.

There’s also a family of those tiny ceramic cats that Lily is pretty sure are worth a lot of money, and a folded up serviette with COSTA RICA written in sharpie and underlined eight or nine times. And a tube of toothpaste, which seems normal except—

Its expiry date is like, a questionable amount of time past, so after she googles how long is toothpaste good for and finds out that three years is too long, actually, she has a really supremely stupid thought. That’s how she finds herself with her foot braced up against the shower wall, with funny-smelling white goo lathered on her leg and a Kinks song playing through the entertainment system. She knows it’s toothpaste in theory, but in practice her brain just can’t connect the dots.

She holds one of her shitty disposable razors that she’s definitely been using for longer than she should have, and she gives it a go.

As she holds toilet paper to the parts of her leg that are bleeding, she considers that perhaps this does not rate in her Top Ten Best Ideas Ever.

The weekend before Lily’s birthday sees an eclectic mix of people to the Camden flat – first Regulus, two hours early to help her take down the shitty Christmas decorations she still has up, then Dorcas and Benji, who are put to work on the currently-empty drinks table to make ‘KEEP OUT’ signs for the bedrooms. Well, Cas writes KEEP OUT and Benji draws stick figure bouncers with barrel bodies and bouncer-names like Hugh and Geoff and Mars.

At half past eight, they’re playing Cards Against Humanity when the door – the locked door – swings open. Lily’s heart leaps and she half rises from her spot on the couch, because could they be? But it’s Remus and Peter, carrying a slab each, and Frank Longbottom in front with a set of keys in his hand.

“Compliments of the landlord,” Remus tells her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before struggling over to the kitchen to free his hands. Peter does the same, and Frank, hands-free already, picks her up and spins her round a couple times in greeting.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” she grins, as Remus and Peter re-join them.

“And miss your birthday?”

Peter scoffs. “Not on Prongs’ watch.”

“I hope you didn’t tell too many people they could stay over,” Remus says, “because I’ve had a standing dibs of Sirius’ bed since he passed out on mine in sixth form and I had to sleep on the floor of my own bedroom.”

“Which time?” Pete asks.

“Exactly.”

Lily laughs, of course of course, and it catches Dorcas’ attention, so she waves her over. “This is Remus, Peter, and Frank, who I went to school with. Lads, this is Dorcas, she’s an angel.”

Later, she overhears Peter telling Dorcas something stupid like, “…loves of each others’ lives but they won’t admit it”, but she’s intercepted from going to refute that claim by Frank with fucking jägerbombs even though he knows she and Sirius got blind on them at their Leavers afterparty and she can’t stand the smell now.

“Frank, darling,” she says, trying not to breathe in, “have you met Alice? She probably won’t throw up on you if you put that thing too close to her.” She grabs Alice’s shoulder and uses her like a human shield, burying her face into shoulder length blonde hair. “Alice, this is Frank. His favourite song is Come On Eileen.”

“Fuck off, Evans,” he says cheerfully, and Alice laughs.

“Give me another explanation for why you play it at every single event, then,” says Lily.

“Because it fucking bangs,” Frank says, handing the cup of Red Bull and the shot of Jäger to Alice. Lily uses the distraction as an opportunity to slip away, and she finds herself on the settee next to Mary, getting her head massaged.

“I have a question,” Mary hiccoughs. “Well, I have a few. First,” and she digs her fingers into Lily’s scalp a bit too hard, “why have I not heard a single song recorded anytime in the last fifty years?”

“I dunno how to change the music,” Lily shrugs.

“Second, how the fuck do you afford to live here alone?” She asks it a little louder than Lily might have liked, and she shrinks away from the fingers in her hair.

“Hmm. That.”

“She’s fucking the landlord!” Frank calls from across the room. Entirely too loud. Lily cringes away from the sudden shift in focus around the room.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” she says, and crosses to the kitchen to what is, statistically, a Kinks song. Remus is there, mixing Cherry Coke and vodka, even though she knows he likes neither. “Does James know other bands exist?” she asks, and he laughs, and it’s almost enough to distract from the music changing.

Her body reacts to it before her mind recognises it, and she makes eye contact with him as the blood drains from his face. “I’m sorry!” she shouts, as they make a sprint for the control panel. “I don’t know how to change the songs on this thing.”

He looks up, frustrated, but he says, “It’s not your fault, the thing broke after he put this on and they never figured out how to fix it.”

“But it works fine,” Lily says, peering at the little screen.

“What happened was James prioritised and uploaded all his awful 60s music, and then while he was choosing the other stuff he wanted on, Sirius snuck in and put on Gasolina and something went wrong and the file copied 27 times and now they can’t put anything new on or take anything off.”

“And here I thought Potter had just given up on modern music completely.”

“Oh,” says Remus, shutting the control flap, resigned, “I wouldn’t take that level of pretentiousness off the table.”

[01:21] lames otter to billy kevins: did u like the presents

billy kevins: i dont even drink somersbys

lames otter: I TOLD PETER NOT TO GET FUCKING SOMERSBYS

lames otter: wht abt the actual present

billy kevins: what actual present?

lames otter: i knew putting peter in charge was a bad idea

billy kevins: smh

Lily looks across the room to Peter, who’s just pulling out his phone and frowning at the screen. He looks up and searches for her, and gives her a sheepish smile. He holds up a finger like wait and goes into the kitchen, and she shares a look with Remus.

Peter emerges with a velvet box and Lily thinks for a hot minute that 1) James is proposing, 2) he’s proposing via Peter, 3) he’s proposing but then she realises that any jewellery might come in a velvet box.

billy kevins to lames otter: tell me you did not buy me jewellery

lames otter: open it u fool

She takes the box from Peter and opens it slowly, because this is sure to be something stupidly expensive, knowing James, but—

“Oh my god,” she laughs. It’s a plastic Spider-Man kids’ watch, like the one she and Tuney used to share back in primary school, before Tuney gave it to the boy she liked and he gave her a broken heart in return. She puts it on her wrist and thinks about how much she resents her sister, and about how that’s outweighing her James Potter resent for now.

billy kevins sent a photo to lames otter.

lames otter: :~)

lames otter: ok im going to dinner w siris art class friends

lames otter: speaking of, he says his gift shld b arriving in the post this week

lames otter: ok byeee call u wednesday xoxo

February

Never having to be the one who does the vacuuming, Lily discovers one afternoon when her white socks come away from the wooden floor covered in hair and dust, is a luxury of living at home. Oh my god, she thinks to herself, you’ve been here almost a year and you never thought to hoover.

So that’s what she does, after searching through every single cupboard in the flat. She finds this really ancient hoover that looks to be older than her—

(Why, she asks herself, indulging her petulance for just a moment, do these stupid boys have to do everything for the aesthetic? Why can’t they have clean, modern appliances that work?)

—and she sets to work.

Well, she blasts James’ awful 60s playlist and sets to work.

She tackles the guest bedroom carpet first, over the course of (shocker) a Kinks song and a half. A year, a year she’s lived in this flat and it’s still the guest bedroom, not her bedroom. Even James still calls it that, when she can get him on the phone, when he isn’t ducking her calls, when she isn’t ducking his.

(“Hey, quick question,” Sirius had said, last time he’d been in the room while James was on Skype with her, “why the fuck do the two of you still not know how to talk to each other?”

James had thrown a cushion at him, and accidentally pressed end call. She chooses to believe it was an accident.)

She does his room over a Beatles track that she doesn’t quite like, but which definitely reminds her of him. “Hey quick question,” she says, out loud to the empty room, “why the fuck am I so pathetic about James Potter?”

It’s because you don’t talk, the Sirius-tinged voice in her head snarks.

“That’s enough,” she tells him – not him.

She does a shit job of vacuuming his room out of spite.

Maybe it’s not just him in her head that’s riling her up. Maybe it’s him on the wall above the fridge, tick, tick, ticking. Maybe she leaves the hoover running even while she’s moving furniture to drown out that fucking clock. Maybe she climbs up onto the bench and tries to accidentally knock it down while reaching for the cobwebs on the ceiling.

“Hm,” she says to herself, from her new home on the floor with a sore tailbone and an even sorer wrist. She has to drag herself, one handed, to the table to retrieve her phone.

Regulus picks up on the eighth ring. Of the third call. “What?”

“I need you to take me to A&E.”

“What? Catch the tube. What did you do?”

“I fell off the bench and I think I broke my arm.”

“Evans. I don’t have a car.”

“So nick one,” she says. “Or were you making it up when you told me last month that you feel a spiritual connection with Baby from Baby Driver?”

“Fucking fine,” he says, except he hangs up halfway through so it’s more like fucking fi—.

“It’s not broken,” the nurse tells them, like six hours later.

(For all his complaining that she was being a real nuisance, Regulus had stuck around in the emergency room for an awfully long time.)

“Okay,” Lily says slowly. “Then why’s it hurt so much?”

Regulus stifles a snicker, but the nurse just gives her a look like grow up. “You’ve sprained it. We’ll get you fitted with a splint and you’ll be free to go home and rest.” She gives them another look, this time like don’t get up to anything too strenuous, which Regulus finds even funnier.

When he takes her home, she decides she can, in fact, keep living like this, and makes him put the hoover away.

“Don’t call me,” he says cheerfully on his way out, and then she’s alone.

She goes to bed, because what else is she going to do? She’s tired. She goes to James’ bed, and god, she misses him.

She stays in bed for a few days, except for when she makes herself toast and tea, and she calls in sick to work. She calls her mum, and then she calls Remus, because those seem like the two most sensible options. The most adult options, even though her mum’s still angry with her for not coming home for Christmas, even though Remus hasn’t texted her back in a week.

“James is going to want to know about this,” he tells her, then, “oh my god shut up, Pete, we’re not going to be late! I’m talking to Lily, can you be quiet?”

Muffled, she hears Peter say, “Tell her hello from me. Am I making this turn?”

“No, the next one.” He sighs. “Sending him a Snapchat doesn’t count as telling him, either. Call him. And you didn’t hear it from me, but Black’s just about reached the end of his tether with America and I’m sure a few well-timed words from you would hold quite a bit of sway.”

“You want me to convince them to come home? Hang on, wasn’t it Black’s idea to move there in the first place?”

“There’s rarely reason or rhyme involved when it comes to Sirius Black. Listen, we’ve just pulled up at this dinner, I’ve got to go. Love you, call James.”

Anxiety heaves in her stomach, and she’s tired again, bone-tired. A nap, two naps later, and then, well.

Call him.

Sun is streaming through the window next to him, and he’s wearing a t-shirt which is like, annoying, because she hasn’t seen the sun in five or six days, and the flat is still bitingly cold.

“Sirius is being annoying,” his voice announces, three seconds before his mouth does.

“Well, you know,” she says, “I can treat you better.”

“Don’t you fuckin—”

“Better than he can.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking meme. I like you why, exactly?”

She grins. “How’s LA?”

He grins back. “All so crazy, everybody seems so famous.”

“Oh, and I’m the meme?”

His grin relaxes. “What’ve you gone and done to your arm?”

She goes bright red. “Hm.”

“Do I have to call Remus to find out? Or do I need to come back to make sure you don’t accidentally fall out a window? Do I need to make sure you, like, mind the gap?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Ask me properly?” He whispers it, and her thundering heart almost drowns it out.

Don’t be silly now, she tells herself. This could be worth the risk. “Come home,” she says, quietly. “Please, come home.”

He stares at her, just stares. Maybe the screen has frozen, and then he lets out a heavy sigh.

He opens his mouth, and the stream drops out.

[inkdrinkerworld]

thinking about autistic!reader running errands with handyman!james and just sitting in the passenger seat playing games on her switch while he chats to his clients, waving when someone acknowledges her but being more to herself with her legs crossed as she waits for him to get back

[munarlothhp]

petalstofish: Your prompt: ‘i'm staring at my single & hot neighbour raking up a bunch of leaves in their backyard and jumping into them and now I'm in love?’ au

also available on a03

-

“Hello?”

“He’s doing yardwork again.”

“Is he wearing a flannel shirt this time?”

“No, it looks like an old school hoodie.”

“Where did he go?”

“Can’t really tell - looks like it says Hogwarts. Have you heard of it?”

“Nope.”

“Oh God, I think he’s looking!”

Lily dropped the curtain and stepped back from the window. She could still see him through the white lace as he paused crossing the lawn, seeming to look up in her direction. He stood still for just a moment, then continued towards the back porch, soon disappearing from view.

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You should go talk to him.”

“While he’s working?”

“You could offer him some tea or something.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

He reappeared below in the yard, now carrying a rake. She crept closer to the window as he dragged leaves across the grass into a small pile.

“Lils, you still there?”

“What? Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“I’m gonna go, leave you to your drooling--”

“I’m not drooling!”

“Right, sure. Snapchat me if he gets hot and takes his top off.”

“Will do. Bye, Marlene.”

She hit the ‘end’ button and slipped her phone back into her pocket, sinking down into the chair that she had already kept by the window even before the fit neighbor moved into the downstairs apartment. He’d only been there for a few weeks and they’d yet to have a proper introduction but that hadn’t stopped her from trying to find him on social media, though all she’d had to go on was ‘J. Potter’ newly chicken-scratched onto the mailbox next to hers. Unfortunately, her detective skills weren’t quite up to standards and she hadn’t had any luck finding him anywhere on the internet. So far, her knowledge was limited to that he seemed to like spending time outside and that he might have a dog if the barking sounds from downstairs that began suddenly over the last week were to be believed. Her intel also included that he was extremely attractive insofar as she could trust her own vision from a third story window.

She tucked her knees up and found her place in the book she’d been reading before she’d been so rudely interrupted by J. Potter, but it was no use. Her eyes kept straying from the page as his movements flickered through the lacy curtains and she soon found herself reading the same sentence for what had to be the fifth time in a row. She shut the book with a clap and turned her back on the window, moving to her small kitchen. She set water to boil in the electric kettle, pausing as she reached into the cabinet and finally coming out with two mugs.

If he had half the leaves raked up when the water was hot, then she’d make two mugs of tea.

She tapped her fingers on the counter as she waited for the kettle, looking around at the small room. It wasn’t big enough for a table but she’d fit a small cart against the wall between the counters and made do with the space she had. It helped that she had no roommates to split the 4 rooms allotted to her in this, her first real “adult” apartment. It was really just the in-law apartment on the third floor in an old house in a woody neighborhood, but it suited her just fine. She’d been there two and a half years and, come to think of it, had never done any yardwork in all of her time there.

The landlords had a handyman who came by to fix loose screws and mow the grass every few weeks and there were some plots out back that she supposed she could’ve set up as a garden, but... She glanced over the drooping spider plant on top of the fridge and grimaced, jumping when the kettle whistled next to her.

She dropped a tea bag into one mug and poured the water over, then set the kettle back down and crept back to the window. She caught herself tip-toeing and shook her head, rolling her eyes as she pulled back the curtain. He was still out there, and - yes, the yard looked about half done. That was it, then - two mugs.

She prepped the other mug and pulled the milk out of the fridge but - did he like milk? She didn’t even know his first name, how should she know how he takes his tea? And how was she even going to get it to him anyway? It’s not like she could just waltz out the back door and hand it to him without so much as a “hello”.

She bit her lip, looking back and forth between the mugs and the milk jug, then walked the ten steps back to the window. She took a deep breath, nodded one small nod, and opened the window. “D’you like milk in your tea?”

He froze, his rake halfway to the growing pile of leaves, and looked around the yard. A dog started barking and though she couldn’t see it, she thought it might be on the porch below.

“Up here!”

He turned around completely, looking up at the house and shading his view with one hand over his brow. “Erm, hello?”

“How do you take your tea?”

His face was screwed up against the sun despite his hand, and even with his glasses she wasn’t positive that he could really see her in the window. She put her hair behind her ear, that maybe the movement would help track his vision. That had to be why he didn’t answer at once - not because a strange girl was shouting at him about tea from an upstairs window. The barking continued.

A moment longer in silence, and then - “Splash of milk?”

“Ok!”

She left the window open, curtains fluttering, and finished up with the milk, blowing gently against the steam rising from the mugs as she made for the door. Shoving her feet into the sneakers she’d left out the night before, she cursed as a splash of tea spilled over onto her wrist. It was fine - that one would be hers.

Her apartment was serviced by a staircase up the side of the house from a second door on the front porch. She made her way around the walk to the side and stopped short at the gate to the backyard when she was met with a large mat of black, barking fur.

“Padfoot, chill out!”

The dog obeyed as much as it was able, quieting and backing off from the gate despite the fact that its whole body continued to vibrate from how hard its tail was wagging.

“Hello! Hello how are you!” Lily couldn’t help how her voice dipped and skipped when she greeted the dog, and J. Potter’s tone matched her own as he crossed the lawn.

“You love meeting new people, don’t you? Who’s a good boy? Who’s the best boy in the whole wide world?” He stood over the dog, knees slightly bent, petting and rubbing him all up and down his sides, which did nothing to calm Padfoot down and in fact somehow made him shake even harder as he barked happily.

Lily bumped the gate latch with her elbow and slipped through, closing it again with her hip. “Hi.”

He looked up from the dog, a huge grin on his face. “Hello. You must be Evans from upstairs?”

“Lily,” She nodded.

“I’m James, and this is Padfoot.”

“Nice to meet you.” She held out her right hand - no, wet wrist - switched to her left, offering him the mug. “This one’s yours.”

“Thank you.” He took it, one hand still on Padfoot’s collar. “He doesn’t jump, but he’s very...eager.”

“Oh no it’s fine, you can let him go. We always had dogs when I was growing up.”

“Well, in that case--” James let go of Padfoot, who immediately rushed to Lily’s crotch nose-first. “Oh God, Padfoot where are your manners?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Lily laughed, keeping one hand tight around her mug as she scratched vigorously behind Padfoot’s ears. “I didn’t know they allowed dogs here.”

“I got special permission - my best mate Sirius brought him when he visited last week, said he didn’t want me getting too lonely now that I’m living out on my own.”

“Aww, how sweet!”

She petted Padfoot a few moments more and James sipped his tea. It hit her just then that her plan didn’t have much in the way of follow-up - it began and ended with tea, which, now delivered, didn’t really offer much in the way of introductory conversations.

“So, erm...I live upstairs.”

“So I gathered,” James grinned. “Have you lived here long?”

“A few years. It’s comfortable, and close to work.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

“Um,” She took a quick sip of her tea, crossing her fingers when it was cool enough to not burn her tongue upon impact. “I teach kindergarten.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Depends on the craft of the day. What do you do?”

“IT.”

“Ah. Sounds...techy.”

Finished sniffing every bit of Lily that he could reach, Padfoot crossed back to James before bounding across the yard to the half-finished pile of leaves.

“Padfoot, no!”

James’s hands were quick to bury themselves in his hair, knotting over his ears as he watched his dog run back and forth through his last half-hour’s worth of work.

Lily couldn’t help giggling, covering her mouth with her hand.

“You know they have someone who comes and does the yardwork, right?”

“Yeah,” James blushed, still watching Padfoot. “I like doing it, though. It’s nice, being outside, since I spend all day in front of a computer screen.”

“Oh, true, that makes sense. I wouldn’t have thought of it that way - I’m always outside for recess.”

“God, I miss recess.” There was such a note of longing in his voice that Lily had to hide her smile in her mug.

“Having Padfoot must help, then.”

“Hmm?”

“You know, walks and stuff…”

“Oh, yeah, he gets me out. No swings when you’re walking a dog though.”

“Maybe they’ll let us put a swingset out here if you keep doing the yardwork for free.”

James snapped his fingers and sipped his tea. “That, Evans, is a wonderful idea.”

She ducked her head against a blush and walked past him to sit criss-cross on the low patio wall. “Guess you have some work to do in the meantime - now with Padfoot helping with the leaves.”

“Ugh, I know.” His head fell back and he sighed loudly, then put his mug down next to Lily and ran out to join Padfoot in the yard.

He stopped in front of the dog, knees bent and arms outstretched, and Padfoot immediately pounced on him. They fell backwards into what leaves were left and rolled around, Padfoot barking as much as James was laughing.

Lily laughed and settled in with her tea as James picked up the rake, and they chatted as he gathered the leaves. Padfoot eventually came and laid against the patio wall in front of her and she toed off one shoe to rub his side with her socked foot.

James had gotten a job in the city after getting his degree, but moved to take a job closer to his aging parents. He had actually grown up in the area, and Lily marveled that they’d never known each other as kids, despite the fact that this was really more her grandma’s town than her own - it still seemed like they should’ve run into each other at some playground or other during her summers here decades past.

She still couldn’t believe that he actually enjoyed yardwork, which he countered with disbelief at her actually enjoying reading for fun. He clearly just hadn’t found the right books yet, and she - well, ok, maybe there is no excuse for enjoying yardwork.

He joined her on the wall when he finished with the leaves, sipping tea long gone cold. She smiled when he absentmindedly messed up his hair and pretended not to notice when his thigh brushed against her own.

It was time to go back inside when she shivered against the chill of the setting sun, but they couldn’t separate before he promised to make dinner for her the next night - as thanks for the tea, of course. She pulled out her phone to snap a quick picture of James and Padfoot disappearing into the lower house to send to Marlene, the caption writing itself - “I think I’m in love”.

Her response was swift. “With the man or the dog?”

Lily rolled her eyes and went back upstairs. It was far too early yet to tell between the two, anyway.

[jodybouchard9]

The Ultimate Guide to Built-Ins—and Why Buyers Still Find Them Valuable

Houzz.com

Remodeling a house gives you the opportunity to make dozens (if not hundreds) of design decisions. Some of these choices—like paint colors or types of furniture—can be easily swapped out if you change your mind in a few years. Taking down a sheet of wallpaper that turned out to be way chicer on the roll than on the wall? That’s easy for a seasoned DIYer.

But other selections are more permanent and will stay with the house for years (or decades) to come. Built-ins, for example, are a type of permanent architectural feature that can also enhance your home’s appearance.

But, homeowners, before you decide to install a built-in upgrade, make sure you know what you’re getting into. Keep reading for a guide to built-ins, including costs, benefits, and the return you can expect on your investment.

What are built-ins?

Photo by foley&cox

Built-ins are exactly what they sound like: features that are built into the interior of a home.

“Built-ins can range from open shelves in the kitchen, bath, bedroom, or great room to a butler’s pantry for that open space between your kitchen and dining room,” says Jen Horner, a real estate agent with Re/Max Masters in Salt Lake City.

Other built-ins you’ll commonly see in a home are bookshelves in an office, shelving around fireplace (which is often used for storage or decor), and the inside of a closet or pantry.

Why are built-ins popular?

Built-ins are a great way to make use of the space in a home, particularly storage areas. A few built-ins here and there will allow you to gain useful space while adding character to your home. Whether it’s a bookshelf or a bench seat, a built-in feature will add a luxe feature that’s unique to your space.

“Built-ins can provide a touch of custom to what would otherwise be a room of walls with no character or dimension,” says Horner.

Should you install built-ins?

Photo by JAMES DIXON ARCHITECT PC

Built-ins are incredibly versatile and varied, and they’re a great addition to your home if you’re looking to optimize space and storage.

“Built-ins can be a no-brainer for that space in your home that you continually ask yourself what to do with it,” Horner says.

According to John Kostrey, a broker associate with Nourmand and Associates, a Los Angeles–based luxury real estate boutique, the key to successful built-ins is being creative.

“Adding innovative custom storage solutions—such as closet organizers, pull-out trash and recycling bins, and even pull-out pet food and water bowls—is a great and relatively inexpensive way to add value,” he says. “Using hidden space under the staircase—like Harry Potter’s closet [bedroom] under the stairs—is another great way to maximize space and add functional storage, pantry space, or even a mini office area.”

What are the potential downsides of installing built-ins?

Photo by Shea Studio Interiors, Inc

Like we mentioned above, built-ins are a permanent design feature, so take every step possible to visualize the end result before swinging a sledgehammer.

“Do your homework before making the decision to add built-ins to a certain room,” Horner says. “Think through how a built-in can enhance the space. Is a built-in the best use of space? Will it make the room feel smaller and cramped? Or will it take a space that isn’t being used wisely and optimize it by increasing storage or adding to the decor?”

Erin Powell, design director and principal designer at roOomy, which offers virtual staging services, recommends using virtual staging software rather than relying on your imagination.

“Virtual staging can be a great way for a homeowner to determine if built-ins will work in a particular space,” she says. “You’re able to see the room in various configurations.”

Easy steps like measuring out the built-in and taping it off with painter’s tape will help you gain a sense of how much space is being used—or saved.

How much does it cost to install built-ins?

Photo by The Works

According to the experts at Mr. Handyman, a home maintenance and repair company, three of the most popular types of built-ins are bookshelves, seating, and entertainment centers. Here’s a quick look at what you can expect to pay for each.

Built-in bookshelves: According to Home Advisor, built-in bookshelves installed by a professional carpenter cost an average of $2,541. If you buy the materials yourself, you can usually get a handyman to install them for $30 to $130 per hour.

Built-in seating: According to Fixr, the average cost of installing built-in seating is $840 to $1,680. The final cost will depend on factors including materials, size of the seat, and the layout and structure of the room. For example, Fixr notes that installing a small window seat in a living room usually takes one to two days using an inexpensive wood like pine, and estimates labor costs from $560 to $1,120.

Built-in entertainment center: This project can be costly, with an estimated cost of $8,000 to $9,500, according to Fixr. The planning process, overseen by a professional contractor or carpenter, will take about a week of work (including preliminary measurements, meetings, and designs) and can cost anywhere from $1,400 to $2,450. If you use a quality wood, like oak, materials will likely run about $1,000 to $1,500. Finally, labor will take three to five days. Since the average hourly fee for carpenters is about $70, that puts the total cost of labor at around $1,680 to $2,800.

Return on investment of a built-in

If resale value is important to you, then you’ll be excited to hear that, for the most part, built-ins can increase the value of a home as long as they provide more function to the space. A place to display all those extra cookbooks or a bench seat that provides more seating for family gatherings is extremely attractive to potential buyers.

“In today’s market, storage is paramount to buyers,” Kostrey says. “That makes the placement of built-ins, and the amount of storage they offer, even more important than before.”

The post The Ultimate Guide to Built-Ins—and Why Buyers Still Find Them Valuable appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

[loves-to-read-fanfic]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, James Sirius Potter, Albus Severus Potter, Lily Luna Potter, Draco Malfoy, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Narcissa Black Malfoy Additional Tags: Amnesiac Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Cartographer Draco Malfoy, Handyman Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry lies quite a lot, stupidly a lot, dub-con in the sense that Draco doesn't remember things, though nothing happens, Only kissing, Demisexual Harry Potter, Overboard AU, LCDrarry Summary:

It’s been years since Harry left with Ginny to get away from the bad memories of war. The small town of Elk Cove, Oregon had been a perfect place to raise their children. Now widowed, Harry works hard to make sure his children never want for anything. When an old rival steps into his life, everything changes and Harry finds the perfect opportunity to get back at Malfoy for everything the Slytherin did to him -- if he doesn’t regret falling for him first.

[inkdrinkerworld]

ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʙʟᴜʀʙꜱ

james potter x reader

beefy!james

rugby!james

ᴏɴᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴛ

jack of all trades: in which reader meets handyman!james after a series of unfortunate events

[inkdrinkerworld]

handyman!james potter fic at 11:11am ast tomorrow!!!