#bcdaily

Something AU? About Lily house/petsitting?? There are fish??

Everything was going swimmingly well until Lily almost killed both the fish and the heir.

"Whoah—whoah!" the latter had been shouting as Lily had been shrieking, the tidy bowl of fish in her hands rattling and sloshing water over its rounded rim as bodies collided inside the posh townhouse foyer, and Lily's instinctive reaction had been a sad attempt at weaponizing paltry plastic. Blindly, mid-shriek, she'd shoved the fish bowl like a battering ram the intruder's way, endangering both innocent marine life, most eardrums within range, and Euphemia Potter's pristine hardwood floors.

Also, Lily realises approximately twenty seconds too late, Euphemia Potter's similarly pristine only child.

Not likely to be keen on the destruction of either, Euphemia.

Hands down, Fleamont would care most about the fish.

"Jesus—shit. Shit." Lily jerks the bowl back, lifting it up to inspect the damage, her frantic gaze bouncing between the man she's just attacked and the tiny sea life she may have just murdered. "I'm so—are you—are they—are they alive?"

"Is this a burglary? Are you stealing them?" asks the heir, the hefty armful of papers and books he'd been holding now mostly scattered by his feet. A few industrious, aerodynamic pages are still floating down, lapping leisurely by their legs. He'd dropped them, back during the shrieking and colliding and shame. Now, he is standing very still, but nodding very specifically at the fish. "If so, I will not stand in your way."

"What?"

"Take them. Please."

"The fish?"

"Yes."

"I'm not stealing fish," Lily responds dumbly, eyes shifting from the heir back to the precious cargo he is honestly being a bit too generous in looking to offload. Her mind has quit whirling enough to concentrate on the contents. Immediately, she begins to tally up fish. Four, five, six...fuck, were there two of the blue ones? Is the orange one moving? Is that a death float?

One fish, two fish. Red fish, slew fish.

The heir is still talking.

"More of an art thief, then?" he asks. His hand lifts, elegant-looking and long-fingered, moving to straighten the trendy specs sitting upon his patrician nose, which had gone askew in the scuffle. "There's a bloody ugly statue of some tragic Greek in the dining room. Worth loads. Grab and go. I'll assist hefting, even. No charge."

"What?" There are eleven fish. Eleven, glorious, wonderful, still somehow living fish. Relief is a drowning tidal wave nearly pulling Lily under. Her knees go fair weak with it. She attempts to shake the remnants of shock and panic off like a sodden dog, but hasn't quite managed it when she gives her attention back to the man in front of her. He's quite tall. His hair is dark and haphazard, like Fleamont's. "That's not how burglary works."

"Are you certain?"

"Not from personal experience, but a woman can take some educated stances."

"So you're not a burglar."

"No." This is a ludicrous conversation. From the smile playing at his lips, Lily reckons the heir thinks so, too. She's trying to remember his name. Fleamont had told her it at some point, maybe even multiple points. It's something traditional, one syllable. She'd had some worry about that, with parents called mouthfuls like Fleamont and Euphemia. Fleamont's favorite fish was called Jeremiah Rumplestiltskin. "I'm Lily. The housesitter."

"The housesitter." He says the word with the flourish of a brightened lightbulb, ah yes, there it is. He bends, beginning to gather his belongings from the foyer floor.

++++

Something canon?? I actually think this might have been a sequel to a one-shot? Maybe??

It's become a game now, and they are both very, very good at it.

“What are you staring at?” she baldly asks that very first Monday morning, barely twenty-four hours after what James had quickly begun to refer to in his head as The Age-Old Snogging Incident (subtitle: Wildest Dreams Defined).

They are eating breakfast in the Great Hall, and save for the seven seconds it had taken James to thrust the wrapped Brewing Cauldrons record at her yesterday with a hurried “Happy birthday, Evans,” before scurrying off in the most pathetic of manners, this is the first time he’s encountered her. She looks much the same as she always does (brilliant), and he’s doing much the same as he always does (eating lathered toast, subtly watching her, hoping no one realizes he’s subtly watching her), but this time, she calls him out on it.

She’s seated across the table and two seats over. They are surrounded by people, but they may as well be alone. Noise buzzes in James’s ears as he stares fixedly at her smugly arched eyebrows, her tellingly quirked lips (the same ones that had snogged him). He is moments away from stuttering out an embarrassed, evasive response, likely flushing and bumbling at being caught, because she's right, he is staring...

But then he realizes something.

He is not the only one.

Lily Evans, that coy conundrum, is staring fixedly at him, as well.

More specifically, she is staring fixedly at his mouth.

Fucking hell, she’s thinking about it, too.

It's sudden, stunning awareness. It's wild, uncontrollable confidence. It's unproven, untested, unmitigated victory and arrogance, a feeling James is not entirely unfamiliar with, but never--never--in regards to her.

“I’m not staring at anything,” he somehow finds himself answering, slowly biting into his toast like it's a token power move. He takes his leisurely time swallowing. “What are you staring at?”

“Me?” Her eyebrows have arched even higher. She licks her lips. “I’m not staring.”

“No?”

“No.”

“My mistake, then.”

"That's right."

"Cheers."

Neither of them breaks eye contact. Neither of them even moves. It is a battle of pointed, heady, bloody fucking hell flirtatious wills, and now that James has realized she is not the only one with power here, he is damn well not going to give it up.

"What are you two doing?" Hestia Jones eventually asks, regarding them with vague suspicion. "What's going on?"

James bites his toast.

Lily stirs her tea.

"Nothing," they both say.

But ten minutes later, as James is somewhat giddily taking his time in exiting the Hall for Charms, Lily slinks up behind him, grabs his arm, and yanks him back as their mates sail unassumingly though the Great Hall toward lessons.

"You're so obvious," she hisses. "Control yourself."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," James returns loftily. "But for shame, Evans--can't you keep your hands off me for even a moment?"

James nods down to where her fingers are still curled around his biceps. He expects her to drop it immediately like a scorching hot pan, but instead she gets a wicked sort of gleam in her green eyes, curls her fingers around even further, and squeezes.

"Mm. So tense." The quiet husk in her voice sends a string of shivers straight down James's spine. One of her fingers has begun to stroke. "I know a few helpful ways to remedy that...but I'm afraid you're just a bit too young to hear them."

"Corrupter of youth," James accuses, though it mostly comes out as a choke.

Cruel, cruel witch that she is, Lily gives a jaunty shrug, lets loose his arm, and with nothing more than a conciliatory pat, stalks off past him.

The point, admittedly, goes to her. But James is nothing if not a sportsman.

Later that same afternoon, Marc Darndis spills an entire beaker of uncooked Brinstin Brew down his front in Potions, and James takes a moment in the ensuing chaos to turn around to the workstation behind him. He watches Lily as she diligently keeps working, then leans his elbows against the table top, sighs heavily, and says, "Poor Darndis. He'll be in the shower for ages trying to scrape that off. Unfortunate, I suppose...but then again, I am personally a very firm advocate for a nice, long shower."

Lily doesn't even glance up at this comment. Maybe her eye twitches a bit, but mostly she just continues chopping up her beetle parts.

"If you don't turn around and mix in your daffodil root," she says eventually, "you're going to need a nice, long shower. When your cauldron explodes."

"Nothing beats a good shower," James continues, like she hasn't spoken. "You know, when the steam starts to billow, and you take your first step in, and the hot water hits your skin, dripping down..."

James manages to get through a good thirty-five seconds of discussing raunchy bathing habits before Lily's face has gone so completely red, it very nearly matches her hair.

(Truly, if James's bothersome cauldron hadn't chosen that exact moment to go on and explode, he reckons he may very well have cracked her.)

(Still, it's worth the detention Slughorn gives him, and the victorious look Lily shoots him. Overall: Point Potter.)

That Monday sets the tone for the following weeks, unleashing this new, maddening dynamic wherein James is now not only allowed to flirt shamelessly and ruthlessly with Lily Evans...it is quite simply expected. The pair of them are both so grossly over-the-top with it, it is very nearly laughable.

She shows up to breakfast one morning with an extra shirt button undone and glossy lips, and James has to squint at the ceiling for a good three minutes before he's in a dignified enough condition to rise from the table.

He "accidentally" leaves his Charms textbook in his dormitory, inquires if he can look on with hers, and spends the entirety of the lesson invading her personal space to her ever-obvious reluctant delight.

They cross paths in the common room, where she promptly begins to read aloud from a Witch Weekly article entitled "The Sexy Art of Snogging" (with charade accompaniment).

James arrives back from Quidditch practice one afternoon, sweaty and still in-kit, and finds her gawking at him by the portrait hole. He loudly hums the chorus to "Mrs. Robinson" as he passes her by, and hears her muffled laughter as the Fat Lady swings closed behind him.

Somehow, they're sitting together during History now, and spend nearly every lesson shooting hurried, sloppy notes between them:

It's so sad how badly you want to kiss me, Evans.

I could weep with how much of a projection that is, Potter.

Shoot those lusty looks elsewhere, I will not be seduced. (how long did he just say this essay was meant to be?)

If I wanted you seduced, you'd be seduced. (I don't know I wasn't listening, go ask Remus.)

I'm too young for these types of conversations. How dare you. (two scrolls)

I guess I'll go find someone else to have them with for the next thirty-two days, then. (thks)

Speaking of mates...the lot of them know nothing. Or at least, James hasn't told his--he can't be certain what Lily has divulged. As far as the lads are concerned, James and Lily are merely engaged in a mysterious, extended battle of wills, their hushed conversations never disclosed, the prize an unconfirmed puzzle. Peter finds the anomaly entertaining. Sirius is primarily disinterested. Remus likely figured the whole thing out on day two, but is much too polite to intrude.

So on it goes, just the two of them--tempting and toying and teasing and TK.

James loves his birthday. He has always loved his birthday. It's the one day of the year when no one's allowed to tell you off for being utterly self-involved, and James has always been keen on that type of lenience. He fancies cake and presents and embarrassing traditions. He doesn't shy from attention or parties or mugs of beverages clinked in his honour. But this birthday...

January quickly shifts to February. February fades into March. James has never been so keenly aware of the days of his youth ticking by as he is at this particular moment. Last week, Lily had cornered him in the library stacks, had used that sad, predictable old ploy of reaching for a book beyond his shoulder in order to brush her body full against his, and James had very nearly threw the whole game and timeline out the window then and there. He was losing his mind. She was keenly enjoying it. If he wasn't very nearly certain the tricks and teasing were getting to her too, he'd likely have put a stop to them ages ago.

But Lily Evans is not the sort of girl who would even vaguely entertain a bloke if she wasn't interested. James, of all people, ought to know that. Yes, their blatant harassment of each other these past eight weeks has been so wildly extraneous in every way...but that doesn't mean there isn't something lying beneath. There is for James, in any case. And really, she'd started it. He doesn't exactly know what any of it means, but he reckons he can't be be castigated for counting down the hours until 27 March with bated breath.

It's Thursday, three days until his birthday. 

+++++

Some canon smut that never was??

"This," James mutters, as her mouth peppers his chin, "is an insulting cliche."

She hums a vague acknowledgment at this comment—or is that a groan?—but continues undeterred in wrestling apart the buttons of his shirt. The sharp half-moons of her nails scrape his chest in a scrambling kitten's scratch as the paltry buttons of his cotton school shirt pop. There is a cool June wind drifting in from the mooncast evening outside the nearby doorway, leading out onto the ramparts. It hits his now exposed skin in soft, brisk billows.

Her teeth bite down on his pulse point. James teeters to the right, nearly tipping back down the steep spiral staircase.

He grabs her around the waist, swinging them around until her back is pressed against the cold stone wall.

She gives a light oomph...then continues to nibble.

"The Astronomy Tower," James snarls.

She has made work of half his shirt buttons. Sighs. "James."

1. What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

I don't know that I'd necessarily call them quirks, but I think I am highly fixated on alliterative phrases, and it is tremendously difficult for me not to open a story or chapter with a pithy one-liner. They are my happy place. Oh! Actually, maybe a real quirk is also that I absolutely can not write un-chronologically. It always leads to disaster when I try. I write so based on the feeling and pace of what came before that if I try to jump the gun and skip scenes, I inevitably mess myself up. It can be really frustrating when I'm stuck on one bit and would rather jump ahead, but it never works for me. Sigh.

2. What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books?

That I'm funny. I know this seems IMPOSSIBLE to some because literally all I write is funny & kissing, but I am not funny in real life. Or, at least, not quick funny. Give me a good ten minutes (or a week) and I can whip you up a pithy lol, but just in moment by moment? No. I am so underwhelming. I'm so sorry. But writing taught me that I am funny...just at my own pace.

3. Do you have any suggestions to help others become a better writer? If so, what are they?

Read incessantly. Reading is the best tool available to you other than writing itself. When you read, you soak up so much--on a fundamentals level, you soak up vocabulary and grammar, but when you're consistently reading the types of books you want to be writing, you're also helping build your larger toolbox. You learn what characters appeal to you. What dynamics. What kind of pacing and plot works. The tropes you like. The conflicts you don't. There's so much to take in during the intrinsic research of reading. And it's fun. So do it.

4. What do you think makes a good story?

Anything that makes you feel something. Or see something in a new way. Storytelling is so complex, and "good" is so relative. I would probably say what makes a good story is whatever you enjoyed writing, though that seems trite. But as a writer, that's true. It's good if you enjoyed it.

5. What is the first book that made you cry?

I honestly had to think about this because I don't know?? Strangely, the first book that came to mind was that Molly American Girl book, where at the end she had to stay home from her victory pageant but then her dad came back from war...but I don't know that I actually cried at that?? Maybe I just remember it vividly as something heartwarming that maybe I ought to have cried at if I wasn't eight. But if not that, probably The Giver, which I read in 7th grade. That seems late, but then again, I am almost never reading a book that will make me cry. I am a light and jovial gal.

6. Does writing energize or exhaust you?

Both? I think the two go hand in hand. Writing is work. But if we didn't enjoy it, we wouldn't keep doing it. So I think everyone would say both.

7. Have you ever gotten reader’s block? If so, what are your tips to overcome it?

Reader's block? No. Writer's block? Yes. And really the only thing you can do in my opinion is give yourself enough space from your writing to quit being in your head about it--however long that might take--and then launch back on that horse. Even if you're only writing a sentence a day, that's still something. But you have to be able to find the joy again, and you can't force yourself into that.

8. Do you think someone could be a writer if they don’t feel emotions strongly?

Well, I don't know exactly what "feel emotions strongly" even means, because all of that is so arbitrary. I'm sure most people feel certain things more keenly or prominently than others. But I also think writing isn't just about emotion. It's about observation. It's about relaying the way you see the world, a character, a moment. And you don't need to feel anything strongly yourself for you to describe something in a way that can make other people feel. That's the magic thing about words. They can do a million different things for a million different people, and not a single one of those is wrong.

9. If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

My quite young self? Absolutely nothing. Preteen Bee wrote like a demon and thought she was a genius. It didn't matter if she sucked. She didn't know what that meant, and bless her. Teenage+ Bee? Chill the fuck out, gurl. It literally doesn't matter. Write what you want.

10. What was your hardest scene to write?

It's difficult to pinpoint one. I think maybe that ending scene in the most recent chapter of Commentarius? Mostly because it was something I had living in my head for literal years, and then suddenly I was writing it...and it was so much smaller of an exchange than I thought it would be? In my head it always seemed liked such a LONG row, a lot of back and forth, but actually trying to write it out, that just couldn't be the reality. Because people can't fight for that long without going in circles or deviating wildly, and going in circles or deviating in fiction is dead space. So that took me awhile to really accept and quit trying to fit my square peg in the round hole.

11. What is your favorite childhood book?

Ella Enchanted. It's still one of my favorite books of all time.

12. How long on average does it take you to write a one shot or a chapter of a fic?

It depends? I am a slow writer in general, and some of my chapters and oneshots are quite long. They have taken at times literal years. But I am also the sort of person that if I start a shorter drabble or oneshot and I don't finish it either that day or in a matter of a few days? Then there's an 80% chance I don't finish it at all. I have approximately 9 million documents of 500 word things I've started and never picked up again. It's my way. So I'm basically a woman of extremes: it either takes me hours or years. XD

13. A fic that inspires you?

I don't think anyone will be surprised if I pick one of Sarah's ( @ghostofbambifanfiction )...and maybe I'll go with Shelf Awareness on that. It's just such a lovely fic and it's so dynamic and the trope is so strong and Sarah's writing is next to none. I've also always always loved Buried Treasure and Transmogrify by RiennaHawkes. It's the perfect mix of plot and smut and just brilliant characterization.

14. How do you edit your work?

I edit as I go. Basically every time I open a doc, I'm skimming back a certain percentage and editing through before I start writing anything new. Generally, once I finish something, I only read it over once or twice before posting because I've already edited so much as I went. If there's a larger problem with the story or chapter, I generally catch it before I get to the end (usually because I can't get to the end without fixing it. It will trip me up).

15. Where does inspiration come from?

Everywhere? Anywhere? The space between and the tears we cry?

16. Who has been helpful for you as you write for the fandom?

I've always said that the reason I have stayed in this fandom for decades (!!!???!!!) is because of the people. The community as a whole is just so lovely and supportive and sticks with you even when you don't update the things they want (lol sry). There have been dozens of people throughout the years that have helped me and been my friend and kept writing and fandom fresh. And there have been hundreds more who have never even spoken to me, but still read my stuff and lurk around, and that's amazing too. So, all of them. Also, you know, Sarah. Who is my light and love and everyone knows it, so she has to get her special call-out otherwise everyone would just call me a liar and they'd be right. ;)

17. What is your fav POV to write from?

Close third person, for sure. I've done first, and it has its moments, but I just find close third so much steadier and still really gives you a look inside the character's head. If you're asking me to choose between Lily or James's POV, though...I literally couldn't. It just depends on my day, honestly

18. What is a fic you would love to write but are worried you won’t be able to accomplish it/nervous it wouldn’t work out?

How long do you have??? There have been a MILLION over the years. I still have a half dozen in my head brewing at any given moment. I guess maybe the longest lasting one would be that I've always looooved delving into this idea of James growing up and what pushes him there and how that plays out with the people around him. And for a long time, I really wanted to write a chaptered fic about James trying to give up being Head Boy. Because he just didn't trust himself with it. And the dynamic of how other people see him vs. how he sees himself and him properly growing into a leader who would join a war effort at eighteen. But I could never make myself launch into yet another WIP, so I ended up sort of squeezing the concept out in a one-shot (Realising) because I wanted to do it in some way, but I do regret a bit never properly tackling it. I think that would have been a really cool story to delve into James as a character. But time is my enemy.

19. Do you ever self insert in fics?

No. I honestly rarely pull anything from people I know in real life, myself included. At most I'll drop in pop culture references to things I enjoy, but that's basically it.

20. What is the story you are proudest of?

I'm proudest of different stories for different things. Commentarius is my baby, and I can never not love it and what it's become to so many. Scenes from a Hogsmeade Pub is special. Elevator Love Song was my first Muggle AU that launched a thousand ships. Eight Days is such a fun world. Auror Training is really really fun smut. And so many more. Truly. I am a proud mama.

21. Do you prefer writing canon jily or muggle au?

Lately? Muggle AU. Just because it lets me flex my muscles more. And I like that. But canon will always hold a place in my heart.

22. How do you go about planning a fic and which of your ocs is your favorite and why

I hate outlines with every fiber of my being, so I don't do outlines. When I have a fic idea, my planning process is usually to have a beginning, certain middle points, and generally an end point, and then to let myself roam free as I write to connect those and fill in the gaps. Sometimes it's a hot mess that way, but I feel instantly claustrophobic if I set things down too firmly. Because then I feel beholden to the things written down, and half the fun of writing is coming up with the freshest ideas as you go.

My favorite OC is MJ Rosier from Commentarius. If you know, you know.