constancezin

[constancezin]

Victorious

Written for Jilytoberfest 31 Prompts Day 30: "Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to me."

——

She can hardly think over the roaring of the crowd. The buzz of it seems to vibrate in her very skull, pounding with a force that matches the thrum of her heart in her ribcage. All around her, the crowd of scarlet watches the Seekers dive towards the Snitch–Elton Ackerley versus Regulus Black, a battle that no longer matters. 

“What is Black doing?” cries a voice from beside Lily. Mary’s voice, positively baffled. Bless her. “Slytherin’s down by four hundred, for Merlin’s sake. Doesn’t that idiot know his team needs to score more before he ends the match?”

“Probably not,” snorts Sirius from behind them. “That fucking idiot can’t count to save his life.”

“Bet he knows there’s no hope, with the way Potter’s been playing,” counters Bridget, smugly. “Reckon he’s just trying to put an end to Slytherin’s humiliation, at this point.”

Lily feels a smile warm her cheeks. It’s true, and they all know it. Even if Black does manage to nab the Snitch for Slytherin, the one-hundred-and-fifty points wouldn’t even put a dent in Gryffindor’s lead. There’s only really one player who can be blamed for that lead—a certain dark-haired wonder with windswept hair and jaw-dropping speed and perfect bloody dexterous hands and—

“Another goal for Gryffindor!” booms the announcer, his voice rattling through Lily’s head. “That’s right, Potter! You show those scaly serpent twats—sorry, Professor McGonagall, I mean—another excellent play by Gryffindor’s captain! He’s really on a roll today, isn’t he?”

On a roll, indeed. Lily is screaming before she knows it, her voice growing hoarse with each ‘go, James!’ that rips itself from her throat. She’s spent so many years scoffing at Quidditch, denying herself this joy. And for what—for what? 

Merlin. 

It’s freeing to just bloody enjoy it. To lose herself in it. To jump with that crowd of scarlet around her. To laugh with each jeer that Sirius sends his brother’s way. To scream. To holler. To sing. To watch James dip and glide and roll. To feel her cheeks grow as red as his. To let her mind go fuzzy at that heart-stopping smile of his, that fierce determination on his face whenever he closes his hands around the Quaffle, the sweat that dampens his hair, the way his arm looks when he lifts it for a throw—

Fucking hell.

“Ackerley and Black are neck and neck now! The Snitch is within reach, it’s anyone’s catch now—come on Ackerley—sorry, Professor—”

A collective shout ripples through the crowd—a chorus of ‘come on Ackerley!’ that Lily doesn’t join. Her eyes stay fixed on the Chaser who sails above, putting his body between the Slytherin Beaters and his teammate. Daring them to try anything. Daring them to send a Bludger his way. And he’d bloody do it too, Lily knows without question. James Potter, in all his stupid, self-sacrificing recklessness, would take a Bludger to the head to spare his team’s Seeker without a lick of regret. The nerve of him. The stupid, reckless, admirable, noble, beautiful—

“Ackerley’s got it! He’s got the Snitch! And that’s it! Gryffindor wins five-hundred-and-sixty to ten!”

The crowd breaks into a whole new kind of roar. Lily is right there with them, throwing her arms around Mary and Bridget in turn. Jumping. Screaming. Kicking her feet when Sirius hoists her up and spins her around, hollering in her ear. 

James is a blur as he sails down to Ackerley, pulling the scrawny kid halfway off his broom in a jubilant hug. When they break apart, he’s hoisting Ackerley’s arm into the air in triumph, clapping him on the back and grinning widely enough to melt Lily’s heart into a puddle right bloody there.

The crowd is chanting. “Ackerley! Ackerley! Ackerley!” James, maddeningly content to let the Seeker take the credit for a victory that is really all his, waves his arms in an upward motion at the crowd—signaling them to shout louder, louder, louder.

The crowd in the stands begins to rush downwards—a sea of scarlet converging on the grass below to mob the team where some of them are beginning to land. It’s a big fucking deal, this victory—the first time Gryffindor has beaten Slytherin in ten years. Never mind that the leaves on the trees are just beginning to change and the Quidditch Final is still months away. Never mind that this is the first match of the season. This victory is a big fucking deal and Gryffindor will treat is as such. Lily would be right there with them, if she could bring herself to move a muscle. 

She stays rooted in the spot, her eyes locked on where James is now hovering mid-air, seemingly oblivious now to how his teammates are peeling away around him—swooping down to join the celebrations on the pitch below. He doesn’t seem to notice the trophy that Sirius has conjured (depicting a lion eating a snake, of course), or the chanting that’s somehow changed from ‘Ackerley! Ackerley! Ackerley!’ to ‘Potter! Potter! Potter!’ He’s looking directly at Lily instead—grinning at her— and she’s looking at him, giggling.

“Potter! Potter! Potter!”

James begins to move, but not in the direction anyone is expecting. His eyes never leaving Lily’s, he draws closer, closer, closer. Until he’s dismounting right there in the stands, tossing his broom down without a second glance and clambering over a bench.

“James!” Lily shouts, scrambling over the rows before her to meet him halfway. “James, you did it! You were amazing! You—”

He stops her words with a kiss—warm and desperate and bloody electric. The roar of the crowd grows impossibly louder, and Lily’s mind is wiped blank—blissfully, beautifully blank. Her fingers dig into his Quidditch robes, her heart exploding in her chest, and all those silly reasons they’d had for keeping their relationship secret are worlds away, dissolved into nothingness with the feel of his lips on hers. 

She feels him grin against her, feels the tickle of his voice when he whispers ‘Evans,’ before his lips are on hers again and his sturdy arms are sliding around her and the world is going topsy turvy because he’s fucking dipping her—right there in front of the whole bloody school.

The crowd is so loud now she can feel it in her veins. But all that matters is James—right here, right now, tangled up with Lily in this moment she hopes will last forever.

[constancezin]

the potters

[constancezin]

Lily: Go fuck yourself.

James : Come over here and fuck me yourself you coward!

[constancezin]

New Chapter - The Loyal Companion

Lily Evans endures a series of disastrous first dates at her new favourite bar, The Loyal Companion. Still, at least the whiskey is good. And the bartender is cute. Not her type though. Nope, definitely not.

Chapter 5 - Not James

After her last, disastrous visit to The Loyal Companion, Lily's attempts to move on don't quite go according to plan.

Read it on AO3: From the Beginning // Latest Chapter

Snippet below the cut.

If Lily had to describe Sunday morning in a single word, she’d probably have gone for ‘horrific’. 

Her inevitable hangover was as vicious as it was thoroughly deserved; her throat was raw, her head felt as though it might split open and had something actually crawled into her mouth and died? It certainly tasted as though it might have done. Tequila leached from her skin, infusing her bedroom with an alcoholic stench that didn’t help ease the nausea rolling in her stomach one bit—and neither did the mortifying flashbacks that kept slipping into her mind no matter how hard she tried to suppress them. 

It seemed incredible that fewer than twenty-four hours earlier, she’d been looking forward to going back to The Loyal Companion and opening up to James about her feelings. 

What a difference a day makes.

She’d been such an idiot, making assumptions about him and misunderstanding his intentions. Not only had she made a complete fool of herself over him, she’d then proceeded to embarrass herself in front of the entire bar. Lily wasn’t sure she’d ever felt more humiliated in her entire life.

Cringing, she rolled over and buried her head in her pillow, using it to muffle her strangled, shameful groan, and stayed that way for an age, until her phone pinged with a message. 

The sound struck fear deep into her chest. What if it was someone reminding her of yet another awful thing she’d said or done after several-too-many margaritas? But, whether it was simple curiosity or a complete lack of self preservation, she couldn’t resist for long and reached for her phone. 

The message she saw was like a life ring thrown to her in the middle of a storm.

Continue reading on AO3

[constancezin]

lily: i only watch gryffindor quidditch practices to support marlene

also lily: *spends the entire time staring at james doing push ups, james comforting a teammate, james instructing his team, james flying backwards, james laughing, james taking his shirt off to wipe his forehead, james grinning smugly as he notices her watching him*

[constancezin]

Summary:

It's magic, some say. A magic borne from the cosmos, carried through the night on a falling star. Though all have a chance at it, not all will experience it. Only the lucky few who are destined to meet their soulmate. It's all nonsense, Lily Evans thinks. And then the symphony starts. (Or: When you meet your soulmate and they tell you their name, an orchestra starts playing in your head.)

Read on Ao3

[constancezin]

This is exactly word for word the pitch of a jegulus fic I just saw on ao3.

''I love Lily, she's sooooo important to me, I should marry her, but she dumps James so he can go back to reggie who deserves better the poor lad.

Ah! and forgot (silly me) they will rise Harry, as she's got better things to do than raise her son.

But I love her, I swear"

Free Lily Evans from people who pretend to love her but don’t read any ships involving her, call her a lesbian just to keep her out of their mlm ships, say they ship her with themselves but only have four posts about her, and claim to love Pandalily or Marylily—yet, when asked to name a single fic they've read, they go blank.

[constancezin]

Random Sirius’s portrait I made those 5 past years

Happy 65 man!

[constancezin]

Oh yeah!

People only talk about Sirius and James having a ‘sacred friendship’. But I believe the friendship between Remus and Sirius is special too!!! Platonic Wolfstar is really important to me!!!!💖💖💖💖💖🤡 don’t ruin it with your toxic ideas about romance. How narrow-minded can you be to want to ruin SUCH a friendship with your dirty kisses? Ewwwwwwww

[constancezin]

@ the marauders fandom

[constancezin]

...but that's not how the story goes

[turn on the audio for the full experience] / photo version

[constancezin]

And you did it perfectly (even if I hadn't time nor energy to fully participate)

An enormous thank you for all the fics and art

I love (hate) october

Pretty sure it’s November in most of the places on earth now so, it is time to say bye to jilytober (for now)

This year, we had an entire mod team helping out to organise this fest. Ensuring everything ran smoothly and soundly. A big shoutout to all those part of the mod team for working for the fest and giving it all their attention. Moderating the express, giving prompts, making forms and more. Thank you for your help in making the entire jily community celebrate this month.

A huge thank you to all those who participated in jilytober, cherishing James and Lily. Sharing your works and your love for James and Lily makes the world a better place because of all the love that is being shared, which is exactly what jily would say. A special shoutout to those who have been participating in this fest since the year it began.

With that, jilytober 2024 has come to an end.

See you next year :)

[constancezin]

@jjameslily

Your fic reminded me this

Dia de los muertos

This is the official opening of the spooky jilytober season!

Dedicated to @maluceh and her fantastic mexican jily

[constancezin]

don’t let it make you cry,

a dia de los muertos (day of the dead) inspired fic in honor of my favorite holiday and tradition of love and remembrance ♡

read on AO3 | word count: 960

The light illuminated the path ahead, casting a golden glow that shimmered and stretched like a thread between worlds. She felt its pull, drawing her forward, a silent beckoning that wrapped her in warmth. A sudden, gentle brush against her hand made her pause. Fingers intertwined with hers, familiar and steady. She glanced to her side, meeting amber speckled eyes, accompanied by a look she knew he’d given her a million times before. A soft breath caught in her chest. 

No longer just the essence of their being but whole, vibrant with the ringing of remembered life. The cable knit jumper hung on him as easily as it had that day, its warmth mirrored in the tender glint of his eyes as they settled on her. She felt his gaze trace the familiar lines of her figure, the way the soft cascade of her long red hair caught the golden light.

Of course—it was him. He was always there, their souls moving together like the steady sway of flame and shadow, bound in a dance that would never end.

He didn’t hold her back, but matched her stride, their steps silent but sure, pressed into the softness of the petals underfoot. The glowing path beneath them was alive with the hum of unspoken words and devotion carried in the orange and gold that lit their way. No pain touched them here, only the gentle press of each step—each petal whispering to them as if the universe itself was guiding them onward.

The air around them was tinged with a sweet, citrus tang that sharpened with each breath. It filled her senses, clearing away and purifying the ache that so often lingered. They moved as one, drawn along the light-strewn path, echoing the steady rhythm of a place that knew no distance, only the steady pull of home.

They walked along the path, the candlelight drawing closer until it illuminated the scene ahead. She paused, suddenly the beat of her heart faster than she had felt in so long at the sight—a figure, kneeling before them. A flickering played in the reflection of his round glasses, casting tiny flames that danced over the curves of his face, softening the shadows that clung to his boyish features.

His hand, outstretched, fingers brushing the edge of a framed photograph, hesitant yet reverent. The glass held a moment in time—her dressed in white, eyes alight with laughter, leaning into her beloved with his untamed hair framing his head like a crown, and by their side, an old friend with a mischievous grin, forever late, even now as they found their way back to this world. 

A smile tugged at her lips, met with a quiet chuckle beside her, as if he too saw and remembered at that very moment. But he’d be there soon, she assured the figure silently. 

Like them, his spirit hovered, keeping close watch over him, content to do so until his time came in some far away future. The longing to be whole was tempered only by the joy of witnessing his life unfold—happy, full—each moment a testament of their love and willing sacrifice, patiently waiting as long as forever just to see him grow old.

He sighed, rubbing a sleeved hand across his forehead. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” he murmured to himself. 

But this was the closest they’d felt to him in what felt like an eternity, more than just mere shades of themselves.

A gentle breeze caressed the marigolds laid out before them, lifting their petals into a delicate dance and waving the air with a sweetness that held echoes of laughter and song. The faint notes of distant music whispered through, tugging at memories long settled in the quiet corners of the past. 

Her eyes glistened, the love within her radiating from her. She let it ripple outward, weaving her spirit into the air around him, reaching beyond the veil, hoping he–Harry, their son—would feel it not as a ghost of a fleeting memory, but as a pulse.

Alive.

Real.

James reached forward to outline the curve of his cheek, to feel him, to extend himself into the warmth that flowed from the space they once called home. Though they couldn’t show themselves as before, the world held their presence in subtle ways—the quiet stir of petals, shifting as though under the brush of invisible fingers; the rich scent in the air, wrapping around him with the longing warmth of home. The candle flames pulsed gently, each flickering their heartbeat for warmth to settle deep, to comfort in place of their embrace.

Harry’s shoulders lifted, drawing in a shuddering breath. His eyes softened, a hint of recognition breaking through the sorrow that shadowed them. As Harry looked into the small collection of arranged photographs, his features became more peaceful, regarding the lively expressions from their youth. 

A single tear escaped him, catching in the light, and a quiet, wistful smile appeared on his lips as calm settled over him. 

“Welcome home,” he whispered to them.

They lingered in the glow of their bridged worlds, woven from love and memories like a protective shroud over him—their love pouring into the very air he breathed. The night was heavy and vibrant with the embrace of life, death, and everything in between. A gentle reminder that love remembered was never truly lost. 

Together, they held him, encircling his body wordlessly. Their presence continued to infuse in the candlelight and scent that surrounded him, carrying their message: they were here, always, and would remain until the day they were together once more. 

Until the divide between the living and departed was no longer.

Until the very end.

[constancezin]

James Potter did NOT answer the door without his wand on Halloween 1981.

- In Ch 17 of Deathly Hallows, we see from Voldemort’s POV through the window of the cottage.

- James was playing with Harry on the sofa in the sitting room when Lily came in the room and collected him for bed. He left his wand on the sofa to follow her and Harry upstairs.

- Voldemort waited until they were out of the main room to blow open the door and rush inside.

- James sprinted down the hallway at the noise and was immediately attacked. One Killing Curse and he was struck down. Having his wand was unlikely to have helped him much. He didn’t even know that the Fidelius Charm had fallen.

- Voldemort KNEW that James didn’t have his wand. He saw him toss it on the sofa before leaving the room!

- James yelled a warning from the hallway to Lily rather than run for his wand, or his life.

He CHOSE to yell a warning to Lily in those last precious seconds.

[constancezin]

“But Petals it’s only November—“

I DO NOT CARE

[constancezin]

Yes, it should

This is how jily grave should look like