#jilymicro oops

[kay-elle-cee]

Things That Haven’t Happened Yet || a @jilymicro-oops || Chapter 4 8k Words || Rated E || Start from the beginning

Now Complete

The first thing James registers is a light tickle on his neck. He blinks his eyes open and as they slowly take in the unfocused, lightly lit room, memories start to flood in, helped in large part by the warm body nestled into his side. Portsmouth. Lips pull into a grin of disbelief as the feeling of her—Lily Evans—warm and real against the side of his body ushers him into a state of consciousness. How James had gotten so lucky as to be here with her is a complete mystery to him, but he dozed off last night (head in her lap while light fingers twined in his hair) thanking Merlin and every god he could name for this time. Careful not to disturb her, he cranes his neck to get a better view: her red hair is wild and unruly around her face (much of it brushing up against James’ neck and blown about by her soft breathing), her hand is splayed out on his bare chest while her cheek is pressed firmly into the side of it. He wishes he could make out the look on her face, but without his glasses (which he doesn’t dare grab in fear of waking her), he can only imagine. Even without the finer details, his chest tightens at the view of her—of them—and he wants it to last for as long as it can. He just wants to have this one moment before she wakes up and it changes.

A/N Thank you all so much for your love for this fic! The response has been unbelievable! 🫶🏼

[practicecourts]

And another Road leading straight to Jily Love (through ruination) idk, I doubted if this wasn't too close to 2 days ago @jilymicro-oops

Read to Seduce on ao3 or start below the cut. Moody March Day Astounded

To Seduce

Lily slowly stood and held her breath, surely he must have heard the rushing sound of her dress. Perhaps not, for though she imagined his shoulders tensing, he did not look up.  She would only have to step to the door, just eleven steps or so, and then she’d be free. Free of doing the wrong thing. Free of trapping a man who did not deserve to be trapped. She exhaled slowly. 

His hair was the colour of obsidian stone, and inexplicably, she stepped toward the fire, toward the chair instead of taking a more direct route to the door.  What would it be like to touch it? To run her hands through it? She scolded herself and looked away, taking another step to the door.

Something about Lord Potter sitting in front of the fire was off. What was it that had Lord Potter so downcast? She could not imagine something that would subdue his spirits, he was always a lively presence, perhaps rather loud and boastful on occasion, perhaps one could say he was proud too, but she’d not seen him like this. It astounded her.  The sense that the man was troubled, pulled at her heartstrings, would she be able to help him? To alleviate some of what was clearly pressing on his conscience? 

“I’m sorry, my Lord Potter?” she spoke the words without thinking, “I do not wish to be impertinent, but it seems you are troubled. Is there nothing I can do to help?” 

Continue

[jilymicrofics]

Sharing this post again re: sending in anon asks!

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~ Charms

Your friendly jilymicros admin

PSA: Sending Anon Asks

Hey all just a note on sending asks as our inbox just got a fair few.

While we love asks in our inbox and are accepting of anons coming in there are some boundaries.

First and foremost we aren't a rec blog. So asking us to recommend a certain type of fic, art or whatever probably won't get you anywhere. Especially if it comes in the form of the one we just received about not wanting anything POC. -We don't do that shit here. Any interpretation of the characters is welcome in this space. Period.

You're always welcome to send in asks recommending micros or just wanting to share some love for the micro authors. That we love to see.

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And of course it goes without saying you're always welcome to ask questions about taking part in prompt lists or events we host.

Thanks!

~ Charms

[uncertainwallflower]

WE ARE NO STRANGERS TO ZONKO A @jilymicro-oops written for the @jilymicrofics April 2025 prompt list. Prompts: 1–30. Words: 2144.

I had forgotten about this; it was meant to be for April Fool's Day, but alas. This micro-oops is dedicated to @nena-96 because if she were a holiday, it would be April Fools.

The faded sign of the Hog’s Head Inn groaned, swinging roughly on rusted hinges. Ice latticed the windows, catching the pale midday light and setting the disturbed orange flicker of the sooty candles permeating the filthy panes askitter. Bright snow lay thick over the whole village, with paths cut for access to shops, but here, away from the high street, it was stamped down to a trail of dark sludge. The door to the tavern was heavy, taking two of the boys to ram it with their shoulders before it unstuck from its hold.

They fell inside, a dozen sets of eyes meeting theirs. All were silent. Watching. Waiting.

“Padfoot, I don’t like this, man,” murmured the thinnest boy in the ear of the prettiest. “Let’s just go back.”

“It’s too late for that,” replied the bespectacled boy in the pretty one’s stead. He’d spotted their man—a tramp sitting alone at a round table. He nudged the pretty one, Padfoot, whose long hair swung as he followed the subsequent nod.

“Right,” Padfoot whispered. “Moony, Prongs, you go get drinks. Wormtail and I will butter him up.” Then the boy stepped forward and with a winning smile said: “As you were, gents.”

A croak of laughter from the day drinkers. Dull chatter resumed.

Off Padfoot sauntered with Wormtail in tow, while thin and bespectacled, Moony and Prongs, picked their way to the bar through the straw-strewn floor, steering clear of a hag in the corner.

“Four Butterbeers and—” glancing eye contact “—glass’a whisky,” Moony asked of the barkeeper.

The burly old wizard looked each up and down. “How old are yeh?” he grunted, never ceasing his polishing of a snifter growing greasier with every pass of the grey rag.

Moony swallowed, juvenile Adam’s Apple bobbing. “Seventeen.”

“Oh yeah? What year were yeh born?”

“Nineteen fifty-seven. In July.”

The barkeeper’s eyes rolled beneath his thick brows. Prongs, sensing failure, dug out his coin pouch and set it on the bar, which was an inch thick with filth. Eight Sickles he pulled out for the cost of the Butterbeers, followed by a Galleon. Fat, gold and glistening. “For the whisky. Campbell’s Finest.” A casual shrug. “If you have it.”

The barkeeper scoffed. He set down the snifter and sighed. Then, he walked off, pushing through a small door, which thudded resolutely shut behind him. The boys glanced at one another. Was that it? End of? No. He soon reappeared, huffing and puffing as he hauled a filthy crate of clinking bottles from his storeroom. He set it on the bar with a heavy clank and pulled out four bottles of room-temperature dust-covered Butterbeer. He took the Galleon, pushing the Sickles back at the bespectacled dark-haired boy, then uncorked an unlabelled bottle of dark amber liquid and half filled the grease-streaked snifter. He eyed them crossly as they nodded their thanks, took the drinks and change, and picked their way to the far corner of the tavern where sat their two friends and a stranger.

The stranger—a lean man in thick robes with hollow cheeks and thin hair—sniffed the whisky he was handed then downed it in one, letting out a sharp “Ahhh” as it went down.

“Very nice,” he said, in a smooth sing-song accent. “I’m not being funny, that is a tidy drop.” He set down the glass with a heavy whack, sending the lone tallow candle flickering. “So.” He sucked his teeth. “Why is it that a bunch of Hogwarts kids want to meet with little old me?”

“Who said we’re from Hogwarts?” Padfoot countered.

The man, who was known loosely in particular circles as Owain Ifans, leant back in his chair and crossed his arms. He sucked his teeth again.

“Okay. Maybe we are. What we want is to purchase some…” The pretty boy looked over his shoulder, checking for eavesdroppers, then lowered his voice. The other boys tensed. “Equipment.”

“What sort of equipment?”

“You know——”

“No. Not you.” He pointed to Wormtail, who shrank under the man’s gaze. “You. Let’s hear what the little man has to say.”

Wormtail swallowed, looking to his more confident friends in a panic. “M-me?”

“Yes. You.”

“Well, we——” He dissolved then into a coughing fit.

From his left, Prongs popped the cork from one of the potentially expired bottles of Butterbeer that had sat hitherto untouched and passed it to the choking boy.

“Thanks, James,” he wheezed, “I-I mean Prongs.” He took a long horrified drink, cheeks burning bright red as he gulped down the sweet foamy liquid.

Moony’s face was buried in his hands, Padfoot had set his mouth in an emotionless line, and James was intently uncorking the other three bottles and passing them around.

Owain sighed heavily when the flushing boy had finally recovered. “Alright, here’s what I reckon. I reckon you lot heard about what I sell and thought you’d have yourselves a bit of fun, eh? Bit of bang-bang? Cause a stir at school?” He motioned to the barkeeper for another drink. “Haven’t you ever heard of Zonko’s? Shop down the road? Tell you what, let’s this time forget it. I’m going to enjoy another tidy whisky, you lot are going to toddle off and get yourselves some crackers, and——”

“Look.” To the shock of his three compatriots, it was Wormtail who interrupted the peddler. The barely pubescent boy had gathered up all of his bravery, confidence, strength, set on redeeming himself or dying trying. He leant forwards, pressed his elbows into the table and steepled his fingers, leaving Owain to close his half-gaping mouth in his own time. “We are no strangers to Zonko. We’ve bought his whole range ten times over and, honestly, we want better. We’re looking for something big, and we hear you’re the man to talk to. We’ve heard, in fact, that we won’t get better from any other. The best in the biz. So will you help us? Or should we take our business elsewhere?”

Owain squinted at the blond, sizing him up, having obviously misjudged him the first time. Then he smirked. “Alright, no need to get chopsy.”

He pulled out a sheet of folded parchment and tapped it with his wand, muttering, “Heb ei fai.”

As he unfolded the sheet and set it on the table, they watched words slowly form upon the once-blank surface. The boys grinned at one another then leant in to watch closer.

“A list of my merchandises. I’ve got Chinese Flaming Mountain Powder, Hoods of Hypnosis, Beltaine Spitzers, you name it. But I have to warn you.” He pulled the parchment back a fraction, covering the list with long splayed knobble-knuckled fingers. “These aren’t your average Nose-Biting Teacups.”

The boys nodded eagerly, and he released the enigmatic parchment to their greedy clutches. The barkeeper trudged over, casting a single beady eye on the parchment as he refilled the snifter.

“Leave the bottle, would you? Downright thirsty, I am. There’s lovely.”

The burly wizard did so with a grunt. Meanwhile, the boys read aloud in reverent whispers:

“Loki’s Looping Laces, three Knuts a pair,” read Wormtail.

“Pocket Archipelagos, two tins for ten Sickles,” read Moony.

“Igor’s Inviolable Ice Imps, one Galleon a dozen,” read James.

“Kelper’s Ultimate Destruction Extra-Extra-Extra Large Supernova,” read Padfoot. “Why’s that one crossed out?”

“Can’t get the things into the UK anymore.” Owain shook his head. “Bloody shame.”

The boys sagged.

“But Agni’s Tongues are a cracking alternative. Seven heads on it for maximum effect. More bang for your buck, as you Sais like to say.” He laughed liltingly.

The boys put their heads together. The Djinn in a Bottle they thought best left alone, but Pernicious Pucks and Loki’s Lace Loopers were all too thrilling to the young troublemakers. Finally, when all were in accordance, they passed the parchment back to its owner, who tapped it again with his wand and said this time: “Heb ei eni.” The ink quickly faded, returning the page to its initial blank state.

They watched with starry eyes as the Welshman folded the parchment and tucked it into the inner folds of his robes.

Padfoot grasped his Butterbeer by the neck, held it aloft, and repeated—reverently—the secret phrase he’d been sent by carrier pigeon that bleary morning: “Never a better day was there to pick daffodils.”

Owain Ifans smirked as the boys too raised their half-empty bottles. He picked up his whisky, sang, “Iechyd da!” and sank the full glass in one. “Ahhhhh. Very tidy indeed.”

“Hey, out of curiosity, what’d you use for that?” Sirius asked as Owain corked the bottle with a squeak.

“What?”

The pretty boy nodded towards the pocket in which Owain had stored the parchment. “Your catalogue. Dissappearing ink?”

Owain grinned. “Not likely, boyo.” Then he clapped his hands and rose from his chair, setting two Galleons on the table and slipping the bottle into the opposite side of his robes. “Right, lads. We’ve business to attend to.” And he strolled out the door.

The thin boy twisted in his chair. “Listen, I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling,” he whispered as they re-wrapped their scarves and re-gloved their hands. “I still think this is a bad idea. We can’t trust him. And the barman was pretty eyesy with the list. What if he dobbs on us? It’s not too late to leave.”

Padfoot scoffed.

“He’s given us an out, let’s take it.”

“Don’t be daft, Remus,” Padfoot whispered back as they too rose from the table, their bottles unfinished, and hurried out the door, glad to be leaving the stale inn behind. “He’s testing us. If we don’t show up now, he’ll find us and, I don’t know, kill us. Maybe if Peter hadn’t spewed out James’s name——”

James smacked the pretty boy on the head. “Shut up, Sirius. It won’t help.”

Sirius grumbled but did indeed shut up.

They huddled together to protect from the cold and trudged after the lone set of footprints in the thick pale snow.

The footprints led around to the back of the building. There he stood, fairly tall if not for his hunched nature, wrapped up in cloaks with three hoods drawn low. The red glow of a thin hand-rolled cigarette cast short shadows across his gaunt face. When they reached him, he smiled, snuffing out the butt against the wall and flicking it to the snow. With all the fanfare of a circus ringmaster, he pulled open his cloak to reveal the holy grail of the pubescent practical prankster.

Psychedelic pouches, bandied boxes, unending tubes in the most violent colours, all pinned to the lining. It was all there. Dancing Deluges, Arrows of Apollo, Lickable Love-A-Lot Concentrate, a Soul-Sucking Toilet Seat. Even the infamous Antarctic Almonds—One Bite for the World’s Most Agonising Brain Freeze!

“Tell me now, how far are you lads planning on taking this?”

The boys looked at each other and grinned.

“Full commitment’s what I’m thinking of,” said Peter. “And I think you’ll find my friends agree.”

“Very well then.” And then, to the sound of angels singing above, he pulled back a second cloak. Within was enough to make the heads of four teenagers spin. Here was the Big Stuff, the Bad Stuff, the Flammable Things. Everything they had ever dared to dream of. And more. Snapping-Turtle Rockets, Noxious Nizzle-Bangers, Chinese Dragon Crackers…

They didn’t have enough hands. No matter. Owain, as it turned out, came prepared. He had—likely stolen—bags from Honeydukes and Zonkos, each modified with the best display of undetectable extension charmwork any of the boys had ever seen. One had to wonder how such a nifty wizard ended up dealing through the black market.

“Happy Days, Happy Days,” Owain clucked as he unloaded the goods into the unassuming bags.

It saw their money pouches skint and their chests fit to burst with glee.

“Alright boyos, you know rules and so do I,” said Owain as he pocketed a now heavy sack of coins. “No telling, no blabbing, no snitching, no prattling, no teachers, no mummies, no daddies, no dropping of products and most especially no smoking near your stash. Otherwise, there will be consequences. Got it…? Tidy. Tara then.”

Remus glanced at the cigarette butt which had melted a small divot in the dirty snow. He said nothing.

Owain Ifans trudged down the lane, turning on his heel as he reached a wood-heap and vanishing with a soft pop.

The boys grinned at one another. Sirius let out a holler. Weighed down by bags, they spun about, hurrying past the grimy inn and its swinging sign, past houses and shops, until they were in the High Street, swinging their bags like any other happy shopper, blending in brilliantly with all the other students enjoying the first Hogsmeade trip of the year.

Boy-oh-boy, did Hogwarts have a big storm coming.

AO3

[ohmygodshesinsane]

FANTASISE

an M-rated 3.5k Jily fic, using July prompt 4: icy, for @jilymicro-oops

When Lily ends up taking Veritaserum as part of one of Sirius' games, James finds that he really doesn't need to know any of the nitty-gritty details. Fate has other plans.

Read it here on AO3!

[elliemarchetti]

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures (Part VII)

I don’t know if I should tag @jilymicrofics or @jilymicro-oops. In doubt, I’ll submit this part of Desperate Times, Desperate Measures to both.

Prompt: Grating (prompt 20)

Words: 529

Something clashed in the scene before him, as if it were hiding a small mistake, but important enough to make it completely wrong. Maybe it was the fact Sirius was kissing the girl he’d been in love with since the first day of school, or maybe it was the fact she was kissing him back. The image made him vaguely sick to his stomach and left a bitter taste in his mouth, like an out-of-tune guitar or someone mangling the lyrics of your favourite song. He never believed him to be a hypocrite, but there was a certain dissonance between what he had told him in the past and what he was evidently doing at the moment threatening to change his mind.

“They’re cute together, don’t you think? Maybe a little gross sometimes, but cute nonetheless,” a familiar female voice commented to his right, but James didn’t bother to answer, certain he couldn’t say anything nice when he agreed so little. Usually, whatever his best friend did, even the most grating shit, never made him want to use violence, but in this case he was certain no one would blame him if he made an exception.

“Do you want this Butterbeer or should I track down Remus?” the Gryffindor next to him asked, touching his shoulder with the cool neck of the freshly uncorked bottle, instinctively pushing him to turn. Maybe it was for the best, even if he feared he had the image of the one he considered like a brother stealing the girl of his dreams under his nose forever imprinted into his brain.

“Yes, I think…” James began, until he met a pair of eyes as green as a meadow on a dewy spring morning and as innocent as a fawn’s. In disbelief, he turned back to Sirius and the one he had thought was Lily, who had now moved to straddle him and buried her hands in his loose hair. He would have recognized those hips, that waist, and her flaming red mane anywhere, and yet the same person was also standing in front of him, with a hopeful smile and two Butterbeers ready to be downed.

“What..?” James stammered, rubbing his temples.

“Oh, that’s Marlene!” Lily, the real one, according to her, exclaimed. “A few weeks ago, she said she was afraid Sirius only wanted her for her looks, and since I’m pretty sure I’m the only girl in this school who truly horrifies him, I offered to make some Polyjuice potion for her to take my appearance. Judging by the way they are wrapped around each other, I’d say he passed the test.”

“What if he kissed you?” James asked, trying not to sound too shocked by a plan he wasn’t exactly sure was as brilliant as the two girls had imagined it to be.

“Oh, if he had made a mistake he would’ve had to start running really fast,” she replied, before turning back to their friends and yell them to find a room.

“Not ours, please!” James added, even though he was sure he would have to sleep again on the sofa in the Common Room crammed between Moony and Wormtail.

[jilymicro-oops]

First micro-oops for 2024! 🥳

Chapter 2 of Reset: When It Matters

@jilymicrofics your wish has been fulfilled and Reset is now a @jilymicro-oops!

today's prompt - hearthside

a snippet:

They were washing the dishes by hand when Lily remarked, “You've been quiet all evening, though. Was there something on your mind?”

"I didn't think I was quiet."

"I don't mean quiet as in silent, but as in subdued, which you aren't usually."

“Well, it's nothing particular.” He felt like he owed her a part of the truth for observing so closely and caring, so he shared, “I've just been thinking deeply about certain things.”

“Such as?”

“It’s just… how we're lucky you were only hit by a temporary curse rather than something worse, you know? And that thought makes me wish I'd been there to protect you from the attack in the first place.”

Read Chapter 2 on AO3.

[tedwardremus]

Adventures in Babysitting

A @jilymicro-oops and hinnymicro oops for @ginnystrophyhusband Hinny Prompt: Cupboard Jily Prompt: Chaperone Word Count: 1063

James hadn’t expected to come home to a spotless house—after all, they’d left their sixteen-year-old son in charge of both the house and his four younger siblings.

What did surprise him, however, was finding their four-year-old curled up in the downstairs cupboard when he went to hang up his cloak.

“Lil?” he called out, staring at the boy. “There is a boy in the cupboard.”

A loud screech erupted from the small child.

James grinned, unfazed. “My apologies,” he said to Matty before calling back to Lily. “Correction! There’s a banshee in the cupboard.”

Lily appeared at his side, eyes wide with mock alarm. “A banshee? How terrifying! I suppose we’ll have to banish it.”

“No!” Matty protested, clutching the doorframe like his life depended on it.

“Well,” Lily said, tapping a finger against her chin as if deep in thought, “maybe if the banshee gave me a kiss, he could stay.”

Matty scrambled out of the cupboard and ran straight into his mother’s arms. She scooped him up with a laugh as he planted a kiss on her cheek.

“And what exactly were you doing in the cupboard, Matty?” she asked.

“Harry told me to play hide-and-seek,” Matty said proudly.

“Ah, and he hasn’t found you yet?”

“Nope! I picked a good spot. I fell asleep, and he never found me.”

James and Lily exchanged a look.

“Classic move,” James said, shaking his head. “A bit amateurish, though. Would’ve thought Harry was cleverer than that.”

Lily kissed Matty’s forehead. “Come on, love. Let’s get you to bed while Daddy goes off to find your brother and sisters.”

“No! I’m still playing!”

“But you won,” Lily pointed out.

“I want to play more!”

James sighed, shutting the cupboard door as Lily carried Matty up the stairs, their battle of wills still going strong.

“How about we play bedtime?” she suggested.

“That’s a stupid game,” Matty grumbled.

James followed them up but veered off toward the twins’ room instead of Matty’s. When he opened the door, he was momentarily stunned to find Evan sprawled on Lottie’s bed, pink floral bedspread and all, calmly reading a book.

“What are you doing in here?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.

Evan barely looked up as he flipped a page in his book. “Harry said I had to stay out of our room.”

“Right…” James said slowly. “And where are the twins?”

“Giving each other makeovers with Mum’s makeup.”

James pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course they are.”

Closing the door, he crossed the hall to Matty’s room, where Lily was still locked in an intense negotiation, trying to wrestle their youngest into pajamas.

“Lottie and Mia are making a mess of your vanity,” James informed her.

Lily, mid-struggle, barely spared him a glance. “Got it.”

“I’ll come help you—after I have a good talk with Harry,” James said. “And possibly stun Matty into his pajamas if you’re still fighting by then.”

Lily snorted in acknowledgment, still wrestling with Matty, as James made his way down the hall to Harry and Evan’s room.

Pressing his ear to the door, he heard giggling.

James knew his eldest son pretty well. He knew Harry wasn’t one for giggling.

James knocked. “Harry, your parents are home.”

“Shit!” came a whispered curse from the other side.

“What time is it?” another voice asked, sounding frantic.

“Fuck.”

A thud, followed by frantic shuffling and muffled movement.

James sighed. “Harry,” he called, voice firm. “I’m coming in.”

James pushed open the door to find Harry sitting stiffly on his bed, hair a mess—but that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual were the misaligned buttons on his shirt, his bare feet, and the upside-down Quidditch magazine clutched in his hands.

“Really, Harry?” James asked, crossing his arms.

“What?” Harry said, feigning innocence.

James raised an eyebrow. “You locked your baby brother in a cupboard so you could make out with your girlfriend?”

“He went in there on his own!” Harry protested.

James wasn’t impressed. He really thought his son would be more creative than this.

“And I didn’t have my girlfriend over,” Harry added quickly.

“Nice save,” James said. “But not good enough.” He walked over to the wardrobe and gave it a sharp knock. “Nice to have you over, Ginny.”

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” came Ginny’s voice from inside.

James sighed. “You should probably go home now.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Ginny agreed. “The smell of Harry and Evan’s socks is doing me in.”

Harry groaned and dragged the magazine over his face.

The wardrobe door creaked open, and Ginny stepped out, smoothing her hair. “Umm… well, I guess I’ll owl you, Harry.”

James gave her a pointed look.

“…Or I’ll see you on the train when we go back to school?” she amended, glancing nervously at him.

"Goodbye, Ginny," James said, holding the door open for her. "Safe Floo travels."

Once she was gone, Harry let out a slow breath and looked at his father. "How much trouble am I in?"

James folded his arms. "Your mum and I trusted you to watch your siblings."

"We did!" Harry insisted.

"Hard to watch them when you’re locked in your room."

Harry huffed. "Evan’s fourteen. He can handle them for a few minutes."

James gave him a pointed look. "Or next time, we call Professor Bagshot over to supervise you babysitting."

"I don’t need a chaperone!"

"Harry, you can’t have your girlfriend in your room when we aren’t around."

"We weren’t doing anything. Really."

James tilted his head. "Then why did you hide her in the closet?"

Harry groaned, rolling his head back against the headrest. His eyes traced the glowing constellations on his ceiling that Sirius had charmed years ago. "How much trouble am I in?" he repeated.

James smirked. "You’ll find out in the morning. But it’ll probably involve scrubbing the makeup stains out of the carpet from Lottie and Mia’s ‘beauty experiment’—the Muggle way."

Harry sighed. "Got it."

Later that night, after James and Lily had finally wrangled all five of their children into their proper beds, they collapsed onto their own.

Just as James was settling in, he heard giggling from down the hall.

He froze.

"Shit," he muttered, already swinging his legs out of bed.

Lily cracked one eye open. "What now?"

James ran a hand down his face. "I gave Harry a pair of two-way mirrors for his birthday."

[annabtg]

Bad Egg

a @jilymicro-oops for @nena-96

The day had dawned with the promise of perfection. A chilly but bright morning — ideal winter break weather — and a house all to himself and his wonderful girlfriend, who had spent the night with him. His parents were away for the holiday weekend, content with the thought that they were leaving their son in good hands — and truly, Lily Evans’s hands had proved nimble and attentive beyond his wildest imagination, although he intended to leave that particular detail out upon recounting. James had woken up cheery and energised, early as was his wont, and while the prospect of cuddling with said girlfriend was deliciously tempting, he had decided to show himself a worthy boyfriend by making breakfast for the both of them.  So there he was in the kitchen, eggs boiling in a small pan as he set the table with half the contents of the refrigerator — cheese and ham to go with the freshly toasted bread, butter, milk, juice, yogurt — then Summoned his mother’s selection of jams and laid out an assortment of biscuits. He was just warming up the tea kettle when his eye caught Lily leaning against the door jamb, hair adorably dishevelled, dressed in one of his jumpers and little else — if anything — and watching him with a mischievous spark in her gorgeous green eyes.

Read the rest on AO3! Completed, 1.1k.

[jamesunderwater]

Coming of Age Era

rated G - 1.3k words - birthday fluff - written for @jilymicrofics January 30th prompt "narrative" (but then I went over 1k and also really only used the concept of a narrative 😁 @jilymicro-oops <3)

---

“What’s this?” Lily glanced between James and the card he’d just conspicuously dropped onto her Transfiguration essay. 

He seemed to be…dancing, almost, the tips of his shoes tapping softly against the library’s stone floor as he hopped from one foot to the other. She noticed the absence of his fingers, usually fidgeting in one way or another, and realized he was holding both hands behind his back. “Just open it,” James told her, but Lily huffed in reply.

“I’m not falling for whatever little scheme—”

James rolled his head so far backwards Lily spontaneously thought of Nearly-Headless Nick. “Evans, please, when was the last time—?”

She sat up straighter in her chair. “Five weeks and three days.”

“What?” His shoulders fell and he’d stopped his footwork altogether. 

“The last time you pulled one of your pranks. That’s what you were going to ask me, hm? Well, it’s been five weeks and three days, which isn’t nearly long enough to build any sort of confidence in your so-called ‘Coming of Age Era’ — which, by the way, I really don’t think Remus explained that genre to you well enough.”

James shoved something small into his pocket and folded his arms across his chest, his shoulder muscles stretching the fabric of his button down ever so slightly. “Five weeks is a century, Evans, and the whole point of a Coming of Age story is for the main character to…you know, falter here and there. If I don’t slip up then what am I even maturing out of?”

Lily stared at him blankly for a moment, lips fallen apart. “See,” she blinked and shook her head once, “this is what I mean about Remus having explained it wrong.”

“How?” James demanded, repositioning his stance as though to literally stand his ground and restating, “I’m in my Coming of Age Era — I’m…maturing, growing up, becoming—” He stopped himself short.

She lifted a brow at him. “What? A man?” Lily snorted at the thought, prompting a few nearby students to turn their way. “Right, Potter, that’s not a Coming of Age story.”

James rolled his hand in the air, prompting her to continue. “Enlighten me, then.”

The vague memory of her unfinished Transfiguration essay flitted across the back of Lily’s mind, but some things were more important — winning an argument with James Potter chief among them. “A Coming of Age story is about something that happens to the main character which forces them to grow up, sometimes before they should have had to, often in a way that is true for all people, yet still heartbreaking. It’s about the loss of innocence — something I’m not sure you ever had in the first place,” she added with a sideways glance. “And, sure, growth and maturity are a part of it, but it’s deeper than just…choosing not to play so many stupid pranks.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment. “Who says I’m not maturing in deeper ways than that?” he asked, holding her gaze with a sincerity Lily hadn’t expected. 

She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “Well—”

“Open the card, Evans.”

Lily looked down at the envelope, of which she’d forgotten the existence. Her first and last name were written across the front in a font that parodied calligraphy and still managed to retain key features of James’s usual penmanship — the lack of a dot above the lowercase I; the lowercase A written in such a rush it better resembled an O; the end of the S slashing backwards in a flourishing underline. Her face heated, realizing what it must be.

She glanced up at him just once as she tore the seal open and pulled out a sparkling card. On the front was a stunning image of the night sky when all the stars could be seen, magic making each one glint and twinkle, so it seemed as though Lily were truly holding the glittering darkened sky in miniature. A constellation of stars stood out, shining brighter than the rest. Lily pulled her head back and squinted to find it was in the shape of a lily flower. 

When she tried to clear her throat it came out as more of a squeak. She licked her parched lips, distinctly avoided James’s gaze, and opened the card. 

Evans — 

I know this card is a few days late. I’m sorry for that. Though, I don’t think the date I give this to you matters all that much. The whole point of it was to say… 

You shine brighter than all the rest, Lily Evans. Every day of the year.

Happy belated birthday.

—James

Lily blinked at the message scrawled in James’s familiar text, tried rereading it through hazy vision. Her mind and everything around her seemed to be going fuzzy. 

“I had…something else,” she heard him say through the sound of her heart hammering in her ears. “But, I think—maybe another time.” 

“What?” Lily’s eyes flicked up to his face, discovering splotches of red on his neck, the closest to blushing his complexion allowed. The sight of it made her own face burn hotter than it already had been, and she knew her light skin must be blooming with a bright blush. “Well, wait,” she said, curiosity pulling her out of her fog. “You can’t do that.”

James chuckled, grinning brightly. “No?”

Lily huffed. “No. It’s…rude.”

“Rude? I’m simply extending your birthday celebration.” Something in his cheeky smile drew her to her feet, her chair scraping across the floor, and how his smile then widened had her stepping around the table and into his orbit. James blinked down at her. “Are you…threatening me, Evans? After I’ve just made you a birthday card and gotten you a gift?”

“And withheld said gift,” she said, crossing her arms.

“As is my right.”

“Your…your— Weren’t you just going on about maturing?”

His eyes danced over her face, a twinkle in them that reminded her of the card he’d made her from magic. She shuffled her feet to distract from the swirling in her stomach. “Seems to me you’re the one who needs growing up a bit here, Evans. Seventeen’s a good year for a Coming of Age story. I’ve faith in you.” He patted the side of her arm and Lily wanted to scream in a variety of ways.

“You’re sixteen,” she replied lamely.

“Eh, some of us start off earlier than others.”

She blinked at him, mind spinning between thoughts on the concept of fairness, comebacks that couldn't be turned against her, the current proximity of her face to his, and you shine brighter than all the rest. Mostly it was just that last one, playing like a melody on repeat, a jingle intent on driving her mad.

“You're really not going to give me my gift?” Lily crossed her arms, leaning her hips back against the desk. 

James stepped forward boldly, removing the space she'd created between them. “Alright, Evans.” He pulled a small box from his trousers pocket. “Since you haven't yet learned the virtue of patience.” He held out the box and, after staring at him a moment, Lily opened her palm. He placed the box carefully upon it. With the slightest smirk he learned toward her, bowing his head toward her cheek as though to kiss it. Lily stopped breathing. When he whispered, “Happy birthday, Evans,” she was sure she felt the brush of his lips on her skin.

In the next heartbeat he was gone, taking long backwards steps towards the library’s exit.

“What?” Lily gaped at him. His grin was touching the corners of his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets, a similar excitement to his energy as when he'd first approached her. Her eyes fell to the box and she called after him, “How do I know this isn't a trick?” 

James shrugged as his back hit the library door. “Guess you'll just have to believe in my growth.”

Also on AO3!

[kay-elle-cee]

Things That Haven't Happened Yet || a @jilymicro-oops || Chapter 3/4 7.9k Words || Rated E || Start from the beginning

Chapter 3 Now Available

There’s a low hum from the TV as Lily sits on her couch—back ramrod straight—as the incessant ticking of the clock grinds down her nerves. She’s not going to bloody Portsmouth. Yes, Potter had confirmed the safehouse was currently not in-use (a few leading questions after one of the last Order meetings she had overheard from her spot a few members away). Yes, theoretically it could be used as an opportunity to practice Legilimency without external distractions. Other distractions, Lily notes wryly, are another story. The arrogance of him, to presume anything between them would happen again. Yes, Lily had technically agreed to Portsmouth, but it had been under duress, his fingers moving expertly against her as his mouth trailed hot and rough down the column of her neck. Her mind had clearly been compromised—by that and the Legilimency—and she had no true obligation to go. The program on the telly ends and rolls into the next one, and Lily feels inexplicably breathless. They had agreed upon seven as the meeting time and it was nearing a quarter to eight. Surely he’d get her meaning—that this was stupid, that she wouldn’t be enabling this behavior from either of them anymore, reckless as it was. Surely he’s not…waiting there for her.

[joyseuphoria]

i love you, ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?

Happy birthday to my one of my favs (and everyone else’s) @annabtg

@jilymicro-oops @jilymicrofics prompt 17: prey

The messy black hair catches her attention from several feet away.

It seems like this is a thing she can do now. His presence never goes unnoticed by her. It’s like, all she can do is look for him first.

Read on ao3

[jilymicrofics]

To clarify: Yes this is the genuine April prompt list not just a joke for the 1st!

How Does This All Work?

See a prompt you like? Go for it! Canon or AU. It’s all up to you! @ us in your creation to be reblogged! You don’t have to stick to the theme.

Limit your pieces to 1K words or less. For longer inspired fics tag @jilymicro-oops in your post!

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For any additional questions, feel free to DM one of the mods @charmsandtealeaves , @annabtg or @eastwindmlk ! You can contact them for an invite to the community discord as well!

[eastwindmlk]

I totally did dust off the archive and panic wrote this a few days ago. The motto of this fic was

Make the plan, execute the plan, the plan went off the rails and I'm refusing to throw away the plan so here is a little gifty gift @livelaughlovetoread

A steamy @jilymicro-oops clocking in at 1063 words!

“Fuck, ouch. James!” Lily’s voice was quiet, smothered by his lips on hers as the back of her calf caught on the low stone wall of her parent's front yard. His hand reached up, pawing at her face with numb fingers. The December cold and an insatiable for each other made the less-than-sexy gesture almost feel romantic. “I think I ripped my tights,” Lily muttered, reaching down to try to feel. Instead, she felt the corners of his lips pull upward against her own, his arm tugging her tighter to his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” The amusement was clear in his voice, his lips straying from her lips to her cheek, her jaw before being met by her scarf. Her mind already drifting away from her wardrobe mishap. James pulled at the scarf, exposing her neck and making her shiver. His hot breath having to make up for the lack of layers. She gasped when his teeth sunk into the soft skin.

Read the full think on AO3

[uncertainwallflower]

hehehe

we are not finished.

might have our (my) first @jilymicro-oops on our hands here, people

[oakheartedmuse]

Your Hands are Tough, but They are Where Mine Belong

| A @jilymicro-oops inspired by @jilymicrofics's May prompt nº25: Spring |

This is how memories are made: they approach us like an unexpected gust of wind and leave a mark, like a tattoo, eternally etched within our hearts. One day they are not there, and the next day they are. And Lily would never forget that spring, now so deeply imprinted in her being. The one when she held James' hands for the first time. She had never noticed how big and rough his hands were from Quidditch. Lily wanted to admire his hands forever.

(Read on AO3)