first lines!
!! @annabtg tagged me in this game, so here are the first lines of my ten most recent fics (not counting smut), some up on ao3 and some drafts languishing on my computer. i did not tag anyone because i truly do not know people, come say hi </3
Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway!
everything i need is right here by my side (jily, WIP, modern au, childhood)
It is a cliché, but even this writer is prone to those at points: The first thing she notices about him is his smile—not that it’s lopsided and sweet and warm, even though it is all of those things, but that it annoys her.
there's a war going on out there (jily, complete, 2.5k, canon compliant, post-Hogwarts)
In many ways, Diagon Alley has not changed at all: People do their shopping regardless of whether or not a war is raging; potions need to be brewed and food needs to be put on the table, errands will be run even if there is a touch of danger to it, gold withdrawn from vaults in Gringotts and pints drunk in the Leaky Cauldron.
late afternoon, early spring light (jily, complete, 2.2k, canon compliant, hogwarts years)
“You’re drunk, Evans.”
marginalia in a well loved manuscript (jily, ongoing collection of oneshots, various universes)
“’Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin?" said she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?’” Lily tilts her head back to look at James, arching her eyebrow. “Well?” she asks.
an equal and opposite reaction (lily-centric with marylily and jily, WIP, modern au)
Some disasters are a lifetime in the making.
the story (and the story, and the story) of us (jily, complete, 20.6k, fairy tale retellings)
The sound of the window opening: rasp of wood on wood, quiet rattle of panes of glass, grind of resistance and click of give and thud of sash meeting frame.
january is for lovers (jily, complete, 13.6k, modern au, childhood friends to lovers)
The glow of the streetlights, what a cliché; faded embers, glowing in the hearth and the dregs of the bonfire; fireflies glow in the movies but not in England, no matter how much they pretend to chase them as children, shouting little lies—I saw one, right over there, you missed it!—and running and slipping in the wet grass; the moon glows, too, overhead, full and bright and casting just enough cool blue light to see the outline of his slightly crooked nose, fully healed but now forever bearing the bump from colliding with a tree when the tire swing went out of control.
untitled (jily, tragic draft on my computer, orpheus & eurydice retelling)
In Greek, euphemia is good speech: eu, εὖ, well, and phemi, φημί, to speak. Sometimes propitious speech is no speech at all: Euphemia is the eleventh Muse, the muse of keeping silent, and when James is born, it is a miracle.
untitled (jily, tragic draft on my computer, modern au)
It’s raining and Lily doesn’t have an umbrella; born and raised British, twenty-six years she’s lived here, and she still hasn’t learned that she should keep a Tesco foldable umbrella in her bag at all times.
where wisteria grows (lily-centric, jily, fifty page draft on my computer i want to finish SO badly, canon compliant)
In the footprints left by her first footsteps, there are flowers.
Nobody notices them, but they are there: tiny white blooms of sweet alyssum blossoming in the indents left behind in the grass in the shape of little feet.
