Stolen meme
Apr. 2nd, 2012 09:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wandavonThaaaaanks silverr . Stolen with loving tenderness.
1. Go to page 7 of your Works in Progress
2. Count seven lines down
3. Copy and paste the next blob of text"
1. Mirveda smiled at her when she stepped out into the room again, and even Rommath looked slightly less dour. “Doesn’t she clean up nicely, Astalor?” he said, the emeralds on his fingers glimmering as he gestured. (APPRENTICE TRAYANISE MAKES AN ELIXIR)
2. The sky is dark, and on the ramparts Ulfric can make out the shapes of the guards, shifting and insubstantial like shadows. (THOUGH THE EASTERN WIND MAY BLOW)
3. She had long, elegant hands, but the nails were bitten short, the skin at her knuckles cracked from the chemicals she used in her experiments. “Come, my son. There is nothing for us here." (Random Arthas MC fic)
4. His hands, which, when he looked at them, were trembling. And bony. He thought he could see the beginnings of dark spots like specks of grease, but that was impossible—his magic could at least see to that, if nothing else. And what of the day when it can’t? What of the day when my spells simply fly apart and I fly apart with them? Even Magna Aegwynn was not young forever. (Magister fic, file one, and boy do I write a lot about hands)
5. “I’ve heard of it,” Liadrin said. It wasn’t wholly a lie. But it had belonged to Lady Summerswan, and she had no doubt her son would wish to have it back, and no doubt that old Sunglow would wish to claim it, too, though she could not bring herself to care—the heirlooms of noble families did not rank highly among her concerns. “It was something of her trademark in the city. It has value, but no magical use.” As you doubtless noticed, you covetous little bitch. (Magister fic, file two--yes, I'm aware this is cheating)
6. The bakeries in Dalaran are unparalleled. Hemet buys his usual double-frosted extra-sprinkled triple-dip-deep-fried doughnut and sits by the window. (HEMET NESINGWARY GOES TO HEAVEN)
7. “It has more to do with being a king than being an elf,” I say, feeling a little nettled. I’ve been a critic of our culture as well, the Sun knows, but there’s a difference between my gentle censure and two greenskins’ outright mockery.
“Just admit it, boss. You guys don’t have the best grasp of right and wrong.” (GENTLY FALLS THE NIGHT)
silverr . Stolen with loving tenderness.1. Go to page 7 of your Works in Progress
2. Count seven lines down
3. Copy and paste the next blob of text"
1. Mirveda smiled at her when she stepped out into the room again, and even Rommath looked slightly less dour. “Doesn’t she clean up nicely, Astalor?” he said, the emeralds on his fingers glimmering as he gestured. (APPRENTICE TRAYANISE MAKES AN ELIXIR)
2. The sky is dark, and on the ramparts Ulfric can make out the shapes of the guards, shifting and insubstantial like shadows. (THOUGH THE EASTERN WIND MAY BLOW)
3. She had long, elegant hands, but the nails were bitten short, the skin at her knuckles cracked from the chemicals she used in her experiments. “Come, my son. There is nothing for us here." (Random Arthas MC fic)
4. His hands, which, when he looked at them, were trembling. And bony. He thought he could see the beginnings of dark spots like specks of grease, but that was impossible—his magic could at least see to that, if nothing else. And what of the day when it can’t? What of the day when my spells simply fly apart and I fly apart with them? Even Magna Aegwynn was not young forever. (Magister fic, file one, and boy do I write a lot about hands)
5. “I’ve heard of it,” Liadrin said. It wasn’t wholly a lie. But it had belonged to Lady Summerswan, and she had no doubt her son would wish to have it back, and no doubt that old Sunglow would wish to claim it, too, though she could not bring herself to care—the heirlooms of noble families did not rank highly among her concerns. “It was something of her trademark in the city. It has value, but no magical use.” As you doubtless noticed, you covetous little bitch. (Magister fic, file two--yes, I'm aware this is cheating)
6. The bakeries in Dalaran are unparalleled. Hemet buys his usual double-frosted extra-sprinkled triple-dip-deep-fried doughnut and sits by the window. (HEMET NESINGWARY GOES TO HEAVEN)
7. “It has more to do with being a king than being an elf,” I say, feeling a little nettled. I’ve been a critic of our culture as well, the Sun knows, but there’s a difference between my gentle censure and two greenskins’ outright mockery.
“Just admit it, boss. You guys don’t have the best grasp of right and wrong.” (GENTLY FALLS THE NIGHT)
