#fragment friday

[upennmanuscripts]

Many - most - manuscripts survive only in fragments. Here we have three adjacent fragments from a large antiphonary leaf. Text on both sides is from Psalm 138 and one side also includes musical notation. Written in a large Gothic hand with red and blue initials. Because the style of liturgical manuscripts didn't change much through the mid to late middle ages, we can't say any date more exact than between 1300 and 1599.

🔗:

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Fragment Friday!

My sweet friend @romirola tagged me in a fragment chain! Here’s a few paragraphs from the first chapter of my Redacted firefighter AU!! (Which I promise will be posted soon!!) this is from Freelancer’s POV who has recently dropped out of Med school and become an EMT. Enjoy!!

—

Station 10-19 was nice, very nice. A huge locker room, individual shower stalls, full sized beds with pressed white sheets. The kitchen had two ovens, a huge fridge, and the biggest pantry you’d ever seen. The firehouses you’d visited while getting certified were much smaller, much less impressive. All of this must have cost a fortune.

“Shaw’s a master of budget balancing,” Vincent had told you that afternoon during your tour. “I swear, the dude spends hours sitting in his office crunching numbers. It’s honestly a little worrying.”

You’d met David Shaw in your interview, but Sam Collins was your direct report. Shaw was a big dude, but after meeting a few of the other firefighters, you just started considering yourself scrawny. The whole firehouse was full of mutant giants.

Everybody was nice, but Vincent acted like he’d just gained a new best friend when he’d introduced himself that afternoon. He was a tall, slender man with bright gray eyes and a sharp smile. You recognized his last name, Solaire. His dad was the chief of surgery at Daliah General, the only level one trauma center in the area. It was your top pick for your residency.

Solaire wasn’t a common name, but if Vincent was the son of a two time Harper-Avery winner, he didn’t show it. He moved with a cool confidence, and seemed to have that same confidence in you. He spoke to you like you knew what you were doing. Which, to be fair, you did. You just weren’t used to people treating you like it.

“Don’t let Sam’s grumpy attitude fool you,” Vincent grinned as he led you towards the ambulance. “He’s a softy. A bit rough around the edges, but soft for sure.”

You couldn’t imagine Sam Collins being soft, but you smiled and nodded anyway. Vincent showed you where everything was on the bus, and then reiterated the few things that you would likely actually use. The compression machine, the heart monitor, the AMBU bag.

When the first code blared in your ears just as Vincent finished shoving everything back into their assigned cubbies. He grinned and patted you on the back, jumping up to the front and hopping on the radio as he revved the bus’s engine.

Sam made his appearance a few seconds later, hopping into the bus and pointing you towards one of the two passenger seats in the back, strapping himself in. He nodded for you to do the same.

It was quiet for a long time. Vincent called a few things into the radio before shouting back to Sam.

“Single vic, third story apartment. Not sure the extent of the injuries. Landlord just found a blood trail.”

“Let’s prep for a GSW and a laceration.” Sam replied. He grabbed for a few things within reach and threw them into his jump bag. “BleedStop’s over your head, Probie, grab me a few.” He held out his hand. It took you a second to realize he was talking to you. You jerked and reached up blindly, coming back with a few red and white packages.

“Are these standard issue?” You asked softly, flipping one over in your hand. You heard Vincent laughing from up front. Sam grinned.

“You were in medical school?” Sam asked after a few minutes. You nodded. “Internal medicine, peds…”

“Surgical.” You answered his unasked question. You ducked your head, looked away. Sam was quiet for a long moment.

“I was four years into my residency when I called it quits.” He said. When you looked up, he was focused on the computer output, a pinch in his brow. You didn’t dare ask a question, break his concentration, but something in your chest eased.

[cyanbugremix]

✨️Fragment Friday (Saturday)✨️

Tagged by the amazing @romirola!

Here is a little sneakpeek for my fic Welcome to the Pack, Darlin'. Open tag for anyone else that wants join in :)

(For extra context: Darlin' got in a fight)

~ ~ ~ ~

“Hey! Back off, Joseph– I will get the principal out here,” Milo threatened.

Joseph’s face darkened and he used his newly gained height to his advantage, towering over Milo.

“They started it!” He growled back. “They’re lucky I didn’t shift!”

“Joseph,” Asher coldly said, sidling up next to Milo, and resting a hand on Joseph’s shoulder to keep the two apart.

Darlin’ caught their breath and looked up from their spot on the ground. Backpacks had been discarded at some point. They rested a hand across their torso and inched further away. They observed the stand-off, and realized that Asher was almost as tall as Joseph. When had that happened?

“I think the buses are leaving. Don’t want to miss the only way home, right dude?”

Joseph wiped blood from underneath his nose and glanced over at the parking lot. The flow of kids getting on had trickled down to a few still hopping on. He angrily grabbed his backpack and glared at the group before rushing towards his own bus.

Asher huffed out a sigh as soon as Joseph was out of earshot. “Man, what a dick. . . Hey you okay?”

Milo had crouched down next to them and was fully examining their face. Darlin’ looked at the ground, embarrassed at the close proximity.

“Obviously not! Maybe we should take them to my ma,” Milo hastily observed Darlin’. “Their face is swelling.”

“No- shit- It’s fine,” Darlin’ uncomfortably smiled through a beginning ache. “I need to get on the bus.”

They shakily got up from their spot, Milo rising with them. One of them offered their backpack to them, but just as they grabbed it they heard the shriek of the bus doors closing and the whines of the buses leaving the parking lot.

Their eyes widened, as far as they could, and their stomach dropped watching the buses leave. A small wave of nausea, from their injuries and new predicament, made them sit back down in the grass.

Their parents were going to be so pissed.

Darlin’s breath quickened.

They had to make dinner tonight and their daily chores needed to be completed. Sure their parents wouldn’t be home for a few more hours, but what if they didn’t get home soon enough? That would just add to their scolding once they saw Darlin’s face busted up and how they weren’t a perfect kid, and how they worked so hard to give Darlin’ a good life– and that this was the second time within a month that this happened! But the first wasn’t even their fault– and fucking OW! Everything hurts and it’s going to suck doing chores like this–

A gentle hand on their shoulder broke them out of their thoughts. “Dude, c’mon. We don’t have basketball practice tonight, so I’m getting a ride home with Milo. I’m sure Marie would be totally cool with you tagging along as well and able to drop you off at your place.”

“Will she drop me off at my house immediately?” Darlin’ frowned.

“Uhm,” Asher paused and looked at Milo, before shrugging. “We’ll have to ask, won’t we?”

~ ~ ~ ~

Thank you for the tag!! 💖

[pers-books]

So, I discovered Taylor Swift’s song ‘Begin Again’ as a result of The Piano Guys (which is how I’ve been discovering a bit of pop music lately - either they mash it up with something classical, or they just do a piano+cello instrumental version. In this case they’ve done the latter and also a version featuring Megan Nicole and Alex Goot. (Both on their album The Piano Guys 2.)

Anyway, after listening to it multiple times, it sparked an idea for a Berena fic (loosely inspired by some of the lyrics) and it just hit 7k words (though it’s not finished yet).

So here’s a few hundred words for Fragment Friday (which is not a thing except when it is!):

Serena can’t help smiling as she sees Bernie across the café getting to her feet as Serena walks towards her. She has a rather old-fashioned, gentlemanly habit of doing such things, like pulling out Serena’s chair once she reaches their table and helping her into it. It makes Serena feel taken care of, in a way she never did with her ex, Robbie. 

“What can I get you?” Bernie asks. “Besides your usual ‘medicinal’ pain au chocolat.” She smirks a bit at that, it remains their little inside joke, after Serena had once said she needed such a thing when they’d gone out to dinner the night before to a lovely little Italian restaurant with an extensive wine list. 

She rolls her eyes at Bernie, then asks for a macchiato. 

“Late night?” Bernie asks sympathetically. 

Serena nods. “I’ll tell you later.” 

“Okay. Back in a few minutes.” Bernie strides across to the counter and joins the mercifully short queue. They’ve worked out that this is the best time to come to the café to meet up as it’s in the lull between the workers coming in to caffeinate before they head off to start their days and the lunchtime rush. 

Serena can’t help watching Bernie: she’s got legs that go on for days, a slim, athletic figure, and is one of the most caring and compassionate people she’s ever met. She’s also gay and Serena’s beginning to accept that she’s got a crush on the trauma surgeon, despite never having been more than friends with a woman before. 

They had met in this café about six weeks ago, Serena had been enjoying doing some shopping on her day off when the heavens had opened and she’d slipped into The Hideout, amused by the name, and found herself in the queue behind Bernie Wolfe. The woman’s figure had caught her attention first of all, then her astonishing laugh in response to something the young woman at the till had said to her. Bernie had turned around a little too quickly in search of somewhere to sit, bumping into Serena and knocking one of her shopping bags to the floor. She’d blushed pink along her cheekbones, apologised in a flustered fashion, then got down on her hands and knees to pick up the spilled contents of Serena’s shopping bag, before handing it over with a less flustered apology. Serena had been instantly charmed by Bernie’s manner, accepted the apology, then suggested that the two of them sit together. Now they meet up once or twice a week, depending on their shift patterns and scheduled days off, since Bernie works in the ED over at St Mark’s hospital.

[nights-at-crystarium]

✧✦✧ "Fragments" - episode 50 ✧✦✧

Frank.

New reader? episode list on tumblr | webtoon Read 4 more episodes: patreon | kofi

[rainbow-neko-artblog]

My friend @ShaeTheMenace asked me if i wanted to make the Bf for their AU, Fragmented Memories, and i said "say less" and gave them a living booger.

He changes form when it's important, anime style poof.

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @housewifebuck @giddyupbuck @spotsandsocks @forthewolves 💖💖💖

here's a little more of the possessive fic, I'm so close to finishing this fic fr, I don't wanna make promises but it might be by the end of this week 👀

prev snippet

___

They’re both silent for a while, as they try to get their breathing under control, Buck’s hands gently caressing Eddie’s back, and, honestly, Eddie could just fall asleep right here, right now. He has to fight himself against it, to not trap Buck on this hard floor. He looks up, leaning his chin against Buck’s chest, and smiles softly, watching Buck’s blissed out face. Then, suddenly, Buck gasps, his eyes widening, and Eddie hears a quiet and horrified:

“Oh god.” his eyes meet Eddie’s. “I can never have your kid sit at this counter again. Or step into this kitchen, actually.” he says, sounding genuinely worried, and a chuckle bubbles out of Eddie.

“Our kid.” he corrects, and sees that awed expression come back on Buck’s face, and his lips shift into a sheepish smile. “And you won’t have to when you move in with us.” he adds without thinking, and Buck’s eyes widen. “I mean, eventually. Whenever we’re ready- I mean, as far as I’m concerned, it can be tomorrow, but- you know, up to you.” he stumbles over his own words, not wanting to go too far too fast, and, shit, he thinks his brain’s not fully functioning yet.

“Yeah. I- yeah.” Buck nods, smile widening, almost blinding. “But we can talk about it later. After we get some sleep.” his hand runs through Eddie’s hair.

“Mhm.” Eddie’s eyelids feel heavy. “I think you’ll have to carry me to bed, though, I can’t move.” he teases, and Buck laughs.

“Of course, baby. Anything you want.” he pauses, just looking at Eddie. “Holy fuck, you’re unbelievable, you know? I imagined a lot, but I never expected… all this.” he shakes his head with a soft smile. “I love you.”

___

No pressure tags: @diazass @elvensorceress @mrevanbuckley @translasso @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @eddiediaztho @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @911onabc @shortsighted-owl @watchyourbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @wildlife4life @alyxmastershipper @transbuck

[the-adventures-of-lydia-brown]

Fragment no. 1

~Have you ever tried to capture a likeness?~

It is a remarkably difficult task, whatever medium it is done in. You can spill thousands of words or set a thousand strokes on a canvas and still you might not even come close to flawless portrayal.

And if you are one of those lucky few in whom a keen eye for detail unites with a sense for overall composition, in whom a passionate heart unites will a steady hand or with a clear, discerning mind full of sharp and unforgiving wit, in whom years and years of practice honed every skill to needlepoint precision, your true and accurate work will still lie - by omission.

As a certain painter once wrote,

Ceci n'est pas une pipe.(1)

Sometimes, our medium simply doesn't allow us to capture it all - and sometimes, it is our own perception. Have you ever looked at the Moon from the other side?

But at least in these cases the original indubitably exists and is its own perfect image. But what about cases where your subject itself is half mist?

If you aren't careful, you might completely twist what fragile structure it has. Some might pride themselves on such things. "Behold," they say, "I found a seed of a world in my mind this morning, and I immediately set off to work. Before dinner, I added another stunted Yggdrasil to my bonsai garden. Look, most of its branches are even completely solid! I had to twist a bit here and there to make it happen, of course, but look at its perfect, chiseled, eternal form. None of it reaches beyond the limits of comprehension."

Some prefer to work as an archaeologist does, taking away spoonful after spoonful of sand, gently brushing away what remains until they find the form they were seeking.

Some simply collect the things they do not want to fall to namelessness. And some -

Some take the fragile, vague, yet already manifested things, or those that once were and are rotting away, or those that have started and may yet continue and equip them with supports, crutches, scaffolding of all manner that they may not be crushed by their own weight.

It is a fool's errand. None can predict the ends to which their actions might lead.

But that, too, is a part of life.

A butterfly pinned in an entomologist's collection might grant you a better view of its colours and patterns, but that butterfly can not unwittingly cause a hurricane at the other end of the world with a flap of its wings (2). Maybe, the key is to try to preserve both the living, unpredictable and blurry and the still, comprehensible and clear - even though being layered atop each other may not exactly help with comprehensibility. After all, they can always shift into more comfortable positions if you leave them some room for that.

It is difficult work, one that requires commitment, to pull things out of the vague mist of possibility completely - and it might never be finished.

But still...

To keep, to restore, to inscribe upon the air with your voice the name of what you wish to preserve;

To spin and weave threads of thin air and wild fabrication and somehow reveal a little truth (3);

There is some honour to be found in both of these things.

Once upon a time, both were done by singers (4).

Perhaps, that custom never should have stopped.

[lunasilvis]

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" was actually Dickens talking about the month of september

[upennmanuscripts]

Today's #FragmentFriday is Ms. Codex 1101, an undated parchment fragment from a breviary, pulled over cardboard and used to bind a manuscript of historical prophecy, written in Austria ca. 1529. The parchment has darkened with age.

Online:

[nymphwriter]

Eddie blinked, looking up at Steve as the boy's face tinted red in embarrassed rage. He was upset, of course he was, who wouldn't be. After watching your love be who you wanted for someone else.

"I'm sorry..." But what did Steve's feelings about Billy have to do with him? Why would he apologize for the way another man felt?

"I'm sorry you couldn't make him comfortable enough around you that he felt safe enough to drop his guard. I'm sorry that you couldn't listen to his unfiltered laugh or hear his real voice and see him in a vulnerable light. I'm sorry you couldn't show him how much you supposedly cared in order to see his raw self." Eddie stared into the softer chocolate irises. He watched them fill with tears as they widened in shock.

"However, I will not apologize for gaining his love and trust. I will not apologize for doing what you couldn't."

[pers-books]

Since I just hit 15k words in my Taylor Swift-inspired Berena fic, here’s another Fragment Friday:

Bernie turns up at Serena’s a little before 10.30pm on New Year’s Eve, to her not so secret delight. 

“Hello you,” she says fondly, daring to kiss Bernie’s cheek. 

“Hi,” Bernie says, eyes bright. “I can’t believe I got away on time.” 

Serena chuckles. “Neither can I, but I’m so glad that you did.” 

“Me too.” Bernie steps across the threshold, then says, “You look very nice.” 

“Thank you.” Serena can’t help doing a little spin, just to show off her dress, which she bought specially for this evening, despite not even knowing if Bernie would be able to make it. 

“Gorgeous,” Bernie breathes, then ducks her head, almost as if she hadn’t intended to say that. She sets down the kitbag she’s carried in from her car, then proceeds to remove her hat, gloves, and scarf, slipping them into her coat pockets, before taking off her coat and boots. 

“Oh,” Serena breathes, taking in Bernie’s attire: she’s wearing formal tailored trousers, with a mid blue button down shirt with sterling silver Caduceus cufflinks in the sleeves, and a navy blue tailored waistcoat. 

“Nice cufflinks,” Serena manages. 

Bernie gives her a half smile. “Christmas present from Cam,” she says. “I thought they’d make a change from the RAMC ones I usually wear.” 

“I like them.” I like you, she thinks, but doesn’t quite dare to say aloud. “You’re looking very dapper.” 

“Thanks.”

This is quite the slow burn fic!

[hms-tardimpala]

Hi! For the Fanfic Writer Friday: I noticed some fun colors on your latest discord screenshot :) So I wanted to ask: do you ever change the page/font color when writing? What about the fonts: do you use any of the pretty fonts you get for binding when writing? And also: some people swear that Comic Sans makes writing easier... Opinions on that? :D

Oooh, little do you know, that screenshot was edited for y'all's convenience and the sake of your eyes. This is what my current setup, actually looks like:

I'm sure some think it's a visual nightmare, but I like it. When I do manage to write, it generally happens late at night when I should be sleeping, so I eliminated as much white as possible to rest my eyes. Maybe these colors are more encouraging than black on white, but if so, the difference is too slight to be notable.

For the font, I stick to black - with white accentuations - because it's easier to see. I've tried several fonts and found out that serif fonts do not work for me, so the pretty ones I use for bookbinding are out, sadly. Since I'm constantly rereading what I just wrote, I need a font that's very easy on the eyes. I use Arial Nova.

Isn't it comfy? It's squarey and plain.

As for Comic sans MS, I have tried it, but it did nothing for me because I'm almost allergic to that font ^^

I think setup is important because you want to make things as easy as possible for yourself. You can't write sitting on nails, and you can't write on a doc that hurts your eyes or that has off vibes.

Thank you so much for asking!

[austerulous]

I thought I was starting to shake off the rust, but work has absolutely pummelled me and I only realised today that the nursery is closed for Easter, so no childcare tomorrow.

[inkandpaintleopard]

YEAH I DIDN'T REALIZE IT WAS HIM AT FIRST EITHER-

I forget if I realized it while watching the video or after, but I picked up on it since the hair and the horns are the same

Plus during the Lila illusion he's in the exact same spot, which is a nice attention to detail

(damn, even in the illusion he looks tired-)

As for what Roy's wearing -- we don't see anything like that in the show that I recall, but the color makes me think of Ross -- it was probably meant as a reference to him and nothing more, but in my headcanon Roy picked that sweater because it reminded him of Ross

And speaking of! I want to say Roy regrets what he did. Even if it was just the bullying, the fact THAT was enough to send him to hell just. He definitely lashed out at ANYTHING he could at first, but when he finally settled down and the weight of everything hit him...

If anything, I think he misses Ross and Robert. That they're not in hell means they're either alive or in Heaven, but either way Roy knows he's never going to see them again, and the only people he knows now are those kids he bullied and he doesn't even want to BEGIN to unpack that

everything about this is so interesting; both Roy and the boys have so much backstory potential and it’s been one of the only things keeping me going until the 6th Spooky Month

[violettduchess]

hello wonderful writer, i am really excited for your silvio fic. You said you have an outline. Have you started writing it? (It's not Wednesday but how about a Friday Fragment?)

I have! It's technically still Thursday in my part of the world but I'll give you peek anyway 😉

“Only Rhodolite would have a ball way out in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

Your jaw clenches and the rolling sound of thunder echoes the irritation you feel at his snide tone.

“The Count holds this ball once a year at his country estate which is one of the most elegant–”

The Prince of Benitoite scoffs loudly. “Elegant my ass.” 

You are really beginning to question Sariel’s decree that you ride back to the palace with this pompous royal. You’re more likely to lodge your heeled shoe in his temple than make pleasant small talk or secure relations between your two countries.