#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!! 💖

[nights-at-crystarium]

✧✦✧ "Fragments" - episode 56 ✧✦✧

One man's trash is another man's treasure.

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

[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."

[upennmanuscripts]

This is Ms. Coll. 591 Folder 25, a fragment from a Psalter written in Germany in the 13th century. One side contains Psalm 118.16-25, and the other contains 118.25-34. The leaf is severely trimmed, and at one point was pasted to a backing (you can see the residual glue in the second image).

🔗:

[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!

[nights-at-crystarium]

✧✦✧ "Fragments" - episode 50 ✧✦✧

Frank.

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

[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.

[inkandpaintsnowleopard]

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.

[dontaskchaosandco]

funny how FNF got a feature from Kohta Takahashi when earlier builds had an Urban Fragments chart laying around in the code