#disposable fountain pen

[petermorwood]

This popped up on my YouTube the other day and not to brag, but...

Oh, why the hell not? It's a small brag, but satisfying. :->

I posted about refilling the Pilot Vpen (IRL-UK) / Varsity (US) - and adding how-to links - about 4 years and then again a year ago.

Here are the how-to links; I'm glad to see they're still active.

This one, like the video, calls for pliers and suggests removing the nib:

This one doesn't use pliers or separate the nib from the feed.

*****

Bragging aside, I'm pleased to see Brian Goulet of Goulet Pens giving this hack a higher profile (and Kudos for it, too - as a retailer it's more in his interest to sell them than refill them!)

His reason is very sound: those cheap little pens (usually about 3-to-4 local currency units whether €, $ or £) are ideal for FP-curious newbies or as no-loss-worries when travelling or no-damage-worries loaners.

They also have much better nibs than the price would suggest. Indeed that seems common to all the inexpensive Pilot pens I've tried, which includes every nib size of MR / Metropolitan.

In addition, IMO the notion of "disposable" fountain pens goes completely against the principal FP virtue, where once you've bought the pen, all you USE is the ink.

So in the US at least * buy that ink from Goulet. They've got one or two to choose from and a selection of samples in vials or sets...

( * In Ireland, with Pen Corner in Dublin now gone, I get mine from CultPens or Penstore.)

*****

I should mention, for completeness, that some "starter" fountain pens have prices not much more than these disposables and, refilled by "proper" ink cartridges / bottle-refill converters, don't involve anything like this trouble.

Just saying...

*****

It just so happens that one of my two Vpens was about due for a refill, so here are some pics of the process.

I scrubbed the markings off the barrels a long time ago so I could see what was inside, since refills mean the ink in the pen often has nothing to do with its colour-indicator cap.

First, disassembled and washed in changes of warm water until the water stays clear.

Here's the nib and feed: they've always come out of both Vpens as a single unit, with no need for pliers. Since the nibs show no desire to come off I've no desire to force the issue and maybe break something; those little ink-guide fins are delicate.

The filler is a small syringe begged from our local vet. I also use it to refill cartridges with custom ink colours (yup, I sometimes roll my own...)

Its "needle" is plastic tubing (an empty Pilot gel-pen cartridge, appropriately enough) which fits the syringe perfectly, and a pointy end made by stretching the tube over a candle-flame then snipping to length. If it gets too stained - this is nearly there - just chuck it in the recycle bin and make a new one.

The ink could have been any of the 30-odd I have at the minute, or something mixed specially, but I chose this one - a nice dark green - for the same reason @dduane had me buy it.

It's a very cute bottle... :->

*****

And here's the "disposable" pen refilled, reassembled and re-writing.

It really does have a better nib than you'd expect from a supposedly single-use pen...

*****

It sometimes takes a while for the ink to work its way by capillary action down from barrel to nib, especially if everything has been left to dry after washing. Put the cap on the pen and be patient.

Or speed things up by taking the cap off and running a thin stream of hot water over the barrel for 30 seconds or so. This increases internal pressure, forcing the ink along the section fins.

NB, this step is only for a refilled Vpen / Varsity. Don't try it with anything else, and in case it's not obvious, do this at a washbasin or sink, because You Never Know.

Now use a bit of kitchen paper or loo roll to blot the water which has got on the nib. This has a mild "suction" effect, and when you see ink on the paper (you might need to wet the nib again) your refilled pen is ready for use.

This wet-and-blot nib step can be used to encourage any stubborn fountain pen to get back in action, but the hot water trick, once again, is Vpen only.

Anyway, done.

[daftpatience]

I had to search for one because I'm moving and they're mostly boxed up already, but I have these disposable fountain pens (like the crappy bic pens of the fountain pen world) and I think they're super neat, and also $9 USD for 12 on amazon.

You're the reason I got the courage to just buy some because I always thought "ugh they're so pretty but my handwriting is so bad, I can't justify the expense," then saw you posting so many pretty pens and inks and decided to just go for a cheap one, and found these. Somehow my handwriting has actually improved since I started using them, without much actual intent or effort.

The thing:

yay omg the thing!!!!!! I'm so glad you were able to get the courage to try them out!!! it's neat how they do that - I've found my own handwriting has gotten a lot more flowy and loopy over time using them, even though I could never write in cursive as a kid (I grew up right at the tail end of when they forced you to learn loopy handwriting in elementary school)

I hope everyone knows that you don't need to be a fancy schmancy person with fancy schmancy handwriting to use fountain pens! there are lots of cheap ones out there, and you can have any handwriting you want to have, the pen won't be upset about it!

I use my pens for to do lists, grocery lists, doodling, etc. and the joy I get out of such a small nice thing is immense. on top of that since fountain pens require way less pressure to write than ballpoints or even pencils I've found they're a big relief on my wrists!!!

the joys and benefits of fountain pens are many and I love them forever yay yay

[nerdyqueerandjewish]

My fountain pen ran out of ink while I was Out and About today and I had to use a normal ballpoint pen and it was wretched. So much pressure is required to write anything

[discountalien-pancake]

The friendship harem has started up some good old analog correspondence, so I fell down a fountain pen rabbithole and splurged on some new materials. Did I choose a very expensive ink purely because it was glass green and named Cinderella’s Slipper? Absolutely.

In the meantime, I dug out a very old, inexpensive dried up pen that I have no idea where it even came from. Took it apart and tossed the nib and cartridge into a bottle full of water to dissolve the old ink.

Something about this image of my dimly lit desk covered in art supplies and papers and random junk, with a bottle of bright blue water smack in the middle of it is immensely pleasing?? No idea why.

Anyway, perhaps I will pick up a bottle of less expensive, more versatile blue-black ink tomorrow so I can put my cheap pen to use while I wait for my nice pen to arrive.

[stroodlenoodles]

Termina Characters as Fountain Pens

Starting with Daan he'd be a Waterman Hémisphère, it's fancy but not obnoxiously so

Abella is a Kaweco Steel Sport, which is basically indestructible

O'saa is a Montblanc Meisterstück (the limited edition 'Around the World in 80 Days' pen) purely because the patterns remind me of his jewellery + clothes

Olivia is a Faber-Castell Ambition Coconut, the mix of wood + chrome made sense to me

Karin is a Pelikan Souveran M1000 Renaissance Brown because OF COURSE she had to be one from the brand named after a bird lol

Pav is a Platinum #3776 Century, it's in the colour laurel green which represents victory (pretty ironic for him)

Marcoh is a Gravitas Stainless Steel Sentry because oh lawd it hefty (it weighs 84 grams!)

Levi is a Pilot V-Pen which are known to be disposable, therefore linking with his life as a child soldier. Sorry buddy...

Marina is a Sailor Pro Gear Fairy Tale in the colour Grateful Crane, mostly for vibes

Samarie is a Parker IM Achromatic Matt Black, it's literally tall, dark and skinny just like her

Tanaka is a Nakaya Heki-tamenuri, it's designed for everyday use (perfect for a business man)

Henryk is a Pilot Metropolitan, looks fancy but actually pretty reasonable

August is a Parker Centennial, vintage type

As for Caligura....

[starlightshadowsworld]

Atsushi trailing behind Akutagawa as they return to Yokohama. Aya is talking about something that has Akutagawa listening intently. He pauses when he hears Atsushi’s footsteps stop.

He follows his gaze to a building that means nothing to Akutagawa but everything to Atsushi. Atsushi stares at it for a few seconds before walking inside it. He doesn’t notice his two companions following him in.

Stepping over yellow tape and the traces of military investigation. He grabs a cleaning brush and begins to sweep dirt and dust. It’s probably bringing more in then getting rid of it. But neither Aya nor Akutagawa have the heart to tell him.

The two of them silently copy his actions. Akutagawa takes down the boards on the windows while Aya picks up fallen pencils and documents.

Atsushi sets the chairs and desks back in their original places. His touch is nothing but kind as he tends to the office.

He sets the bag of unopened sweets on Ranpo’s desk. He hangs up the award Fukuzawa was so proud of beside his. All the expired medications are properly disposed of with a note of what needs restocking.

Never has a cleaver been held with such warmth.

Kenji’s letters to home are organised and put away. He bins the leftover crepe on Kyouka’s desk with a silent apology. Along with the cake on Junichiro’s desk. He slips the blue fountain pen into his pocket with a sad smile.

Dazai’s desk was thrown aside and Atsushi places is neatly beside Kunikida’s. He can see the notes they slipped each other mid meeting, the insults faded on the page and he leaves it be.

Atsushi holds every shred of his home in gentle hands. Even as his own burn red and raw. Even if he wants to throw his own desk aside he can’t.

The detective sits on his chair with a heavy heart. He tries to imagine the laughter and chatter that should echo around him. But there’s nothing but silence.

The lights are on but no one’s coming home.

[bathylychnops]

may i ask what you’re using to ink traditionally??

YES omg iwill link my favorites igot them all on Jetpens.com

first one is disposable but very nice thin & thick lines, 2nd one nylon brush fountain body!

3rd one, the Tombow fudenosuke comes in hard or soft, both arevery good to have and VERY versatile trusted pens to me, very easy consistent lines w/out much effort

the other two arevery nice for filling large areas, the kuretake no. 55 is felt tip and soft so makes nice thin lines too, but ink is thinner, and kuretake no.25 is thicker? stickier ink? BUT will cover an area very opaque first pass (kuretake 55 FEELS nicer to use though)

[ethanmaldridge]

Hi! What would a good starter fountain pen be? Ballpoints hurt my wrist and I hate buying so many disposable gel pens. Is there a good starter fountain pen that is easier on the environment (ie, doesn't use cartridges or has a simple cartridge return program)?

All good questions! A decent fountain pen makes for a smooth writing and drawing experience. Fountain pens can be VERY expensive, but there are also a lot of solid, affordable options.

Here are some reccomendations for starters

Pilot Metropolitan: a solid, straightforward fountain pen. Inexpensive and has a nice weight to it. Not much flex to the nib, but good if you're not used to fountain pens.

Noodler's Ahab Flex: Great pen for sketching. The flexible nib allows for a lively line variation.

Jinhao 8802: really, most of Jinhao's pens make for good starters. They're dependable pens, and they offer a LOT of customization for not a lot of money. I have one with a gold dragon clip and polished redwood barrel, which looks great, and cost me like 25 bucks.

All of these pens either come with or can use a cartridge converter, which is a reusable ink cartridge that can suck up ink from a bottle. More environmentally conscious, plus customizing your inks is one of the biggest appeals of using a fountain pen!

[whysopasta]

guess who got a fountain pen

edit: i kept messing with it. ps im never buying a disposable pen again #teamfountain

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (Part 9)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8

Dream silently steps into Hob’s bedroom and pulls the journal out of his coat. He throws a quick look at the man sleeping in his bed. Hob looks just like the last time Dream visited, if maybe his hair looks less…lubricated. He must have washed it prior to going to bed. Dream appreciates it, even if it has nothing to do with him how Hob performs his hygienical routines or keeps his hair. The now slightly wavy hair lying loose around Hob’s head makes him seem younger, more approachable.

Dream approaches, but not the bed, despite the urge to sit again at Hob’s side and look at his peaceful sleeping face for a while. He steps towards the desk instead. On the desk there is a piece of paper, a mere note really, but set out clearly as if for Dream to find. He leans closer and reads:

“Dear friend, I’d like to propose Victoria Park as our meeting place, if you are amenable. I’ve taken some time off from work and am at your disposal. Drop me a quick note when you have time to meet and I’ll be there, at the old drinking fountain. It's hard to miss, I'm sure you will find it without issue. Please note that the park closes at dusk, but if you’d like to meet at night then this old rover will find a way to be there anyway. ;-)”

Dream frowns at Hob's use of what Dream has learned is called the “smiley face”. Hob has used it twice before in his last journal entry and Dream has spent much too long pondering these modern pictograms and their possible hidden meaning. Do they only convey Hob's particular cheek, his happiness, or do they hide a mild threat, a real warning? Dream fears he is not well-versed enough in social and especially human interaction to decipher Hob's “smileys” correctly.

Delicately he picks up the paper and smoothes his fingers over it, contemplating for a moment. Then he puts it into his coat and pulls out the journal instead. Flipping it open to the latest entry, Dream puts the book on the desk and picks up the pen lying close by. He adds a few lines to his last entry and then carefully closes the book again. Casting a last, long glance at his friend, Dream carefully skims over Hob’s dreamscape. The man is dreaming of car rides and wide open fields, a dream of escape and freedom. Dream’s presence is not needed, a fact that calms him. He does not want to foster dependency in Hob in some way. Their last meetings in Hob’s dreams had Dream worried, but it seems that Hob has not yet bound himself to Dream too tightly. He will have to talk to Hob soon about a lot of things. He should try and mentally prepare himself for that.

“Sleep well, my friend,” he murmurs and then returns to the Dreaming. 

--

Dream steps out of the shadow of a tall beech close to where Hob has invited him to meet. He has dressed himself more appropriately to the times, aware of the fact that people will see him talking to Hob. Having taken inspiration from current young dreamers he is particularly fond of, Dream wears black leather trousers and boots, as well as a leather jacket with metal studs over a simple dark grey shirt that is too large and reveals his bony collarbones, but it hides his sickly thin ribs well enough. Dream has been pleased to note that his preferred style of hair - or rather the lack of care on his part for how unruly it looks - is in fact in fashion and he has therefore not changed his hair at all.

He looks around with interest. The park is spacious, trees and wide mowed meadows spreading out in all directions. Straight walkways lead towards a small building made of pink marble and granite Dream supposes must be the fountain. It has a distinct Gothic look to it and is indeed hard to miss, like Hob promised. The sun is low over the treetops and buildings and while there are a few pedestrians about, they are scattered and do not bother Dream. What bothers him is something else.

The light gleams off a surface of water surrounding the historic drinking fountain. The fountain sits in the middle of an octagon of flower beds and water basins. Dream freezes and stares at the way the water almost surrounds the place, fences it in like. 

Like a moat. 

He swallows hard and takes an involuntary step back.

“Boss? You alright?” comes a croak from above him. Matthew flutters down from one of the beech’s boughs and lands in front of Dream, cocking his head at him. “What’s the matter?”

Dream inhales sharply and tries to still his trembling hands. He closes his eyes for a moment and then says, “Matthew. Could you please inform Hob Gadling, the man waiting at the fountain…that I would rather meet him. Over here.”

Matthew eyes him worriedly. “Uh, sure boss. Be right back.”

Dream clenches his hands into fists and watches his raven fly over to the fountain, crossing the water and fences without issue. He curses himself internally for his cowardice. Yet he cannot will himself to take another step closer to the circle.

--

Hob arrives at the Burdett-Coutts Fountain way too early. Of course. How could he not, when his friend has not specified a time. Not exactly. He recalls his friend’s last letter, having read it over and over again after finding the journal back on his desk yesterday morning:

June 16th, 1989 Dear Hob,

I don't know how to tell you how much your reassurance means to me. The thought of losing you as a friend has troubled me more than I was willing to admit for a long time. I thank you for your offer of hospitality whenever I may need it. I intend to honour it and not abuse your trust, or your furniture.

You are not the first to tell me that I should "take a break". However, as the ruler of my realm there are a lot of things that none but me can do and so I do not have the option to delegate and take a prolonged holiday. My absence has been what has caused a lot of pain and damage in the first place. I am, however, tempted to take you up on your offer of meeting more often, as I find myself able to relax in your presence. I hope this will help me regain my equilibrium and calm with time.

You have offered me more than would be advisable, Hob. Most would caution you not to offer me anything at all. I urge you to not lose your sense of self-preservation when offering me aid. There are things worse than death, dear friend, and I do not wish them upon you.

I look forward to meeting you soon,

Your friend.

Addendum:  Having now read your note, I hereby accept your invitation to Victoria Park. Let us meet there tomorrow afternoon.

Tomorrow afternoon. Hob had almost tripped over his own feet in joy on his way to the bathroom and then the kitchen, trying to go about his day as calmly as possible. He had failed spectacularly, knowing he would see his stranger the next day. He’d tried to distract himself, read the journal and all his friend’s entries several times; he’d gone shopping and tried to find something new to wear, something more relaxed than his current smart casual wardrobe of a newspaper editor. He’d thought about going to a hairdresser but had missed his window of opportunity after debating for too long if he should do it or not. Today he hadn’t wanted to go any longer, leaving his hair open and unstyled instead. When Hob had looked in the mirror this morning he had been content and left his hair as is. 

His excitement and the lack of work have made him restless all day and so he arrives at the park when one can barely call it afternoon. He has come prepared, though. He sits down on one of the fountain's steps and pulls out a book he's meant to finish for a while. The weather is nice and the park is still full of people strolling about, enjoying the June sun. Sunny days are rare enough in London, one has to get their sunlight when they can. Hob doesn't begrudge anyone their time out here but he still hopes there will be fewer people when his friend arrives. He doesn't want him to shy away again.

Hob sits and reads for at least an hour, periodically scanning the surrounding area for any sign of his stranger.

Will he tell him his name this time? His friend had hinted at his intention to do so in his last entry. Will his stranger finally not be a stranger anymore? What will he look like in the light of day? In sunlight? Hob has only ever seen him inside the tavern or...on a dark and rainy street, walking away from him.

Hob sighs and puts the book away, which he has not been properly paying attention to anyway, and pulls out the journal instead. He has taken it with him to-

He's not quite sure why he took it. He wanted to have his friend's words and proof of their appointment close by, he supposes.

An approaching shadow and the flapping of wings startles him. A raven - for no crow is as big as that - swoops over Hob's head and the fountain. Hob stares up, perplexed. It's been a while since he saw a proper raven, not since the last time he drove by the Tower.

The raven swings back towards him and lands in front of Hob's feet. Hob stares; the raven cocks his head.

"Are you Hob Gadling?" it says, with the voice of a sceptical American. Hob feels like his eyes will bug out of his head. A talking raven! That's a first even for him, in all his time on this earth. 

"I, er- yes?" Hob stutters and presses the journal protectively against his chest. The raven hops closer, and speaks again, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Is that a question? I asked you! You know who you are, right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm Hob Gadling, but-"

"The boss sends me. He can't meet you here," the raven interrupts him, and Hob freezes. Does this bird mean his stranger? Nevermind that it is talking, what did it say? He can't meet him? Why?!

Hob draws a shaky breath, feeling nauseous, and grips the journal tighter. 

"Wh-what do you mean, he can't meet me? Is something wrong? Is he hurt? Should I-"

"Hey, hey, calm down. He's fine," the raven caws and flaps its wings at Hob who has risen from the fountain steps and taken a wobbling step forward.

"He's fine, alright? He just told me to ask you to meet him over there," the raven points its beak in the direction of some of the nearby trees. Hob looks up and indeed, if he squints against the sun he thinks he can make out a black figure in the shade of a large beech. He feels the anxious knot in his stomach ease and heaves a deep breath.

"Oh..."

The raven looks at him strangely and hops a few times, shaking out its wings. 

"You okay with that?"

Hob nods distractedly, trying to make out more of his stranger in the shadows. The raven continues conversationally, "I think it's the circle, you know? The, uh, octagon, I guess? Maybe? He seems a bit on edge so be nice, yeah? This beak is sharp, so if you hurt him-"

Hob instantly looks down at the bird, frowning. "Why would I want to hurt him? I’d never, you got that, uh, raven? Do you have a name?"

"It's Matthew," the raven says with a comical bob of its head before taking to the air once more, "Nice to meet you. And that's good to hear. A friend of the boss is my friend and so on, right? Not that he has many of those, I recon."

Hob contemplates that for a moment as he packs away the journal before following the raven - Matthew - away from the fountain. 

"No. I guess not..."

[petermorwood]

I got a Pilot VPen the other day and it writes like a dream, so much nicer than a pen I've tried that was ten times the price??? It's almost upsetting, and now I've put a blunt needle syringe and a bottle of fountain pen ink on my shopping list because I'd hate to throw it away once it's run out of ink. Thanks for the rec (not recently, I just remember a post or two you've made where you talk about how the nibs on those are really good. You weren't kidding!) and have a nice weekend!

I'm pleased to hear the Varsity / VPen nib quality hasn't changed since that post - not recent indeed, 4 years ago!

They're great for starting, loaning, even risk-of-losing, and a nice (if rare) example for those who might think fountain pens are always costly and elitist. :-)

Here's one link I attached about removing the nib and feed to refill it:

Despite what this article says, I've never had to use pliers even when the pens were new; YMMV on that. However a rag or tissue paper are a must, to protect the nib and catch any seepage of ink.

Green thumbs are for gardening, black and blue ones are the result of carelessly closed doors...

Here's another article:

This one doesn't mention pliers, just something to provide extra grip.

[salembehindbars]

I love my journals. I love iced coffee, knit sweaters, film cameras, carrying a disposable camera everywhere I go, my mascara routine, expanding my ‘To Be Read’ list, browsing on Pinterest for hours, listening to my music at full volume, watching horror movies, video essays, Stephen King books, Joan Didion, Dishwalla, writing, Autumn, stationary, fountain pens, 1966 Mustang Coupe 289 C4, Sabrina Necklines, Prayer Cards, stacks of filled journals, bike rides in 70 degree weather, apple picking, Lent, foggy autumn mornings, horseback rides, when my hair looks as black as possible, Ralph Lauren, fortune cookies, victorian rugs, cherries, tulips, peonies, apple pie, landlines, Häagen-Dazs, window seats, rosaries, Frank Sinatra, Maroon 1967 Pontiac GTO 2DR Hardtop, Nyx Rocky Road Butter Gloss, stained glass, burning CDs, cassettes, being sentimental, plane rides, New York, vests, Pretty Little Liars aesthetic in season 1, legalese, Law and Order: SVU, 2000s Halloween movies, Christmas everything, massive coffee mugs, Tiffany Style Lamps, vintage suitcases / trunks, leather boots, mary janes, embroidered lace, fall festivities, Horror movies, equestrians outfits, cranberry juice, Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, 1920s engagments, The Time Travelers Wife (the show), pocketwatches, pictures of JFK Jr and Caroline Basset Kennedy, hair sticks, vintage jewelry, Sapphire, Emily the Strange, when the air is cold and crisp after rain, black cats, ladybugs, butterflies, white owls, calf boots, hair sticks, Hello Kitty, Strawberry Shortcake, Winx Club, Ever After High, camcorders, Pilot G-2 Pens, R.L Stine, Mazzy Star, tiramisu, dragonflies, Cristina Ricci movies, bangles, vintage cuffs, Amethyst, Elvira and Victoria’s Secret

Yeah, I love a lot!

[newbornwhumperfly]

through the frightening door...

oof, so this was an angsty one, folks. 😢😢😢 i went and made a sad prompt - @whumpmasinjuly day six: left behind -  even sadder than it already was and in the process, i penned a big part of my boy morja’s backstory, so i’m gonna tag the story crew on this one. 🥺🥺🥺

CW: Grief, death of a loved one, dehumanization, just…big sads in this one, folks.  

title insp. by the poem “my dead friends” by marie howe - “billy’s already gone through the frightening door, whatever he says, i’ll do.” 

~

Diathésimós don’t have graves. 

The fallen must pay for a grave, or their families must, and graves are, they say, costly. Plots of land which could hold a house or a slot of gardened flowers or a new statue does not need to hold a patch of dirt and a stone. The ashes are poured into the wind, as disposable as they were in life. It is rare that a family, if the dead still have one, can afford to pay for the body’s return. It is rare, indeed, for one to ask. 

That doesn't mean their deaths are not marked by those who knew them. 

There is a stone, innocuous and small, where the dead are honored. Some write names down on the stone. Others don’t bother. 

There is one marking, one stone, Morja waits to visit. Part of it might be that he doesn't have to leave until he does this thing he must not neglect. 

It’s more than just the stone, of course. It would be silly to think of that only. There are places Morja won’t see again where she would go. Where she took comfort. And not seeing these places anymore will be the drag of a knife out from where it lodged. And he will pack the spot with rags to stop it from bleeding, field medicine, how well he knows how to do that. How to plug up a wound and keep walking. Don’t stop. If you stop, you’ll fall. 

But there’s…a way only she could find something pretty in this place. Like, there was a spot by the fountain in the courtyard where a stubborn plant grew. And it would get ripped out, an eyesore, nobody intended for this little purple flower to grow between cracks in the base of that marble foundation. But the dirt underneath was strong, Morja supposes, and Roe encouraged it, is the thing. She kept nudging aside the little shiny seashells that surrounded the root - decorative, ceramic, gleaming, imported from some shop to look more perfect than real shells, no sharp edges or rough surfaces. Morja remembers what a real seashell feels like. No, he doesn’t. But his maybe-memory is rougher than the shells in this courtyard. He knows this, at least, in the way he knows when an opponent is about to strike. 

But the purple stays caught in a sunbeam, is the problem. The shaft of daylight through the pillars hits the water as it sparkles and it hits the flower too. The water from the fountain falls on the patch of land bared by Roe’s hands. Somehow, it stays and stays. Somehow, it outlives her. Everything else has, after all.

This is, of course, where Roe’s stone lies. 

Where else would Morja have put it? The dead are dead, of course they are. Gone is gone and bodies are bodies, hollow bullet casings, no powder, no spark. Useless to collect, more useless to hold onto. But Roe wanted a stone. She would have wanted a stone, probably, certainly, yes. 

It is past the alcove with the missing statue where Roe perched, sweat-drenched from long training, or bleeding from a hit, tucked into the space once filled by the bust of a marble head. The space has stayed hollow, still, and on a dark night like this, Morja could imagine, if he were to try, that the black lines of her body melted into the hole in the wall. That maybe she were there, long-limbed and tiny, clambering up in there to nap. 

He told her so often not to. 

What if she got caught?

Her bright, black eyes would shine and she would say that until the statue took her place, this was her spot. 

Hers. Like she’d laid claim to it. So stupid. Nothing was theirs, she could never understand that. 

Past the alcove, still empty, Morja’s quiet steps go past the vine full of berries he was never brave enough to eat. Never disobedient enough. Of course. She got hit for taking the berries and she got more careful at taking them. Those berries weren’t hers to take, just because she watered the vines. 

The rows of women (goddesses, Morja was told) tall and imposing and cool to the touch, their eyes looking down to keep watch on the garden, on its dwellers, and Morja would shiver sometimes when he was younger, passing by them, because what if they saw him misbehave? What if their marble fingers pointed at him in accusation? 

Roe looked up and tilted her head, one foot angled like the goddess with a bow and an arrow, elbow crooked just so, Roe so good with her aim, as good a shot as Morja, even so young. Her palms swipe sweat off, passing over the flat expanse of her torso, tugging at the close-fitting training shirt, and twisting it to match the ripples in the fabric. 

It will wrinkle, Morja fretted quietly.

Do you think I could pull off a look like that? Roe asked, 

The marble’s paint is fresh and gleaming, blue cloth draped elegantly over one shoulder, baring the breast beneath the other, her body small and yet powerful, royal, gold glinting on the folds of her skirt and the twists of her sandals. 

I don’t think we could ever wear anything that…nice, Morja had answered. 

Of course she could have. That’s what he should have said. He didn’t want to raise her hopes. He didn’t- she would have looked royal and powerful as Athena. 

The huntress looks down at Morja, out when he should not be, and he doesn't shiver anymore. He doesn’t quail before imaginary eyes as he kneels at the base of the fountain, the moon shining silver on the purple petals. Other hands have pushed the shells aside since- since the stone was placed behind the blossom. The crude shape of an animal drawn with a shaky hand, white paint on a black rock, traces the outline of tiny hooves, spindly legs, the body of a deer. 

Morja doesn’t know who drew it. It’s beautiful. And he cannot take this stone. This is- it’s tradition and he has to respect it. It would feel wrong to move this stone as stones are not to be moved. 

But he looks at it for a long time. Kneeling on the cold stone, the mist of the water landing on him and wetting his face, taking the role of the tears he cannot shed. The stone and the flower blur before his eyes but that’s just because he’s tired. He’s so tired. 

Maybe…maybe the alcove did belong to her, in a way. She was the one who used it. Maybe the fruit on the vine was hers to sit under, to eat from, unafraid. Maybe this flower was hers because she’s the only one who gave a damn about it. 

Morja doesn’t want to leave the stone. The flower. The alcove and the statue. Fuck, he doesn’t want to leave this stone. What should I do? Who will- nobody will tell me to go. Nobody will, they never will, how can I go when I’m going on my own, when nobody has sent me? How can I leave this behind? How can I leave her behind?

But…she isn’t here. And Morja can’t be, either. Can he? He can’t take this stone. And he can’t stay and watch over it. 

Morja stands, every muscle in his legs protesting, sharp and tingling, at rising. It hurts as much to stand up from kneeling as it does to kneel. But he stands anyway. Leaves the stone under the fountain, behind the flower. 

Roe has gone. 

It is time for him to leave the stone and go as well.

~

oof, i hope y'all enjoyed this important piece of juicy tragic backstory, this glimpse behind the curtain. 😢😢😢💔💔💔

taglist: @haro-whumps @much-ado-about-whumping @whump-tr0pes @whumpthisway

@i-eat-worlds @redwingedwhump @straight-to-the-pain @wolfeyedwitch @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@whumpzone @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @whumpster-draganies @lave-whump @whump-me-all-night-long

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have a very merry whumpas y'all! 💖💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[daftpatience]

hello! i’ve found your fountain pen posts very informative; thank you for sharing them with us!

i recently got a twsbi eco medium nib and i love the steady ink flow. however after a few ink refills i noticed that the nib has a lot more feedback than when i initially got it. it’s not scratchy per se since it isn’t scratching up the paper surface, and the toothiness of the nib is felt more on downstrokes.

what do you recommend i do? i already e-mailed twsbi asking if its possible to acquire a nib replacement but i still haven’t received a response from them… thank you again in advance!

ahh thank you!! i'm super happy to talk pens anytime!!! i can think of a couple of things that might help - i'll go thru them!

inspect the nib real close. obviously this is probably something you've done, but occasionally a super tiny fluff or hair gets caught in the tines and causes a faint scratchy feeling. a magnifying glass or loupe can help. you can wipe at the tip carefully with paper towel to try and remove anything on it. if the tines are misaligned, you can realign them with this tutorial here.

buff the nib: this can be done with brown paper bag material. with an inked pen; draw long, even strokes, tilting the pen from a low angle to a high one, and also draw repetitive figure eights. this can help smooth out any imperfections in the nib.

floss the nib: if any gunk or fluff is caught in between the tines this can help clear it out. flossing a nib also separates the tines very slightly, and is often done as a way to improve the juiciness of a pen, so if it's already juicy enough i would be careful not to overdo it.

it's fairly common for new pens in this price bracket to need a little bit of polishing up, so it's handy to have these tools and skills at your disposal! ♥

[leebrontide]

LOOK AT THIS GORGEOUS PEN!

This is absolutely everything.

I don't know why it's $58 instead of like $200, but I can't see myself ever spending $200 on a pen no matter how beautiful it is, so I am very thankful.

Super wide grip. Iridium nib. Genuine shell piecework.

From now on my trusty ol TWSBY Go will be my on-the-go pen till it gives up the ghost. And this will be the pen that lives in my office and that nobody else is allowed to touch, and that I will use for all my office pen needs for the rest of time.

Happy birthday/novel publication day to me!

I'm so happy I was able to switch to fountain pens and stop burning through a disposable pen every two weeks.

[goldenstorm0]

ok controversial(ish) vintage fountain pen: I like Wearever pens

If you don't know, Wearever was a fountain pen brand who made a ton of cheap third tier pens.

But they made a ton of pens that highly vary in quality. The most common and shittiest pen they had was the Pioneer. Plastic pieces of shit, they made millions and sold them for basically pennies. They're practically considered disposable, even though they are either lever fill or cartridge fill. You will find them everywhere, warped and distorted and cracked. They are the go to when you are learning how to restore fountain pens because it doesn't matter if you break it. You can find another one and try again.

Right now I have a Pennant in gray, but it looks grey-green to me. It's practically mint, just a couple scratches from storage and very light use. Only problem is that it's been gutted, no sac or pressure bar, but hopefully that should be fixed soon. What it can do is show off the feed

It's see-through! That's neat! I like it! I am a simple person who like simple things like unique feeds! They are called c-flow feeds, because you can see the flow. That's kinda silly but it's cute and I like it

There is still is dried ink stuck in it, I usually only use water when I clean pens but I might have to get some specialized cleaner. And I know its a gimmick to up sales, it doesn't really do anything, but dammit I think it's neat

What I really want to get one day is one of their early pens, a De Luxe or a Zenith

source for top 2 pics , source for bottom pic

There sadly isn't too much info about the early days of the brand, or at least compared to more popular brands. I'd love to find out more but I have no idea how to go about researching that. But I do want to get one with a gold nib, and tbh it isn't too hard, I just... want that gold nib and reinforcement. I use to have one while not realizing what it was, and now its gone. So I'm back to hunting for a new one. And honestly I'm not hunting too hard, but if I run across another, I'm snatching that shit up.