#fountain pen repairs

[orangerosebush]

Artemis will disassemble and clean a fountain pen with the same level of intensity as Butler disassembling and cleaning one of his guns.

[syncallio]

Turns out the flow issue with that Aikin Lambert pen isn't because of the feed. Whoever resacced the pen didn't bother cleaning it out.

Which would be annoying enough if it were full of modern, dye-based ink. But no. It's a hard rubber pen from back when iron gall was standard. And the thing about iron gall, the reason it's so permanent, is that it oxidizes into a solid.

I realized this when I went to flush/clean it before putting it away. There was just so much black grit coming out. I ended up disassembling the pen so the feed and section can soak in an ammonia solution.

On the bright side, maybe this will give me confidence to sell some of my refurbished pens. As clumsy and impatient as I may be, at least I make sure all the parts are thoroughly cleaned first.

[therogueduchess]

During the worst of my substance-addled grief, I was still attempting journalling in a paper journal. This was fine until the night I was so gripped by my rage that I basically started stabbing the journal with the pen, ruining my fountain pen nib in the process. I finally ordered a replacement last week, and it came yesterday. I used it on my therapeutic affirmations last night, and again this morning. I pulled it back out a few minutes later to jot down a quotation as well, only to discover—

somehow I bent the nib sharply sideways when putting the cap back on the pen.

What. The fuck.

I don’t want to have to buy another, it was enough of an expense as it is. Does anybody have any resources/guidance on how to unfuck a fountain pen nib? 😭

[eggbunni]

I restored the gold barrel on this vintage Montblanc fountain pen. ✨

[oimoi-op]

I got some vintage pens I wanna show off but unfortunately I've met today's binocular vision limit so pictures of small rubber tubes will have to wait :(

[smol-blue-bird]

first world problems: i can't use my favorite fountain pen because it needs to be sent to Italy for repairs :(

[selfmetime]

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[moonsaver]

Veritas Ratio is so illiterate when it comes to love languages.

And as such, he makes it a mission to understand it, through a bit of loosely held experiments and documentation for his private analysis.

1. Acts of service.

It is said a person may showcase their affection or romantic interest in a person by offering services, or by doing menial tasks that may help the object of their affections.

It is not a surprise when Dr. Ratio "helps" you lug back an entire shelf's worth of books, after he offers to pick out a few based on the current topic you've decided to study. The pile behind him grew larger as his fingers tipped and pulled every book off of the shelf effortlessly, as you stood, mouth agape, helplessly observing the pile grow immensely large to your dismay.

He clicks his tongue, and sighs when you stand there, confused and unsure of how to carry these books all at once. He picks the pile up, his arm muscles slightly pulling and tensing with the weight, as he continues walking forward, droning on about the books he's picked out for you, the authors, their contributions, etc.. as you trail behind him, bewildered.

[End of experiment #01. Success.]

[Dr. Ratio, for once, has made the effort to.. listen to you, and repaired a fountain ink pen you'd previously complained about having broken. He had to scold you on your lack of awareness of things, and then decided to take matters into his own hands. The cracked fountain pen has been repaired well, and the ink runs smoothly. He scoffs and asks if you'll do better on the upcoming test he has for you,now that he's repaired it and given it back. You return a reponse with a smile. Dr. Ratio crosses out the paragraph with one strike after the last sentence describing the upward curve of your mouth.]

2. Physical contact.

A person may, with consent from the other party, display their affections through physical contact with one another.

Dr. Ratio seems a bit stumped, his mind simmering at the ways he could initiate such contact with you. Perhaps the pressing of his shoulder into yours as he explains a problem at hand counts? Or the continuous touching of the sides of your knees with his? This is unfamiliar territory.

[End of experiment #02. Failure. Next Experiment shall begin shortly.]

[Dr. Ratio seems particularly troubled. A pat on your head is too childish. A good shoulder squeeze is too professional – goodness, he's not that uptight. Perhaps holding your hand shall suffice as he guides you through a 3d simulation? His alabastor head is on as he contemplates on the idea.]

3. Quality time

A person may offer their affections through the time they share with their romantic interest. This is a branched term, as other languages such as Parallel play fall under this category, as Dr. Ratio presumes.

For once, Dr. Ratio stays put, choosing to stay for longer, sometimes hours, helping you understand and learn a topic from start to finish. He explains a book in great detail, going paragraph to paragraph, and teaches you in any way you want to be taught. For once, his racing mind comes to an abrupt slowdown, as he's forced to sit down with you and help you with.. what he considers are problems so easy a toddler could do it with their eyes closed. But.. do ask him, if you have doubts. He's willing to offer up his free time if he must, as long as it's you he has to begrudgingly explain a concept to. And for someone like him, time is valuable.

He considers time spent with you more valuable.

[End of experiment #03. Progressive success.]

[He stays quiet, deep in his thoughts as you sigh, taking a well-needed break. You chirp up with a question, and he answers without breaking his daze. Back and forth exchanges turn into pleasant conversation, and a laugh soon spills gracefully from your chest. Dr. Ratio's face seems to be still, however, his heart beat may have sputtered for a moment to the exact rhythm of your laughter.]

4. Receiving and Giving gifts.

A person may either receive or lend trinkets, assortments, and items of various degrees of sentimentality to another individual in order to display affection.

Tricky. But nothing in Dr. Ratio's eyes.

He has you analyze curios thoroughly, study them under his supervision with all necessary safety protocols and procedures, as you awe at the glow of it. A part of him wonders if it'll make a significant academic gift..? He shakes his head, and the thought is banished immediately. He will not entertain the idea of even giving you something like that. Studying it from a distance should suffice for you.

As for the gift.. it's hard to say. At the end, he decides to ask you directly if you've been saving up for a specific item that you haven't been able to get your hands on.

[End of Experiment #04. Partial failure.]

[Dr. Ratio sighs, thinking over the exact words he would use to address the issue at hand. However.. he should be able to solve this problem quite quickly if he simply scanned your daily wardrobe. If he wasn't so distracted by the curl of your mouth, that dumb joke you kept interrupting with your own laughter, and the stupid questions you'd always distract him with.. goodness. Shall he just get you a hair-piece that matches his?]

5. Words of Affirmation.

An individual may express their intimate feelings through a plethora of words that appropriately convey their depth towards their interested person.

Perhaps this one was the hardest, or easiest for Dr. Ratio. He hadn't realised he'd done it in the first place, having to delay his documentation for the purpose of suspending such activities in order to help you push past a few particularly difficult tests. He may need to continue it's suspension, as unfortunate it is.

[Experiment #05 – in suspension. Yet to conclude.]

[Dr. Ratio scans through your answers, a culmination of your hard work and brain-wracking that seems to have polished your wits throughout the span of his rigorous course. He sighs, and sets down the paper on the desk, looking at you directly with a smile on his face. You look at him expectantly. Well done – 10 points. Your tense face relaxes and breaks into a bright smile. So does his.]

[shmowder]

I saw this post and wanted to have a go at it so

What Pathologic characters bring for your birthday Pt.1

The Healers

The Bachelor's giftting etiquette is shaped by years of courtesy academia gifts. Daniil plays it safe and goes for the more traditional gifts between professional colleagues usually accompanied by a polite congratulations letter. His gifts tend to fall more on the expensive side, and they can include:

A fountain pen that only works with a special type of ink that is very annoying to get a hold of. If you bring that fact up, he seems a bit embarrassed by not realising it sooner and offers to send you the ink whenever you run out.

A professionally carved chess set piece from imported wood. Each piece is beautifully designed with a twist to distinguish it from the usual chess pieces whilst still holding a resemblance to the traditional design.

A pocket watch with your initials engraved into the gold plated back. A matching chain is included to secure it to your clothes.

A one of a kind brooch from a jewler he frequents for repairs, it symbolises something he thinks is dear to you.

A glass swan decorative piece that's very delicate and intricately designed, made by an expert glass-blower from one piece

If he's out of all options, he pulls the good ol'reliable encyclopedia on beetles with coloured HD prints

The Haruspex's Gifts are what you'd expect from a community welcoming in a new person into the neighbourhood, they tend to be homely in nature and consumable to not take up space but instead offer a small comfort. The kin usually gift food, sewing kits and home appliances, things which make life easier despite being mundane and Artemy took after them. His gifts can include:

Groceries from fresh vegetables, raw meat to canned goods, dairy, and eggs. They fresh ones last you up to a week so you don't have to worry about grocery shopping or go hungry. While canned goods could be saved as emergency food.

Wood/fuel for the fireplace to keep warm, especially with how ruthless winter can be in this town. He thought about bringing a blanket to or a sweater, but knitting was never his speciality

Emergency sewing repair kit that fits in your pocket, it includes spare buttons for your clothes and several threads in different colours to blend in with the fabrics.

He will visit you a day before your birthday and help fix anything broken around your house, be it a creeking floorboard or a wobbling table. Maybe do errands to help you prepare for the birthday party

A carved wooden toy/trinket like the ones his father used to make him in his childhood. the cuts through the wood are very clean but the design itself is chunky, he tried his best.

The idea of gifting you a cattle did cross his mind, but he wasn't sure you knew how to take care of them or have the space....also they tend to be very expensive. He settled for a bull shaped soft toy that's very popular as a home protection charm in the steppe.

The Changeling's gifting is very impacted by the fact she spawned into existence in this world just a few weeks ago. Clara still has many questions about how the world works and why the selection of ediable rocks is very limited? Her gifts are sincere in the way they remind you of playing potion making with leaves and twigs as a kid. They can include:

a small bouquet of wild flowers found around the town that she must have spent some time collecting from the dirt on her knees

A fully functioning army grade rifle in perfect condition with a stash of bullets, if you ask how she got them, she just smiles

Pretty trinkets she found in a bin and washed, you may choose one and she's keeping the rest....Fine you can have two since it's your birthday

Someone's deepest darkest secret, you may choose who.

If you complain from a headache or backpain, she offers to heal you and cure you forever. When it doesn't work, she seems annoyed by it and instead offers you some morphine she had stashed away.

A friendship bracelet that she is very proud of making! Makes fun of you if she sees you wearing it. Clara still wears hers.

[platybelle]

Your vintage pen collection is so prettyyyy. Is there any way you could post a photo of your whole collection?

I wasnt sure if you wanted to see just my vintage pocket pen collection or my whole collection, so I took pictures of both~

The vintage pocket pen collection:

Seperated by brand:

Top: Modern Pilot e95s in Burgundy

Brands left to right: Platinum, Sailor, Pilot, Morison

(The Morison is technically a roller ball, but they did make fountain pens in this pocket style.)

My modern fountain pen collection:

I do have two vintage non-Japanese pocket pens that I didnt show bc they're in pieces while I try to repair them. They're nothing special though. Lol.

[orangerosebush]

AF Fountain Pen Thoughts

Artemis will automatically include the upkeep of Butler's, his mother's, Juliet's, and Holly's fountain pens in the upkeep of his own pens.

Holly and Juliet tend not to use their pens often (which they have because Artemis gifted them the pens); Artemis will help with upkeep whenever they visit.

With Butler, Artemis helps in large part due to the man not having the habit of building 'frivolous' rituals of care into his day. Thus, Artemis will care for the pens, as Butler does (at the end of it all) adore the devices.

With Angeline, I feel Artemis is just so wholly dedicated to those kinds of small acts of care when it comes to his mother (e.g., thinking of him composing a unique ringtone for her calls), the thought of not helping Angeline with that which he has gifted her simply never crosses his mind.

Fowl Sr is more of a ballpoint pen or a pencil fellow. Artemis will sometimes include his father in the hobby by cleaning and repairing pens in his father's study while the man works (so Tim will have the experience of being included in the upkeep).

Fowl Sr. appreciates when Artemis shows off some of the special/exclusive inks he purchases; he finds the beauty of the ink a much more accessible aspect of the hobby. Artemis will sometimes do ink tests (i.e. when you get a new ink and experiment with it on good quality paper) when his father is in the room for this reason.

[syncallio]

About that Conklin Crescent: I actually ended up with two. Much to my surprise! A small one, 25P, and a large one, 211L. It's the 211L that has a big ugly crack in the cap.

And here's how I made ABSOLUTELY SURE that crack would stay closed.

Not a pretty fix, but it'll do the job. Once the epoxy is fully set I'll clean it up a bit.

Sad to say I'm not sure I want to ink it because the cap wasn't the only thing that was cracked. The nib has a nasty long crack along its length, starting at the base. You can't see it unless you take the nib out. Maybe someday I'll pick up a homeless Conklin nib to replace it.

Anyway, here's some shots of these iconic pens:

Some fun facts about the Crescent: it was wildly popular when it was first introduced, both for its fine quality and for the fact that you could fill it one-handed. Among its fans was Samuel Langhorne Clemens - Mark Twain - who was then paid to endorse it.

Clemens's own Crescent is on display at his home/museum in Connecticut. And is apparently badly discolored and missing some bits. Proof of how much he loved it!

Conklin was so proud of their Crescent that they were reluctant to try anything new and fell behind in the game. Everyone else was doing things like using plastic instead of hard rubber and inventing new, more convenient filling systems. Conklin eventually caught up (the Nozac and Endura are both highly regarded) but they didn't survive much past World War II.

[mangoshorthand]

Arrow of Time- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Chapter 1 (Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there? Chapter 2 >> << Back to prologue

You've had a shit day at work, Aoife has a secret and Five has a panic attack.

We're looking at a big ol' time jump friends.

Chapter One: My Bambina

“Now look: p(𝑥) is a polynomial and k is an integer. So we gotta put the 𝑥-2 on the outside and then what do we put on the inside….?” When she stares blankly, he prompts her, “We start with 𝑥 cubed…and what then?”

Aoife sits at the desk, looking up at him with his own eyes. The same expression of panicked frustration is still there, writ large.

“ Cosa non capisci, cara?” 

“ Tutto!” she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air and a whine entering her voice, “I still don’t get it, Dad.”

He sighs, running his fingers down his face before turning from the dry erase and placing the lid on his pen.

“This important stuff, tesoro. We have to grasp this to understand limit cycles.”

“Why won’t you let me just try?!”

He lets out an angry sigh, praying to a deity he doesn’t believe in to give him strength. Five is not a patient man by nature, but the last thirteen years of fatherhood had expanded his capacity tenfold…but everyone has their limit.

“You know why,” he grinds out, teeth gritted tightly together, “because you’re averaging a D+ in math and if you try to time travel without even basic understanding-”

From the entrance hall, the grandfather clock chimes, just audible up the attic stairs. Immediately, her head whips to face him, throwing down her pencil.

“You said we’d stop at seven.”

“Aoife- you have to get this.”

“You promised,” s he says, looking for all the world as if he’d been applying thumbscrews rather than teaching her rudimentary polynomial division, “that’s so unfair!”

He stifles a groan. God help him- he loves this girl more than life itself but her overly-developed teenage sense of injustice is infuriating, especially when she puts on that goddamn ‘woe is me’ voice. 

Suddenly, he finds himself smiling; it’s pretty cute, now he thinks on it. His little girl, all anger and injured entitlement.  

“Okay,” he says, softening, “just humor me for five more minutes and then I promise I’ll let you go. Come with me to the study.”

With a huffed-out sigh expressing that she is the most unfairly treated child in the world, Aoife follows his blink with her own, alighting from her portal sat atop Reginald’s desk.

“Smooth landing,” Five says, approvingly. “One tip though: never blink somewhere so specific unless you can see it or you know damn well that the space is empty: you’re sitting on a fountain pen.”

Aoife hops off the desk immediately, letting out a noise of shocked dismay as she turns to see the ink-spot spreading on the butt cheek of her favorite white jeans.

“Don’t worry, it will come out in the wash,” he murmurs, sitting down casually behind the desk and reaching into the lowest drawer.

Aoife takes her own seat across from him, looking around the study with interest. Dad had never exactly forbidden her from coming in here without him, but he made his disapproval obvious if he ever caught her in here alone. If he thought that would stop her finding the room fascinating, then he’s even more of a dumbass than Aoife was quickly coming to suspect he is…that she's been coming to suspect both her parents are, actually.

“Take a look at this. I call it a temporal ambimeter: I built it around ten years ago.”

Onto the desktop, he carefully places a small instrument: Attached to a three-footed metal plinth is what looks like a full circle protractor marked with incomprehensible measurements. It drifts, turning a sedate three hundred and sixty degrees clockwise. On top of the circle, seeming to float, is a spindly metal needle, held at a perfect horizontal along the protractor’s diameter by invisible forces. Even from this distance, Aoife can feel a tingle in the ends of her fingers.

“This is time,” he says, simply, ghosting his finger along the line of the needle, static crackling there as he does so: “This is  an absolute line of polarity. Can you feel it?”

Aoife nods, fascinated in spite of herself.

“Go on,” he said, smiling slightly, “feel it like I did.”

Stretching out her fingers Aoife, imitates her Dad- sparks flying as she runs her fingers along it like a tiny theremin. The sensation is like blood rushing back to fill dead fingers. Mentally, it’s more complex than that.

“There’s something…it feels.”

Five helps, though he’s barely able to put it into words himself, “Like putting the last jigsaw piece in?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, “it feels…right.”

“That’s because it is. Come here.”

She stands on slightly numb legs and walks around the desk to where Five waits for her with an arm outstretched. Though she resists slightly, (ever more often shying away from cripplingly uncool parental affection), he puts his arm around her anyway.

“Watch.”

For this demonstration, he only needs to reverse time five seconds or so, but it’s always an effort, especially when taking somebody else. At least he doesn’t need to physically move their bodies.

Aoife felt time contract around her under her Dad’s power, holding onto his arm for dear life: he’d never done this with her before.

“Watch,” he says, voice cracking with the strain.

She looks down at the instrument: the protractor shudders to a halt and turns anti-clockwise along with the physical sensation of time reversing, speeding up as Five really gets hold and reverses the seconds.

“The…needle stays in place though.” he says, still straining “S-still feels like the last jigsaw piece, right?”

He’s right: though the rest of the instrument wavers in the current of Five’s power, the needle stays perfectly still.

He grunts and relinquishes his hold on the seconds, taking a deep breath and stretching out his neck. The protractor begins to turn slowly clockwise again.

“See,” he says, grinning at Aoife, “that’s a constant. No matter the timeline, no matter the paradox, that’s what stays in place. It’s what I access when I manipulate time, and you will too, one day. But cara, this stuff is fragile. That’s why you need to have a sound theoretical understanding before you try, okay? You know I don’t say this just to be a tight-ass, right?”

He pulls her closer as he says it, planting a kiss just above her ear.

“ Capisco papà. Posso partire adesso?”

“Sì, he sighs, “I need to go for a bike ride anyway. But not before I get a hug, right?”

She hugs him, laying her head on his shoulder momentarily before throwing off the childish impulse.

“You’re still my bambina whether you like it or not,” he says, raising his voice as she leaves, laughing at her little ‘uggh’ of disgust. Had he been like this when he was thirteen?

No: he’d been like this by the time he was nine. When he was thirteen, he was far, far worse.

Dad had cycled for as long as she could remember. It was only recently she’d noticed just how embarrassing his bike shorts and helmet were, but at least she didn’t have to be seen with him when he was out on the bike.

When she’d heard the door close and could be sure her mom was busy in another part of the house, Aoife blinked from her bedroom back into her father’s study, concealing the notebook under her sweatshirt.

This room had once been her grandfather’s but  in the years since his death Five had worked his way so naturally into using it regularly that it was now informally acknowledged as his. Until it became firmly her father’s domain, Aoife had never dared step foot in here. Even now, his bedroom,  (all but untouched since his death) is the one room in the house Aoife has never dared to go.

The oil-paintings of him still hanging around the house held a curious fascination for her, and this one above the study fireplace was no exception. He stood tall, hand domineeringly over a walking cane. She and her cousin Santi both agreed: Reginald hung like a spectre around the house along with those of the tortured children the Umbrella Academy once were. He was cruel, exacting…and had been her personal bogeyman ever since she could remember. The portrait always started with cold eyes, so unlike those of her young father hanging in the living room. Five’s portrait always made her smile; Reginald’s always made her feel like she was being watched.

The journals are kept in a locked, glass-fronted cabinet and it had only taken her an hour of searching the study to find the key. They’re ordered from 1-6 and each number has several volumes.  She started from  01, I and has just finished 05, VII. Reading these journals has been spookier than Aoife had even imagined. Reading about her Uncle Klaus being locked in a mausoleum in 04, XII had given her nightmares for a week.

Quite why Reginald has this hold on her imagination, she doesn’t know, but keeping it a secret is electrifying. Perhaps if she told Mom and Dad about her pre-bedtime reading, the spell would be broken. The journals concerning her Dad have been generally less interesting: he seemed to have been the perfect student and Reginald had only positive things to say about his skills (although was less impressed by his ‘‘impudence’). Nevertheless Aoife placed 05, VII back beside 05, VI and reached to pull the next journal out of line.

Reading roman numbers did not come naturally to Aoife, yet after a quick look at the previous journals, she realized something was wrong: 05, VII was followed immediately by 05 IX … there was one missing from when her father was eight.

For now, she took 05 IX and blinked back into her room…this was a mystery for another day.

Work is…not great right now. You’ve always been ambitious, (something Five regularly teases you for) and you worked hard over your twenty-year career. You’ve been at your new firm for three years now and you’ve got the fancy private office and a team of thirty subordinates. It’s busy and exhausting but it would be fine if the bullshit ended when you got to a certain rung on the ladder…but it actually seems to get worse. 

For one thing, it turned out that the VP of sales position you had just lost out on went to an old coworker of yours: a guy called Charlie. He had been a smug chauvinist when you knew him and didn’t seem to have changed. He’d acted surprised when he bumped into you, but something about his shit-eating attitude had made it clear how much he was loving this. It was clear he hadn’t forgotten the time Five broke his nose in the parking lot of your joint workplace. You’d noted with satisfaction that surgery had still been unable to correct the damage: his nose was permanently misshapen.

Also, you’d recently raised eyebrows by turning down a huge FMCG contract; no matter how much they were willing to pay, there was no way you were going to be involved  with it after you found out that it was the same people behind JUICED, trying to get back into the market after the poisoning scandal you and Five had uncovered. It was a cockroach of a company: surviving anything, no matter how severe.

So now, mentally drained, you lounge in the main living room, having dumped your stuff unceremoniously on the floor. You were absurdly grateful when Lila, unasked, had poured you both a glass of wine. Now, she lies at the other end of the sofa, trying to take your mind off it with talk about her son: the nephew you’d known since he was seven.

“He seems okay…” her mouth pulls downwards, “but I don’t think things are going well at the lab.”

You sigh, “why?”

“It’s your fault, really,” she says, giving you a slightly stern look, “I knew those researchers wouldn’t have a chance, but it’s you that got it into Santi’s head that he’s under some kind of moral obligation to all mankind or something.”

You look down…she’s not wrong. You were definitely very vocal in encouraging Santi’s attempts to ensure his healing powers could be harnessed by medical science.  

“He’s not obligated,” you say, guiltily, “but it is important to at least try.”

“Yeah, and now he’s put his entire life on hold to be some kind of bleeding-heart lab rat.”

There’s no real anger in her voice: Santi was always a sensitive boy and now he’s grown into a principled young man. Though Lila doesn’t share his ideals, she’s proud of him for having them.

A static buzz; a crash from the atrium and the sound of labored male breathing. Five.

You’re off the sofa almost before Lila’s registered something’s wrong. Five half kneels and half lies on the tiles, covered in sweat, gasping for breath and clutching his chest. His bike lies on top of him, his ankle caught in the chain. His eyes are wide, terrified: his breath comes in desperate, vocalized “hahs” low in his chest.

Immediately, you kneel behind him and place your body between his and the floor.You recognise the symptoms immediately.

“H-help,” another of those pained grunts of breath, “my heart.”

“It’s okay. It’s just a panic attack,” you say, holding your arms around his chest as Lila appears in the living room doorway, “you’ll be okay.”

“N-no!” beneath your arms, his heart kicks like a rabbit in a snare.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” you soothe…but it’s worrying. He’s not had a panic attack like this in over ten years.

With another <ffssht>, Aoife appears, she looks from her Dad to you in panic.

“He’s okay; he’s just having a little turn. Can you get the bike off him, honey?”

“I-I-‘m fine,” he wheezes, trying to reassure his daughter without much success.

“Shh. Don’t try to talk. Just breathe. Count the seconds.”

As Aoife manages to remove the bike, you smile gratefully up at her.

“Good girl.”

She sits beside you both and takes Five’s sweat-slippy hand. As he slows his breath and tries to ride out the feeling of doom, he squeezes Aoife’s hand.

“You okay shitface?” says Lila, catching Five’s eye.

He nods, eyes still wide and heart still skittering.

“Shame,” she quips.

“When you’re ready, tell me what happened,” you whisper soothingly into his ear.

“Later,” he breathes.

When his breath is almost steady again and some part of the all-consuming fear recedes, he stands up shakily, holding one of your hands each. His spandex cycling gear whispers as his limbs unfold from one another.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding more like himself, “I just had a little freakout.”

“Did you take your pills, papà?” Aoife hangs off his arm now, resting her head against his bicep.

“ Si cara, non preoccuparti. Starò bene. Ho bisogno di sdraiarmi.” he kisses the top of her head before translating for you and Lila, “I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down.”

“Do you want me to blink you?”

The bike shorts don’t have pockets, but he puts his hands to his hips as if they did, his body leaning forward in his characteristic swagger. Still breathing a little harder than normal, he gives her his cheeky, almost grimace of a smile and vanishes is a buzz of static.

His voice echos down the stairs from the 2nd flight,

“I’m not that broken down, sweetie!”

She laughs, grins farewell to Lila and blinks away herself. The sound of quiet drumming issuing down the stairs lets you know she’s back in her room. 

You turn to Lila, holding up a single hand in farewell.

“I should check on him. I probably won’t be down again tonight- I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?.”

“Night chicken

“Night”

You follow them to the attic. Apparently you’re the only one who uses the stairs these days. 

In the last five years, the attic has been completely renovated for your family’s exclusive use. Although you prefer to sit and be sociable downstairs, you have a family living space for when you want some privacy. It’s cosy: the sloping ceilings only add to the feeling of being pleasantly enclosed.

Aoife’s old bedroom has been turned into a space to do her homework and learn the theory of time travel while her new room, (another of the old storage rooms), is devoted to sleep and her drum kit. This had been a gift purchased by Lila. While it had clearly been designed to torture Five (in which you were collateral damage), Aoife had really excelled under Lila’s tutoring. This had delighted you all, (although Five pretended to Lila that he didn’t care), and now the parts of Aoife’s bedroom walls that weren’t covered with a psychedelic jungle, (courtesy of Uncle Klaus) were covered in posters of Cindy Blackman and Meg White with the White Stripes 

Before heading to your room, you drop in on Aoife.

“Hey. Sweetie?”

She scowls immediately. It irks you and not even how much she looks like Five when she pulls that face can soften it. 

“What?” she says, annoyed, “can’t you knock?”

“Excuse me young lady” you say, hearing yourself use the ‘mom’ voice that makes you feel a million years old, “I’m happy to knock in future and I should have done it this time, but I expect you to ask nicely .”

“I shouldn’t have to ask.” she snaps, “I’m thirteen, Mom. I deserve my privacy!”

She’s always been a daddy’s girl, but recently things have gotten worse between you and her. Five’s a brilliant Dad and he doesn’t shy away from discipline when needed, but you’ve had to play bad-cop with Aoife more often than him. You never exactly disagree on parenting but your moral standards for Aoife are higher than his. Last year, when she punched Whitaker Crane in the face for making fun of her sweatshirt, Five had given only a brief show of disapproval before asking whether she’d used her right or left hook. He’d left it down to you to lecture and ground her. 

Partially as a result of his attitude, Aoife is always on the offensive when it comes to you. Arguing with her is not what you came in here for so you take a slow, deep breath. 

“Are you okay, after all that?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because that wasn’t nice to see.”

“It’s okay Mom.” she says, rolling her eyes, “I’m not a kid , I can deal with it.”

“It doesn’t matter what age you are, he’s your dad. That could still be scary.”

She rolls her eyes and pouts (something Five says she got from you) as she throws off your hand.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay sweetie,” you sigh, “but stop with the drumming please.”

“Mom,” (she draws out the word so it sounds like: ‘MoOoom’) “it’s like nine PM.”

“Yes, and your dad needs quiet!” you say, feeling the stern look on your face. “Don’t you have a math test you need to study for?”

She huffs out air like an angry horse and throws her drumsticks onto the bed in a slight show of temper.

“ Fine .” she says.

“Thank you.” you reply, eyebrows raised at the little display of temper, “now: goodnight, love you.”

She grunts. 

“Aoife?”

“Goodnight.” she says, grudgingly.

Aoife watches you sigh and withdraw before leaving the drumkit and crossing to her bed where Reginald’s notebook lies hidden between the sheets. Before her Dad appeared dramatically in the atrium, she’s been reading Reginald’s notes on him from when he was nine. They were strange: when he was seven, Reginald had still been writing about Five’s budding ‘chronokinetic’ abilities, but this edition of his journal had so far only mentioned his blink-accuracy. 

She knew that her Dad (like her) had been forbidden to time travel when he was young and the disastrous results when, at her age, he had travelled decades into the future and couldn’t return.  It seemed that something when her father was eight had put Reginald off developing this aspect of his power and made him institute this new rule.

For her part, Aoife has another pre-bedtime secret which developed a couple of months ago: almost as soon as she started reading 05, III. 

Grabbing the old Wonder Woman alarm clock still beside her bed, she pulls her covers up over her head and checks the time. It’s 21:09. She closes her eyes and tries to feel for it, reaching for that sensation for which she now has the words to describe: the polarity…the final jigsaw piece, searching for that sense of perfection.

There: the needle. The… polarity . And somewhere underneath (or maybe within?) the drifting dial that reminded her of a protractor. She wills it to reverse.

Is it happening? She opens her eyes a crack.

21:10…so no.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes again and accesses that intuitive sense of perfection. There it is… there . Back inside or back underneath, she visualizes herself grabbing and pulling: molding time like clay…and then it happens. She feels it again, like when Dad took her with him. The air around her becomes thicker: her entire body fills with static, like stepping through a waterfall of cool electricity. Somehow, she knows when to stop.

As the feeling dissipates, she opens her eyes again, heart beating madly.

It’s 21:05.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88 (sorry for clogging up your notifs with my double post, taglist pals!)

Chapter 2 >>

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

[eggbunni]

How to make your Kaweco Sport fountain pen write wetter! ⚠️ Do not attempt this if you cannot afford another nib unit replacement ($14 USD)!

My Kaweco M nib has always given me trouble. When I heard you could MacGuyver the nib and feed yourself with just an Xacto knife & brass shims (super affordable tools, btw) I thought, why not? I had about 4 other nib units to spare. May as well give it a shot.

My first go-around, I was too afraid to damage my feed, and had no idea what flossing my tines would do. So I used the smallest gage of brass, and barely added pressure while razoring the feed channel. In this stage, I think all I did was clean my pen a little. Which was fine. It added a touch of juice. But I needed more.

In stage 2 and 3, I got progressively aggressive. I added more pressure, even going so far as to attempt to shave off sides of the feed channel slightly with my Xacto blade, then flossing out whatever was left behind with my shims. I also graduated to the largest shim size when flossing my tines to really nudge those babies out wider. This gave me the juuuuice I needed! 😍💦 Next time, I’m skipping straight to flossing my feed and widening the channel instead of taking it easy with an Xacto. BUT! Starting gently gave me peace of mind I wasn’t totally nerfing my nib unit.

Now my fountain pen writes with much more lubrication. Like a slip & slide on the page. I’m putting all my shimmers & shaders in here!

Good luck attempting this at home! Save it and share it with your pen friends to spread the knowledge around! 🥰

[shezky]

Yo, It's me again, and with a random stuff that absolutely no one cares about...I managed to repair my glasses, which means I see in HD4K and not just specks in the distance 😎

Now with that said, I will proceed to show you a drawing I made of my three favorite boys✨...at least from v9

Behold!✨

I felt a little lazy so there will be no background this time 😔

I see mistakes in this, I always do, but I won't focus too much on them since, like I said, I feel lazy and I only made this drawing to test how a fountain pen that I bought online works, yesterday I received the ink so today I started testing it :D

Fancy pen, for a girl with bad handwriting, ohhhh yeaaahh 😎

The only reason I didn't try it yesterday is because when I opened the bottle of ink it started to spill everywhere D:

My theory is that there was ink residue on the cap from probably shaking it on the way to my delivery, so when I opened it what was left on the cap ran down the outside of the bottle, so yes, my hands were unfortunately stained with ink, but they were the only ones affected since my desk was easily cleaned and my clothes were not even touched, so it wasn't so tragic after all <D

And that's all for today, nothing very interesting has happened to me more than this morning I woke up with a terrible headache, but it is understandable after a week where the most I slept per day was about...three hours maximum ☠️

But anyway, bye bye everyone, stay safe 💖

[ivelovedhimthroughworse]

Sketch Sunday

Thanks for the tags today and Wednesday: @artsyunderstudy; @hushed-chorus; @cutestkilla (hoppy easter! lol); @martsonmars; @ic3-que3n; @you-remind-me-of-the-babe; @theearlgreymage; and @whogaveyoupermission

I'm so lucky. The Easter bunny (my partner) gave me a manga.

After staring at the art, I decided to try to draw it....but make it snowbaz!

This is my second attempt:

Below the cut is a sneak peak of what's coming next and my tags.

So my first attempt to do a manga style failed miserably because I tried to do all of the shading in crosshatch. ( And in ink...so no repairing that mess😭)

This artist, Marimo Ragawa, uses a combination of linework and blocks of shading. I think I can do the same by mixing ink and paint.

So! What's coming next? I'll take this outline and lay down a wash of paint. Afterwards, I'll go over the outlines and add hatching in ink. (Because my fountain pen is loaded with a blue dyed-based ink, which will smear if wet.)

Bonus! I have so many tubes of beautiful shades of blue! Which shade would you pick? (I've made my decision, but reply with your choice.)

Happy Sunday! I hope the Easter bunny has brought you love and chocolate:

@aroace-genderfluid-sheep; @aristocratic-otter @bazzybelle @captain-aralias @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @cynopoe @dragoneggos; @ebbpettier @excalisbury @erzbethluna @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @forabeatofadrum; @foolofabookwyrm-activated @frjsti @henreyettah @hushed-chorus @ic3-que3n @ionlydrinkhotwater @ileadacharmedlife @jbrrring @johnwgrey @krisrix @larkral @letraspal @mostlymaudlin @moodandmist @nick-eyre @nightimedreamersworld @onepintobean @palimpsessed @penpanoply @prettylightsbigcity @raenestee @stardustasincocaine @subparselkie @stillmadaboutpetra @takenabackbytuesdays; @takitalks @tea-brigade @technetiumai @theearlgreymage @thehoneyedhufflepuff; @urban-sith @whatevertheweather @whogaveyoupermission @confused-bi-queer @thewholelemon @yellobb