#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]

Pen model names can be so odd. Usually it's a problem of what the exact model name is, with a hundred tiny variants (looking at you, Sheaffer) or not giving a model number at all (*cough* Platinum *cough*), but sometimes it's just like, that doesn't sound like a pen.

For instance, the Parker Lucky Curve.

It gets its name from an element of the feed design that you can't even see. The inner end of the feed curves against the ink sac, providing a better flow of ink back into the pen when you stop using it. Which reduces burping and blotting.

Having taken this pen apart for repairs, I found no evidence of a curve in the feed. It may have been removed in the course of a previous repair to make it easier to reassemble. Oh well!

[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]

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! 🥰

[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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[kykyonthemoon]

7 Days the mini-series

About this series: ✈️

Day 01: Paper planes

It was a warm sunny day when I returned to Gran's house and stepped into the attic. The door opened, memories rushing back in the form of the sloping wooden ceiling, beside the window exposed to the sun always, in each cardboard box that had been covered with dust over time.

There, I found a small box filled with paper planes that had turned yellow.

I took them out into the sunlight. They produced a crisp sound in my hands, as the laughter of two children rekindled by the recollection of paper planes.

They were sprawled around the floor, making a circle around me. Every written word and doodle on them became evident to me. This one was a message from him, telling me not to stay up too late. That was a message motivating me to study hard. Another one had a few sentences which he had used to tease me... Each paper plane represented a memory between him and myself. I remember when I was younger, I didn't always get excellent grades on all of my examinations, so Gran wouldn't allow me to go out. I spent the entire day in my room, burying my face in my studies with a frustrated expression. Then, a paper plane carrying colorful candies flew in through the window, landing safely on my desk.

Here's your candies, Pip-squeak.

I blinked. The handwriting on the aircraft was his. I pulled out the candies and held the plane up to the window. He was already standing below, waiting for me. He grinned and waved his arm at me.

I was first irritated with him since he was permitted to go outside and play while I was not. Yet, because he had the generosity to send me sweets, I decided to make amends. I grabbed a pen in a haste and scribbled a smiling face before dropping the plane to him.

Thank you, Caleb!

Even after so many years, the delicious scent of candy and sunshine appeared to linger in the paper plane. Caleb had sent me many paper planes, each one carrying his thoughts in the form of words or doodles. It eventually evolved into a unique way of communication between us.  But I was surprised to find a few ones at the end of the box, newer than the rest, ones I had never seen before.

✈︎

Pip-squeak, I'm going to go to Skyhaven soon. Without me by your side, you have to take good care of yourself!

✈︎

Pip-squeak, I heard that a classmate wanted to date you? That's not allowed. You still have to focus on your study!

✈︎

Pip-squeak, may I be your prom date?…

✈︎

You're as free as a bird since you went to college. I bet you already forgot where everything is at home.

It's been a long time since we last met, don't you miss me?

✈︎

Pip-squeak, would you want to go on a… 

…date with me…?

Those paper planes were never sent to me. Somewhere in the attic, Caleb had put all his thoughts into paper, folded, and buried. But now I found them—the paper planes meant for me. I picked up the final one and got up, only to notice the fountain pen on the table. I scribbled on the plane wing and brought it to the window. Down in the wide yard, I caught sight of his back as he helped Gran repair some broken things.

"Hey, Caleb!"

I called, and he turned around. The plane in my palm lifted off, carrying my heart, and traveled towards Caleb. He opened his eyes in astonishment then stretched out to catch it.

On one wing of the plane was his old message: Pip-squeak, would you want to go on a date with me…?

The other wing carried my reply: Yes, I’m looking forward to my date with Caleb!

[platybelle]

I need to get this section separated from the rest of the barrel so that I can repair the syring filling mechanism.

So I've been elbow deep in fountain pen repair forums trying to figure out how to seperate them.

From what I've learned, the two pieces are probably shellac'ed or glued together. Most of the repair experts suggested using dry heat from a blow drier or heat gun to heat the barrel to loosen the shallac.

Which I have tried. And didn't work. Not sure if I'm just too weak to twist them apart, I didnt heat the pen up enough or for long enough, or if it's just really glued in there.

So did some more research and I THINK I can use Naphtha, a solvent thinner, to try to soften the shellac between the pieces. So I gotta get that tomorrow to try again. I'll probably have to go back and forth using this and dry heat.

The likelihood that I might accidentally set myself or the pen on fire, or give myself chemical burns, is somehow higher than I expected in this endeavor.

Picked up this vintage Remington fountain pen for $10 at an antique store today.

I'm going to have to figure out how to clean it and repair the filling system, which I believe was a very cheap syringe filler. I'm pretty sure it's at least missing a washer/o-ring on the plunger part, but I'm not sure if that's the only part missing. I couldnt find much information online.

Anyway, I'll give it a go to see if I can get it working.

[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.]

[hummingjay]

Check it out on Wattpad too. I'll also be posting it on AO3 if my account gets approved! Note: Rabengeiers belong to @sosadraws. Check her post out, it's real good.

Chapter 1

Magazin adjusted her hair, looking into the mirror. She kept it in a ponytail, which was hard at first, seeing as she has rather short hair, but eventually she asked a Eule to teach her how to put it up. The other starlings in the cadre teased her a bit, but she didn’t mind all too much. It was only friendly teasing, and her hair might as well be the only form of individuality she could get. All starlings had the same face, same body, and until a fair bit of time passed, the same personality, with few exceptions. It was rather pretty face, she had to admit, so she found it hard to complain, but still, it was nice to have something other than her designation to define her.

She washed her face, trying to wake up a bit more. She slept in this morning, so going to the cafeteria for coffee would hardly be possible with what time she had. Instead, she used the coldest water the sink would spout and thoroughly rinsed her face, hoping the cold fluid would help awaken her. Truth be told, refreshing as it was, she didn’t feel much better.

Magazin sighed and walked out the bathroom door, striding back into the STAR dorm for her gear. Most of the other starlings were already out and about, some at the cafeteria finishing breakfast, some already on patrol. She nodded at another tired looking starling, Clip, her name was, as she walked in. She just finished the night shift, and looked it too. Clip threw off her armor, tossing it to the side of her bunk, grunting a greeting. “Morning, Magz.”

“Long night?” Magazin asked.

“Every night.”

Clip flopped onto her bunk, tossing her blanket over her tall frame. Magazin knew she meant well, and was always tired in the morning. She’d be much more chipper in the evening, having slept.

Magazin picked up Clip’s discarded armor and hung it on its respective rack. The last thing she needed was another memo from their Adler or some other authority figure about the “near-hazardous living space of the Protektor force.”, as amusing as it was to see the resident Adler scrunch his face in disgust at the sight of empty cans and unmade beds, she’d rather not upset him. Besides, he was rather easy get along with. Though Magazin couldn’t remember his name for the life of her, she did remember a lengthy conversation about fountain pens, and he was much nicer than the other units make him sound.

She donned her own armor, picking her pistol from the safe. She loaded it, making sure the safety was on before she cocked and holstered it. It was protocol to fully unload the gun before putting it in the safe for curfew. Any incidents were severely punished, and rightly so. Getting accidentally shot by a friendly gun was never in anyone’s to-do list, not that getting shot at all was a great idea. After making sure her cap was on right, she headed out the door.

The familiar bustle of the Kitezh Supply and Communications facility, more officially called M-01 Möbius, was an odd yet present comfort. Armed gestalt soldiers quickly strolled through the halls, some wounded, others carrying large crates, presumably food supplies or ammunition. Storches passed the gestalts easily, their speed attributed to their natural longer strides. Every now and then she’d pass a fellow starling, either standing guard or walking to whatever job was tasked onto them. She wasn’t the most popular in the cadre but she certainly wasn’t unpopular either, so she gets nods and even a tip of a hat or two as she walks by.

Magazin eventually reaches her guard post, nodding at the tired-looking starling already standing guard. She gives Magazin a pat on the shoulder, walking towards the dorms.

Magazin stands guard, watching the corridor. It’s the same experience every day, soldiers and Eules and gestalt janitors and repair workers passing by. She didn’t mind, usually. The Eules always brought with them a sort of air of joy, always smiling, sometimes even laughing as they pass by. The gestalts tended to steer clear of her, which ultimately made sense. It was her job to keep them in line, and as a protektor who towered over them, she was intimidating and she knew it. Then of course there were the rabengeiers. Black Vultures. These replikas dealt with potentionally hazardous biowaste, and that meant bodies. And at M-01 Möbius, there were lots of bodies. Acting as one of the main relay points on the frontline, between imperial raids and being the point where bodies are kept before being shipped to whatever their home world is- or was, corpses were common at the facility. Rabengeiers were nice enough, but seeing someone cart a tarp-covered corpse while covered in their white and blue hazmat suits, red eye receptors glinting behind their goggles, it was hard not to be intimidated. On a good day they carted around an intact body under a tarp. On a bad one it was hard to tell the difference between a normal trash bag and whatever mess of limbs was inside the body bag. At least it would be if not for the blood that leaked into the pristine white table. Security was rough but Magazin did not envy them.

Above her, Magazin could hear noises in the ceiling. Not just footsteps from the upper floors, either. It was likely an Ara unit, maybe two, clambering from one end of the vent to the other. The clambering stopped not far from Magazins spot, while more noise furthered on. The vent creaked open, and an Ara unit popped out, upside down, grinning and using one hand to hold her hat to her head, even though she could have buckled it properly.

“Good morning, Magzie”

The Ara unit was at eye level, hanging from the vent. Magazin didn’t even have to look up.

“Kupfer.” She said, greeting her. “What’s today’s haul?”

Kupfer reached into her bag, which she kept firmly clipped onto her belt, pulling out a candy bar.

“Caramel this time.”

For reasons Magazin never did understand, Kupfer had taken a liking to her. An oddity, considering Aras are unsociable most times, and talking to them at all is rare since they’re in the vents the vast majority of the day.

Kupfer passed the bar over, the wrapper crinkling under her fingers. Kupfer was dating one of the kitchen Eules, a rather sweet one named Nelke who worked in the kitchens. She kept Kupfer well stocked with whatever leftovers were there.

Magazin unwrapped the bar, taking a bite. Caramel oozed from the inside of the bar and into her mouth.

“How’d you get your hands on this one?” Magazin asked, covering her mouth with one hand. “The caramels always get sold out so fast.”

“Nelke saved them for me.” Kupfer pulled out her own candy bar and took a bite. How she was comfortable eating upside down was a mystery to her. Kupfer finished the bar in two bites, wiping her mouth with her hand. She managed to wipe away a chocolate crumb and smudge the soot covering her face. For some reason the Ara unit always had soot or some other mechanical excrete on her face. Sometimes oil, sometimes even sawdust, though Aras aren’t even meant to work with wood. Try as Magazin might, Nelke was the only one who could get Kupfer to clean her face off.

“She told me to bring one for you too.”

“That’s really nice of her. I didn’t know she knew about me.”

“Oh, I told her all about you.”

“Really now?”

“Sure.” Kupfer tossed the crumpled wrapper into a trash bin. Admittedly a good throw. “All good things. You’re the only protektkor that actually talks to me.”

“Well, so long as you make me sound cool.”

“Not as cool as me, but pretty close.” Kupfer twisted around, falling from the vent and hanging on with both hands as Magazin finished her bar and pocketed the wrapper. Hanging from the ceiling, the shorter unit was still just about eye level.

“Wanna know what a little birdie told me?” She grinned at Magazin, who raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“You’ve got a mission.”

“Yeah, right. Which birdie told you that?”

“Oh, you know. Little chirps here and there.”The Ara units may be gossips at times but they do have an odd moral of never putting a name to the action. Kupfer wasn’t going to say which bird, though it was probably a Storch.

“It’s true though.” Kupfer continued. “You’re gonna go with two other Starlings, I think. Maybe a Eule and an Ara. Probably gestalts too. Something about communications or whatever.”

“Huh. That’ll be interesting then.”

“For you. I’m going to be bored without you for the next few cycles.”

“Aww, you’re really gonna miss me? You’re a sweet one, Kupfer.”

“Don’t push it, Magz. Nelke already calls me sweet anyway.”

“What else does she call you? Sweetie pie? Pookums? Maybe even Snuggle cub?”

“Nope, nope, and nope! She calls me princess.” Kupfer gave Magazin a grin, before blushing. “Sometimes she does call me Sweetie.”

A beep came from Kupfer’s belt.

“Ugh. I gotta go.” She said as she twisted back into the vent. She poked her head out.

“Hey, don’t die, yeah? It would be a shame to have you shipped back here by the rabengeiers in a plastic bag.”

“I hereby promise to do my best. Now get out of here before you get in trouble for being late.”

Kupfer shot Magazin a grin before shutting the vent with a click.

With Kupfer gone again, guard duty went back to boring. With but a few passing greetings from Eules rushing by, all she could do was stand at attention, looking for disturbances she hoped she’d never see.

Fortunately, guard duty was uneventful as always. She watched as the next guard walked across the hall to take over. Auslösen, everybody called her. She was an odd starling, showing sweetness that could rival a Eule, but the social straightforwardness of an Ara. Auslösen pointed at Magazin’s face.

“You’ve got chocolate on your lip.”

Magazin wiped her face with the back of her hand. The starling shook her head.

“Still there.”

Magazin wiped again. Auslösen pulled a napkin from her pouch.

“Hold still, Magz.”, she said, reaching over. She steadied Magazin’s head with her hand and wiped the leftover candy with the other.

“You still have the wrapper?”

Magazin pulled the plastic from her pocket, which Auslösen swiftly grabbed.

“I’ll throw it out.” She said.

“Thanks, Aus.”

“Don’t worry about it. Hey, go eat something.” Auslösen adjusted Magazin’s hat. “You haven’t eaten anything other than that, candy, have you?”

“I have not, no.”

“You should grab a bite then. Kommandantin told me to let you know you’re on call.”

So Kupfer was right. There is a mission.

“Thanks. You rock, Aus.”

“Of course I do. Now move it to the cafeteria before the Eules close up.”

Magazin saluted and walked off, catching a glimpse of Auslösen tossing the napkin and wrapper into the trash bin. She turned a corner, checking her internal time module. There’s still time left. And-

She walked straight into a Eule. Papers scattered and the poor owl crashed to the floor, while Magazin staggered.

“Shit! Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you hurt?”

The Eule picked herself up and started gathering her papers.

“No, I’m okay.” She replied. “I wasn’t looking either. Oof, I’m gonna be late. I can’t keep Kommandantin waiting.”

Magazin picked up the papers as well, stacking them neatly and extending a hand to help the Eule up. She could see her marking: EULR-M0156. A medical pack was slung across her shoulder.

“Thank you.” The smaller unit said, getting up. Magazin handed her the paper stack.

“Of course. Sorry again for barging into you like that.”

The Eule smiled. “It’s okay. Just try not to trip over the Kolibris, mm-kay?” Her tone was akin to a song, little lilts in her accent. Magazin smiled back at her.

“I’ll make sure to be more careful.”

The Eule nodded at her and carried on, waking a bit faster.

Magazin watched her walk away, feeling slightly bad. It wasn’t her fault, it was hard at best to see around the corners and Eules are a foot shorter than her. Still, can’t be fun getting hit in the face by someone in rock-hard armor. Magazin purged the thought from her mind and kept walking. She was hungry and she might not get to eat later.

The cafeteria by now was mostly empty. Just a few workers finishing coffee or some other small snack. Magazin herself got a large cup of the caffeinated drink and a ration pack. The coffee was too bitter and the ration was tasteless but food was food and she needed to eat.

The loudspeaker sounded out a ping.

“STAR-M0124, STAR-M0112, STAR-M0102, please report to Hanger 4.”

STAR-M0124. That’s her. As the order repeated Magazin tossed her empty ration pack and cup at the trash and missed entirely. She picked it up and threw the waste again, this time with success.

It only took 3 minutes to reach Hanger 4, it’s not far from the cafeteria. She could already see one of the other Starlings, STAR-M0112, Bolzen. She looked at Magazin, standing straight and arms behind her back, looking more like a general than a security technician. As Magazin got closer, she spotted a Kolibri and a Eule, the Eule obviously a nurse unit with her green medical bag, and the Kolibri…well, she looked like any other Kolibri, Magazin didn’t know her name.

Magazin strolled over, shaking Bolzen’s hand and nodding at the Eule, before saluting the Kolibri. Another Starling walked into the hanger. This one Magazin didn’t know. Judging by the numerous scars where her shell plates were welded back together, she was one of the older starlings. She extended her hand.

“Zwiete.” She said, introducing herself.

“Magazin.” Magazin said. “This is Bolzen.”

The Kolibri nodded.

“KLBR-M0105. This is Tulpe.” She gestured to the Eule. Magazin recognized her now, she was the same Eule she ran into, this time without her papers; she must have dropped them off while Magazin was in the cafeteria. Magazin smiled sheepishly. The Eule smiled right back in full earnest. It made her feel a bit better. The Kolibri continued.

“We’re still waiting on one other. And-“

She was cut off by the slam of a vent opening, then an Ara unit crawled out. Magazin was always shocked by how fluidly they moved, especially in such small spaces. If she was being well and truly honest it was rather creepy, like watching a spider crawl.

“Sorry I’m late. Gas leak took longer than I thought.” The Ara said, pulling off a gas mask. She left her goggles on, her all-familiar Ara hat was still on her head, and unlike Kupfer’s it was strapped onto her chin properly.

The Kolibri nodded, turning towards a small plane at the end of the hangar, gesturing to follow. A Storch unit stood next to the vehicle, arms crossed. Behind her were two gestlalts, pilots by the look of their uniforms. An older man with white hair and large mustache leaning on the frame, smoking a comically large pipe, and a young woman with a snake tattoo on her neck, sitting on a crate.

The Storch looked at them. “Apologies for the sudden assignment. Today’s mission was only deemed important this morning and time is short.” She said. She seemed bitter, as if she wanted the mission accounted for sooner. “You will fly out east, to deliver a message to the 56th attack platoon. We lost communications two days ago but recon shows they’re alive. However, the enemy is setting up artillery and the we have roughly three days before our soldiers die. You are to deliver them news and information on the artillery and the orders of retreat. We believe their vehicles are still functional. Provide any support needed until the platoon arrives back here. Any questions so far?”

Silence.

“Excellent. Likelihood of enemy anti-air is low. Tank presence is possible. If you do go down the mission is not aborted. You have 10 minutes to gather your weapons and board the plane. KLBR-M0105 will lead the assignment. Dismissed.”

The Storch unit saluted and walked away, leaving them. The Kolibri nodded.

“Weapon case is over there. Board the plane when you’re ready." she said, turning to board. The Ara and Tulpe followed her. Magazin and the other starlings turned towards the case put out for them. She was already armed with her pistol, of course. But it would be foolish to not take a more aggressive firearm, especially since it’s rare to be privileged with such firepower. She picked up an assault rifle. The StG-940, chambered in 5.56 caliber rounds. This one had a red dot scope attached and a vertical grip. She picked up extra magazines and tucked them onto her belt.

Magazin looked over. Bolzen had already chosen a large DMR and Zwiete was still inspecting a shorter shotgun. Magazin walked to the plane, nodding at the two pilots as she boarded and sat down. Luckily, the seats were against the wall and facing to the inside of the plane, giving her ample leg room. The Kolibri was still standing, and Tulpe was already sitting down, reading a book she likely borrowed from a Kolibri. The Ara unit was also sitting, her bag between her legs instead of up in the storage bins above the seats.

It was only a minute before Zwiete boarded, followed by the gestalts. The younger one sat in the pilot’s seat while the older man went for the copilot’s. The pilot tapped the microphone.

“This is your captain speaking. I’m Hana and this is Bernhard. Please buckle up and hold tight.” The engines roared to life and the plane began moving. “This is gonna be a smooth ride with clear skies and sand. Like every other day here. Try not to throw up during takeoff and landing. Or at all.”

The plane took off. Such a small plane didn’t have retractable landing gear, and the hum of the engine was loud through the armored walls. Not long after takeoff Bernhard stood up from his seat, walking steadily on what could only be called an unstable floor.

“We’re looking at an hour’s ride, so get comfortable.” He said. He looked at Tulpe, immersed in her book. “Smart lass, she is.” He turned to the Ara unit. “You can take the plant out. Keeping it in a bag can’t be good for it.”

She looked confused, before embarrassedly unzipping her bag and pulling out a potted flower, moving aside her tools, and placing it on the seat next to her. Magazin could see Zweite raise an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything. The Kolibri, for her part, seemed unbothered. She glanced up, grinned, and went back to poring over the map of the area. She probably knew of the contraband from the start. Bernhard smiled and went back to the copilots seat. The Ara unit seemed more happy than anything else now that she could keep her plant out. Magazin stood up, hand on the ceiling to steady herself, walking over to Bernhard.

“How’d you know she had a plant?” She asked.

Bernhard grinned as he flicked a switch.

“I work with Ara units in the hanger a lot. They don’t go far from them, and nobody ever gets them in trouble for bringing ‘em.”

“They always have plants on them?”

“I’ve been in these seats for 40 years and only one Ara left her plant behind. Never did any of the higher-ups mind it either.”

“Huh. Well, I-“

A loud sound interrupted her. She could hear Zwiete shout.

“We’re hit!”

Magazin scrambled over, looking out the window. The wing had a hole in it, a worryingly big one.

“I thought there wasn’t anti-air!” The Kolibri shouted.

“There isn’t!” Hana screamed back. “They have fucking tanks! Buckle the fuck up!”

Magazin went for her seat, but the plane tilted violently and she fell over. She heard Tulpe scream.

Firm hands grabbed her and hauled her into her seat. Zwiete pushed her down as Magazin grappled the buckle shut. A tank round tore through the floor, hitting the ceiling and falling in front of Zwiete. More shots. Metal shards of the plane flew across the space. At this point the plane was shuddering and creaking a hideous cacophony of metal bending as it tried to hold together. What was louder, the metal of the plane screaming as it cracked, the thunder of the tank cannons or the engine trying to function, Magazin couldn’t tell.

Another explosion, louder. The engine on the right side of the plane burst into flame, spitting shards of metal cross the sky and into the plane. Tulpe screamed louder and the Ara’s face was contorted in pain, a piece of the engine imbedded in her arm, blood spurting onto the floor.

Screams. Who was screaming? Zwiete was silent, eyes shut tight. Bolzen? Tulpe? Hana was screaming. The cockpit was on fire. Magazin was screaming too, she realized. The plane wasn’t flying anymore, it was falling. How could she tell? She couldn’t look out the window and her thoughts were a mess. But she knew they were falling now, fast.

More screams, the plane, her, Tulpe, Hana, then more screams still. Then-

Nothing.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[fordofthefalls]

[OOC: Thanks for the go ahead! Anyway, I offer my boiyo! Gave him his own blog on @aeschylusmaximillianpines soley for RP purposes :D Thinking this might be post-weirdmageddon where everybody's back in gravity falls for the summer?]

The multiverse theory was a doozy in and of itself, an infinite amount of possibilities for anything and everything. As Aeschylus stepped out of the rift with a tired huff, he pulled down the red neckerchief that he'd been using as a makeshift mask. He cringed at the state his coat was in, sure- it's seen better days ever since coming into his possession but he was fairly certain his father would've definitely have dragged it through worse. Fairly certain.

It wasn't a trenchcoat anymore, having altered it to be a windbreaker at best more than a decade ago- but Aeschylus was really thankful for the numerous large pockets his old man had added to it while it was still his. He took out the steel blue fountain pen from the breastpocket of the coat before taking out a blue hardbound from the inside of his coat to jot down a couple things. After a minute, the brunette closed it with a sigh and ran a hand through his brown hair. Some parts already started to lighten and streak grey, he could distinctly remember his siblings teasing him that it was because of stress.

After properly dusting himself off and keeping his belongings, Aeschylus supposed it was time to head home. His brain was running on caffeine and autopilot by now, all the more when he simply walked towards the mystery shack half nodding off. He hadn't noticed that in his semi-conscious brain that he'd wandered into a similar universe- but not home.

"Hey dad! I've got the plant specimen you wanted, gave me hell trying to catch it though. What did you need this mutated Caesar salad for anyway-"

Aeschylus trailed off when he came face to face with the man in question, but something felt off. Sure, it was like staring into an aged mirror- he got used to that- but there was something different. Mismatched eyes squinted at Stanford skeptically.

"Uh... you're not my dad."

[OOC: Here's pictures of him for reference, he doesn't slick his hair back anymore post-weirdmageddon; but he does continue mostly wearing that fit. Like Ford- it's like he only has ONE OUTFIT EVER/j SORRY FOR THE TEXT DUMP IF ANYTHING- THIS IS NORMALLY HOW I RP T^T]

Stanford was sitting at the dining table, tinkering away at a machine, the sound of metal clanging on metal echoing throughout the room. It was late in the evening and the house was quiet, save for the whir of machines. Ford's brow was furrowed, his tongue stuck out the side of his mouth, and his full attention was focused on the task at hand. He was attempting to repair a device that had been damaged while at sea. When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair, setting the screwdriver down with a clatter. He'd have Fidds take a look over it before he switched it back on. (continued below the cut~)

Upon hearing a voice, his eyes snapped up to find Aeschylus. For a moment he just stared, taking in the young man's appearance, his eyes wide. He was a hundred percent sure he didn't have a son. He had just started dating again after all, and... well. His last partner had been a triangular demon from another dimension. Who was this kid?

"Excuse me?" Ford asked, his voice hoarse from disuse, his expression one of utter confusion. "I'm sorry, but I'm not your father." Ford shifted in his seat, his curiosity getting the better of him as he studied the boy closely. It was odd, he thought. The boy did bear a striking resemblance to him. He shook his head, dismissing the idea. He didn't know who his father was, but it wasn't him. He wasn't the type to have kids, and he had no memory of ever being in a relationship that would have led to a child.

His thoughts were racing. Maybe the boy was confused... or some kind of con artist. Or perhaps... this was more multiversal than he thought. After all, when it came to the multiverse, anything was possible. No, this was real. The boy in front of him was a stranger, not his son. Yet he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of connection to him, a pull that was difficult to explain. Perhaps it was the similarity in their appearances, or maybe it was something else.

"Who are you?" Ford finally asked, his tone serious and a little suspicious.

(OOC: Apologies for the wait!)

[goldenstorm0]

Okay I am gonna talk about my first fountain pen, and my current grail pen that I'm always on the hunt but can never afford.

Both are the Parker 25

If you are new to vintage pens, you almost definitely heard of Parker, either the 51 or the duo fold. Both are excellent pens, I think. I have never used them before, but a lot of people love them. They are on my list of pens I want to get eventually, but they're kinda low. I'm looking for a different type of Parker.

When my grandparents were officially moved out of their house, my family started the long process of going through their stuff. We needed to sell the house so we could take care of them, and eventually pay for funerals. They were hoarders, and there was a lot to sort. A ton of bowling balls, a metric shit ton of yarn, even more trash. And hidden in all of this was a forgotten pen that I eventually found.

I think it was a gift from a bank that my grandma worked at for 20 years, and it was a shitty gift for that amount of work. The 25 was made to be a cheaper pen, made for young adults who may not of had enough money for one of the nicer models, but needed a reliable pen for work. I wouldn't be surprised if it was never used, but I had thrown away the box pretty much immediately and didn't care.

I've seen people describe this pen as robust or space-aged, but I always thought of it as more brutalist. Bare metal, black nib unit, steel nib. It's not a very inviting pen. The nib unit is hard to remove, or at least mine was, and you can't easily switch nibs. Not that you ever need to. It's a workhorse of a pen. Made to be used anywhere and everywhere. It was and still is Not my aesthetic. But I loved it.

It was my only fountain pen for years. I spent a lot of time first figuring out how to write with it, and then fiddling with it to make it write even better. I looked up tutorials on how to hold it, how to take care of it, figuring out how to fix a dry nib or a bent nib, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. I found out the history behind the model, then the brand, and then I started looking into fountain pens in general. It started a new obsession, one that continues to this day.

And then I fucking broke it of course.

I had it in my pocket and it fell nib first. The nib itself was bent, but that was something I could fix. But unit itself snapped off from the threads that screwed the pen together. I couldn't fix that, and I'm pretty sure no one could fix that. I didn't bother looking though. I was 20, no job, living off of my parents and school grants while I went to community college. I couldn't afford to send it to anyone to fix it. If I couldn't do anything, then nothing would be done, because that cost money.

So I saved up and started looking around for a new part. Prices weren't great, something that's crazy annoying for what was originally intended to be a cheap ass pens. Eventually I found a set within my pittance of a budget, it even came with a roller ball (never touched). It was a complete pen, but I took it apart, pried the feed from nib unit, and put in the original still-bent nib in, and put it in the original scratched up body. They looked almost identical, but I wanted My Pen, not a new one.

It doesn't write the same. I don't think I have had a pen that wrote a beautifully as it original did, but that might be nostalgia talking. The nib is still bent. I got my first job soon after (yes I did spend grant money on a pen repair), and I started to buy more pens. Learned the basics of vintage pen repair, fixed up a few lever-fills, fucked up some vintage gold nibs when trying to practice grinding a tuning (never got really good at that). Instead of working on perfecting the one pen, I bought new ones that worked well enough.

But now I have a bit of a holy grail that I am looking for. Because, while the 25 is a cheap ass pen for broke college students, there is a particularly rare color. Same metal body, steel nib, but instead of black, it's bright orange. If the original black was outside my aesthetic, this is on the other side of the planet. I usually am not a fan of orange, and I super hate this specific shade. And I want it. Like, really really badly. I've seen several on sale, and currently don't see any on sale, and I am barred by my old nemesis, money.

And before I get that pen, I want to send my old 25 to a nibmeister. The nib is slightly bent and I don't think I can fix it, and it bothers me like nothing else. I need to do a bit of research first to make sure someone is willing to work on the nib, its pretty nonstandard.

credits:

moreengineering - They have a lot of info on the Parker 25 on their site, plus it's fun to just look around. Used for general information and this ridiculous photo

fuck you I want that how the FUCk

parkerpens - My go-to for everything Parker. You can fit so much info into this site. Used for general information

Pen Collect - They've got a really nice page for id-ing your parker 25. Mine is a mark II

Orange Parker 25 collage - YES I KNOW IT GOES TO A 404. There aren't a lot of good photos of the orange Parker. Its painfully rare

2nd orange Parker picture - Only other photo I could find that I liked. The has already sold and it just redirects you to lighters and pens. And if you try to search for it on their site, you just get wine. I am in... so much pain trying to find this goddamn pen. I hate it but I want it