#trust me the original file looks sharp and gorgeous

[deathbycoldopen]

The Archivist

Technically, this is art for my Good Place Au This Page Intentionally Left Blank, but if monster!Jon is your jam then far be it for me to stand in the way.

ID in Alt.

[wiypt-writes]

Guilty As Charged

Guilty As Charged: Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: Defence Attorney James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is the absolute bane of your life…

Pairing: Lawyer AU Bucky Barnes x Reader (Frenemies!)

Warnings: Bad language words.

Word Count- Under 2k

A/N:  This was originally posted on my old blog ages ago, but I’ve just given it a little polish and thought, seeing as I’m on the Bucky Train at the moment, I’d bring it back. Also, my knowledge on US Criminal Law is sketchy at best, so humour me…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist // Main Masterlist

*******

In God We Trust, the words set about the Judge’s podium were fixed in your vision, motes of dust moving freely in the rays of sunlight which were streaming through the large, ornate windows of the court room and you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, concentrating on expelling the nerves you were feeling with the air that left your mouth and lungs.

No matter how many times you were in this position, the reading of the verdict still got to you. Your gaze turned to the jury, as the judge did the same, that all important question ringing across the room, the air stiflingly tense.

“On the charge of murder in the first degree, do you find the defendant or not guilty"

“Not guilty.”

Fuck.

Cheers from the defendants family drowned out your loud groan as you rubbed at your temple. Looking over at your colleague, Sam, you shook your head in utter disbelief.

The judge continued through the remaining charges, second-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter, and your despair grew as the same verdict was returned for each.

You’d lost. And it stung, not merely because of your near perfect conviction rate, but for the family of the victim you were one-hundred percent convinced the accused.

"Y/N this wasn't your fault.” Sam stated in a low voice but you simply sighed again and shrugged.

"I was sure they'd see through his lies,” you glanced over to your right where the defence team, headed up by James Buchanan Barnes of Barnes and Rogers Law firm were shaking hand with each other and their defendant. Barnes' face was arranged in the usual smug look that you always had the urge to slap right off it. His partner, Steve, glanced over at you and gave you a genuine, sympathetic smile.

He’s always the most courteous out of the two, the one you actually didn’t mind dealing with when it came to cases.

"He fucking did it Y/N," Sam's voice was almost a growl, "I know he did."

"Well in the eyes of the law he didn’t." You stated, standing up.

The commotion continued behind you, as the defendant was told he was free to go. Making sure to keep your head down, you hastily shuffled your papers back into their respective files and packed your briefcase up. Picking up your jacket, you shrugged it on, smoothing down pencil skirt before you head to leave the courtroom before Barnes can pipe up with his usual smart ass quips. But you're not quite fast enough. "Commiserations Miss Y/LN, can't win em all." The familiar Brooklyn drawl hit your ears.

"Buck," Steve sighed "c'mon pal..."

You grit your teeth. You know you shouldn't rise to it, but you just can’t help it. The man is an utter jack ass in the courtroom. Spinning to face him, you shot him your best contemptuous glare, the one you always reserve for those people you really cannot stand, and looked at him like he was something you'd just trodden in.

"You know Barnes, there is such a thing as being gracious in victory as well as defeat." "Defeat?” He asked, looking at Steve with a puzzled expression on his face, “no, not sure what that is." "Eat shit.” You mumbled before turning to Sam who was stood behind you, watching the exchange. You nod to him and the two of you continued up the aisle towards the exit. The victim's family were congregated outside and all at once the start barraging you with questions.

"How did that happen?"

"You said it was a cert he would go down!”

"What about a private prosecution?”

You sighed and turn to look at them, you were exhausted. "I'm sorry.” You shook your head. “That new evidence that his attorney submitted, it was just threw too much of a doubt into the juries mind..." you held your hand up to gently silence them. “If you're serious about a private prosecution then I can meet you next week to discuss and put you in touch with a few people but I’m sorry, as far as the State’s involvement goes…I can’t do anymore."

Escaping as quickly as you could, you and Sam headed back to your office. After a short meeting with your boss, the District Attorney, who was as pissed as you were that the prosecution had failed, you emerged feeling twice as tired and battered as you had when you’d left the courtroom.

As Sam stated, there was only one thing left you could do. Drink alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

It was a short walk to your preferred bar, having decided to abandon your car and collect it in the morning. You were going to get drunk. Really drunk. "Hey Y/N, hey Sam." Clint, the bar tender greeted you. “I hear it wasn't a great day.” You looked up and saw he was pointing to the TV behind the bar. It was on a news channel, focussing on a report from earlier that afternoon which wasn’t surprising. The case had thrown up huge public interest ever since the body of the teenage girl has been found in the alleyway in Queens. The defendant confessed but somehow, the new evidence submitted was an alleged recording that the defence had gotten their hands on as proof the confession was taken under duress. If you were being totally honest, you had to admit that it didn't sound great, the officer did seem to be leaning heavily on the defendant, but the other evidence was, no, IS overwhelming.

But all it needed was that little seed of doubt, which the defence sowed expertly, and the jury couldn't convict. And now, thanks to Barnes and Rogers, specifically Barnes, in your mind a dangerous killer was walking free. As you stared at the television, you saw Barnes on the screen with the defendant, all smiles and Steve at his side. Barnes greeted the press with a raised hand. "Clint turn it over man." Sam almost pleaded and Clint shot you both a sympathetic look, before he pointed the remote at and flicked the report over to a mundane, late afternoon game show. You ordered 2 beers, and then settled at the bar on one of the tall chairs, crossing your bare, heeled legs as you and Sam began to dissect the case. You couldn’t help it, you always did this, analyse where you went wrong or right.

The pair of you got that enthralled in your discussions, that before you know it, it was an hour lager and you're now four beers deep... and Sam was fielding an angry phone call from his wife, Natasha. "I gotta go, boss." He sighed, apologetically, “it’s my little girl’s dance recital at six and if I miss this one, Nat’s gonna hang me out to dry!” You waved his explanation off. “Its fine, Sam. Oh, and take the morning tomorrow. That case has had us working all hours and I don’t intend on being there till lunch. Clint, gimme a bourbon please?" "Don't let Barnes get to you.” Sam sighed. “You know what he is like" "Smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous.” You nodded. “Yup, I got it.” Sam smiled and dropped a friendly kiss to your cheek. "See you later." Clint slid the glass of bourbon over to you and you smiled before pulling out your phone to check a few emails and your social media. You were just reading through an article about a Billionaire in Manhattan who had designed some kind of metal suit that allowed him to fly (because that's gonna end well), when a familiar voice broke your concentration. "Can I buy you a drink?" You rolled your eyes and looked up at Bucky Barnes as he leaned on the bar, still in his suit, although he had dispensed of his black and white tie, and opened his top button. This was another thing you hated about him. He is utterly gorgeous. Like GQ cover gorgeous, especially in his sharp suits and silk ties.

And he fucking knows it, too. "Depends." You shrugged, throwing back the remainder of your bourbon. "Does it come with a side helping of irritating smugness?" He chuckled. "I'm off duty, Doll so no."

"In that case I'll have another Monkey Shoulder." You slid the empty glass back to Clint. "Take it you're not driving home?" Barnes asked, his azure eyes running over your bare legs. "Well if I do and I get caught, I'm sure you can get me off any charges.” You replied sharply, shooting him a look that made it clear you caught him eyeing you up. And it isn't the first time either. That's another reason you clash so much in the courtroom. Sexual tension. Fucking jerk. He barked out a laugh "You're really not happy with me are you?" "Not particularly." You shook your head, thanking Clint as he pushed the now full glass back to you, with a small wink. It's a double, you noticed. That should set Barnes back a bit. Bucky reached for his beer and after a pull he looked directly at you. "Come work for me." He said and you groaned.

Not this again. "I'm a prosecutor." You rolled your eyes. "Not a defence attorney. I told you that last time you asked. And the time before, and the time before that." "I'm nothing if not persistent." He winked, turning in his stool so he was facing you. "Besides, I can teach you the ways of the dark side." "You’d love that wouldn't you?" You snort. "Oh, Sweetheart you have no idea." He leaned forward slightly, his elbow on the bar and this time he is blatantly staring at the flash of skin that was showing above the buttons on your blouse. "My face is up here, ass hole." With a smirk he raised his deep, blue eyes and they locked onto yours. Despite yourself, you feel your breath hitch slightly. Dammed him and his sex appeal. "Why are you always this insufferable?" You eventually tore your gaze away from his and picked up your drink, glancing up at the TV as an excuse not to look at him. "Ah come on Y/N, don’t be like that." He reached out to squeeze your hand which was resting on the back of the tall chair you were sat in. "We could make a great team..." You raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "Professionally.” He added, his eyes not leaving yours as he took another large drink of his beer, and you pulled your hand away from under his. "I'd kill you within five minutes of us being in the same office." You glared at him as you took another sip from your drink. He chuckled and eyed you again, “to be fair I'm not sure Stevie would be able to function with a beautiful dame such as yourself in close proximity. He still flusters around any woman that isn’t his Peggy.” "That's because Steve is a happily married man." "So am I." He shot back. Ah yes, Mrs Barnes… "Your wife deserves a medal. She must have the patience of a fucking saint to put up with you." You said into your glass. "I have other hidden qualities which mean she's prepared to overlook my slightly less favourable personality traits." He quipped, and you looked back to see that lopsided grin on his face that flips your stomach. Behave Y/N. "They must be very hidden." You mused, and he let out another loud laugh.   "You're killing me, Doll.” "Good." You drained your glass. The liquid burnt your throat and you could feel the effects of the alcohol from the last few hours as your brain started to hum. You looked at Barnes who was watching you, his eyes shining with all the cheekiness of a teenage boy and you know you need to leave before you do something stupid.

Like snogging his dumb, handsome face off. "I think it's time I got going." You said simply, standing up. Barnes gave a nod, draining his bottle. “Yeah I should be making tracks too. Wife to see to, you know how it is.” You stood and he did the same, and you realised he was holding up your jacket, ready for you to slide your arms into. Narrowing your eyes slightly at his sudden chivalry, you couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across your face as you turned and allowed him to help you into it. His hands dropped to your shoulders and he span you round gently and smiled with those perfect teeth, a smile that lit up his beautiful face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Lead the way Mrs Barnes.” He instructed softly, dropping a tender kiss to your lips. "You know it's a good job I love you,” you smiled, sliding your arms up round his neck. "Yeah, I know." "Although right now I'm struggling to remember why." "Well, when we get home I'll just have to show you some of those hidden qualities I was talking about, see if they help jog your memory.” You bit your lip slightly at the dark flash of desire that flit across his eyes, and you leant up to brush your lips across his stubbled jawline. "Unanimous verdict,” your voice drops slightly as you pull back and he smirked again, “guilty as charged.” You tossed Clint a good bye, linked your hand into your husband’s and he walked you outside into the brisk wind, his arm pulling you close, his lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes might be an insufferable, arrogant ass hole in the courtroom, but outside it he's simply your Bucky.

[duker42]

💜Age Matters💜

💜Age Matters💜

Nervously tugging on the straps across her chest, Y/N takes one more look in the mirror. Confident her uniform is pristine, her gaze falls to the insignia on her jacket. The Wings of Freedom look very different from the Garrison Roses that she had worn for the past 15 years.

Leaving her new quarters in the Survey Corps Headquarters, she prepares herself for a barrage of questions, doubts and mistrust. While the Garrison might support the Scouts on expeditions, it’s practically unheard of for someone to transfer in like she has. Especially for someone who has been the Garrison as long as she had.

Reaching the Mess Hall, she observes the soldiers around her. There is clearly two age groups, very young and her age. The number of people she sees that are around her age is lower that she had expected. Then again, when 30% of the force is lost every expedition, did she really think there would be vast numbers of veterans?

Grabbing her tray, she chooses a spot seemingly out of the way, not knowing that she was about to be overrun with young, curious new Scouts. Suddenly, several trays dropped down on the table around her as bodies flopped onto the benches.

“God,” a two toned haired boy groaned. “I thought we would have a little break in training after we joined the Regiment. I feel like we are back in the Training Corps.”

A delicate looking blonde boy answered him. “Well, we have to learn our squad’s movements. The expedition is only 30 days out.”

She listen as the conversation passes back and forth between the group. They are kids, energetic, idealistic kids. Musing over their differences in personality, but obvious close relationships, she don’t realize that she was being spoken to until the tiny angelic blonde touches my arm.

“Are you okay?” Her small voice is easy to hear as everyone else has stopped talking and turned to me.

“Oh, sorry. I was wool gathering. I’m fine, thank you.”

“My name is Christa. What’s yours?”

“Y/N”

The rest of the table goes around and introduces themselves. Reiner, Berthold, Ymir, Connie, Sasha, Jean, Armin are unfamiliar to her. Y/N had heard of Mikasa for her impressive display of skills during the Battle of Trost. And of course everyone has heard of the emerald eyed Titan shifter, Eren Yeager.

The two toned haired boy, Jean, leans over Eren with what she could only assume he believes is a charming smile. “I could have sworn I had met all the beautiful girls in our class, but I haven’t seen your gorgeous face before. Why is that?”

Eren pushes the boy off of him and they glare at it each other a moment before turning back to her for the answer.

“I just transferred in from the Garrison.” She braces herself for the follow up question.

“Why on earth would you do that??” Comes a surprised question from Jean.

“I was tired of it. All most seemed interested in doing was getting drunk and fighting. If I’m going to fight, I would rather it be for humanity rather than against some poor slob in a bar.” Y/N explains.

The kids stiffen up and return to their food quietly as she feels a presence behind her. Turning, Y/N sees the infamous Captain Levi. Shorter than most men, he still commands respect and attention. His stormy blue eyes miss nothing as he openly scrutinizes the young looking woman. Never having been this close to the enigmatic soldier, she was surprised at how attractive he was. She knew him to be around her age, but like her, he looked younger than his years. Pale, clear skin and jet black hair framed his sharp face nicely. His neutral expression did not seem to put the kids at ease, but Y/N could tell that it was just the way his face rested.

Levi meanwhile was appraising Y/N. Having read her file, he had originally been wary of the transfer. He didn’t trust the intentions of a soldier who suddenly gave up the position of Squad Leader to transfer over to the Scouts. While there were no reasons given beyond her explanation to the brats, he was going to keep his eye on her. Especially since she had immediately ended up at the same table as the Titan shifter.

It did catch him off guard with how young she looked. She could have passed for a new recruit if he was unaware of her time in the Garrison. He internally rolled his eyes in annoyance at the prospect of all the hormonal brats getting to know her. It was going to distract them from their training, and in turn, piss him off.

“When you’re done, you’re with me, Garrison. Time to see what you’ve forgotten sitting on your ass, safely behind the walls.” His word comes across sharp and dry.

Standing, she picks up her tray and silently follows the Captain. Disposing of the tray, she walks behind him, observing his quick purposeful strides out of the castle and down to the training grounds.

Without breaking his stride, he questions her. “What’s missing from your file? The real reason you transferred?”

“Captain, I transferred because I was tired of the antics of the Garrison. Most are just as bad as the MPs.”

Stopping, he turns and stares at her, reading her for dishonesty. “That’s all?”

“If you read my file, you know I was a Squad Leader. I had a soldier under me that had acted inappropriately towards other soldiers several times. Starting vicious fights, stealing, generally causing problems. When I took action against him, I was censured. He was drinking and gambling buddies with our superiors. I want nothing to do with filth like that. So I asked to transfer.” Her confidence bespoke of her honesty.

Finding no reason to doubt her words, Levi merely nodded and started walking towards the ODM course. Quickly grabbing gear for her, he appraises her as she equips.

“When was the last time you wore the gear?” He asks, noticing her fumbling with a few of the connections.

“Retaking Trost, sir.”

“Did you stand on the roof like all the other idiots, or did you run?” She grits her teeth at the abrasive question. She rationally knows he’s trying to push her buttons, but to imply she was a coward pissed her off.

Her eyes flashed with anger as she spit out, “5 solo kills, 4 assists. I DID NOT run.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he quirks an eyebrow, surprised at her kills. While his numbers were unimportant in his mind, he was impressed that someone who doesn’t encounter Titans regularly kept her composure during the surprise attack on the town.

Running her through the course several times, he noted that while her movements weren’t quite fluid, that seemed to be from lack of practice rather than lack of skill. Taking into account the fact that the Garrison got less ODM time than Scouts, her skills were still above the fresh recruits from the 104th. Satisfied with her performance, he signaled her to come back.

**Time Skip**

In the several weeks since transferring, Y/N had started to settle in. Making friends with several of the veterans, she was able to talk with them about events that had occurred, sharing her perspective from the Garrison. The 104th soldiers were endearing to her, she almost viewed them as younger siblings. Still having not revealed her age, she was enduring daily advances by most of the boys, Jean especially.

Levi sat at the superiors table observing Y/N interact with the kids. His jaw tightened as he watched Jean throw another flirty grin at the alluring woman. He had come to like Y/N, quickly taking advantage of her former position as a Squad Leader to pull her into his office every evening to assist with the mountains of paperwork he never seemed to finish. In between the scratching of pen against paper, they had begun to talk, first about non-consequential things. As the hours past in the candle light, the conversation had turned personal, more so on her part. While he still held himself back from revealing all of his past, he was surprised to realize that in a few short weeks, she knew as much about him as his closest friends Erwin and Hange.

Jean grabs Y/N’s hand, rubbing his fingers across her knuckles, causing Levi to set his cup down and get up, intent on going over to the table to put the kid in his place. He doesn’t understand the feelings he’s having, but he knows that he hates it. Walking quietly towards them, he stops as he hears the conversation.

“Y/N, you have to go on a date with me! Your face is haunting my dreams.” Jean smiles, thinking that his admission is suave.

“I’ve told you before Jean, you’re too young for me.” She gently pulls her hand from his, annoyed that he just doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“Babe, you can’t be too much older than me. I promise I’ll satisfy you.” Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, he moves in closer.

Levi is ready to tear the boy apart physically, but Y/N beats him to it, verbally.

“Okay, kid, I’m done being nice. Let me put this a way you will understand. I am old enough to have pushed you out of my vagina. Why the FUCK would I let you in it?” Her words filet him neatly.

Levi almost laughs at how quickly Jean pales. The horrified expression on his face grows as Y/N continues.

“Or do you have mommy issues? I’m not into that kind of kink, thanks though.”

The table explodes with laughter and someone throws out the question that is on all of their minds. How old is Y/N?

“I’m 31. I was in the Garrison for 15 years, not 1 like you all assumed.” She grins.

The conversation moves on, the kids amazed at Y/N’s age and asking questions about events past. Levi walks away, satisfied that the brats will no longer be hitting on the woman he secretly has come to think of as his.

**Time Skip**

Knocking on the door to his office, Y/N waits for Levi to open the door. She had noticed her grumpy superior walking towards the table at dinner, his posture stiff from anger. When he changed his course after watching her putting Jean in his place, she knew that she had not imagined the growing relationship between them.

When the door opens, her pulse speeds up like every other time she comes face to face with the sullen man. His posture relaxed, he stood back and let her enter. Walking towards the desk in the absurdly tidy office, Y/N realized there were no stacks of paper to pour over. The convenient cover for spending hours trying to get to know Levi was not going to work tonight. Facing him, she watched him close the door quietly, staring at her as he walked slowly towards her.

“You distract me. I don’t like it.” Levi comments.

“I’m sorry?” Tilting her head in confusion, Y/N tries to understand where the conversation is headed.

“I didn’t like that brat thinking he had a chance of touching you. It pissed me off.”

“Ahhhhhh, you were jealous.” A small smile curved her lips as she begins to see.

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, stopping an arm length from her. “I don’t get jealous.”

Now she rolls her eyes, “Maybe not before. But you shouldn’t be.”

Invading her senses, he steps closer, the space in between them non existent. His observant grey orbs darken as her breathing quickens. She lifts her hand to his chest, slowly feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. Bringing a hand to her waist, he questions. “Why is that?”

Wetting her lips, she leans forward, breathing into him as she honestly replies. “I don’t do younger. Age matters to me.”

“Thank fuck I’m older.”

Mobile MasterList

[tarithenurse]

Orphan - 2

Starring: Fem!Reader and MCU characters! Contents: Spoilers for Endgame!! Takes place after the Attack on New York and The Snappening and deals with both. Angst, confusion, loneliness, sadness, loss, a twinge of humour maybe, clarifications, more mystery.

2. Back to the Roots

You’ve managed to get a bed in a hostel, probably paying overprize now that the demand has risen suddenly. Rumours fly that the returned are starting to find abandoned homes in the outskirts of the city, but it’s just rumours and you don’t really feel like heading further out considering how things are looking just on Manhattan. Derelict. New York City has been a ghost town, and even now as the ghosts have taken physical form it’s going to take a lot of work to set things right.

Your mind is far from the worries of what’s to come.

Lying on your stomach on the squeaky bed, a fat stack of papers rests before you together with a very fancy cell phone (accompanied by charger and ear plugs). There’s a recording on that which you haven’t dared watch yet, favouring the documents instead…and those you’ve read and re-read so many times you can almost recite the contents by heart.

“Fuck me…” you sigh as you bury the face in the musty pillow.

“Now now,” Gloria tuts sweetly, “chin up baby girl, it’s gonna work out just fiiine, ya wait ‘n see.”

Gloria is another returned. Originally from Harlem, she’d been surprised to find the rest of the family had moved to New Orleans sometime during the five years. Surprised but not dejected. Kindness incarnate, she has an ability to find the silver lining and she’s become the unofficial mother hen for everyone on the hostel. Soft, round, and with an understanding smile that holds just as much unruliness as her gorgeous ‘fro bobbing on the top of her head, the woman might as well have been made for caring.

Now she tiptoes over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed to give you a friendly squeeze. “Tell mama Glory what’s up, hon.”

It’s a jumbled mess of memories and explanations you present her with, and it takes a while before you’ve calmed down enough to really begin to make sense. Gloria lets you talk, holding you close and rocking you gently when the memories of your mother are too hard, and all the while the sounds from outside filter in through the half-open window, hinting at a life where people reunite and are happy.

“Okay, so ya tellin’ meh tha’ yar daddy was there all along but he ain’t got the balls t’ tell ya?” It stings to hear it put so simply. “But nooow he gone left y’a message sayin’, ‘girly come find meh I’m sorry’? Well shugs! Sounds to meh like ya owe it t’yaself more than him to go face the guy, don’tcha think so?”

“…I can’t…” The sweet woman looks at you with a puzzled look until you point at a name on one of the documents. “He died yesterday.” Leaving behind a wife and a daughter – your half-sister.

 …   Morgan   …

Grown-ups are coming and going, all sending her tiny smiles that don’t reach the eyes before they go to mom. Mom’s sad. She cries a lot but only when she thinks Morgan doesn’t see, like last night when she should’ve been asleep but snuck out of bed to get a juice pop. Dad will know what to say…but he’s not here and mom cries even more when Morgan asks when he’ll be home, then they cuddle up with blankies and their favourite books or maybe even a movie instead of mom telling what is going on and where dad is.

Then there’s a day where mom sits Morgan down. Nose red and eyes puffy.

“There’s something I have to explain, sweetie,” mommy begins as fresh tears dangle from her pretty lashes, “about daddy…”

It doesn’t quite make sense how dad has left without going to any place. People can’t just be gone, can they? Morgan knows the story of when daddy went to space and found auntie Nebula, but this isn’t like that. At least it doesn’t feel like that.

…

The next day the house is full of people again. Most are grown-ups as usual but there are a few almost-grown-ups. Everyone talks very quietly, making Morgan nervous about being too loud or too wild…maybe it would upset mommy anyways, so it’s better to be good even if it itches in her entire tiny body to pull a prank or say something funny the way dad always does. But she doesn’t, sticking instead closely to mom or Happy while looking at the many people.

I’ve seen them on pictures. Photographs with daddy from before Morgan was born or old movie clips that she once found when playing with FRIDAY without dad knowing. A few of them came around to the house as well and it had made dad upset, she could tell. Now they’re all here, watching silently as the flowers and the metal flow out onto the lake like it belongs there instead of with mommy and Morgan and Happy.

That’s when she sees the woman standing on the other shore. Silent and alone, it looks like she’s hugging herself. I’ll hug her! But it’s far to the other side, and when Morgan finally has gotten the attention of a grown-up, Nebula, and turns to point her out then she’s gone.

 …   Reader   …

Tears sting in your eyes and you’re not even sure why because you’d never gotten to know the man! He hauled your ass out of a damaged building, but that’s it, that’s the only fatherly thing he’s openly done for you…well that and apparently save the world from getting torn apart by some purple space-grape of a giant…and returned all of you who’d been dusted. But nothing that gave you the right to scour the internet for clues just so you could show up like some creep and watch his funeral from afar.

Wiping the face angrily, you stumble through the woods without bothering to skirt around bushes or avoid sliding on the half-rotten branches hidden beneath old leaves. It’s a pure miracle that you can see enough to notice the shining metal swinging at you and stopping an inch before your throat.

“Who are you?” There’s anger in the female voice, anger and pain.

More concerned with what appears to be a fucking sword than the speaker, you focus on standing stock still rather than answer. Wrong move. Slowly but surely, the incredibly sharp looking blade advances, driving you backwards until your back hits the trunk of a tree.

“Who are you?” the angry woman repeats, “Why did you spy?”

“I’m – I didn- it was stupid! Okay?!”

Frantic with fear you finally look up only to receive a new shock at the sight of the owner of the voice: blue skin, eyes that looks like the black emptiness of camera lenses but even that’s not the weirdest. It’s the parts that are obviously metal that gets to you. This is a dream, a nightmare. This can’t be real.

Maybe she’s used to people staring and perhaps it annoys her, or she’s hell bend on finding out the truth that she allows the metal edge to rest against your throat for a second before she pulls it away, raising it overhead with a sneer, ready to slice through your faltered excuses and throat. Oh crap. I’m gonna get killed by a Smurf.

“Nebula!” A new arm appears from behind you to grab the woman’s wrist, quickly followed by the owner who looks considerably more normal. “You can’t just go around stabbing people. We’ve been over this…”

The blue woman, who doesn’t seem overly cloud-like, shifts uneasily like a toddler who has to explain why they were doing something bad. “I was…not gonna stab her…just decapitate her.”

“Please…just le-let me go!”

It’s nothing more than a croak that escapes your lips but it’s enough to make the man turn awkwardly to face you. Shit... The face isn’t that of an unknown. You’ve seen it on photos from news outlets but more importantly from the files Tony Stark had left in the bank box for you, explain who you can trust if you ever come back and want to get a hold of him. You’re staring into the face of James Rhodes and he’s staring right back, mouth agape as he takes in your features and especially eyes.

“You’re Tony’s big girl,” he simply states.

[sonipanda]

I feel this is the perfect Autumn outfit rather than wearing it for Summer! I wanted to go quite colourful at first, but the more I kept looking at my original outfit, the more I kept wanting to change it. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it what I wanted to go for, and then I decided to bring it back to basics; wearing red and black instead.

The Spec

Colour: Black/Ruby

Size: A-Small

Denier: Around 20-30

Materials: 78% Polyamide, 13% Polypropylene, 9% Elastane

Price: £13.99

Website: UKTights – Jonathan Aston Two Tone Leaf Tights

My Outfit

Keeping to super minimal today by wearing my turtle neck bodycon dress paired with my suede court shoes. I didn’t want to go too bold with the outfit as the tights are pretty loud themselves.

My Deets

Dress: Miss Selfridge

Heels: Dune

    The Review

From The Website: We all know, in the fashion industry, that contrast really is everything when it comes to a gorgeous fashion design. These tights have a classic floral pattern, something we always love to see in a collection, but they have turned that same old favourite into a new way of creating contrast. Here they have red leaves laid over black ones and the combination is a pretty eye catching one, especially for such a small change. And with them only covering a part of the design, they are not too overpowering either.

* Autumn fashion * Two tone leaves * Sheer leg * 78% Polyamide * 13% Polypropylene * 9% Elastane

  The Packaging: now I have to say I love the packaging; it shows the model taking up the front of the packaging wearing those amazeball tights. This is a great way of showing you what they will look like on the legs even before you get them on yourselves.

When you get in, you will find a small cardboard slipped into one of the legs so you can see the design when it’s slightly stretched out (as it would be on the legs).

I would recommend you taking this out slowly as you can easily catch this pair!

  Getting Them On: now these are pretty delicate, in terms of the way they are stitched. They are that fine netted material, which means you will need to take care getting these on. I took my time getting these over my toes and anklets, and then slowly glided them up the legs. Trust me when I say you don’t wanna rush doing this, as I nearly ended up snagging mine!

  On The Legs: now the dress I picked wasn’t great as it stuck to my tights the whole day (damn you static!) so I had to constantly be pulling it away.

The denier of these I am not too sure what they are exactly, but I pinned it down around 20-30 denier, as you still get the sheerness to them with the design being slightly thicker. I thought they looked pretty nice on the legs; I actually prefer it quite light like this.

The fit of them are true to size; I felt these were perfect for my leg length so I would recommend checking the sizing guide before you purchase. There was a slight bit of stretch in them, but not as much as you would get with normal nylons due to the netting. You get a fully fitted finish to these 🙂

The quality of these are amazing, but one to watch out for as these can snag super easy. as they do feel slightly rough on the legs, this means that anything that grazes the leg or catches it by accident will end up ruining them, so you do need to take care being in these. Luckily I was proper careful today with what was coming near my legs!

The design I have to say is so nice! As I mentioned before, these are best to wear in Autumn, but I couldn’t resist wearing them now. The two tone that works from the toe seam to the knees are just stunning; quite bold and eye-catching, but then works into a subtle single leaf design from the knee up to the band, so this would be perfect to wear with shorter clothing to really show them off.

  The Toes & Ankle: these aren’t reinforced so you will need to take care with long /sharp nails in these. I managed to file and smooth mine down so they don’t cause me any issues wearing my heels today!

These have plenty of wiggle room in them, there is no added pressure around the toes or feet and they are super comfy to be in. I can’t say that the net irritates the feet or toes either, as you get used to the feeling once you start moving in them.

Around the ankle, these are a lovely fitted finish.

  The Waistband: as you can see we have that net design working right up to the band here. The band itself is quite fitted and stays up really well. You do have breathing room in these, without losing the elasticity throughout the day. I felt really comfortable in these and had no issues in them at all.

  My Thoughts?

I would totally recommend these for sure! I really do love that design, with a mix of red and black to create such a gorgeous piece. The quality of these are great if you look after them on the legs, and overall I think they are great. A lovely pair to wear in those months where it starts to get cooler.

Jonathan Aston Two Tone Leaf Tights I feel this is the perfect Autumn outfit rather than wearing it for Summer! I wanted to go quite colourful at first, but the more I kept looking at my original outfit, the more I kept wanting to change it.

[hissprince]

Writing Ask Games

tagged by @ink-nguyen and I immediately forgot about it

I’m doing this for Coat of Scales 

1. Describe the plot in one sentence.

Elion Veris is a prince forced into exile by his Regent, and he’s not buff enough to take it back by force, so he has to figure out how to talk his way in--and out--of every possible political nightmare scenario.

2. Pick one sight, smell, sound, feel, and taste to describe the aesthetic of your novel.

a silver crown perched on swathes of black and purple velvet

the smell of a forest during a rainstorm

a grandmother singing Slavic lullabies to her grandchild, underscored by the crackle of a fire

being wrapped in a blanket and held in the arms of someone you love

turkish coffee and warm honey-bread

3. Which 3+ songs would make up a playlist for the novel?

Run Boy Run - Woodkid

Stay Frosty, Royal Milk Tea - Fall Out Boy

Two Evils - Bastille

4. What’s the time period and location in which the novel takes place.

I never stuck an exact pin in it, but I’d estimate vaguely 1600s-1700s? I don’t know man I had to make my own calendar system. as far as location goes, the main settings are Apres, Sidra, Krey, and Fille. Apres is sort of Hellenic in feeling and aesthetic, with a heavy emphasis on sea trade and travel. Sidra is very Persian with a bit of Mughal Indian influence. Krey and Fille are inspired by Eastern Europe, especially Russia and Ukraine, although Krey has a distinctly Celtic flavor to some of its customs. 

5. Is this a standalone or a part in a series?

it’s the first in the Kingsnake Trilogy which I’m probably going to have to work on for Many Years

6. Are there any former titles you’ve considered but discarded?

Coat of Scales was actually the original title, but I briefly switched it to something else before deciding I didn’t like it as much LMAO. also, the original file name was “fantasy costco” so there’s that.

7. What’s the first line of your novel?

‘Elion Veris jolted up in bed, his book falling to the floor with a loud thump.’

8. What’s a dialogue you’re particularly proud of?

I actually like a lot of my dialogue tbh so you get Several

Chapter 2:

“Now, now, you may not be particularly handsome, but there’s no need for insult—ow!” Simon yelped as Elion struck him squarely in the forehead with an apricot.

“There are plenty more,” Elion said, tossing an apricot from one hand to the other. “Choose your next words carefully. I see one that’s definitely overripe.”

Simon pursed his lips. “I love you, Elion?”

“No,” Elion deadpanned, punctuated by the distinct sound of splattering fruit and an indignant screech. “Choose more carefully next time.”

Chapter 11

Either he was lucky, or Saturn noticed his discomfort. “You weren’t here earlier, when I came back from the barracks. Where’d you run off to?”

“Janus and Tethys wanted to talk to me.” It was only half a lie. “They told me you have quite the reputation.”

Saturn groaned. “Of course they did. Look, it was years ago. I was young and I was stupid. It was a temporary thing, I’m not—like that anymore.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“You think me a whore?” Saturn said, mocking offense. “Shame on you! I’m a reformed whore!”

“Re-whore-med, then, is it?” Elion replied. Saturn threw a piece of radish at him.

“You’re not funny,” Saturn huffed, but his tightly-pursed lips said otherwise. There was a warmth in his eyes that had been missing before. Elion was almost bold enough to call it trust.

Chapter 14: (wow a sneak peek)

"You’re not going to do it, are you?” she said in Fillesian. 

“What do you mean?”

“Kill Saturn.” Phyrra’s voice was emotionless. “You’re not going to do it.”

Elion narrowed his eyes. When he responded, it was in Apresian. “Why would you think that?”

“You’re becoming fond of him.”

“I have not.” He switched to Fillesian. “He touches me constantly. I hate it.”

“But you don’t panic when he does it.”

“You don’t know that!” Elion snapped, his voice turning into a sharp hiss. “You think I can lose control every time I’m afraid? You think I can get away with that? I’m not putting myself at risk by fighting back!”

For once,  Phyrra hesitated. She dropped her gaze to the floor, breathing out slowly as her shoulders relaxed. “Oh, Elion,” she sighed. “They’ve made you into something terrible.”

9. Which line from the novel most represents it as a whole?

“He took everything from me,” Elion spat, the words like venom on his tongue. “Everything I had, and everyone I loved. He killed my mother and Mana and left Simon to bleed out like a dog in the public square, and he looked me in the eyes and laughed.” His body trembled, but his voice was steady, and he stared Jastra down with iron in his mouth. “This was never about the kingdom.”

10. Who are your character faceclaims?

I’m going to be completely honest, the only faceclaim I could find for Elion is Keira Knightley. Saturn and Phyrra are borderline impossible to pin down so I haven’t found anyone for them yet. Janus is definitely Adonis Bosso, and Tethys is a young Riz Ahmed.

11. Sort your characters into Harry Potter houses!

Elion - Slytherin

Saturn - Gryffindor

Phyrra - Ravenclaw

Tethys - Hufflepuff

Janus - Ravenclaw

Simon - Hufflepuff

12. Which character’s name do you like the most?

Elion is a personal fave but I’m a huge fan of Saturn, Janus, and Tethys bc all the Vaerion are named after the planet Saturn’s moons. look how clever I am.

13. Describe each character’s daily outfit.

Elion - white linen shirts with intricate botanical embroidery around the neck and cuffs, a vest in either dark purple or black with silver embroidery around the collar, a jacket in colors and embroidery patterns to coordinate with the vest, and either a long black and silver coat for court functions or a black cloak. tight black riding pants and tall black boots. a goth icon.

Saturn - in the summer, usually a white chiton with red embroidery on the hem, his cloak, and sandals. the rest of the year, loose dark linen pants and a light cotton shirt in various shades of red or ivory-white, plus low leather boots. he wears his leather armor if he’s needed at the barracks. he has to be forced to wear shirts.

Phyrra - while in Apres, she wears long chitons with blue floral embroidery and a ton of bracelets. she actually goes barefoot whenever possible, but she’ll wear either sandals or embroidered slippers if she has to.

Janus and Tethys - dark linen pants and various shades of cotton shirts, with dark wool cloaks and mid-length leather boots. they share literally their entire wardrobe so I count them as one fashion entity. 

14. Do any characters have distinctive birthmarks/scars?

Elion has some scarring on his lower back, and the veins in his arms have a silver tint which I’m counting as a birthmark. Saturn has a scar across his lips that he earned in a knife fight when he was 14. 

15. Which character most fits a character trope?

Simon has a very “best friend and sidekick” sort of aura, but there’s a lot more going on with him than just that

16. Which character is the best writer? Worst?

Elion is a fantastic writer, since he realized from a young age that he’d need to be good with words to keep himself at the top of the pack, but Saturn is an incredibly close second—after all, he’s a poet. Simon is The Worst without question or competition.

17. Which character is the best liar? Worst?

Elion is definitely the best, since he’s had 19 years of practice. Saturn is the worst liar; his expression always gives him away bc he feels guilty about it.

18. Which character swears the most? Least?

I think so far Elion is actually the one who swears the most by stats, but in terms of Big Swear Energy it’s probably Janus. Jastra swears the least because she’s the Empress and she has a hell of a reputation to uphold, but I don’t think Simon has sworn at all. #letSimonsayfuck

19. Which character has the best handwriting? Worst?

Tethys has gorgeous handwriting, even if he doesn’t do a whole lot of writing most of the time. the prize for worst is tied between Janus and Phyrra; Janus bc he’s a doctor and it’s become illegible over time, and Phyrra just because she does not fucking care

20. Which character is most like you? Least like you?

I’m probably most like Elion and Phyrra tbh. Elion, because I’m very politically-minded and prefer to do things in underhanded ways, and Phyrra because I take no shit and tend to be more knife than person. I’m definitely the least like Janus because he has his shit together and I do Not.

21. Which character would you most like to be?

probably the king of Krey bc he has a castle and like 8 dogs and a really cool spouse and comparatively fewer past traumas 

I tag @poetatertot @satyr-syd and any of my other writer friends who want in on this!! if you don’t it’s cool bc this deadass took me over an hour LMAO

[thesummoningdark]

Okay, while I love everything you write I think for the DVD commentary I'd like a behind-the-scenes look into chapter 3 of At the Edge of the World. The entire fic is lush and gorgeous but I'm a sucker for the bits where Goody and Sam interact, and with the easy, sure steadiness that Billy brings to this experience that's so harrowing for Goody and would love your additional thoughts on either/both. -The Anon Formerly Known As Thrillingest

So this took forever. I’m happy to do more of these DVD commentaries (you can hit me up over on my writing sideblog!) if anyone’s interested, but I’d appreciate it if any further requests are for scenes rather than whole chapters. A chapter takes too long to do.

Anyway, answer below the cut~

When I originally set out to write this fic, the first neural handshake was what I’d actually been prompted to write (as a christmas present for @b-r-a-h iirc). It grew and took on a life of its own in the writing, but even so, that one scene was always going to make or break the whole fic. I spent a lot of time working on getting it just right.

It’s late enough by the time he finally leaves the kwoon that he doesn’t expect to find Sam in his office; he hesitates before going looking for him at all. But the prospect of another night stewing is unbearable. He doesn’t trust himself not to have lost his nerve by morning if he doesn’t commit to this now.

The shatterdome is quiet as he makes his way through. The overhead lights, motion-activated, flare one by one as he passes and settle into a steadily glowing trail behind him. It does nothing to quiet the sick unease simmering under his skin, feeling painfully exposed as his footsteps echo loudly in the silence of the bare corridors. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say. He can’t shake the conviction that there’s no choice he can make here which won’t turn out to have been a horrible mistake.

I was very pleased with the description of the shatterdome late at night, of how the quiet makes Goody feel so much more exposed and on edge. This opening part of the chapter was all about really showing his unease and how trapped he feels by the situation.

He hesitates in front of Sam’s door. Raises his hand; lowers it again.

He takes a deep breath, swears, and knocks.

These two lines work very well as punctuation to the scene, I think, slowing things down and underlining Goody’s hesitation. The short, sharp phrases are very different from how I normally write prose from Goody’s point of view - it’s actually a lot more like how I’d write Billy, oddly enough - but I like the sense it gives of these jerky, aborted movements and Goody second-guessing himself.

There are a few endless moments of silence before the sounds of movement emerge faintly from the other side of the door, a few muffled thumps and the quiet shuffle of footsteps. Goody hears the hollow clunk of the lock sliding back, but somehow it still startles him when the door swings open, his heart in his throat as he takes a step back and meets Sam’s tired eyes.

“I’ll do it,” he says in a rush before Sam can ask why he’s here. Sam regards him solemnly for a long moment before nodding.

“Good.”

“…I have some conditions,” Goody clarifies in a more measured tone, something sick and shocked crawling feverishly over the back of his neck as the magnitude of what he’s just agreed to tries to sink in. He pushes it away.

Sam sighs, and glances up and down the corridor before stepping aside. “Why don’t you come in.”

Writing this fic was the first time I really got to write interactions between Sam and Goody, and honestly, at first it was a little intimidating. Their conversation in the first chapter was the first time I’d ever written Sam period. I pretty much wrote this fic sequentially from start to finish, so by this point I was a lot more comfortable in their dynamic. I really love the ease between them, the sense of history in how well they know each other. A lot goes unspoken in their conversations because of it.

The Marshall’s quarters are larger than most others in the shatterdome, designed with the thought in mind that the occupant would be entertaining visiting dignitaries and the like. Still, it would take an impressive stretch of the definition to call any of the living quarters homey, and Sam’s have a certain barren neatness about them that speaks of a man who doesn’t own enough to clutter them, or spend enough time there to generate other mess. It’s very clearly a space where someone comes to sleep, not to live; there’s a distinct lack of personal touches. Save one.

Tacked to the back of the door is a single photo, unframed and a touch singed along one side, depicting a laughing family. Goody looks at it for a long moment before lowering his eyes out of some vestigial sense of respect. They all have their ghosts.

He sits on one of the spartan sofas, his gaze catching on the neat stacks of files spread out over the coffee table. Some he can identify; repair and maintenance records, duty reports, cadet evaluations. Others he doesn’t recognise at all. It’s truly startling, the amount of paperwork an organisation like the PPDC can generate in a day. “Has no-one ever told you it’s unhealthy to bring your work home with you?” he asks lightly. Sam snorts.

Some nice little set-dressing pieces of characterisation for Sam here. It doesn’t come up in any detail, but I imagine that he would have lost his family in a kaiju attack sometime before meeting Goody/joining the PPDC. That very clear sense of what he’s fighting for and why is something I consider to be pretty central to Sam’s character. I like having the old family photo there as a nod to his backstory - it crops up in the polyamory fill from KTT as well.

His room being fairly spartan is another hint at his character - very focused, all business - but it also handily doubles as a way of reinforcing the uncomfortable nature of Goody’s situation. The scene just wouldn’t feel quite the same if Sam’s quarters were cosy and welcoming.

“You mentioned conditions,” he says, sitting down opposite Goody and reaching for a gently steaming mug.

“Privacy,” Goody replies without hesitation. “And for it to be kept quiet. I’d rather not have an audience for this. And what a failed handshake would do to morale is the last thing the shatterdome needs right now.”

“We can arrange that,” Sam says, giving a nod, and Goody hadn’t even realised he was anticipating a fight until suddenly the tension is flowing out of him at the easy agreement. He sighs and sinks a little deeper into the sofa, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. Some part of him had half been hoping for an argument, for a refusal, but…here they are. For better or for worse, this is happening.

“For the record,” he says, “I’m still not convinced this is going to work.”

Sam considers him for a long moment. “So why agree?”

“Because…” Goody shakes his head, swallowing the sudden bitter taste at the back of his throat, some choking tightness wrapping around his chest. “Because in six months or a year, some green pilot pair riding a shaky drift are going to die in that damn jaeger.” He can see it clear as day from inside and out. The alarms screaming in the red-lit cockpit, the searing shock of the connection being violently severed; the roar of chaos over the radio back in the LOCCENT before everything goes abruptly, horribly silent. “I don’t need another what if to carry around.”

It was important to me in writing the first half of this fic to really work through Goody’s motivations: why he’s initially reluctant, and why he ultimately agrees. The progression from wanting to run from this to being willing to stand and fight even knowing how it’s likely to end for him is a parallel to canon I really wanted to keep. In a way this whole fic is about how he comes to that decision in this particular universe.

“I know the feeling,” Sam says quietly.

Goody gives him a thin, exhausted ghost of a grin. “Remember when we were young and bold and going to live forever?”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “No.”

Have I mentioned that I really enjoyed writing their interactions?

Perhaps unsurprisingly he doesn’t sleep well that night. He can feel the enormity of the decision he’s just committed to hanging over him, a frozen tidal wave poised to come crashing down if he dares acknowledge it. He dozes restlessly and wakes often to the lingering claws of formless nightmares, a cold sweat on his skin and his heart beating too fast in his chest, fighting his way free of tangled sheets in a panic. The darkness of his quarters is heavy and close.

He finally gives up on sleep entirely sometime before dawn. A few of the night shift are haunting corners of the mess hall; he keeps his head down so as to not inadvertently provoke a conversation through eye contact as he pours himself a coffee and walks out again with tin mug in hand. On autopilot his feet carry him to the gantry behind the loading docks. The ocean is invisible somewhere in the inky blackness below, the steady crash of breaking waves drifting up out of the darkness. The wind plucks at his coat and snatches away the smoke from his cigarette as he exhales, watching clouds scud by above in the pale moonlight.

Slowly the sky starts to lighten, dawn breaking somewhere behind the clouds. Goody flicks away the spent end of his cigarette, sighs, and heads back inside.

I always enjoy writing Goody alone with his thoughts. As I’ve said before, writing from his point of view makes it easy to lend a poetic bent to the prose, and in this kind of context you end up with this lovely evocative melancholy air. Especially when coupled with the imagery of the cold, stormy sea that crops up so much in this fic.

He considers breakfast for token moment, but even the thought of food has the knots in his stomach tightening nauseously; he drops his empty mug off in the slowly-filling mess hall and instead traces the familiar path up to the kwoon. A few diligent souls are already warming up beside the sparring mat. Goody does his best to ignore them as he skirts the opposite edge of the kwoon and makes his way to the door of the attached office.

Billy is sitting at his desk, an empty mess hall tray by his elbow and a mess of papers spread out in front of him. A hint of surprise flickers across his expression as Goody enters.

“Twice in as many days?” He raises his eyebrows. “Did you make some kind of late new year’s resolution?”

Billy’s sense of humour delights me. It’s something we only really see brief glimpses of in canon, but I’ve really enjoyed fleshing it out a little more in writing him. It’s an interesting contrast to Goody, who tends to use a self-deprecating sort of humour to deflect; Billy uses humour in a more pointed way.

Goody chooses not to dignify that with a response. He takes a moment to close the door behind him before taking a deep breath and saying with no preamble, “I agreed to it.”

There’s a drawn out moment of silence.

“…you talked to Chisholm already?” Billy asks, carefully noncommittal. His expression is unreadable.

“Yes.” Goody pauses, his gaze dropping a little as he considers his next words. “….I’ve asked for it to be kept quiet.”

There’s the soft rush of a sigh from the other side of the table, followed by the creak of a chair; Goody glances up to see Billy standing. He circles around and twitches the blinds aside to look out into the kwoon.

“You still don’t think this is going to work,” he says.

Goody gives a small shrug. “I’d rather be prepared if it doesn’t.”

“And if it does?”

Even before they ever actually drift, Billy and Goody know each other very well, and it comes through in the way they talk to each other. Especially about important things. There’s a lot that goes unspoken because it’s already understood. They get straight to the point..which would be the case anyway, I think, but it’s particularly pronounced here because Goody is still in that mode of powering through as much of this as he can before he loses his nerve.

Something icy crawls down Goody’s spine. It seems a touch ridiculous, now he suddenly has cause to admit it aloud, but he honestly hadn’t given any thought to what would come next if they were successful. He hadn’t seriously entertained the possibility that they might be.

If somehow, against all reason and experience this works, if they make it through the joint drop sims and every other test and barrier between them and that conn pod…he’ll be a pilot again. He’ll be back out there facing the kaiju. Just the thought is enough to have the sick stirrings of panic clawing their way up his throat.

It made sense to me that, being so caught up in all the ways the handshake could go wrong and what happens if it does, Goody hadn’t even stopped to seriously consider the possibility that it might succeed, much less think about what he’ll do if it does. He can’t let himself think about what happens if they succeed, because that’s the only outcome worse than failure. If trying to drift again is bad, trying to pilot again is so much worse. He’s found himself backed into a catch-22 where there’s no good outcome, and a lot of what I was trying to do with the first half of this chapter was to really get across his sense of dread.

A firm hand lands on his shoulder and he starts, blinking wide-eyed at Billy, who’s suddenly beside him. His expression is calm, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes that Goody doesn’t know how to read; something implacable and determined, something fierce enough to be alien after so long without allowing himself the luxury of hope.

“Goody,” he says, steady and certain in a way that brooks no disagreement. “We’ll figure it out.”

Goody takes a deep, steadying breath and gives a shaky nod. Billy’s right. What happens will happen, and while he may lack Billy’s confidence that they’ll be equal to whichever challenge comes of it, he can’t let himself get tangled up in anticipating it when it’s going to take everything he has just to get through what’s coming next.

The next few days are nothing but the gnawing unease of anticipation, part of him desperate to have this over and done with, another hopelessly wishing he could put it off indefinitely. It’ll be a relief for it to be over, even if he already knows that relief will be tainted with an old, familiar kind of shame. But to get it over with, he has to get through it, and some nagging voice at the back of his mind is constantly whispering that maybe he can’t. He doesn’t know if he has another handshake left in him. He’s so, so tired of wondering every time if this trip down the rabbit hole will be the one that finally breaks him.

It’s not something I chose to dig into a lot in this fic, but this paragraph right here is actually a very important insight into where Goody’s at in this place in time. It’s not that he doesn’t want to move on from the trauma of losing his copilot, or that he couldn’t do it under the right circumstances, but he’s trapped in this cycle of having to relive it and be traumatised anew every time he tries to enter the drift. He’s in this limbo space where he wants to move on but he can’t. He’s not being allowed to.

In a way, his psychological situation parallels his real life one very neatly. He’s not a pilot any more, but his experience is too useful to waste, so he’s still a part of a jaeger program. The fight his copilot died in was a long time ago, but he can’t heal from it when he’s still having to relieve it. Both leave him in a situation where he can’t do anything to help himself where he is, but he can’t distance himself either.

More than anything else in those achingly empty days, he finds himself seeking out Billy’s company. Perhaps it’s a good sign that the undemanding quiet of Billy’s presence steadies him in a way that not much that doesn’t come in a bottle can these days. But some darker, more pessimistic part of him can’t help but wonder if this is nothing but him savouring the last days of this friendship while he can, before the handshake ruins it.

He feels a pang of guilt for it, occasionally. It seems disloyal even to entertain the thought that Billy wouldn’t be better than that. But he can’t bring himself to believe that anyone could be exposed to the wreckage of his subconscious, and not want to do the smart thing and distance themselves. Lord knows he would if he could.

This comes up a lot in writing their relationship from Goody’s point of view: that he feels it’s a disservice to Billy to think that their relationship is on such a shaky foundation, but he still can’t help but be afraid of it.

The few days they spend waiting seem to last an eternity. But when word finally comes that LOCCENT are ready for them, the only thought in Goody’s head is that an eternity wouldn’t be long enough to let him be ready for this.

The solid warmth of Billy’s shoulder against his is a comfort he desperately needs as they walk into the drivesuit room side by side to be met by a skeleton crew of technicians. He hasn’t set foot in this part of the shatterdome since that last disastrous failed handshake; just the familiar smell of relay gel and oiled metal is enough to have his heart beating faster, a slight tremor shaking through his hands.

Generally it’s a more relaxed process, preparing for a handshake. In a combat drop there would be alarms blaring, the countdown displayed on every screen, running out the seven minutes they have after an event to get into the cockpit and be ready to launch. There’s none of that time pressure here. No rush, although the technicians pride themselves on their speed and efficiency even when it isn’t a matter of life and death. And yet he knows he’s never been this nervous before a combat drop, sick with the anticipation of what’s waiting for him in the conn pod.

He closes his eyes and tunes out the low murmurs of the technicians, clinging to a fragile sense of calm numbness as he lets himself be turned and posed and strapped into the drivesuit. At least there won’t be an audience. Sam has been true to his word about keeping it quiet, hand-picking staff he trusts to run LOCCENT and the drivesuit room, and choosing a time toward the end of the nightshift when the few people still awake will be tired and incurious. However badly this goes, at least he won’t have to deal with stares and whispers following him around the shatterdome for the next week.

The technician at his shoulder gives his backplate one last solid thump and steps away. He sighs, gathers what little courage he has left, and walks forward.

If he thought the drivesuit room was sickeningly familiar, it’s nothing beside the conn pod, the lights of the control panels and the waiting cradle of the command platform. For an endless moment he finds himself frozen in the doorway. He’s never set foot inside Widow Rose before - she was built long after his last drop, and quickly filled by a copilot pair of her own - but knowing that doesn’t help. It’s still horribly, achingly familiar.

Billy nudges his shoulder gently, startling him out of his reverie. He swallows down the pathetic part of him that wants so desperately to find some way, any way of delaying this even if only for a second, and gives a shaky nod. This is happening one way or another. The least he can do is face it with what little dignity he has left.

Obviously any writer’s work is informed by their own experiences, but for me, this part was a lot closer to the bone than most others. In this case I was drawing on my own memories of having to go through with crash escape/sea survival training despite having a massive phobia of water. That feeling of forcing yourself to go through with something you’re desperately afraid of, how badly you want to grab any chance to delay it just a little longer…it definitely stays with you.

“Breathe,” Billy says, low and even. “You’ll get through it.”

“Said the butcher to the cow,” Goody mutters.

Billy huffs a laugh. “I’ll make it quick and painless.”

Despite himself, he can’t help but be lulled a little by Billy’s easy calm, even as he feels a pitiful stab of envy for it. He gives a thin, tired ghost of a smile and nudges Billy’s shoulder lightly in return. If he always would have had to find himself here again, he’s glad at least that it’s Billy here with him. He doesn’t know that he could have faced it with anyone other than Billy by his side.

I really enjoy writing these little exchanges that show how easily they play off of each other, especially in stressful situations. And the lighter flashes of humour that come from their conversations were something the first half of this chapter really needed. 

Harness set for test mode is flashing on the screens as they strap themselves in. Goody’s hands are shaking badly enough to have him fumbling the controllers as he threads his fingers through them, sick unease prickling feverishly over the back of his neck and cold sweat crawling down his skin under the drivesuit. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming fast and shallow; lord only knows what his vitals readout in LOCCENT must look like.

“Pilots on board and ready to connect,” Teddy’s voice filters in tinnily over the comms. Goody sucks in a sharp breath.

“Steady,” Billy murmurs.

“Initiating neural handshake.”

This is mostly an inside joke, of course, but the thought of Teddy as Tendo makes me laugh.

For an endless moment there’s nothing but the visceral rush of sense memory, too quick and tangled to make any sense of, the sudden feeling of everyone opening and unfolding, of the mind flowing out into the space suddenly opened to it. He hears his mother’s voice, sees a fleeting glimpse of her face from a child’s low perspective. Somewhere behind it is another woman’s voice, words in a language he doesn’t speak but somehow understands. A sharp stab of unease; a man’s voice this time, abrupt and angry. Helpless frustration. Silence.

There’s a mirror in front of him and bruises on his face and the taste of blood in his mouth, and pain comes tearing up his flank, alarms blaring in the desperate red pulse of the conn pod emergency lighting, and in the last screaming moments he feels something snap with a brutal whiplash leaving behind nothing, nothing, nothing—

There’s a lot going on here. Some memories, like the image of the red-lit conn pod and the loss of a copilot, are very clearly Goody’s. but a lot of the rest don’t distinctly belong to one or the other - it was a conscious decision on my part to leave it ambiguous which memories are coming from who. I wanted to run with the idea that a flash of memory from one would pull up similar memories from the other, and they’d keep feeding into each other. 

Off the record, the start and the end are Goody, and the middle (everything from another woman’s voice to blood in his mouth) is Billy.

Except that there isn’t nothing. Under it all there’s something solid, an unexpected rock to cling to and keep his head above water while he gasps for air. Just the shock of it, of being caught when he expected to fall, is enough to snap him out of the inward spiral for a precious, fleeting moment. It’s so very little, an eye in the storm of crushing panic. But it’s enough for something warm and steady to wrap in around him, and push back the howling dark.

It’s not the panicked clawing he remembers, the fingers of a doomed attempt to reel him in frantically scrabbling to find purchase on his spiralling subconscious. Instead it’s a mere brush of a touch, nudging him back toward an even keel so gently he might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been waiting for it.

That sea/storm imagery coming up again here. That second paragraph was actually the first part of this scene I wrote, and it’s definitely something I wanted to run with for the whole thing: the idea that rather than trying to keep too tight a rein like previous candidates have tried and failed to do, Billy has a knack for gently nudging Goody at the right moments to keep him from spiralling.

“Billy?” he mumbles uncertainly, his voice cracking. He’s here in the conn pod, but no, the alarms are silent. The lights are a calm, steady blue. The only pain is sense memory.

“Breathe,” Billy says again, just as calm and steady as the lights. “I’ve got you.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and slowly exhales. The rabbit hole is right there, aching emptily like a missing tooth, but no sooner do his thoughts drift toward it than they’re steered in another direction; a flashing school of fish easily startled into darting off by a dark shape slowly cruising by below.

With every step he expects to fall. But the connection stays steady, grounding him in the here and now. The jaeger is alive under his hands, and now he’s not so tangled in the cobwebs of painful memory…she feels different from Aura Blue. Lighter. And Billy is right there with him every inch of the way as he slowly settles back into the old familiar feeling of a jaeger’s heart beating with his, filling the drift with the undemanding quiet he’s always associated with Billy’s presence.

I liked the idea that once he’s been steadied enough to stop that spiral before it starts, Goody actually can more or less keep a handle on himself. Once again that reference to a light touch rather than a tight rein comes up, with bonus sea imagery - a flashing school of fish easily startled into darting off by a dark shape slowly cruising by below.

There’s definitely a turning point here: it’s the first time we really see Goody start to focus in on new things, things that are different, rather than the ways in which he’s reminded of painful memories.

Also fun fact, it took me for-fucking-ever to settle on a name for Goody and Sam’s jaeger. In early drafts it was referred to as “Ash” as a placeholder. It was that deleted scene that came out with Goody at the piano which gave me the inspiration to finally pick an actual name for it.

Tentatively he reaches out, testing the shape of their connection. There’s satisfaction radiating from Billy, pride tinged with relief, and— there, sitting at the centre of it all so deceptively unassuming that he scarcely recognises it for what it is, the cold certainty of what this means for them.

His own fears are skittering things, slipping away when his thoughts land on them in daylight; leaving only trails of lingering unease behind until they creep back up on him in the silence of his bunk at night. He half expects this one to do the same, but it doesn’t.

You’re afraid too he thinks, the realisation distant and dazed. He can’t see Billy’s smile, but he feels it. Grim amusement. Fatalism. Acceptance.

This was something I really wanted to put front and centre when they drifted: the idea that Billy knows what this means for them just as well as Goody does, but they handle that knowledge so differently that Goody almost doesn’t recognise it for what it is. Goody is the kind of person who tries to ignore his fears until he can’t any more. He’s not well equipped to get his head around the way Billy can look this in the face and accept it.

Goody says you’re afraid too, but he still isn’t quite grasping it. Billy isn’t afraid of this. Not in the same way Goody is. He knows that stepping into that conn pod together ultimately means dying there, but in his mind, he’s already weighed up the possibility and decided that it’s worth the cost. To paraphrase the original Pacific Rim: they’re all going to die one way or the other. He’d rather die in a jaeger.

Goody hasn’t accepted the inevitability of his own mortality; he’s still caught up in wanting to put it off for as long as possible. Billy has. It’s more important to him to die for something worthwhile than to avoid it for a little longer. When you get right down to it, I think this is probably the most fundamental difference in who they are are people.

The readouts on the screens are all in the green, the conn pod humming around them. “Full alignment,” Teddy’s voice comes again over the comms, static crackling on the line. “Handshake holding steady.”

“Congratulations,” Sam adds. To anyone else he might sound perfectly professional, but Goody knows him well enough to know what ‘self-satisfied’ sounds like on him. He’s sure that the fond exasperation that suffuses the link is wholly his, but the answering flicker of amusement is definitely Billy’s.

There is honestly no interaction between Sam and Goody in this entire fic that I’m not delighted by. There’s always such a sense of history and familiarity between them.

The process of disconnecting and powering down passes in something of a daze. It’s been so long since the last time a handshake ended in anything other than a spiral and an emergency shutdown for him that distance has made the standard procedure unfamiliar. It’s calm, matter of fact; clearly routine for everyone present but him. He barely has the presence of mind to follow what’s happening.

Fortunately, little is required of him other than moving when he’s told. In some kind of stunned trance he allows himself to be led from the conn pod and methodically peeled out of the drivesuit, the murmurs of the technicians and the voices from LOCCENT filtering over the radio so much white noise in his ears. […] 

It honestly wasn’t until I hit the end of the neural handshake scene that it really dawned on me how long it would have been since Goody actually experienced a normal disconnection. It isn’t something we see in Pacific Rim either, so unlike the initial connection (most of the procedure for which I lifted directly from the movie), I didn’t have anything to go on. Fortunately under the circumstances it made sense for Goody to be in a bit of a daze, so I was spared the necessity of getting into specifics.

[…]Everything seems distant and hazy and unreal.

Everything apart from Billy.

It’s momentarily disorienting to turn and see Billy facing him when instinct insists that they should be moving as one. Billy tilts his head, considering; Goody notices himself mirroring the motion half a heartbeat after he does it, the two of them still half in sync as they ride out the echoes of the drift. His heart is still racing, hardly able to believe that they really did it. He hadn’t believed it could ever flow that smooth and easy again. After all this time he’d forgotten what it could be like to slip into a solid, comfortable connection.

They’re close, he realises belatedly; enough so to look odd to outside eyes. So soon after the handshake his instincts don’t even question that of course Billy belongs in his personal space as much as he does himself. A day ago he might have felt exposed under that searching gaze. Now it’s nothing but familiar.

This part got written out of order very early on as well. The image of them moving together, still half in sync, was something I had very clearly in my head when I set out to start writing this, and I wanted to get it down before it faded.

“You could have said something,” Billy says after a long pause.

There’s no point in pretending not to know exactly what he’s talking about. A flush creeps up Goody’s cheeks, but he doesn’t lower his eyes. “It never seemed like a good time,” he replies with a small shrug.

It’s strange to think how recently the idea of having every fleeting want and idle fantasy laid bare would have been mortifying. Here and now, still half in the drift, the idea that Billy knows seems as natural and unremarkable as admitting it to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts. There’s no unease, no knee-jerk revulsion. There’s nothing but slightly startled curiosity, and a trace of what might be cautious interest.

I toyed with a few different ways of approaching this conversation, but ultimately I decided that it would have to be very matter-of-fact. How could it be anything else, when they’ve just been inside each other’s heads? It’s not something that’s explicitly explored in Pacific Rim, but I figured that for a little while right after drifting successfully, you’d still be thinking of your copilot as essentially the same entity as you. 

As it says above, the idea that Billy knows seems as natural and unremarkable as admitting it to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts. It couldn’t work any other way, really, or the whole premise falls apart a little. They both know exactly what they’re talking about, how they both feel about it…the fact that Goody now knows beyond question that while startled Billy isn’t opposed to the idea is definitely helping him keep his cool.

One of the technicians clears her throat, breaking their shared reverie, unfazed as only a long-term drivesuit tech can be when their attention snaps to her in perfect unison. She informs them that the Marshal is expecting them for a debrief, and politely ejects them from the drivesuit room to make the walk to LOCCENT.

“I knew you had another one in you,” is the first thing Sam says, smiling broadly.

Goody huffs a laugh and lets himself be pulled into a hug. “We’ll see,” he replies, noncommittal. “One successful handshake doesn’t mean a combat-ready link.”

Sam shrugs. “We’ll schedule a joint drop sim tomorrow. In the meantime—” He gives a wry grin. “—why don’t you give me five damn minutes to enjoy something going right for once.”

“Yes sir,” Goody replies with an entirely spurious dutiful air, throwing a mock salute.

“Very funny,” Sam says, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips. “Go on, get out of here. Both of you. Sleep. You’ve earned it.”

I find something about the phrase politely ejects them inherently hilarious. I also enjoy the image of the techs being utterly unimpressed by all this drift bullshit just through sheer exposure wearing the mystique off of it.

As previously noted, I love writing Sam and Goody interacting, and it was particularly nice to write this conversation. It’s the first one in this fic where they’re both happy and relieved, and it gives it a much lighter feel.

The first hints of the shatterdome waking are starting to drift through the air around them as they make their way back down from LOCCENT; internal lights slowly brightening, footfalls and distant chatter in the air as the oncoming day shift begin the sleepy shuffle from quarters to showers to mess hall. No matter what else may be happening, the rhythm of shifts and rotations carries stubbornly on like the slow beat of some colossal heart.

They get a few glances and mumbled greetings in passing, but no-one seems to pay them much mind. After the last few days of aching uncertainty, it’s an indescribable relief to walk through the halls of the shatterdome with the weight of the handshake off of his mind, with the lingering echoes of Billy’s utter self-confidence bolstering him. It’s a relief to find himself not avoiding anyone’s eyes.

It doesn’t feel real yet. Part of him remains convinced that some other stumbling block up ahead will catch them out, that they’ll trip over a reason why it can’t work when they’re least expecting it. He doesn’t know if he’s afraid of it or hoping for it.

The theme of people coming together to form some joint entity greater than the sum of its parts is, of course, a powerful recurring theme in Pacific Rim. It’s most overt in the copilot pairs, but I wanted to throw in these occasional reminders that even the jaegers themselves are just one part of the greater entity that is the shatterdome itself.

The end of this chapter is probably the lightest and most hopeful in tone of any part of the fic, but Goody is definitely still unsure if he’s really prepared for what success means for them. He doesn’t want to have to go back out there and fight. 

“You’re still not sure about this, are you,” Billy says aloud.

Goody gives a small shrug. “As I said to Sam, compatibility doesn’t necessarily mean a link stable enough for combat.” Keeping the drift steady in the calm, controlled environment of a test handshake is a very different thing to maintaining it under the stress and demanding neural load of combat.

“Tell me you don’t think I can hold it,” Billy says, flat and matter of fact. Goody sighs.

“No,” he says. “No, when you put it like that, I suppose I don’t doubt that you can.”

One of my favourite things about Goody and Billy’s relationship, the thing which drew me to them in the first place, is how much trust there is between them. Goody still isn’t sure that he can do this, but he believes completely that Billy can. And he’s willing to trust that Billy can steady him when he needs it.

As I think I’ve mentioned in previous replies, I do struggle with ending chapters sometimes. In this fic I actually did it differently to how I normally would: I wrote most of the fic as if it was a one-shot, and then went back and divided it up into chapters based on where it felt natural to pause. It was a much easier way of doing it, and I think the transitions from one chapter to the next after are definitely improved by it.

[photomaniacs]

I Just Had 20,000 Slides Returned from Sports Illustrated http://ift.tt/2gxmlqR

Ever since I was a kid, I loved saving stuff. I saved all my baseball cards in rubber band stacks in shoe boxes. I collected stacks and stacks of 7-Eleven Slurpee baseball cups in 1973. Every San Francisco Giants yearbook and media guide going back to the early 1960s? Yup, got them too.

I have a Mason jar of every ticket stub from every sporting event I attended as a kid in the 70s and 80s with the results written on the back. I saved every credential I have been issued to cover a sporting event as a professional photographer since 1987. I could go on and on but you get the idea. I am a pack rat. I save everything. As I get older I think I have saved too much, but it’s hard to let go!

A box of my credentials going back 30 years.

Once I started taking pictures with a 35mm SLR in high school shooting for Paul Ficken’s basic photo class at Washington High School in Fremont, California in 1982 I saved all my negatives. I didn’t realize at the time how important those original negatives were — I just saved everything.

This is the original Fujichrome slide of John Smoltz from 1998 that resulted in my first Sports Illustrated (regional) cover. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Sports Illustrated regional cover of John Smoltz, October 12, 1998. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Here we are in 2017 and I am glad my obsession with keeping stuff carried over into my photography. This maniacal attitude combined with great advice I received early on from mentors like Neil Leifer taught me to fight like hell to keep my copyright and retain ownership and control of my images. In the old days, this meant my chromes — my 35mm color transparencies. There is nothing like a properly exposed, sharp, color slide viewed on a light table through a Schneider loupe. These magical squares are valuable, that’s why clients always tried to keep them.

My 30 year old Schneider loupe came in handy when looking through my 20,000 selects that were returned by Sports Illustrated. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

I was lucky to freelance regularly for one of the greatest editorial clients for almost 25 years — Sports Illustrated. The magazine was such an amazing place to work when I started shooting for them at the end of 1992. One of the many great things about shooting for the magazine was you shot gorgeous Fujichrome RDP 100 ASA slide film. Simply pick up the phone, call the amazing Mel Levine in the lab and ask him to send you a few hundred rolls of film, some small-core Duct tape, and a few cans of Dust-Off.

After shooting and shipping my film from a baseball or football game I would get the outtakes back via FedEx in a few weeks. I was free to send those slides out to a stock agency to make secondary income by licensing the images in a partnership with an old school agency like Duomo. The magazine kept “selects” from each assignment that were in their files to be used as stock pictures in future issues of the magazine and various other Time Inc. publications.

This is the original color slide of James Hundon of the San Francisco Demons from 2001 that resulted in my first Sports Illustrated (national) cover. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Sports Illustrated national cover of James Hundon and the XFL, February 12, 2001. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Every time they used one of the images I would get paid a space rate. The images were also licensed to commercial and editorial clients through Sports Illustrated Pictures Sales, run by the incomparable Karen Carpenter. During the heyday of space rates and stock sales, there were times when I would have as many as seven checks from Time Inc. in my mailbox on a given day. Let me tell you it made going to the mailbox pretty damned exciting!

Once the Internet was invented — it did not exist when I started! — and having an online archive became a reality, I jumped at the chance to have all of my digital files captioned and searchable via PhotoShelter when they started in 2005. Once I realized the power of gaining control of my copyrighted images I knew I had to start having my old slides scanned.

I started shooting digital full-time in 2003 so my slides had an end in 2002. This meant it was a project that I could see to the finish since I would not be shooting any more chrome. In 2009 I started getting some slides back from my old agencies that were cleaning out their files. Between Duomo and Major League Baseball Photos I got back thousands and thousands of beautiful originals. Many of these were worthy of scanning and captioning for my archive so I began the process.

I had my last big batch of slides scanned, captioned, and uploaded to my gallery in 2013. By this time the number of slides scanned was near 6,000 dating back to 1987. It was pretty exciting being able to conduct searches in my archive and find old pictures that would be invisible if they were still in boxes. You can’t find photographs like this and get them to clients quickly if they are not scanned, captioned and online. At this time I had taken control of pretty much every good image I could get my hands on. Except for one pot of gold that resided in a building in New Jersey.

Since I shot hundreds of assignments for Sports Illustrated on slide film from 1992-2002 I knew there were thousands of my “selects” in their archive that had been moved out of the basement of the Time Life Building several years ago and were now housed in New Jersey. The publishing business has tanked so badly in recent years that there is no chance these slides would ever be scanned by the magazine. Ever since Time Inc. spun off the magazine division into a separate company and moved out of the Time Life Building to save money there have been rumors of all of the magazines being for sale. Revenue keeps falling and its stock is way down again this year.

I know, love, and trust the few remaining people in the Sports Illustrated photo department led by Director of Photography Marguerite Schropp. However, not knowing what the future might hold for the magazine, especially if and when the company was sold I felt it was time to pull the trigger and get my slides back. The prospect of getting this stuff back was very exciting to me. These were the best pictures I shot for the magazine. These were slides I HAD NEVER SEEN BEFORE. There had to be some great stuff that would be a wonderful addition to my ever-growing online archive of over 93,000 images. I finally called the amazing Karen Carpenter in January of 2017 telling her I wanted my stuff back. I told her I was in no hurry, I just wanted the slides back so I could take control of the images. Soon after she emailed me a list of assignments telling me the pull from the library would be from close to 350 assignments. This would be lots of slides!

In March I heard from Karen that they were ready to send the slides to my house. The total shipment was 20,000 slides in plastic sleeves in three large boxes weighing a total of 80 pounds. I couldn’t wait to see this stuff! As an added bonus there was a separate small box of every slide that was ever published in the magazine, including originals that were used for covers and Leading Off’s.

This is what 20,000 slides weighing 80 pounds looked like when my selects were returned from Sports Illustrated. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

This is what one box of my slides looked like when my selects were returned from Sports Illustrated. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Mike explores my slides that were returned from Sports Illustrated. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

All of these slides with red dots were published in Sports Illustrated. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Having never seen these chromes, it was a special feeling being able to hold them in my hands for the first time. It took me a few days to go through the boxes and when I was done I had 518 slides pulled that I wanted to have scanned. What a trip down memory lane! This journey brought back so many fun memories of great baseball and football games I had shot. And let’s face it, there is nothing like looking at chromes from a 49er game on a gorgeous November afternoon at Candlestick Park. If you were ever there with a bag full of Fujichrome you know what I am talking about.

It was fun seeing gems like this chrome of Don Mattingly for the first time. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Derek Jeter and Joe Torre. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Next up I had to find a place to scan my stuff. I knew prices had come down since I last had slides scanned, but of course, I don’t trust just anyone with my originals and I don’t want to send my stuff out of the country. Luckily through my friends at PhotoShelter I found the fabulous Julie Morris, who is the president of FotoBridge in New Jersey. These people would be an ideal place for me and many other friends to work with if they did a good job.

I called Julie and immediately knew that she “got it” and understood the industry and what people like me needed. She told me they had scanned 250,000 slides for NHL Images, scanned 40,000 slides and negatives for the Kansas City Chiefs, and 25,000 slides and negatives for the Minnesota Vikings, to name just a few of their big sports clients. I told her I needed pro scans at 4,000 DPI to give me 50 megabyte TIFF files and she told me they would cost under a dollar apiece. I could not believe it! I decided to give them a try and see what happened. Two weeks later and I could not be happier with the scans I got back from FotoBridge.

The final stack of 518 selects that were shipped off for scanning to be uploaded into my archive. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

After spending a few days of trimming the black borders and making the files look as perfect as possible in Photoshop I am ready for the worst part of this entire project- the captioning. I am a freak in so many ways and need to have my captions as accurate as possible with the date of the game if possible, and at worst the year. Luckily over the years, I have memorized all the uniform and patch changes from year-to-year that distinguish different seasons. I also just happen to remember some of the games from looking at the images.

A chrome of Mike Bordick. (Photo by Brad Mangin)

Now I have to caption over 500 of scans for my archive. Never fun but super important!

Staring at blank caption fields in Photo Mechanic is never fun. All of these fields will be filled up for all 500+ scans very soon!

Of course the business of licensing sports images as stock has completely gone to hell, so great timing, right? Well, s**t! These are my images and no one can take them away from me. Yes, I know that many of these images used to be able to fetch good money as stock but now are only worth pennies thanks to all the lame wire services that have been giving away content for cheap and/or free for the past decade.

I have often said that I used to think my archive would be my retirement but now it’s as worthless as a box of Joe Charboneau rookie cards. However, I also hold out hope that there are still some people out there who like dealing with individual artists and I am ready for them. In fact, in the past month, I have licensed many old football scans for an upcoming book project that has brought in a nice check. You never know.

The moral of this story? Take control of your images. Period. End of story.

About the author: Brad Mangin is a freelance sports photographer based in the San Francisco Bay Area. He regularly shoots for Major League Baseball, and between 1993 and 2016 he was a regular contributor to Sports Illustrated. He’s also a founder of SportsShooter.com. You can find more of Mangin’s work on his website, online archive, Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.

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September 01, 2017 at 09:00PM