For any fellow Black Velvet Rabbits rockstar Newt Geiszler groupies out there, I’ve revamped my BVR logos and put them up on Redbubble and Threadless! I’ve also added my high res re-creation of the logo from Hermann’s SPACE CHAMPION helmet from his drift sequence with Newt. Both sites have something a little different to offer in terms of range and look so you can fully customize your K-Sci gear. All logos are in black as well as white font on as wide a variety of colors and items as possible.
It's a fantastic resource for fic writers as it has literally as much information as we've been able to find about the films and the design.
You can archive anything Pacific Rim related; art, fic, edits, offical interviews, tie-in novels and comics, gifs, metas about cosume design, homemade maps of the shatterdome, visualisations of Newt's back tattoos and anything else you've been hoarding.
Everything is free to download, free to use and requires no account to access.
Anyone can upload newmann content to the archive, and if you want to get a full account to gain Archiving Privileges you can set one up yourself or message me or one of the other admins to set it up for you.
Please make use of it for all your Pacific Rim needs :)
yes my new job is easy and somewhat enjoyable and pays me well and i’m good at it. but i have to quit anyway cuz it’s eating away at my newmann drawing time
Hello my lovelies, I hope you’re well! I’m very excited to announce that things are progressing well for Book Two of Hermann Gottlieb: Consulting Detective, my Newmann Victorian detective AU. I’ve written over 100 pages, and with just a few more things to lock in, I’m almost ready to start posting. I wanted to share a little WIP Wednesday snippet… nothing that spoils any of the mystery, of course, just something to set the tone. I’ll be doing more of these as I go, but without further ado, here’s a wee excerpt from chapter one…
***
The following morning, the storm had not abated in the slightest. As Gottlieb fastened his Inverness cape about his shoulders, Newton stood by the window looking out and shaking his head.
“It’s an unlucky thing we have to turn out to-day,” he said distractedly. “The weather is the most savage I’ve seen.”
“This is London,” Gottlieb said dryly, fixing his top hat upon his head. “Wait a bit and you will see worse.”
At this, the doctor chuckled, then flung his gaze back over his shoulder, looking Gottlieb up and down as he did. “The rain is still coming down in droves. Your usual top hat will get blown clean off your head in this squall.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, I do not have another,” the detective declared, accompanying the statement with a dismissive gesture of his cane. “In fact, were it not considered improper for a gentleman to be seen in public without a hat, I would never bother with it. It is an absurd societal construct, nothing more. Not to mention,” he cleared his throat and added, somewhat as an aside, “none of them suit me at all.”
“Well, that’s another one of the vast differences between us,” Newton said, fixing the taller man with a winsome grin as he donned his bowler hat and slid his index finger along the brim. “I look marvellous in a hat.”
Gottlieb sighed audibly with a muttered, “If you say so,” under his breath— although he couldn't fully deny the truth of the matter. The hat did rather suit the doctor, although Gottlieb supposed the man would most likely look comely in any accoutrement of his choosing.
“I’m certain I could find a hat to suit you,” Newton proclaimed, abandoning the window view to gather up and sling on his coat.
“Please refrain,” Gottlieb replied with no small measure of aridity. “It would be a terrible waste of time and money.”
“Well, then I suggest you hang onto your hat, my man,” Newton chuckled as they descended the stairs and stepped out into the storming street outside to hail a fortuitously-timed hansom cab that had just turned the corner and begun clomping up the muddy road.
I would LOVE to see you take on a different first meeting au!!! 💖💖💖
i had a little bit of writers block this week but wanted to give this one a go.... this one is dedicated to my newmann group chat on twitter after we had a convo about hermann seeing newt playing guitar in a bar and deciding to be bold..... it's always fun to throw them into slight AUs! i imagine this one would be set in 2020 not long after the opening bit of the film
----------------------------------------------
Newt initially found out about the open mic nights through a flyer tacked to the communal bulletin board in the Shatterdome rec room. People around the base use it to advertise things sometimes, mostly parties Newt isn’t invited to and reminders about upcoming kaiju drills, and when Newt’s bored he likes to look through it and try to find something semi-interesting to do with himself that isn’t either staring at the ceiling of his quarters or pulling all-nighters in the lab. Normally Newt loves pulling all-nighters in the lab, but there’s only so much a guy can do without new kaiju samples to work with.
Anyway, he’s really been putting in the effort give his new colleagues the impression that he's a normal, well-functioning guy with relationships and a life outside of work. Not that Newt really has either of those things. Especially not here. He joined on with the k-science team in Alaska late, long after the social hierarchy of the division was established, and it’s obvious they still look at him and see the new guy they sent to pick up our slack almost a year in.
Newt thinks it’s gotta take a special kind of nerd to be considered a social pariah among other nerds.
The flyer caught his eye because it was purple and slightly crumpled, and he recognized the name of the bar printed across the top as a nearby one the rangers frequent. One of them must have brought it back after their usual Friday night out. Newt read Every Saturday! and thought, hey, what the hell, not like he had anything going on anyway. He used to play guitar at those sorts of things a lot when he was in graduate school, and he really missed having an audience who wouldn’t submit noise complaints (like his Shatterdome neighbors loved to do) when he performed.
It seemed (he thought) worth braving the cold once a week if it meant getting to play guitar—and who knew, he might even make friends!
That was a few weeks ago. Newt hasn’t technically made any friends yet, but he’s still having fun, and when he wrapped up his set tonight he got a little more polite applause than usual. He's in a great mood as he packs his acoustic guitar up in its battered case. It's ruined almost instantly when he feels the bartender looming above him.
The guy has it out for Newt, probably because he’s the one stuck with the open mic night shift and has heard Newt cover the same five albums on loop for weeks now, or maybe because the PPDC pays Newt pennies an hour and he’s not about to spend those precious pennies on overpriced, watered-down beer, and will—at most—order a single shot of something strong each week. Newt is mostly used to being an unwelcome presence in most places and doesn’t let it get to him. “I know, I know, I’ll be out in five minutes,” he sighs.
“Don’t bother,” the bartender says. “You have a fan.”
Newt finishes snapping his case shut and hefts it up with a frown. “What do you mean?”
The bartender slides a pint of beer towards Newt. He looks irritated, like the simple act of pushing a glass two inches is more than enough socialization with Newt for the night. “Some Brit bought that for you,” the bartender tells him. “He said to tell you he likes your work.”
He jabs his finger down the bar in the direction of a dark-haired, surly-face stranger in a sweatervest who glances away from them conspicuously when Newt tries to catch his eye. He’s got his hand wrapped around a half-empty glass of beer that’s not unlike the one he sent Newt.
“What?” Newt laughs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone pull that kinda move outside of movies. Very old school. Maybe that says more about Newt, though. Conceivably hundreds, thousands of people are getting laid every year by sending drinks down the bar to strangers like they’re James Bond or something, and Newt is not one of those strangers, because he’s (generally) not hot or charming enough to inspire it. “Seriously? Uh, ok. Tell him thanks?”
“Tell him yourself,” the bartender says over his shoulder, already pouring another drink.
Newt shrugs on his leather jacket before picking up the glass and wandering down in the direction of his fan, who is downing the rest of his own beer and continuing to avoid looking in Newt’s direction. Newt will need to get back to the Shatterdome soon and knows he can't hang around very long, but it's not every day he gets hit on, and he kinda want to see where it goes. Newt’s been overdue for some good ego-stroking.
“Hi,” he says, taking the stool next to the man, who glances up at Newt with exaggerated casualness. Newt gets a good look at him for the first time: nice cheekbones, big brown eyes behind crooked glasses, unfortunate haircut, fresh beer stain on his collar. Not unattractive at all. Interesting mouth too. He’s probably around Newt’s age, even if his clothing (Newt’s never seen someone wear tweed slacks to a dive bar before) adds about ten years, give or take. “Uh, thanks for the beer. Very suave. I’m N—”
“—Newton Geiszler,” the man says for him. He gives Newt a tight, curt nod. “Yes, I’m well aware. I’m a great admirer of your work, Dr. Geiszler.”
Well, shit, the bartender did say he was a fan, but Newt didn’t realize that meant capital-f Fan. Maybe all these open mic nights have paid off. He smooths his hair back and shoots the guy his most charming smile. “Right on!” he says. “Awesome. Do you mean—like, you’ve been coming to see me play? Unless you mean my band? My old band. It’s a, a temporary hiatus, until things quiet down, you know, and then we’ll be back—”
The guy clears his throat. “Ah, neither, I’m afraid,” he says. “I meant your research, Dr. Geiszler. I’ve been following it closely for some time. I must say it’s quite a surprise to see you here.” He straightens his shoulders, like a kid trying to make himself look taller, and holds his hand out. “Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. I’ve only just officially joined up with the PPDC, but—”
“Oh!” Newt exclaims, and he shakes Gottlieb’s hand vigorously, his face splitting into a genuine smile. “Of course I know who you are!” It would be difficult for him not to: Gottlieb’s father was the one who founded the jaeger program in the first place, with (as Newt understands it) no small amount of help from Gottlieb himself. He’s seen the elder Gottlieb on TV and in photographs before, and he can see the vague familial resemblance in Dr. Hermann Gottlieb now.
Newt always assumed the alleged genius math-whiz son at the project’s helm would be some severe, distinguished, stuffy professor type at least ten years Newt's senior. Jesus, the guy’s barely older than Newt. “Shit, dude, I wasn’t expecting you to be so young,” he blurts out before he can help it.
Gottlieb actually snorts. “I might’ve said the same to you, if I hadn’t seen you speak in Zurich three years ago. The, ah, the Kaiju-Science Symposium. You gave a very nice talk. I considered introducing myself afterwards, but—” He trails off, flushing, and drops his eyes to the counter. The beer he sent Newt is sweating condensation down the side of its glass, and it pools in a small ring at the wood. He nods towards it. “You don’t have to drink that,” he says. “I was trying to be clever, but it feels a bit silly now.”
Newt picks up the pint glass and drains a third of it in one large sip, trying not to wince at the taste. (Look, Newt generally likes shitty beer, but he isn’t kidding about how bad this place waters their shit down. He’s not sure how Gottlieb’s already made it through almost an entire glass.) He wipes off his mouth off on his sleeve. “Are you kidding?” he says. “I’m not gonna turn down a free drink from a handsome stranger.”
Gottlieb’s generous ears go a little pink, but he looks pleased. “In that case,” he says, shifting his body towards Newt until their knees brush, “may I buy you another, Dr. Geiszler?”
“Newt. Feel free, Dr. Gottlieb.”
“You can call me Hermann, if you’d like,” Gottlieb says in a low voice. He looks at Newt through his dark eyelashes. “I’d like if you did.”
Newt feels suspiciously like he’s being flirted with. It’s only fair, because Newt is doing plenty of flirting himself, but it’s a little bewildering that Dr. Hermann Gottlieb (of jaeger program fame) of all people is the one engaging him in it. Young, hot, and flirty, in that awkward, inexperienced, stilted academic-type way. Newt recognizes it from experience. Maybe he’ll get lucky and they can swap their dot-edu emails to send each other links to long, effusive scientific journals and offer to do each other’s peer review. God, he’s getting hot just thinking about it. Hermann waves down the bartender and orders them two more watery beers.
“I was transferred here back in January,” Newt tells Hermann a few drinks later. They’re splitting a passable plate of cheese fries, the kind made with that weird school cafeteria nacho cheese that looks borderline radioactive. It was the only thing on the short appetizer menu the bar wasn’t out of. “It’s alright. I liked my last lab a lot better, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re moving me to Hong Kong in a few months anyway.” He drums his fingers on his knee, and drops his voice to add, “Between you and me, I think most of us are getting moved to Hong Kong in a few months.”
He doesn’t think this is news to Hermann, who probably knows significantly, intimately more about the rumored jaeger program defunding than Newt does. He doesn’t let on to Newt if that’s the case, instead picking up a cheese fry and twirling it idly back and forth between his long fingers. Some of the orange cheese drips to the countertop. Newt watches Hermann’s throat work as he swallows around nothing.
“It’s my understanding that the PPDC intends to station me in Hong Kong as well,” he finally says. “It’s why I’m here, in fact; I had a meeting with your acting Marshal this evening. He’ll be overseeing the Hong Kong operations and wished to recruit me to their research division.”
“No shit!” Newt exclaims. He’s just tipsy enough to act on the urge to swing his arm around Hermann’s shoulders and give him a companionable squeeze. Hermann goes rigid and drops the fry to the plate. “Well, at least I know there’s gonna be someone worth talking to when they eventually ship my ass off. Hey, maybe our labs will be near each other, that would be cool.”
“Perhaps,” Hermann agrees, and he glances at Newt from the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching into a small smile.
They pay their tab shortly after last call. Hermann insists on covering everything like a gentleman, and despite the bitter chill of the wind whipping against his face Newt is more than happy to linger with him afterwards in the alleyway outside the back door. He watches Hermann juggle the zipper of an oversized green parka and his cane—which Newt hadn’t noticed he uses until now—as he weighs the pros and cons of inviting Hermann back to the Shatterdome for the night.
It’s possible he’s been misreading this whole thing and mistaking genuine platonic and/or intellectual connection for something more. Newt’s never been very good at reading the room. On the other hand, Hermann has kind of been flirting with Newt, or at the very least he hasn’t rebuked Newt’s attempted flirtations, and Newt would really, really like to sleep with him. There’s very little Newt would like to do more at the moment (other than maybe get out of the cold).
Hermann clears his throat and helpfully solves Newt’s dilemma for him. “I would like to invite you back to my hotel room to have sex,” he says.
See, man, this is why Newt loves weird nerd flirting. Straight to the point. He should’ve known better than to doubt the intentions of someone even more awkward than him. “Awesome!” he says. “I’m down, dude. I’m so extremely—”
“—However,” Hermann continues, cutting him off cleanly, “I worry it may complicate our eventual working relationship if I do, given the inevitability of our having one once we are stationed together. What I mean is, Dr. Geiszler—I imagine we will be seeing a lot of each other very soon. It seems bad form to sleep with one’s coworker, doesn’t it?”
“Ehhh, I don’t know, Gottlieb, I think you’re erroneously applying ethics here. We aren’t coworkers yet.”
“We may as well be.”
Hermann’s cornered Newt up against the grimy alley wall. His brown eyes have gotten all dark, his eyelids heavy, and the way he’s looking at Newt is making Newt feel very warm. Newt fondles the zipper of the parka Hermann has so painstakingly done up and grins up at him. He thinks the coat is PPDC regulation. Didn’t Hermann mention something about doing his academy training in Russia? Newt wishes they bothered to set him up like that when he got moved here. They didn’t even give him a space heater, damn it. He had to buy one himself!
“Counterargument,” he says, creeping the parka’s zipper down. Hermann reaches up to toy with his hair. His fingers are cold when they brush Newt’s temple, and it sends pleasant goosebumps erupting across Newt’s skin. “There’s a war on: we could die tomorrow. It’s our inherent right in times like these to make dumbass decisions without worrying about the consequences. I do it all the time. You should try it. How long are you in town?”
“Until tomorrow evening.”
“So it’s now or never.”
“How dramatic,” Hermann murmurs.
“Yeah, well, if you’d introduced yourself in Zurich we could’ve had more time.”
Hermann’s smile fades. “You’re right,” he says, dropping his hand. “We could’ve.”
Newt feels like he’s ruined the moment somehow. Mildly embarrassed, he presses on, “I just mean that you could’ve tapped yourself some sweet Geiszler ass twice over by now, maybe even more than that, if you had pulled a move like tonight in Zurich. It’s just proving my point.”
“Which is?”
“That we should sleep together.”
To Newt’s relief, the corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches back up in amusement. He closes the distance between their bodies and pitches his voice low again. “I ought to confess I knew you would be here tonight,” he says. “In Anchorage, yes, but more specifically this bar. I asked after you at the Shatterdome earlier. I've wanted to meet you for some time.”
“That’s hot,” Newt says. He must’ve given one hell of a talk in Zurich to make that strong of an impression on the guy. Well, he's glad someone had fun at that conference. Hermann swipes his tongue out over his lower lip, wetting it.
“You left your guitar inside,” he says. “I’d hate for you to lose it. I only caught the end of your set, I'm afraid, but you play very well.”
“I’ll come back for it later. How far is your hotel from here?”
“Five minutes or so.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick it up on my way home tomorrow morning.”
Hermann laughs. “Oh, go on,” he says.
He leans in, cupping the side of Newt’s face, and Newt meets his kiss eagerly.
Newt likes Gottlieb. A lot, actually. Hot genius thing aside, he’s weird and funny in an acerbic way that Newt’s not even sure he’s aware of, and (as he slowly realizes, after Hermann’s teeth clumsily nick his tongue for the third time) even if he’s not a great kisser, he makes up for it in enthusiasm. Newt’s sure they'll get along great as co-workers.
i have commission to do BUT HEY WHAT IF THERE WAS A FIC LIKE THIS THO???!!!??????
LIKE NEWT BEING PURSUED BY HERMANN, OWEN, & SCIENCE BITCH OHMYGOSH
Like Newt was wishing there was someone cooler than Hermann (but still looked like Hermann) & there was someone who was classier than Hermann and sweeter (but still looked like Hermann) and his wish came true??!! and Hermann is like HEY I SAW HIM FIRST OhoHohohosdfsasdfa be careful what you wish for Newt
