#mechanic!scott

[jjsstars]

tw rarepair week 23: day 2, season 1 lydia/scott

|| for @teenwolfrarepairevents event

|| tags: alternative universe, mechanic!scott, bartender!lydia, underage drinking/working at a bar, creepy guys, protective scott mccall, slight angst, confessions, first kiss, somehow set in the summer but also s1 idk

After getting a side job at an automotive repair shop just outside of Beacon Hills, a way to get away from all the chaos of supernatural creatures, the last thing Scott expected to see was Lydia Martin working the bar attached to the shop. But after months of working in the same vicinity, he’s made a point not to go into the bar, assuming she came out here to escape Beacon Hills the same way he has.

Yet that’s where he stands, watching how she smiles with her glossy lips before pouring a drink for an older gentleman sitting at the bar.

Scott hesitates before making his way over to the bar, sitting furtherest away from all the other patrons. He didn’t even know teenagers could serve alcohol, but then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if the owners were paying Lydia under the table the same way they pay Scott.

“Hi Scott.” Lydia says nonchalantly as she wipes down a glass with a white towel that mirrors the one sticking out of the back pocket of her shorts. He makes a point not to stare at them, or at how tight they are, or how small her top is and how low cut it is. It’s nothing like what she usually wears, it makes Scott a little uncomfortable to see this much of Lydia, as though he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to. If anyone asked him how old he’d think Lydia was without knowing her he’d say in her early twenties, he wonders if being here makes him look older too.

If the grease on his hands and uniform add a couple years, or maybe that’s the newfound werewolf features. His fangs itch to come out, not in anger, not because of danger, but just to let them be free for a moment. To feel them in his mouth.

“You gonna order a drink?” He blinks himself away from his thoughts and nods, trying to think up a drink order.

“Whiskey, neat.” It’s what his dad would order, and Stiles’ dad, he knows because he sat in the bar next to them more than once as a kid. Stiles never did, Noah’s too good to do that shit, but Rafael definitely isn’t.

“Whiskey neat, enjoy.” The glass gets slid towards Scott, he quickly sips it, both out of how hot it is outside and how nervous he is being in a bar like this.

It feels all sorts of wrong to watch as Lydia laughs and jokes with the costumers, ignoring how their eyes linger on her chest, or how they make a point to hand her her tip just so their hands can linger a moment too long. It makes Scott feel sick, angry, he wants to slam their heads into the bar and ask what the hell they’re doing. Lydia’s eyes catch his own, probably seeing how hard he’s staring and how angry he is, he softens seeing Martin shoot him a reassuring smile.

“I deal with it everyday Scott, you don’t have to get all wound up.” She hustles back over and starts to pour more whiskey into the glass Scott didn’t even realize he finished. It’s not like he’ll get drunk anyways.

“It’s gross.” A small sigh escapes Lydia, she settles her elbows on the bar and leans towards Scott, looking a little exhausted in the action.

“Like I don’t see the girls out there harassing you when you’re trying to work.” She has a point, nobody knows either of them in this town so they assume it’s okay to flirt and get touchy with them. Scott’s always quick to politely decline and mutter up an excuse of having a girlfriend that doesn’t really exist, it doesn’t always make the people back off, but he cares about this job so he keeps his mouth shut.

“That’s different, you shouldn’t have to deal with those guys.” He side eyes the men talking amongst themselves, oblivious to Scott and Lydia even being in the room. Self centered assholes.

“And you should? Scott, it’s just part of the job, and I need this job so I handle it.” A piece of hair falls forward and without thinking Scott leans to push it back behind Lydia’s ear, fixing a few pieces so it looks like how she normally wears it.

“You’re too sweet to me.” Lydia’s hand wraps around Scott’s wrist, pulling his hand down from her face and dropping her head as she does. Scott frowns, he can smell the guilt on Lydia, the small hint of sadness that makes Scott’s heart squeeze.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” There’s a sheen layer of tears built in Lydia’s eyes, she looks over a moment, the group of men are leaving change and crumpled bills on the bartop before they stumble outside into the California desert heat.

“I was so mean to you and Stiles before, me and Jackson— we were assholes.” She huffs, Scott hates that she blames herself for the control Jackson had over her. Scott forgave her ages ago, and Stiles never even held a grudge in the first place.

“None of that matters now.” Instinctively Scott threads their fingers together, squeezing slightly to try and ease the hurt coming from Lydia.

“Still, I- I don’t think you’d be so nice to me if you knew that—.” She stops herself with a click of her mouth closing.

“What?” Lydia’s eyes level with Scott’s, her heart rate speeding up enough for concern to grow in McCalls chest.

“I like you. Like- really like you Scott, and I know you deserve someone better than me and—.” His lips are pressed into Lydia’s before he can think about it, cupping his free hand around her cheek and not daring to open his eyes in fear of this all being a dream. Martin kisses him back just as deeply and desperately, leaning herself in as close as she can get with the bar still acting as a barrier.

“Your fangs are out.” She pulls back with blown pupils watching how Scott’s tongue flicks across his teeth, she’s right, he doesn’t know when they came out.

“Sorry.” He mutters and tries to get them to go back up but it’s not working all that well, he isn’t good at that type of selective control yet.

“No, it’s okay, I like it.” She smiles into another kiss, Scott forgets about his fangs.

[salemoleander]

Double Life is so funny to reflect on

bc at the time it was (given 3L -> LL game mechanics and how each game evolved from the last) clearly intended to help with balancing; assigning random pairs to try to alleviate the skill disparity of his friends. And then we get to see Grian real-time speedrun the 5 Stages of Creator's Grief as he realizes that RNG has somehow striated everyone by skill level

But in retrospect, as a piece of narrative, it is one of the most compelling and enduring seasons to engage with. It resulted in pairs that betrayed deep and fascinating character traits. Without a mechanic literally forcing them together we never would've gotten a season of only pairs; a season where Impulse & Bdubs married via clock, where Cleo & Martyn had so many solo discussions, where Joel & Etho burned together in the end. Their similarities, RNG be damned, were precisely the thing that made the season so fucking good.

[dredgesnails]

after watching most povs for session 3 of wild life i think there are two crucial errors nearly everyone who died to their snails made (other than just, like, panicking or not figuring things out quick enough at the start)

the first was to assume there was some way of defeating the snails and experimenting with all manner of things (a wall between them, drowning them, going to the nether etc etc) which ultimately lead to them realising the hard way that there's no way to kill the snails. the second was rapidly moving from one side of the map to the other in an attempt to run from the snails, resulting in players losing sight of their snails thus leading to them being blindsided a number of times (tango...). there were a few other reasons of course, but i think almost most deaths can be attributed to one of these two things.

if you look at the five who didn't die to their snails too, they figured out pretty quickly the best ways to stay safe. gem and joel actually managed to get a wall and cowpen built just by keeping their snails close enough to keep an eye on at all times, and they might have experimented with a few things but they were vigilant enough about it to stay safe. lizzie went mining (on her own!!!) and managed not to die (and also didn't nearly die the way grian and mumbo did). cleo and scott moved across the map a lot more than these three but iirc they didn't try to kill or hinder their snails, they just made sure they stayed away from them at all times.

[incandescent-mushroom]

people watching Teen Wolf (apparently??): Scott is a neurotypical boring character with no vulnerabilities or nuance

Scott McCall: in response to an extremely traumatic series of event in which my agency and bodily autonomy were wrenched out of my control at the age of 16, i am now tying my self-worth directly to the well-being of every single person in this town (including those who have repeatedly tried to kill or actively harm me) and if i ever ‘fail’ to save someone i probably deserve to die or suffer a bunch more than i already have :))). also, the narrative has emphasized at multiple points that i will sacrifice myself not only out of compassion but because of a deeper feeling of complete worthlessness in the face of my own limitations. i am desperately sidelining my own past as much as possible yet my PTSD is still shaping how i try to act out the values of kindness and mercy (sometimes to rigid or illogical extremes) because these qualities weren’t shown to me when i was at my most vulnerable. it feels like someone trapped a monster under my skin and even though i am trying to use my abilities for good, it’s still hard to unlearn the pure terror and pain that i associate with becoming a werewolf against my will :)))

[skrimbloz]

scott a little drawing here for ya on this fine evening

[edutainer2022]

The convoluted dynamics between the Mechanic and Scott keeps fascinating me, as they're antagonistic/contrasting characters, but also mirrors. This is a bit of a darker spin on the issues that drive them and inform mutual (explosive) reactions. I left the ending open to interpretation (hopefully!). Maybe there's hope for a road to a working relationship. Maybe there's more than one. Maybe it's a dead-end, or a clean slate.

Many thanks to @janetm74, as always, for bearing with the twilight of my mind.

CW: mention of implied past assault and mental torture. Nothing graphic.

MEANINGS

The way that day started, he would never have guessed how it would end. Yet there he was. There they were.

The morning met a round up of a grueling overnight rescue. For the first time since the neurolink to the Hood had been severed, they tried out several of his customized mechas on a rescue for difficult to reach places. The Illustrious Commander was, of course, vocally against the field test. Or granting him any more access to their systems beyond what was necessary for the T-drive. No surprise there. But Brains was excited, and with a helfty support from the orbit, the Commander was outvoted and outgunned. In the end, the rescue nearly cost the Commander's life anyway, when the idiot ventured further beyond where his mechas would go. Beyond what was prudent, humanly possible, or sane. The Mechanic had long got his own suspicions, but that night - he saw red.

Technically, it was the next morning, when he stormed the locker room showers in the hangars. Thunderbird One was the last one back to the island, held back on site by reporting to the local authorities. Or maybe delaying the inevitable. He suspected the other Tracies were giving their Intrepid Leader a wider berth before the debrief. The Mechanic had no such qualms.

He yanked the stall door so hard - the hinges keened. Paying no heed to the scalding water blasting from the showertop, he slammed the younger man face first against the wall, an effective chokehold immobilizing his any attempt to wrestle free or fight back. The Mechanic saw Scott spar with Kayo or with his brothers in the island gym, on occasion. More often he would pummel the equipment, working through whatever demons haunted him. The Mechanic was certain he was at least one of those. Scott was good in a scrap. Very good. But with at least five inches and fifty pounds on him, Scott was currently no match to the Mechanic's FURY. He was so angry his voice went hoarse:

"Listen up! You wanna get yourself killed - that's between you and whatever the heck you believe in. But don't you DARE use me as a TOOL to punish yourself EVER AGAIN! I won't be your flagelation puppet! You pull another stint like that - you can build your own damn T-drive!"

He was panting, the blinding ire had winded him. It took a moment to realize Scott wasn't struggling against his firm grip. In fact, the man was completely still, each muscle and sinue stiff, thrumming with tension like a live wire. Frozen. He was expecting a lashing out. A showdown. He'd have welcomed it, in fact. The tension building for weeks from the very bowels of the dormant volcano got him antsy. He was ready to erupt. And so was the Tracy Commander. But from the vantage point of his height the Mechanic could see blue eyes squeeze shut. The hiss came out stifled, like Scott's airways were closing up:

"Go ahead... Get it over with..."

Only then it occurred to the Mechanic how dubious the situation was. The realization rippled a chill through his veins, despite the heat of the running shower, rapping over his back. He looked up Scott Tracy's GDF file way back in the Hood's thrall. The classified parts and the ones Tracy Sr. made sure were stricken from the record altogether. The Mechanic knew firsthand what it felt like to have no control over one's own body. Over one's own mind. And now he was nearly perpetrating the same brand of violence. Or so Scott's triggered instincts read into his intent. His hands let go of the other man's body almost automatically and took a step back. Horrified. Through the fog of the scalding water he could see the rigid body start shaking, leaning against the wall. That particular clash was far from over, he understood as much. But they didn't exactly do apologies, so without another word he stalked out.

***

He expected nothing less than a throw of hands when Scott Tracy next showed up in his workshop. Technically, it was a portion of Hiram's labs, allocated to him, complete with sleeping quarters and even a bathroom of his own. He WAS cordially offered guest rooms on the upper levels of the villa, but he knew better than to accept. His current status didn't bode well with broad daylight out in the open. Besides, he preferred not to stray far away from the T-drive specs and test simulations. In case inspiration struck at odd hours, which it frequently did.

Surprisingly enough, Scott Tracy was not seeking a fight. Or immediate termination of his arrangement. Or a lawsuit for aggravated assault. Which would be a moot point anyway, since the Mechanic was technically a fugitive. His jailer, Rigby, definitely reported he didn't exactly comply to being released into the Tracies' custody before the Hex exploded.

He wasn't quite sure either if Scott Tracy was seeking oblivion or offering a truce, when he stepped into the workshop at a small enough hour of the night, brandishing a bottle of scotch. The Mechanic wasn't a conossieur of top shelf alcohol, but he knew enough to recognize the Macallan 1926 single malt that could easily pay for most of Zero-XL deep space supplies. It took several minutes of comically shuffling among the battery of cups, amassed through long hours of agonising over failed T-drive tests, but they finally poured two fingers each. They were drinking a century and a half old scotch out of chipped, coffee-stained novelty mugs. In complete silence. The Mechanic didn't feel like pursuing a fight after the incident in the showers. Or a more recent one, in the hangars. He gave Scott the space to speak first. Or not. A flash of blue finally turned to him.

"I'm sorry."

That was new. Apparently, they WERE doing apologies. But the Mechanic needed a bit more context to go on, so he took another sip in carefully crafted quiet.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like a tool. Again. I didn't think... it would hurt you thus."

Hurt was a word he didn't expect. But couldn't but appreciate. Hurt rarely featured in any conversation around his previous gig as Hood's henchman, if it were not the hurt he inflicted. There was definitely no shortage of the latter. He raised the cup in acknowledgement and the tension in the blue eyes eased up a faint bit. He took an extra minute to consider his own words.

"I'm sorry for lashing out. You scared me."

Maybe it was the second helping of scotch talking. He was almost befuddled to pinpoint the truth of it. His inventions had never been heretofore used to save. Only to destroy. And on the first try they failed. He could hardly ever imagine regretting not saving Scott Tracy, of all people, yet there they were.

A mirthless bark of a laugh broke through his impromptu reverie.

"You're new here. You'll get used to it!"

Maybe it was scotch talking too. Maybe Scott Tracy was so accustomed to his own self-destruction mode, he didn't see the points of no return anymore. Didn't see the point anymore. The Mechanic could certainly drink to that. But his newfound freedom, newfound lease on life, and with it - newfound PURPOSE, made him hyperaware of such all too familiar mindset. He wasn't Scott Tracy's sibling, or friend, or mentor. He wouldn't roll over and let the man martyr himself on the altar of his perceived failures. Several days ago he probably wouldn't believe himself ever thinking that. Definitely the scotch talking. Yet there they were.

***

They could certainly attribute the rest of the night to the rest of the scotch. It didn't come to words between them beyond that, but it did come to a showdown. His split and swollen lip and a bruise blooming on the edge of Scott's jaw would tell a story, come dawn. Definitely scotch talking.

The eruption was inevitable, as they probably both knew - tension cackling in the space between resentment and recognition. Speaking of live wires. He maybe should have been aware Scott was still chasing retribution for himself. He might have been aware he was still on a mission to reclaim control by all means. For a brief, cathartic while it didn't matter. So there they were. Back to square one.

[ooooo-mcyt]

Also I'll be honest while I get why some people say Pearl should have been able to decide the conditions of her win in Double Life, like..mechanically speaking..I don't see how they could have fought. Like, Scott and Pearl shared damage, guys, I feel like a fight to the death would have been..difficult to figure out and also super arbitrary. Like I see you, "What if Pearl wanted an actual fight?" crowd but I don't know how that works and I think one of them killing themself was probably, mechanically, the only way that was going to work? So I really don't mind at all that Scott decided she deserved to win and blew himself up

[thirdtimed]

looking forward to the extremely convoluted ways the previous winners are going to sabotage themselves so that they dont end up winning again next season

[sapphia]

okay hear me out. dream teams for next season:

grian & etho (grian wants it soooo much, please etho 🥺)

jimmy & scar (chaos incarnate, and i want them to torment grian)

joel & scott (scott's had so much betrayal this season, he deserves a loyal teammate)

cleo and tango (*marge voice* i just think they're neat)

skizz and bdubz (wholesome, i think they’d be hopeless but they’d have fun)

pearl and impulse (i think they both have interesting ideas, are loyal to their team, and could be kinda dangerous working together)

bigb and martyn (bigb was so untrusting this season and martyn is so untrustworthy. i want to watch them like bugs under a microscope)

[ender1821]

so. uh. Wild Life finale huh

[jjsstars]

tw rarepair week 23: day 3, soulmates au cora/scott/lydia

|| for @teenwolfrarepairevents event

|| this is in the same au as this post with bartender!lydia & mechanic!scott

|| tags: soulmates au, bartender!lydia, mechanic!scott, set after canon

Cora takes a second to steady herself once she steps out of the old rusted truck she bought with the little money she saved up, refusing to spend any of Derek’s or Peters. They don’t know she’s coming back to Beacon Hills, nobody does, not that she keeps in touch with anyone but her family but still. She’ll be surprising everyone.

The gas station/mechanic shop/bar she stops at makes her cringe, it’s run down and dusty from the sand under her feet, the sign for the mechanic shop is turned off in the late hour but the bar is still open. Technically all Cora needed was gas but she’s half an hour away from Beacon Hills and unsure if she’s really ready to show up on her brothers door step, she decides getting a drink from the bar will ease her.

Stepping into the bar is announced by a loud squeak of the doors, which catches the attention of the two people inside. The bartender is hard to see behind the guy who’s sat on a bar stool with an empty glass in front of him, they’ve both stopped talking, not turning towards Cora but probably listening to every move she makes. She steps to the bar and slides herself onto a stool despite it, it’s too late in the night to care about strangers judging her.

“What can I get for you—?” The bartenders voice dies with an abrupt suck in of air, Cora’s head lifts to look up and- Lydia Martin?- shit.

“Uh- sorry, uh, what can I get for you?” Lydia throws on a quick smile and tries to act like she doesn’t know who’s sitting in front of her, part of Cora appreciates it, she probably knows Cora’s not supposed to be here.

“Just a soda.” She croaks out before Lydia’s turning on her heels to grab a cup that she quickly fills with sprite, it’s what Cora would’ve ordered but she doesn’t know why or how Lydia would know that.

“Here you go, uh- I- I think Scott recognizes you.” Lydia’s head nods towards the other side of the bar, and sure enough Scott McCall is sitting there, mouth dropped open and eyes wide like he just saw a ghost. Cora could laugh at how he still resembles a puppy dog if she wasn’t halfway mortified that he’s about to call Derek.

“Hi there.” She says with a small quirked brow when Scott’s mouth slams shut and he starts to fumble with the mechanic uniform jacket he has on. Cora glances back to Lydia, she shrugs to say she has no idea what he’s doing either, and just as Cora goes to ask, Scott’s suddenly shoving himself into the seat beside her.

“You’re you- or- I knew that but- but it’s you, both of you.” He rambles and Hale has the sudden realization of what the hell he’s talking about. What they said, what Scott just said, it’s scrawled across her ribs right below what Lydia said. It’s them.

“Look, look.” Her eyes land on Scott’s ribs where he lifts the grease covered tank top he has on, sure enough, it all matches. The same spot and same words.

“Fuck me.” Lydia says in a half laugh as she holds her own shirt up. They all match, the three of them, Cora doesn’t even need to check, she just knows. She’s memorized those words since they appeared on her fifth birthday, she always dreamed about meeting her soulmates. The idea of have two only making her want to meet them more, made her long deeper.

“Wait but I’ve met you two before.” It obviously doesn’t matter but she still has to say it.

“But we’ve never been in the same place all at once.” Scott says with an affirming nod from Lydia that yes, he’s right, Cora smiles with it. She knows Lydia’s a genius of some sort and Scott looking to her makes her heart warm.

“What’re you even doing here?” Shit, she has to say it.

“Uh- I’m going to Derek’s, I left where I was and have kinda been aimlessly driving around. Ended up here.” Maybe it was the universe pulling her towards her soulmates, fate of some type. Maybe it’s not the fucked up early twenties breakdown she thought it was.

“You should come home with us.” Scott jumps to say, that half cracked grin on his face that Cora’s only see in the pictures Derek’s shared with her. There was too much chaos and life or death going on for her to see it in person, till now, it’s definitely better in person.

“You two live together?” They nod.

“We started working here together back when Scott was first bit, now we have an apartment together, it’s in the same building as Derek’s loft.” The redhead summarizes as she pours a drink, presumably for herself since neither Scott or Cora can get drunk.

“Are you dating?” Another nod.

“We figured we’d break up when we finally met our soulmates but it’s you so we don’t have to. And- and we don’t have to start dating right away, there’s a second bedroom in the apartment and it’s there rent free if you want it.” Scott smells of nerves and a small bit of hope, Cora hesitates just a moment but leans to kiss his cheek. His skin warms her lips, she can feel how he smiles with the action and it brings a sense of comfort to her.

“You are very cute. And yes, I will come stay with you guys. The longer I avoid Derek and Peter the better.” She huffs once she pulls back, ignoring that Lydia’s typing away on her phone and might’ve just taken a picture of them.

“Well let’s go, we were supposed to close an hour ago anyways. And we can talk more on the ride home.” Lydia finishes her glass off before flipping the switch to turn off the neon sign that sits above the bar. She takes both Cora and Scott’s hand as they walk out, Cora happily lets her and lets Scott pile them all into Cora’s truck while saying they’ll be back here tomorrow to work anyways so leaving Scott’s car isn’t a big deal.

[omegamoo]

thinking about how pearl won double life. she won it! she won the game where she was hated, where she was the odd one out, where almost everyone was loved except for her and she won! she defied the game. pearl won the game that hated her the most can you hear me in a game of love pearl was hated and she won its about defiance its about persistence its about love im sorry its still about love

[saym0-0]

i will never understand people criticising life series mechanics/choices like? did you not have fun? did you not enjoy the chaos and watching people hunt someone down/be hunted down by something else? like idk some of the stuff in life series i find the most fun to watch i go online/to fandom spaces after and see the most criticism for and i just. dont understand. do you not enjoy the series for what it is? does it have to be perfectly balanced to be fun for you all?

[gumnut-logic]

Random flyby whump scene

This one is @idontknowreallywhy ‘s cat’s fault. (Though I have to say that the cat wasn’t the one who disseminated details across to the other side of the planet :D So @idontknowreallywhy is definitely an accomplice in crime :D )

It’s just a scene. Sorry that I’m not up to writing a whole story right at the moment, but I hope this generates some interesting images in any case :D

Oh, and all the language warnings - Scotty is NOT a happy boi.

-o-o-o-

“It’s fucking cahelium!”

He snapped. One fucking straw too many and this asshole-

“Commander, that is enough!” His father’s cold voice cut across everything and Scott froze.

Just like Pavlov’s fucking dog.

He swallowed bile.

But his father was right. They did not have time. “Has Brains found a solution?”

“Brains agrees with Michael. We will use Thunderbird Three to lift Two and hopefully reach Virgil.” Dad’s voice was calm and a balm on Scott’s frayed nerves. “Hopefully there will be no need to cut into her hull.”

Michael was stoic as all hell and Scott knew he should be the same. But there was something about the green baldric the former Mechanic was wearing. Muddy and stained as any of them.

But not buried under 406 tonnes of Thunderbird plus the landslide that had destabilised her perch on the side of the mountain. Both men had been under Virgil’s ‘bird having just finished packing up and boarding her to take off for home.

And Michael wasn’t the one buried because Virgil had sacrificed himself to throw the man free.

Scott was a professional, he was, really was, despite the cracks in what was left of his facade, and his beloved brother needed saving.

“Three is on her way.” Again his father’s voice through comms stabilised the fear churning in Scott’s belly. “Gordon is with Alan.”

“Good.”

Michael’s shoulders dropped just slightly under his uniform.

Scott grit his teeth.

Virgil had formed a good working relationship with Michael, often teaming up with the mechanic on situations that required all the engineering skill sets. Today had been like any other. Pulling living and dead out of a village that had been a safe place for hundreds of years…until climate change dried out the forests on the mountains above and then burnt them to the ground. Storms churning off the warming oceans increased the precipitation higher up and the lack of ground cover led to erosion and then things like this happened.

Far too often.

Scott had to admit that Michael was excellent in the danger zone.

But right now he was walking free while Virgil was buried under his ‘bird.

And Scott hated him for it.

-o-o-o-

[apriltempleos]

october 1st 2024: drafts!

preacher: i'm attaching slightly improved versions of our original drafts, but i'll also include mine and scott's garbage sketches under the cut because i think they're a little bit funny

(image id available through tumblr's accessibility options)

this is a slightly revised version of my original concept for "APRIL".

the main functionality i wanted for "APRIL" was for her to be able to read out words from the templeOS god word app, and ideally without needing keyboard input – hence the microphone. ideally all of her parts are going to fit inside a hollowed out mannequin or doll, which will probably just be the torso, so that she's more portable. for the same reason, i want her to run off a power bank – i want to be able to take her places!

if we manage, we're going to give her an animated LED face which moves to indicate when she's speaking. the way i first pitched it, i wanted it to also change a bit depending on how she "felt" – for example, frowning if the environment was hotter than ideal for the raspberry pi to operate on. but that's a bit beyond our current scope right now. i don't think we even ordered a thermostat.

scott drew the following wiring diagrams based off my original sketch. here revised digitally for readability's sake.

(image id available through the tumblr accessibility options although i fear it's not very good in this case. feedback appreciated).

scott: I decided to go with the raspberry pi zero 2w because it's what I've got experience coding on, it's relatively cheap for the "brains" of the operation (heh) and can perform both tasks from the godword prophecy generation, speaker operation and led matrix operation simultaneously. Plus its small enough to keep the circuit lightweight and fit inside the initial mannequin design.

This drawing fits no kind of engineering standard by the way lol. It was an initial sketch closer to a wiring diagram to see how it'd physically setup and wrap my head around transforming it from mains power to being theoretically portable and running on powerbanks. Unfortunately the LED matrix is really fucking power hungry so needs its own power supply of really specific voltage and current draws hence all the converters.

Also because Im using the smaller and cheaper pi, as oppossed to a stronger system like the pi4, it doesn't have any audio out jack so I plan to use the micro usb for audio out which means yet again I need another adapter for a soundcard and usb to micro usb adapters and all that jazz. Usually sound out can be done through the GPIO pins but the LED matrix takes so many pins that I cant really take anything form them so I had to look for other ways of doing it. Plus this way I get to add a soundcard so if we wanna add microphone support or anything later on we can :)

(Also this is all a little obtuse because I'm trying to do it as much as plug and play and screw terminal style as possible rather than actually solder connections for ease of access and initial setup, but this also works for modular design and component swapping later too so its cool.)

preacher: another reason we're going with plug&play is becauuseeeeee i don't own a soldering iron 😭 it's ok. it's ok.

our silly initial drafts under the cut for your viewing pleasure.

preacher: these were made around 2 weeks ago, so about september 15th ish.

as you can see the first "APRIL" drawing was beautifully drawn with my fat fingers in the facebook messenger photo editor. i think it holds up. lol.

[edutainer2022]

So I survived the first ten hours of today's carpet bombing (yay!). The jury's still out on the rest of it. As a distraction, I've tinkered with yet another thing set to explore the Mechanic and Scott as foils. In the middle of the night, after a rescue gone bad the Mechanic gets some unsolicited insights and food for thought. Many, many thanks to @janetm74 for cheering me on!

SILENCES IN BETWEEN

One landing down in the hangar was not easy to miss, yet he tried to habitually tune the noise out. The disembarking mechanisms would soon shift the Thunderbird's pilot either up through the shute or to the lockers area. Either way the Commander would be out of his hair soon enough. He just needed to brace himself and weather the landing without confrontation. It was the dead of night. The island was silent. The big green bird and its pilots were out on the mainland, along with the kid and the Hood's niece. Brains called it a day after nine hours straight of futile struggle over the T-drive calculations. The stubborn faulty numbers were currently keeping the Mechanic awake. He heard One leave for a call out, but didn't follow the rescue chatter. Now it was obviously over and if he was lucky, the Commander wouldn't rile him up over yet another delay. He just needed to sit tight for several minutes more and then go back to work. It was in the forced tense interval that he noticed the sounds that usually heralded the pilot leaving for upper levels of the villa never came. No levers creaking, no footsteps. Just the eery quiet.

If asked, he'd deny worry ever entered the rationale of his peeking out of the T-drive platform into the vaster hangars area. Not worry for Scott Tracy, at least. Maybe worry for his time-sensitive work being potentially derailed by the idiot having faceplanted from the landing patch.

Scott Tracy was standing on solid ground, however. If maybe leaning too heavily on One's landing berth, eyes squeezed shut. Blue neoprene on one of his arms was torn through, saturated liberally with blood. The eyes that opened next gave the Mechanic pause - usually bright color was almost black with strain, vacant, like the IR Commander was seeing ghosts. The ashen face contorted against a scream, threatening to break containment. The Mechanic was surprised to witness such raw, undiluted grief in someone he had chalked up to be too full of holier than thou grandeur. Scott Tracy swayed on his feet and the Mechanic felt himself rushing down the platform scaffolding.

"That looks like it might need a clean-up."

The voice that would usually have the Commander up in arms clearly didn't register. The younger man flinched instinctively from his reaching arm, but the gaze was still glazed over, unseeing. Haunted. Scott Tracy going into shock on him definitely trumped the faceplant. The Mechanic tightened the grip on the man's good arm and steered him to the workshop allocated to him personally. First aid kits were in more ample supply on the island than palm trees. Scott didn't object per se, but did struggle to put one foot in front of the other. He was yet to utter a sound. Somehow that worried the Mechanic more.

He finished up tying the bandages and once again nodded towards the syringe of painkillers only to receive another headshake no. In between the two of them they managed to unclasp the baldric and to peel off the top of the IR uniform which was now tied around Scott's waist - the good sleeve and the blood-stained stump the Mechanic cut off with cahelium sheers. By the time he was done with the patchwork of the wounds, the Commander was pale to the point of looking grey and the Mechanic could swear he heard the younger man's teeth grit. There was nothing much more to say.

Scott moved to stand up and the Mechanic just about managed to catch the blanched Thunderbird by the midriff.

"Whoa! Easy there!"

"I'm fine."

That was the first full sentence Scott had uttered so far and it was such a blatant lie the Mechanic had to stifle a snort.

"Not by my standard you're not! Which is a pretty low threshold, I gotta tell you."

He shifted Scott's torso in the general direction of the cot he got set up in his private working area for long nights of calculations or insomnia.

"There! How about you lie down a bit?"

He wasn't a Good Samaritan by any stretch of imagination or by trade, but the idea of chaperoning the barely coherent Commander all the way up to the residential floor (and possibly holding vigil, because nobody else was readily available and the guy just wouldn't let himself black out safely) didn't exactly appeal to him. It would also take precious time off the T-drive. Murky blue eyes blinked up at him, owlishly.

"They're dead. I didn't save them."

The Mechanic figured as much. If he felt like it he could probably hack into the rescue records or video feed, but it was pretty self evident. Thunderbird One failed. What didn't quite compute for him was the sheer GUILT that came with the territory. Not self-pity but punishment, the need to deny oneself basic care or consolation. He didn't yet know what to do with the fact Scott Tracy unironically believed he owed the world to save it.

The man in his hold was trembling, literally standing on his last leg.

"Do I need to call your Grandma?"

Another small headshake nearly got the blue eyes rolling back. The Mechanic took a hasty stride and helped deposit Scott's frame onto the cot. He then turned away, giving his unexpected guest room to feel he probably wouldn't get, if surrounded by family. Well-meaning and obviously caring, they were, nevertheless, bearing down with an expectation of a happy resolution to pain. An endgame. An ever after. The Mechanic was developing a hunch he and Scott Tracy were at the opposite ends of the same tether, though - an ignition cord of shame, loathing, despair, self-destruction. Each holding a lighter.

The stifled sobs came soon enough and he busied himself with the holo projections of T-drive specs. When the quiet weeping subsided into keening and then faded into even, if labored, breathing, the Mechanic moved to turn around. He made a quick errand to the adjacent workshop, favored by Brains, and came back with a tattered, lopsided knitted blanket. It was obviously designed for someone shorter and younger than Scott Tracy, but it would have to do. The young man's face was stricken with tear marks and there were beads of sweat on the forhead. The Mechanic paused to consider his options and reached to check for fever. The frown of the pallid features deepened as a tear escaped from the closed lids.

"I'm sorry, Dad! I'm so sorry..."

He froze, hand hovering over the clammy skin. The low grade fever was definitely in place and the Mechanic really wished someone intervened and took Mr. No Painkillers off his plate lest it got worse. But the island was still calm and appeared deserted at that hour. Fifty two thousands miles above Thunderbird Five was probably busy dealing with whatever tragedy had unraveled, or grieving too, in the aftermath. The Mechanic was, therefore, it. Oh, the irony!

The rest of the night was a blur of studiously avoided fever mumbles, a minor breakthrough with the T-drive calibrations, and general exhaustion. He stumbled off at the crack of dawn to grab a shower and an early coffee before the island erupted with frenzy, catching up with the night events. Coming back with a steaming mug, he found his nook empty. Cut off neoprene and bloody gauze was cleared out. The cot was made neatly and the flimsy blanket folded with military precision.

The Mechanic shrugged, took a liberal gulp of coffee and fired the holo console back up. He would need to show Brains the new results once the engineer was done fawning over the distressed Commander. He knew the cleanest break from the whole conundrum would be to never speak of it again. The dopey DIY cover taking up permanent residence in his workshop went uncontested.