#punchy chello

[micerhat]

Just Shi and Punchy, fixing each other and lecturing each other. @ifridiot <3 thank you for the card btw!!!!!!

[ifridiot]

7 Min heaven for Punchy, 7 Min hell for Bottler, 7 Min lecture of why its generally a bad idea to compose a robot of nothing but fucking hands for Punchy while she holds her hands over Handerson's auditory receptors.

Seven Minutes of Trying to Get Shi to Even Come Within Thirty Feet of and Enclosed Space Containing Bottler

[micerhat]

Haven’t drawn Prudence in a while so why the heck not? Have a Punchy!

[micerhat]

1/3

:D @ifridiot

[micerhat]

Because I’m fucking around with pencils and this just came into being. Yeee.

[micerhat]

Eh, old work?  Why not.

[micerhat]

I think the first stuff of yours I saw was a reference of Handerson, to which I immediately thought, "That's a fucking amazing concept and design for a robot." Then later on I got to know your troupe through Shi and was really impressed with their strong character voices/dialogue and good-story-conflict-ready relationships and personalities.

Much love to all of you that put up with my OCs. 

And me.

[ifridiot]

a cliche pose, i guess, but I’m pretty happy with the result after I cropped this. Punchy n Shi are my favourites.

@micerhat

[ifridiot]

Love

((follows Genuine and the associated fics. for @micerhat))

The silence was going to kill him, long before any damage from the explosion would.

It had been touch and go at first, when he’d just come back online and something had been rattled in his head, keeping him from focusing, from storing mem.dat, from staying awake. He obviously can’t quite remember exactly what all had happened – there’s an impression though, of hot panic and furious action, of her in that hyper-focused state she gets into, of Dowel and Gage helping from the sidelines as she got his head back together.

She’d been talking then, a constant mutter as she helped stabilize and repair him. He could remember that, though not anything she’d actually said. Just the comfort of the sound.

Worse than the silence was knowing what lay behind it. And that he’d brought it on himself.

If he would have been grateful, or at least gracious, upon waking, she’d still be talking. The fact that he’d bitten everyone’s head off, including hers, after she’d gone through so much on his behalf – it was worse than his usual grouchiness. It was assholery of the highest caliber on his part, and he was – and this was hard to admit, even to himself – ashamed.

He’d chased her off and holed up, trying to mask shattered pride and swelling depression with anger. It hadn’t sparked a fight – might have been easier if it had. She’d just left, and that had been it, but he knew even as she went that his behavior – his anger – had sparked something in her.

At the very least, the silence gave him time to think.

Shi loved Punchy.

It was never a quite a secret; while most things were hidden in Shi Carlton’s life, this was a gentle exception.

Everyone who mattered knew he loved Punchy, though it was never outright stated. Everyone knew it, like how they understood the sky was blue and the grass was green. Except the sky wasn't always blue, sometimes it was a bruised and livid purple, and the grass had the habit of dying off in patchy, bristled yellows and browns. But the sky was still blue if you asked someone. The grass was always green, even when it was not.

And so he loved Punchy. And when he thought about it, it was one of the most wonderful things in his life.

He loved Punchy. And it wasn't even one thing about her, it was more a combination of a million and one different aspects about the brilliant mechanist that made Shi, in his dull and private way, swoon.

He loved her fearless attitude, the way she always thought she knew the answer to everything – and said so. He loved Punchy's succinct and clever work theories and analytic method of looking at everything like it was something to study. The way she acted as if nothing in the world could touch her if she didn't will it.

Shi loved a lot of things more. So very unlike himself, she had a smile for everyone and every occasion, ranging from sincere and gentle-sweet to bitter and malice-laced. When she laughed, how she sometimes shook her head slightly as though she couldn't believe something was actually amusing. That way she pursed her lips when thinking. Arched her eyebrows when in doubt. Always looked so together and poised that it made Shi feel bizarrely inadequate.

It was strange to realize the depth of his love and how willing he was to bend his normally rigid self for her. He loved her in a way he rarely loved anyone, a way that was not familial or platonic, a way that refused to allow him any cynical, clinical distance from her. He missed her when she was gone and welcomed her return no matter what terms they’d parted on. She made him feel comfortable and good without his feeling like something had to be sacrificed for that feeling.

He loved how Punchy always seemed to welcome him. The smaller human waved his abrasive attitude off like it was nothing. She’d never acted like he was someone to fear; whatever she might have felt that first night she’d come to his shop, she’d always behaved like Shi Carlton was just another name to her, even knowing the things someone in her line of work had to know about a machine like him. Never like he was the unapproachable jerk he tried so hard to present to the world. She behaved like he was a good guy, or at last had the capacity to be one.

It’s not anything he would ever, ever admit, but he loves the way Punchy can reduce his arguments into wordless grinding of teeth in under five minutes, cutting him down to size and putting him in a place he was unfamiliar with. He loves that smirk she gets when she knows she’s winning. That slight flash of triumph and satisfaction that crosses her features and seems to brighten her whole form. The soft exhale that spoke a thousand words and still told him absolutely nothing of what she was thinking.

Shi loved her lips, those rare and quirky smiles, and the thin hands that could have belonged to an artist. The brittle bones that jutted out on her skinny, wiry frame. The arch of her neck. The hard skeleton of her knuckles. The graceful curve of her legs; the way Punchy liked to stretch and cross them at the ankles if she was sitting back in a chair. How she laid out, feline and graceful across the length of the couch, whether he was already sitting there or not.

It was a minor sort of blessing when she visited the garage, even to do nothing more than chat for a few minutes about this project or that. He was delighted by her, hard as he tried not to make that obvious.

Rather than feeling his usual disgust, he’s entranced by the soft feel of her fingers when she gently cups her hand against his face, directing him to look at something he’d missed or that she simply found interesting. He’s memorized the strangest things about her; watched when Punchy brushed the rounded end of a pen over softly defined cheekbones, lost in thought as she poured over schematics. And the way she mumbled in annoyance when she was sleepy. And the way her rich brown hair, unbound and freed from both hat and scarf, kept falling into her face as they work together on the splayed guts of some machine, making her sigh in exasperation and flick back the lock with a grace and ease that was a sort of purely natural magic.

The only thing he hated about Punchy was how much he loved her; the responsibility of caring so much for a human being, someone he couldn’t take apart and fix if they got hurt, was terrifying in a way he couldn’t look at head on.

He shuddered when he thought of the way Punchy sometimes gave him scornful looks before reaching out and brushing a cobweb or flakes of dust or rust off his shoulder. As though being dirty wasn't a good look for him – like he cared about that sort of thing.

As though the pale scrapper wasn't poisoning him with the way she chewed her lip in contemplation, or skimmed circles with her fingers on the nearest surface when preoccupied.

He loved her. Loved with a vicious, dark and ugly sort of intensity, for that was the only way he knew how. It was not tenderness but something reluctant and sharp that crept unwillingly over his expression when he saw the woman.

“I’m sorry.”

The words escape his vox softly, startling him a little because he hadn’t thought he was going to speak. He feels her looking at him, the optics of her mask concentrating on his faceplate. It’s impossible for him to look at her for a long moment, but she is relentless and he is not enough of a coward to just pretend he hadn’t spoken.

Meeting her eyes, he clenches his teeth, doing his best not to fidget while she’s still got tools and pins in his broken hand. It’s not the first time he’s had to apologize to her, but this isn’t that.

This is a confession that goes far deeper.

“Are ya?” She asks, no hint of a smile now on those lips, mouth a firm flat line. She seems to understand the weight of his words, the way she always does; intuitive, so he can say little and mean much. But there are things that need to be said flat out, not merely implied. This, evidently, is one such.

In lieu of venting the sigh that builds, he nods. “Yeh. What y’ bin doin’ fer me these last few days… there ain’ words. Y’ stepped in inna big way an’ I b’haved like a jackass.”

She makes a little noise, part amusement and part manufactured scorn as she finally turns her attention back to the work she’s halfway through on his hand. “Tha’s puttin’ it lightly, boyo.”

Dry as her voice is, he knows by the easy way she goes back to gently placing the fine steel struts of his new phalanges into place that she understands, somehow. She’s no less angry at him for being a shit, but he wouldn’t expect her to be.

He wouldn’t love her half so much if it were any other way.

“I love you,” he says, and smiles in the flicker of his optics when she laughs.

[micerhat]

Eeeeeeh, lets just throw old pieces up today. 

[micerhat]

Sharing a smile for my friends.

[ifridiot]

Fanbot Short: Party

((Set shortly after Punchy gets out of prison; hoping I didn't take too many liberties.))

Normally, Shi wouldn't participate in anything that involved quite so much socializing. Crowds, after all, didn't do much for him but make him irritable.

For Punchy, though, he did a lot of things he might otherwise have not.

He was pleased to see Tonic was doing well enough for herself with the additional help from the Beciles; it showed in the brief flicker of his eyes as he cast a look about the room. It seemed like every damn bot in the city had decided to show up, leaving the room warm and buzzing with voices.

In spite of himself, he found his fingers closing more securely around Punchy's. He'd barely let loose of her hand (something he was sure would soon annoy her, but for now he'd indulge this simple thing he'd for so long missed) since they'd met up at his place, and now she glanced to the side to offer him a thin half smile. 

Strange how little things one thought they loathed could become, in the right presentation, something to be loved. 

For years -- decades, really -- Shi had hated the touch of human skin to his plating, especially soft flesh against the more pressure sensitive nodes; his mouth, his hands, his neck. Now, he chose to lock his fingers with her hand; not the cybernetic prosthetic but the remaining original smooth construct of bone and sinew.

He could feel her warmth and the very pulse of her heart through their linked hands, and when their entrance was met with a raised cheer ("there she is! Lady 'a th' hour!") his eyes only flickered a quick pink-gold-green staccato of embarrassment as she turned toward him, the crowd closing around them.

"Whattaya say, boyo," she said softly, low enough most wouldn't hear. "Give 'em a reason t' make s' much noise?"

And there was a time when he'd never have considered it, because what was between them was between them, but it's been months now and he knows, oh he knows what it's really like to go without, and so when she turns toward him, he turns too, finally letting go of her hand to slip an arm around her shoulders, his other arm extended to raise a middle finger to the howling crowd as he dips Punchy backwards, loving the feel of her in his arms, her weight against his neck as her hands lock behind him and her lips meet his mouth.

There was laughter, then, and cheers, but none of it mattered to Shi. To Shi, there was only Punchy,the brilliance of her optics looking up into his, and the hope that things were truly getting better. 

[ifridiot]

Golem!Verse Fic: Hypothetically

Characters: Shi Carlton, Punchy Chello

Summary: Just hypothetical question.

Rating: PG

Note: Punchy might be hella out of character or off the mark in this, but this idea has been circling in my head for a while, and I think it's really cute and kind of funny.

---

When the loving was done, he always kept close, warm and quiet.

She never would have pegged him as a cuddler. Then again, she never would have thought of him as the gentle type. Given his general demeanor and all, he seemed more like the fast and angry sort... and not that she was complaining, not really, but sometimes she did want to hit him. Remind him that she wasn't made of porcelain or glass; hell, not even stoneware.

He knows it, though. She knows he knows, which is why sometimes she shoves him over and takes what she wants, and sometimes she lets him have his way, all slow and careful.

It's nice, and so is the cuddling. She doesn't remember anyone wanting to snuggle up so much that wasn't looking for a second go-round.

That's rarely it with him. He won't say it, but near as she can figure, he just likes the chance to be gentle with someone. It has to be exhausting, keeping all those barriers up the way he does, all the time with every damn person he meets.

And it's nice, that warmth and that quiet. She likes the way his hand often comes to rest against her belly, fingers splayed while his chin settles gently on her shoulder, spooning against her.

Sometimes the quiet is too much, when the day's been long and she can't sleep, and it gets her thinking. Thinking, of course, in this warm, sleepy atmosphere, gets her mouth running.

"How w'd ya feel," she asks, resting one hand lightly on his, "if I caught pregnant?"

He doesn't move, but he's quiet for long enough for her to start silently cursing herself, eyes open wide in the dark, ready for him to pull away.

Instead, very quietly, he finally says, "Well, yer not gonna."

She should drop it right there, she knows she should, but there's something about the way he says that, just so flat and quiet with the very faintest upward twist to that final syllable that makes it a sort of question. "Yeah, but what if," she presses, curling her fingers between his splayed ones.

"Look, if yer worried abou' it, I kin git some condoms next time," he says, quick but with none of the usual signs of irritation. His hand shifts, lifting so he can close his fingers over hers. "But it's like a one in a hun'rd million chance, I'm tellin' you."

Sighing, she shook her head slightly. "It w's jest a hypothetical, Shi."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Silence falls back on them, awkward at first but easing into just a simple quiet. He rolls away after a few minutes, laying on his back with the curve of her spine against his side. She's right on the edge of drifting off when he speaks up again, voice very low, like he's afraid she might be asleep and doesn't really want to wake her.

"W'd you wanna keep it?" He says, so quiet it might be her imagination. "I mean, if ya... actually did?"

Rolling over, she can see well enough in the dim light to see his eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling. When she curls against him, draping an arm over his chest and settling her head on his shoulder, he sighs quietly, a content sound.

"That's a... loaded question," she says carefully after a moment.

They both know it. Golems that could breed were rare. Most of them were still the property of the lab that created them. A kid born between a Golem and a hume was rare enough to make the major news networks. The kid would grow up under all kinds of scrutiny; medical, political, social, you name it. Things would never be normal for them.

Factoring in her line of work and Shi's strat-status and very public history... well, the kid would learn to fight early on at the very least.

And that was if she was allowed to keep the baby after birth. There'd been a story on the eleven o'clock a few years ago about some Synth girl who'd gotten knocked up by her contract holder, tried to keep it a secret. Except of course she ended up needing a hospital when the baby came, and even when the contract holder tried to put a quick-claim on the kid, the government had thrown up some kind of legal bullshit and taken the baby.

"Rephrase," Shi says after they've both had far too long to think about how quickly things could get ugly. "If th' world weren't such shit, w'd you wanna keep it?"

"Hmm," She says, snuggling against him to hide a fidget. "How not such shit 're we talkin' boyo?"

He scoffs, the sound dangerously close to a laugh. "Fuckin' sunshine 'n rainbows. Social justice dream. Liberdy 'n justice fer all."

"Well... then, yeah. I think I would."

There's silence, long enough for her to start to feel self-conscious of the answer she'd given, and then he moves, wrapping her up in his arms. "You'd be good a' it. Motherin'."

Her turn to scoff. "What about you?"

"Cain't git pregnant, Punch," He says offhandedly. When she slaps his shoulder, he does laugh. "I got th' wrong equipment, jeeze, sorry."

He's joking, holding her so close and laughing, and it's astounding how good that feels.

"You know wh't I mean," she chides, but there's a smile in her voice. "W'd you wan' t' be around fer a l'il kiddie 'n all?"

"Yeh," he sighs after a beat. A stretch of silence and then, "Yeh, I w'd."

They lay like that for a while, curled together with her forehead resting against his chest. She can feel his breathing evening out after awhile, his arms slackening around her. She says, "What w'd you name it? The kid?"

"Paul," he says, sleepy but utterly certain.

She laughs quietly. "An' if it's a girl?"

He's very quiet, breath coming slow and steady, long enough that she thinks he might have fallen asleep.

Then, low and sleep-rough, "She'd git used t' bein' called Paul."

[ifridiot]

Fic: Treats

Characters: Shi Carlton, Punchy Chello, Dowel

Summary: Movie-night, with some adult trick-or-treating after the kids go to bed.

Rating: PG-13, I guess

---

It's a wholly different experience, watching movies with the kid hanging around.

Not bad, but different. Dowel generally places himself directly between Shi and Punchy, so they end up sitting in a little row, Shi on one end of the couch and Punchy on the other with Dowel between them, making the strangest little family portrait imaginable.

Shi tries not to think of it that way. He is not a father, Punchy is not his wife, and Dowel is definitely not their offspring.

Still.

Most of the movies Punchy brings are new to Shi and Dowel both. Dowel hadn't been online for most of them, Shi had been too preoccupied with other things to catch many movies. But she likes the classics, and watching them is... enjoyable. Even with Dowel dropped in between them, there is something nice to the time passing with the three of them together.

The first time they'd decided to watch a 'scary' movie, Dowel had very vehemently decided that he would take his stasis in the garage proper rather than alone in his room. Because evidently Nosferatu was that frightening.

Poltergeist wasn't that scary of a movie. A bit ridiculous by Shi's view. But as with every movie, while he and Punchy might chuckle or mutter something during the viewing, Dowel was utterly still, perfectly rapt until the credits began to roll. Then there was a short pause, and all at once he burst into tears.

Shi could wonder all he wanted about why the boy chose to sit down and watch a movie with them despite being warned that it was supposed to be scary. It didn't matter why he did it; he did, and they had no choice but to comfort him.

If it was an act, Shi wouldn't have cared. That was half the problem; it was genuine distress.

Punchy did most of the comforting anyway, but even with that it seemed exhausting and draining for them both, and it was a relief when with a quavering sniffle the boy finally decided that he wanted to shut down, safely away from any televisions in his room.

Being alone with Punchy was much more familiar, even if the time they got to spend together seemed increasingly rare. And detest though he may the feel of soft, malleable flesh against the rigid permanence of his metals, the feel of her weight settling into his lap, her back resting against his chest, that he had come to enjoy.

When she turned her head to kiss him, there was of course little he could do in return. Kissing had become a normal thing between them, something affectionate, but when all he could do in response was bite, it still felt somewhat one-sided.

He answered the kiss by sliding his arms around her, holding her close. She hummed quietly and kissed him again, laughing when he bit gently back.

Without really thinking, his fingers began tracing idle patterns where they rested on her leg, and the sound of her quiet gasp when he grazed up her thigh made him smile quietly. She had made it her business early on when they'd started this strange relationship to learn ways to make him jump or shudder -- or at least it had seemed that way. Now it was his turn, and there was an odd satisfaction to catching her off guard.

Her head tilted back slightly, and so he twisted slightly and bent his head, the position awkward but sufficient to let him bite gently at her neck as his one arm tightened slightly around her waist and his other hand continued stroking over her inner thigh.

As it was, he had little enough experience with anything sexual. It wasn't by any stretch of the imagination part of his function, and certainly wasn't the sort of thing he'd ever been interested in reading up on. But touching her was a little like feeling out a new machine or playing a strange instrument, and as his hands wandered, she reacted, and he could guess well enough what felt good for her.

The fact that her legs had slid reflexively apart was not precisely lost upon him. He wasn't that ignorant in matters of sexuality, though perhaps he preferred to pretend. There was a moment of hesitation in him; how far was he willing to take this game of theirs? How far was he allowed?

Well, she hadn't told him to stop yet.

His hand slipped up further, palm rolling over her groin, and as he mentally noted how much warmer that part of her seemed than the rest, she groaned out loud, hips canting slightly to press against his hand.

It only lasted a minute, not even quite that, before she bit her lip and shook her head slightly.

"Okay boyo, you gotta stop tha'."

Immediately his hand withdrew and he straightened, brows drawing together. "Tha' bad, eh?"

"No, more li' I don' feel like ruinin' these jeans."

He paused just a moment, fingers splaying over her knee in a smooth motion that seemed to make her shiver, and then he said, "Y' c'd take them off."

It sounded like a passive suggestion, and when she turned her head to look at him he met her eyes with a bland expression.

"I can't tell if yer tryin' t' joke with me, 'r --"

"I ain't."

She stared at him, lips pressed together in a sort of considering frown, before stating back. "You ain't." She made it sound more testing than anything, and pursed her lips slightly when Shi shrugged and shook his head.

After a very short pause as she seemed to make her mind up about something, she patted the arm he still had wrapped around her middle and when he let her loose she slid to her feet. Before he could wonder if she was just going to leave, she turned back to him, a bit of a smile pulling at her lips as her hands went to the button on her jeans.

"Jest how sensitive are them hands of yours, anyway?"

"Enough t' keep gentle," he said, watching her and wondering if this was the part where one of them was supposed to go back to being rational. "If tha's wh'cha wan', a' least."

She started to bend to pull her trousers off, uttering a little laugh, just as the door whined open again.

"I changed my mind, I don't wanna sleep on my own," Dowel stated flatly, frowning intensely as he stared out at them from the doorway. Then he seemed to pause, focusing on Punchy, and asked, "What're you doing?"

"Nothing," Punchy said, straightening and pulling her jeans back up, buttoning them in a smooth motion as Shi grumbled under his breath and shook his head.

[ifridiot]

Drabble: Lambency

Fandom: SPG Fanbots

Characters: Shi Carlton, Punchy Chello

Rating: PG

Summary: Somethings require a light touch. Prompt from Micerhat.

"So y' see, th' main difference b'tween being a Ticker 'n bein' a Hume is tha' a Ticker c'n go 'round punchin' steel doors and a Hume..." her teeth clench a little frowning as she gets the tight clasp on the first aide kit open, before finishing brightly, "Can't."

"Haha," Shi grumbles, allowing the woman to take his injured hand in her own, her carefully spreading his fingers. The knuckles are split, swollen and bloody, but he only grits his teeth and growls to himself as she starts to gently blot at them with disinfectant.

"Or a' least shouldn't, I mean, y' can see that ya actually can, y' can do anythin' y' want, b' it's gonna hurt jes 's bad e'ery time. Break all yer pretty Hume fingers an' then y' can't even whine abou' 'em not being fast 'nough fer yer work, b'cuz nonna 'em will work a' all."

He huffs a sigh as she starts applying some kind of anti-bacterial ointment (which also stings) and grinds out, "Yer lamabant wit jes takes t' pain an soothes i' away."

She laughs, not exactly jeering at him, and pushes his shoulder with her own. "Hey, y' go anreally mess yerself up. I'll play doctor fer ya. Anytime, boyo."

[ifridiot]

Drabble: Teeth

Fandom: SPG Fanbots

Characters: Shi Carlton, Punchy Chello

Rating: PG

Summary: Mechanical work, a little like dentistry. Prompt from Dashingly-Dashnastical.

"Ah, boyo, wha e'en th' hell is goin' on here?"

It's a question that might make some people a little self-conscious. Thankfully, Shi is not some people.

"Sheddup," he growls, not quite defensive, "Yer helpin' realign m' faceplate,  not playin' den'ist."

The human makes a face, mocking him while she holds his new face in one hand, his jaw in the other. "You need a dentist," she says finally, running a gloved knuckle over the jagged, broken line of teeth. It's more than obvious, looking at the settings, that they had been carefully installed initially, and had once been even and straight.

A couple decades of fist-fighting could really mess your orthodontia.

"I'm jes' sayin' gimme a couple hours with th' right tools an' maybe you could smile," she taunts, just to see his optics flare a little and hear the bot growl her name, just once, like a warning.You take your laughs where you could get them with Shi.