#android whump

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Robot whump!

- Whumper asking Caretaker what they'd do to get a specific part they need to repair Whumpee.

- The Team entering Whumper's lair, ready to get their android back. "FriEnds..." they hear, above them. And they look up and they see Whumpee, maybe not entirely whole, dangling by the neck on a noose. "TurN... Back..."

- Caretaker repairing the android. "You are crying," it says. Caretaker continues working and just nods. "...Why?"

- Whumper hacking the android and reprogramming it, marking its own team members as 'enemies'. Then sending it back :3

- Whumpee overheating trying to help their team to escape.

- Android Whumpee 'hiding' 'injuries': turning off its warnings. "What's that red light?" Caretaker might ask. And Whumpee just turns it off going all, "Probably an error."

- Whumper being all callous, going, "fuck, just get another android. They're replaceable for a reason!" And Caretaker going Apeshit™

[sickfictropes]

Hello!!! Could I see some robot/android whumpee content? I don't see a whole lot of it and it's my favorite thing. The tropes could be anything but bonus points if it involves Android! Whumpee getting a bad glitch and either trying to hide it from her human friends or telling them and being visibly unconcerned about it (but secretly very scared) and trying to reassure them that she should be easy to replace if it comes to it. Thank you so much if you'll answer this one!! I love all your content DEARLY!! You always have such a way of bringing every prompt to life :)

yes yes YES my brief participation in the DBH fandom is finally coming in handy!!! here are some things i've done:

clogged air vents causing the android to overheat.

i've justified "shivering" by stating that it keeps some equivalent of "blood" (in DBH it's thiriuim) agitated to prevent freezing or thickening of fluids.

i really like when an android character says things like "i don't/can't experience emotion" but really it's just a cover-up for them being terrified/devastated/whatever.

obviously malware and other various "bugs" causing overheating and other sensations/symptoms

people treating the android character badly or hurting them because they "can't feel"

gyroscope dysfunction to justify dizziness and vertigo

intentionally overheating in a freezing setting to keep their human counterparts warm

damage to the head (maybe a CPU or something idk) causing failure to store memory which results in confusion and amnesia

low battery collapses, charging as little as possible because they have to power down to do so and they're too busy

being too busy to power down which results in glitches and stress on the system

okay i hope that's something!! i was really excited to get this prompt!! thank you for sending it and for your kind words!

[bandits-whump-collection]

Machines thought to only be steel and copper, wires encased in colorful rubber and circuits soldered carefully. Yet, when their plates tear away, iron-rich blood rusts the wound and twitching organs squelch from within a thought-cold chassis.

Biomechanical things, creatures of steel shells and soft flesh, as tender as they are sharp, almost like a bug.

[mintflavouredwhump]

A sentient android whumpee reading cliché sci-fi stories about evil robots who wage war against humankind and feeling upset/insulted as they would never even dream of doing such a thing.

[pigeonwhumps]

The Little Android

Everything taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

My entry for the Once Upon a Blade anthology by @thewhumpyprintingpress (which is really good btw, you should buy it if you can) which I've been meaning to post for months.

An android whump retelling of The Little Matchgirl by Hans Christian Anderson.

1.2k

CWs: android whump, torture, dehumanisation, slavery, denial of basic needs, threats of death, implied major character death

The android sits down against the wall of a crowded metal walkway, box of batteries in its hand. One arm is made up of loose wires and artificial nerve endings left when the attachment was ripped from its socket, and as they brush against the wall they send a jolt of pain through its systems, almost causing it to drop the box. If only its owner had deactivated its pain circuits after the experiment was completed, but he thought they would be useful to control it. And as a synthetic life form, it does not have the right to deactivate them itself.

It needs to sell these batteries. Oh, they look so tempting, they could power it for the day it’s sure, it would have constant heating and a properly working voice and its power wouldn’t flicker out so often. But it’ll get credits if it sells them, and it’s therefore less likely to end up on the scrap heap.

It tries for eight point seven hours, but it doesn’t make a single credit. Passers-by barely give it a second glance. If it’s lucky. Some step around it with a wide berth, giving it dirty looks and whispering behind their hands (sometimes not even whispering, it doesn’t matter, it’s not a human after all). A few teenagers make a game of tugging at its exposed nerve endings to see who can make it scream the loudest, and nobody stops them, they just look annoyed at the noise. It’s moved on by security more than once.

Finally the lights in the station switch to night mode, dimming and turning slightly orange, reducing the blue light. Usually the android would adjust its vision to compensate so it could keep working with ease but that function no longer works.

The place it was last moved along to, where it is now, gets almost no night traffic. There’re no shops or clubs or living hubs, there’s no reason to come here unless you’re maintenance staff, who can’t, or won’t, buy from it anyway. There’s no point staying.

Except if it goes back to the shop with no credits again, it will be deemed useless and stripped for parts. Maybe even without its pain circuits being deactivated first.

Its power flickers out for a few seconds. When it restarts, the android is on the floor. It doesn’t know how long it was out, which is unnerving but common recently.

Maybe just a little boost of battery power. Just to keep it going.

It chooses a battery, unwraps it with stiff, creaky fingers, and plugs it into a port on its side.

The power zaps around its body and it feels a simulation of warmth for the first time in so long. It’s almost comfortable.

In the distance, it sees its makers’ workshop. They’re laughing and joking together as they start up the charger, preparing to test parts that the android knows are custom-made. It used to help with the more dangerous parts of the job, before they ran out of money and were forced to sell it.

It feels so warm and cosy, and as the light envelopes it, it opens its mouth to speak.

The light disappears. The warmth disappears. The android tries to hang on but it must have had a power surge in its decision-making module.

It feels even colder now. Any warmth is gone, any semblance of care from someone else. What does it have in its life, really? No-one does anything except order it around and stimulate its pain circuits. Nobody even interferes when the pain is malicious. Not anymore.

It takes out another battery. If it’s going to be scrapped anyway it might as well make it worth it.

As soon as it’s plugged in, the station disappears. It’s inside a charging station, one of the ones for VIPs and their androids. It had a job cleaning these, once. Mobile charging packs, as much premium oil as the android can drink, oiled joints, comfortable places to stand or sit… it has dreamed about them, sometimes. It was allowed to drink the last dregs of oil and it really was premium.

This one is busy with humans in fancy clothes and the latest models, so much more advanced than itself. No-one is paying attention to the android, and it walks through the central aisle, approaching a serving station. It reaches out a hand for an oil can, wires jittering in anticipation at the taste, the feel of its body afterwards—

The illusion fades.

The android is left cold and alone on the floor of the space station. There’s not much use for softness for androids but oh, how it wishes. It’s been so long since it had oil, only getting just enough lubrication to stop it from rusting entirely. It doesn’t deserve anything more until it starts to be useful. But it won’t be, and it just feels empty.

It’s startled out of its reverie by a beep beep beep of warning. Its power is depleting even faster than normal. If it doesn’t get to a charging point soon it’ll power down for good.

Surprisingly, the android finds itself not caring overly much anymore. What does it have to go back to, after all?

The android plugs in another battery.

It’s on a starship deck in night mode. The observation deck. It’s always wished to be stationed on one of these. It’s charging against a wall, sitting down, and it can see the stars.

They’re bright spots against the darkness, mostly, but in the distance it can see nebulas, colourful clouds of dust and stars. That’s when it realises its vision is fixed. It can see properly, for the first time is years. Who bothered to fix that?

Then reality hits it. Nobody did. The android here, the one with the fixed vision and someone who cares and such a good posting, it doesn’t exist. This is a dream. An illusion. Something it’ll never get.

It touches its reflection in the glass, feeling a pang from somewhere inside that shouldn’t exist. It’s been fixed, like a patchwork, different colours and textures of paintwork, but it’s more than it will ever really have, more than it deserves. Engine oil leaks slightly from the edges of its vision sensors. Good quality oil too. It really is getting the best on this dreamship.

It can feel itself fading. Its consciousness is fading. And it’s nowhere near a power socket really, so it’ll deactivate permanently this time.

But it doesn’t have anything to lose. There’s no-one who cares, no-one who won’t take it apart for scrap as soon as it returns with no credits and barely any batteries. No-one will mourn it if it stays here. Someone will take the batteries and someone will take its parts and they’ll sell both but they won’t care. What’s the point?

The android sinks back down, leaning back against its comfortable charging wall. It closes its eyes for the last time to an exploding supernova.

The science doesn’t really make sense. But it’s far too tired to care.

[the-dump-of-whump]

Robot/android whumpee’s file(s) becoming corrupted.

Does it hurt them?

Change their personality?

Give them amnesia?

Do parts of them lose their function?

Does it kill them?

[retrospective-d3c-a--y]

Android

cw: BBU?ish, Implied whumpee death, Kidnapping, Abuse and SA (none in detail), Organ harvesting. Android whumpee/whumper/bad caretaker- Reprogramming, The works. Alcohol mention.

Android 391, Unit 5. Its story begins when it is finally bought and taken away from its makers and trainers. Its initially bought as a blank.

Moderately pretty thing. Comes in a box, preprogrammed to do whatever is commanded... although it is well known that the basic program does have issues following longer commands.

You can of course purchase the additional programming for a.. small fee, of course, the main two being romantic or scientific. Just as advertised in the instruction manual.

The organization that has bought it is not all that different from where it came from- Their activities are aggressive and involve kidnapping. Most of the kidnappees are turned into pets either to sell back to the program it came from or personal use within their facilities and families.

A391U5 spent half of its time entering, capturing evaders, and destroying homes, majority of the other time carrying heavy things across camp, and the rest getting beers for the men and being used relentlessly for what his main purpose was: sex and abuse. It was... fun for it's masters to see how much it could do. A couple years later, a scientist joins the upper ranks, creating a science unit. They demand the android, and they are permitted to have primary ownership. A new program is installed with ease.. done just before it's warranty was up. They called it wonderful. Perfect. Something about those words pleased A391U5. It was doing good... Both great things in according to its program.

A391U5 could not say the same thing about the work it did. It wasn't... displeased, or disappointed, or dissatisfied, or.. anything like that. It wasn't allowed to be. It had checked. But, well, tearing apart fleshy-beings and harvesting organs.. mutating some beyond saving... testing endurance, strength, intelligence, and more... only able to answer their pleads for it to stop with “The pursuit of knowledge waits for no creature", per their instructions.

A391U5 wasn't until it met Am[ERROR]-... Subject 482 it began to use its vast scientific knowledge to wonder how it might keep these pets alive a little longer. Subject 482, female, liked to treat it as if it were... human. Thanking it for feeding them all timingly. For administering medication to the youngest in Unit 480. Fixing minor issues in it's body, to the other's dissaproval. Subject 482 understood the wonder of such and invention of this android, it had declared. Telling it they knew "he" had to hurt them. That is wasn't "his" fault.

At the time, A391U5 did not understand. For one thing, it wasn't sure they were referring to it. It was not a "He". Not a "him" or "his"- surely these fragile beings knew full well it was an android. Additionally, it was clearly marked A391U5 and explained to them time and time again it stood for Android 391- Unit 5, not "Aegius". But any time they'd say it, no one else was around but the numbers and itself.

It was two thirds of a year of this nonsense- likely caused by their injuries and such, it was sure. Unit 480 dwindled down from 10 to 6 before they were able to escape. At first they asked Aegius it to go with them.

It.. couldn't help what it did to the first one who tried to drag it away. Blood splattered against their cage.

"Subject 487, male. Elimination estimation without care.. one hour. Reason: Bloodloss. Unit 480, please surrender yourselves and prepare for transport."

Unit 480 was horrified. Subject 482 still moved to him.. slowly. It didn't remember how it really went down. Shame, it's favorite (had it been permitted!) had to be eliminated....

It woke up in a place far away from what it had knew since it turned on. Some of its physical system had been damaged. This new programming, horribly shoved into it's usb port for such things, was malfunctioning. It wouldnt load properly. He could see it was a romantic file.. did subject 482 not know its old coding must be removed before it may be reprogrammed..? It had no need to keep its science memory module if it were to be used as a romantic now..

It certainly still wanted to be good for it's master. Both programs overlapped in that sense. Awkwardly, it shifted onto its knees and hands, crawling head down to its new master, subject 482. She was bleeding alot.. It was struggling to fill in the holes of what to do. Finding nothing useful about a bleeding master in its new programming, it searched over its old programming... using fire to seal up the wounds.

Familiar it was how Subject 482 screamed...

It was almost... comforting. It curled up on Subject 482 once it had roughly fixed the unit as it always had, letting out a small cooing noise. Shoving some of the protein pellets it had left over into her mouth. Its new programming said it may please its Owner. It sure hoped so... Keeping them all safe was the objective that made the most sense. Pleasing it was part of keeping them safe, right-?

It allowed Unit 480 and itself to be picked up by an unknown unit when it announced that they knew them. That they were being taken home.

[fern-writes-whump]

Robot / android whumpee that goes rogue and kills whumper, but is too damaged to run away. So they just drag themselves outside and watch the sunrise as they wait for their battery to run out.

[misscrazyfangirl321]

android is also the local tech expert, so when they start to malfunction they have to talk their human friends through how to repair them, even though the procedure is painful?

OOOOO

"There's a panel-" Speech. Talking. Unexpectedly difficult. Something is wrong. Wrong. Malfunctioned. Glitching. "On my back. On the left side." Left? Process. Repeat. Clarify. "Right side."

"Listen, I don't know about this." Scared. The human is scared. (So am I. Another glitch. Another malfunction. Another failing.) "Maybe we should wait until Frankie gets back."

Frankie Hills. Mechanic. Fifteen. Expert. This human is not an expert. He's new; his name isn't in my database yet. But he's not a mechanic. I know that; he told me. "No time. Glitching. Crashing. Odds of successful repair... Dropping."

This doesn't make him calmer. His hands are shaking, which is bad. Wrong. He's glitching. (But humans don't glitch. They just exist. Why can't I just exist?) I search my database, ignoring the strain on my processor. If I'm not careful, I'll overheat, but he'll never get anywhere without my help.

Comfort words. Excellent. "It will be-be okay." Repeating. Echoing. I'm overloading my system. Audio quality is suffering. "I believe in you."

An odd thing: belief. I don't know what it means. But I know I'm broken, and he's the only one who can fix me. I need him to fix me, before it's too late.

In any case, the words seem to assure him. His features shift. Change. The word comes to my processing center unbidden: Soften. He relaxes, and clears his throat. "Left panel?"

"Right." Then, when he starts to reach, I clarify, "Right panel. Right side. Not correct. Right."

This gives him pause, but only briefly. Then he reaches again, this time for the right (right, correct, direction) panel. When he twists the screwdriver, my sensors burn in protest, and I cannot stop a noise from slipping out. Unfortunate; it frightens him.

"Did I hurt you?"

Hurt: to cause pain. My sensors are not for pain; they serve as alarms for things that pose a threat. They tell me if things are too hot, too cold, subject to cause harm to my hardware or programming. It sends a warning through my wires; I find it unpleasant, but that does not make it pain.

My processor is too close to overheating; I cannot explain all of this. "Yes." It falls within the parameters of truth the Organization has defined for me. "Remove the panel."

"But if it's going to hurt you-"

"It must be removed. There is no other way to repair me."

He makes a noise of his own: a groan, a human sound for pain. But why is he in pain? He isn't; he hurts for me. Hurts because I suffer. Still, though, he sets to work, removing the panel. This time, when noises escape, he does not falter.

"Now what?"

"There are two wires: red and green."

"You have a lot more wires than that back here."

His voice has changed. Taken on a sound: a drawl. So this is sarcasm, then. A human attempt at humor, to make me feel more relaxed (or perhaps, to make him feel more relaxed).

"Those do not matter. Find the red and green wires."

He makes another noise, similar to the grunt, but lighter. Louder. I identify it as laughter; he thinks I've made a joke in turn. Very well.

"Okay, got 'em. What do I do?"

This will be unpleasant. I know this. These wires are not meant to be exposed, so they're connected to powerful sensors. When he does what he must, it will overwhelm my system. But it has to happen.

"Wait until I finish speaking. Disconnect both wires, and insert the yellow drive on the table into the slot behind those wires. Then, reconnect the wires. Make sure you do not cross them."

He waits five seconds-I count-to ensure that I'm done talking. I've encountered droids far less compliant than him. Then, he asks, "What happens if I cross the wires?"

The sensation I experience isn't truly fear; it's simply programming, a jolt of warning, an attempt to preserve data. I'm more useful when I have all of my data, after all. Still, I sound unsteady even to myself when I reply, "System reboot."

Wiping me. Erasing me forever. I would still be here, but not here. Not me. Something else. Someone else. But me. I don't want to think about this; it will definitely overwhelm my processors.

"I'm done speaking," I inform him, because he still hasn't continued the procedure.

"Right, just, uh... Brace yourself." There is nothing to brace myself against; there is nothing to prepare me for this.

"I will not be able to guide you any longer," I warn, and he hesitates. Humans have something called intuition, and I suspect right now that his is activating, inferring from the data I've provided that this will not be a good experience for me. It will, however, be a necessary one.

He knows. Clears his throat. "Okay. Here goes nothing."

A strange thing, something humans often say before things which are most definitely not nothing. A human contradiction; they have many.

Then, all programs running in my mind cease, replaced only with sensor alerts, warnings, jolts- (it hurts-)

Processing fails.

-

I've been recharged. It isn't truly waking up, but that's what humans call it, when I shift from powered down to powered up. All of my sensors are operating at normal levels, not detecting any negative input.

And all of my data is in-tact.

The man is sitting by my charging stall, watching me with an odd look on his face. I run it through my processors (running smoothly now, easily able to take in the new information): It is exhaustion. While I have been recharging, he has not done the same. Curious.

"You require sleep. My calculations indicate that your performance will be diminished by more than-"

"You're okay!" He interrupts me, and-as per my programming-I cease imparting information. Then he stands, reaching over and wrapping his arms around me.

A hug; I don't need to check my database for that. I've observed it before, frequently. It's strange, finally experiencing it. My sensors exist for detecting threats, but the pressure is too light to register as a threat. It does register, though; awareness without warning. It's... Not unpleasant.

"You performed the procedure adequately," I inform him, because my records indicate that moments of embracing call for phrases of sentiment.

He laughs, again. That's not the correct response to sentiment; maybe I didn't do it right. But he hugs me again-more tightly, but still not tight enough to send a warning-before releasing me.

"Thanks for talking me through it," he says.

Odd, to thank me for something that benefitted me more than him. Programming and experience both tell me, however, that there is only one response he's seeking.

"You're welcome."

[whumperz-paradise-old]

heehee my writing is so funny and silly and wholesome and

_afflicts a robot with eldritch madness because it was built in the image of a god_

cute and family friendly and sweet and

_creates a character made to rival a god_

nice and fluffy and soft and adorable and

_creates a character tormented by utter comprehension_

[devourerofcheesecake]

The Scout files: Kamikaze is burning up like the plane it’s named after

Plot: Everything has gone to shit on a research vessel piloted solely by androids. Being the only droid that hasn’t been taken over during the hack, Kamikaze has designated itself the last hope of the ship. It’s goal is to get off this vessel and not die

Or alternatively: I just really wanted an excuse to make a robot whumpee on a spaceship

Art: N/A at the moment

Story: Coming soon

Here’s what led to this madness:

The actual beginning, I had a silly idea that was tangential

Taglist: @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[stagelightwhump]

odd question! what would the factory do with a blorbo who is already an android?

Hi, thanks for the question!

For characters that are already androids or robots, The Factory does its best to follow the canonical process for the character's construction, fudging a few bits if need be, to create the most accurate product possible, unless the buyer specifies they want their Unit otherwise.

However, due the nature of the setting rendering the novelty of "this character is an android!" moot, such Units typically do not sell as well as their natively organic counterparts. For example, Units of Dr. Gears from the SCP Foundation do not sell as well as standalone Units as much as, say, Units of his counterpart, Dr. Iceberg.

On the other side of this, though, Units of characters that are natively robotic, such as, again, Dr. Gears, are heavily recommended as starter Units for those just getting into the hobby, as their docility and lack of dysphoria makes them easier to handle for beginning Unit owners.

[simpystarrr]

AAAH POOR BABY 😭

Headcanon – deviants feel pain

[moggettt]

@whirlpoolleaf asked: Can I request Murderbot for the sketch request thing? Thanks so much :)

-performance reliability at 60% and dropping-

(I'm a big fan of the idea that mb tends to be very expressive during fights, considering how accustomed it is to the privacy of the helmet)

[retrospective-d3c-a--y]

Aegius :} Hes so pink i love him. Just a lil guy.

I think I'm going to write him as feeing "unbalanced" and "dangerous" without both a collar and a headband (both are used to stop any issues caused by programming failure), so his friends get him the silly frilly ones you see in the right.

He is (pretty much) sad that his friends still fear him when his programing has changed to anything resembling Good. But to be fair his damage makes him irreversibly damaged unless they intend to just completely remake him.

picrews in the order of freshly arrived (grey) > whumper (blue) > bad caretaker (purple)

picrew [HERE]

[whumblr]

Rescue mission

"Self defense protocols initiated," the Android droned, positioning itself before the injured Caretaker, shielding them from Whumper who strode towards them.

"Self destruct program activated. Self destructing in 20 seconds."

Whumper stopped dead in his tracks. Watched the Android as it kept counting down, red lights blinking in warning behind its eyes. And when it walked towards him, arms outstretched to catch him in an explosive hug, he swiftly turned on his heels and bolted out of the room.

"Nine... eight," the Android counted and turned towards Caretaker, now walking towards them.

Caretaker startled and flailed to get back, failing miserably with their broken ankle.

"There, oh--" The Android hit its temple a few times with their wrist in annoyance and the agressive red blinking light went out. "Sorry."

Caretaker stopped scooting back

"I didn't know you had a self-destruct program," they said, shaky.

"I don't," the Android merely said, and helped Caretaker get to their feet. "Now let's get you out of here."

-

General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion

@auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop