#robowhump

[silkenblankets]

A bronze and leather machine, best of its kind, carefully crafted and encompassing a uniquely steampunk look. By now, they're an antique, passed down from its original creator, tweaked by his child, taught by a grandchild, upgraded and refurbished by a great-grandchild, left to gather dust in the corner of an antique shop after they could find no next of kin.

For the first few months, they explore the other antiques, they wish to chat with customers and fix any out of tune music box or chipped vase. Gradually, their metal and leather frame begins grinding against itself, losing mobility.

Two years after arriving, they're most often mistaken as a statue, a frozen artifact of a bronze and steam era. Sometimes a child will poke at the shining steel pocket in their back, a tiny flash of static giving just enough power for a brief crackle of a voice box in their chest.

Until they wake within a cozy home; with warm lighting from large open windows and a shining wooden floor fitted with a little gray rug. Someone smiles, massaging oil into their stuck joints. Little by little, they begin to move again.

"Well aren't you a curious little guy!"

The human is very kind, letting the machine explore and giving them a few days to adapt. The human sits them down after those few days, explaining that they want to do some maintenance on them; they're more than happy to oblige.

That is, until they begin to feel the human's hands, attaching wires and adding more sensations. They're confused, looking back to ask why. The human just laughs, tickling the machine and making them emulate something resembling a giggle. In the midst of their laughter, it sharply turns to a screeching sound. The human is holding a few torn wires, watching them hit the floor with a tight fist and sputter a million questions about the bad feeling, the horrible- evil feeling.

More.

They couldn't see.

What was human doing?

They wanted to scream, but their voice was muted as its wires became twisted into a useless knot in their neck. Human was murmuring gentle words, their shivering body making such a ruckus with all its parts clinking against one another; they couldn't hear a single thing.

Their back panel was shut tight, a warm hand rubbed their head and began to guide the jittering mess through a door.

It was raining outside, every drop of water that slipped in between their bronze and leather shell felt burning, slipping between stretched out seams and cracking metal. They flinched and twisted as the feeling covered them, like a box of nails forced into every exposed crevasse. Human held their hand, giving a cold, robotic rub over the soft backing of it. They felt like falling to their knees and screaming as loud as they could, but the ground was wet, and burned their feet as it seeped through the metal soles. They couldn't scream if they wanted to, anyway.

The rain's pitter-patter was out of sync with their clitter-clatter. Human raised his voice.

"Sure is nice. I knew you'd like it."

Their body tensed and twitched in response, unable to move how they wanted. Everything gave out, hitting the ground with one arm held up by Human's hand. Laying on hot coals, their hearing cut in and out, sensations becoming erratic.

Shutting down.

"Useless."

Left in a scrapyard, an arm and both legs taken. Leather stripped from their body.

"Well isn't this a curious little thing..."

Something was tickling at their back, and something clicked into place. Their head jerked up, screaming in agony as their remaining arm clawed at thin air. Unable to hear the frantic voice trying to reassure them, they continued to thrash until their screaming turned to soft cries.

Their vision blurred, becoming focused as those mystery hands worked. Everything was tainted with a strange snow overlay, they'd need replacements for their eyes. Looking down, they found where all the strange have-not sensations came from; also discovering they were suspended. Their head was turned to one side, then the next, then pushed forward.

"... Okay, was that the right one? I'm sorry I scared you."

They turned to look at the Human, much different from the other; a little crooked smile with shining, kind eyes in a darker shade of brown.

"He-llo."

"Hi buddy. Don't worry, I'll find some limbs for you in a bit. Do you know where you came from?"

They hesitated, giving a stiff nod.

"Oh- can you tell me your name? Do you have one?"

They shook their head. "N-o name."

"Can I call you..." "Bud-dy." "You wanna be Buddy?" "... Bu-ddy. Ye-s."

Human's smile seemed to grow.

"Okay, Buddy."

-🤖

[whumperz-paradise-old]

good morn all im on my robowhump shit

[albino-whumpee]

Robowhump 1

Tw/// abuse, burns

It worked on a restaurant. Owned by the family who had bought a few models like itself as waiters and cooks. Just above the average of the line quality, but not physically unattractive. Androids were real pretty now. Human in almost everything, appearence wise. The visual giveaways were the ear like receptors on top of their head and the plug on the back of their necks.

EX144 was just another android owned by the Peregrine family. The mother was absent most of the time, dealing with two other jobs. The father was the administrator of the restaurant. Almost always EX144 and another android had to carry him upstairs to his bed as he passed out on alcohol. Of the kids… EX144 felt every circuit on its body getting a sudden charge everytime it heard their voices.

But it was better. It was better that being with them again.

EX144 was a bargain because it was already broken. It had to undergo a forceful reset as it refused to let anybody near it for a full week after being bought. It’s last owners had been two college robotic students that had payed no mind to destroying it.

It had come brand new as a present from their parents as reward for entering the course for one of them. Black short plastic hair and pale skin (very real to the touch!) with a few moles. Shorter than both boys by a head, which gave them freeway to shove it apart and blame it for being too small to see if they “accidentally” bumped roughly into it.

It was their toy and their test subject for new programs.

At first, it was nothing serious. Make it lift things, call them correctly by their name. All its commands were programed by them. So of course errors would happen. But it wasn’t the punishment of forcefully being reprogrammed over and over again what shattered it. But that it was part of the fun to see it struggle after installing the “pain” emulators.

When they installed it, Creek, one of its owners, had decided to test how far could it go.

“Hey Exie, lighter or knife?” In its innocence it had answered with lighter.

Creek had shoved him down a chair and pressed it’s face against the kitchen’s stove. It had had no reaction until it started to get messages of possible damage to the syntethic skin.

Its program was to avoid at all costs getting damaged. Any potential damage threat would increase the panic levels. Triggering a chain reaction of uncomfortable pop ups and electric pulses in all its circuits.

The immediate response on its program was to get away to ensure its safety thanks to the emulator. However, it had its owners hand pushing it down to the flame. An expecting look marked on his face as he saw It tried squirming out of his grip. Despite the thrashing it couldn’t get off.

“M-Mister Creek!” The boy showed interest. The emulator also had an option for fear responses such as stuttering. “My skin isn’t fire proof! Ple-please stop this!” It tried using its hands to lift its face up and avoid the flames, but Found it impossible as Creek had tied its hands behind its back. Fingers curling into a fist, desperetely trying to reach the belt restraining it.

Creek lifted its head and the android sighed in a learnt action thanks to the emulator. “Well, lets test how long it lasts then” Creek said shoving it back into the flames. “Lets count! 1…” He said as numerous messages flooded Exia’s view.

Burnt plastic scent roamed the air for the following days.

Exia lifted its hand towards their cheek. No sign of the crime now. Of none but the different skin patch of its arms. Making obvious its limbs were from a different manufacturer.

Yes. Even with the smell of reeking alcohol and the messy clients. It was better this way.

[lovely-little-whumpee]

Do you have any robowhump prompts or ideas? It's really good, you can do so much extreme stuff to robots and then just fix it them up and do it all over again.

Yes, robowhump is amazing~ I’ve always liked the idea of the whumper being able to turn on and off the whumpee’s pain receptors. Making whumpee more sensitive to the pain to the point where even the slightest touch is painful. 

[whumptopia]

androids don’t feel pain — a collection of short form whump fics {whumpee: connor} link below ⤵️

[friendlylocalwhumper]

an elevator whump drabble for @whumpxng because, apparently, we’ve been sleeping on this trope, and it’s about time we fxed that.

"This fucking thing is stuck. I swear to God. They can make robots that act like people but they can't make an elevator that fucking works!" Hank growled like he could intimidate the machinery into moving once more. "Lieutenant, perhaps you're being-" "Hell yeah, I'm grumpy. This is a waste of time." He kicked the metal wall of the elevator in frustration. Connor groaned. And not in annoyance. "What was that?" Hank asked, giving the elevator doors a pissed-off look. Only making himself more frustrated by thinking about how long they'd be stuck in there, he kicked the doors, and shoved at them for good measure, making the elevator car shift slightly. "Stop," Connor hissed. Hank spun around, ready to go off, but he lowered his finger pointed in peevish accusation when he saw the android. Connor was leaning against the elevator wall, holding his side. Grimacing.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" Hank asked, stepping closer. "You shutting down or something?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Hank sometimes forgot that to androids, shutting down meant dying. Deviants were afraid of dying. And Connor was a deviant. Connor flinched, which was a much stronger reaction than either of them were expecting. He looked confused. "I, I... I'm hurt." Not damaged. Hurt. "What. The. Fuck." Connor blinked, trying to focus. [SYSTEMS MALFUNCTIONING] Well, fine, but what systems? He tried to run a diagnostic sweep, his LED flashing yellow. Hank started talking, and Connor was distracted from the result of the diagnostics. Distracted. He didn't get distracted. He tried to look at the detective, squinting to see past the large, red lettering blocking his sight. [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [STRESS LEVELS RISING: 49%] What did that even mean? How... what was pain? It must be this... heat? This... damage, that he could sense, like... like... tangible... he didn't have the words for it. He wasn't programmed to feel pain, and nothing in his experience since becoming a deviant (or 'waking up' as Hank called it) helped him understand. Just a few blows to the torso, that was the only damage he'd taken today, and he hadn't... it had only caused minor damage, as was usual. It was supposed to repair itself over time, logged away rationally, not felt. He wasn't supposed to feel. "Are you feeling something?" Hank asked, taking Connor by the shoulder and turning him so he wasn't hunched over. The android gasped at the movement. "Yes." His LED was cycling a warning yellow, flashing red in the moment that his injuries made themselves known. "...pain." As soon as he said it, the big red lettering in his vision faded, growing smaller. What had that been? Panic? The desperation to say it, to let Hank know? His hand was clamped to his side, trying to hold in the throbbing ache. It was getting difficult to breathe. He couldn't tell whether there was an injury attributing to that, or if he was just... scared. [STRESS LEVEL: 58%] "What hurts?" Hank's concerned face helped somehow. It made Connor feel a little safer, knowing Hank wasn't writing this off, that he cared, that he wanted to make it better. Connor desperately wanted Hank to make it better. "My chest," He hissed, looking down at it. "I believe this... this is what broken ribs feel like." Hank's brows furrowed. He was confused. So was Connor. "Well, why the hell are you feelin' it now?" Connor opened his mouth to answer. To guess. Just then, the space around them lurched with a jerking start. Connor cried out in pain, his knees buckling. [STRESS LEVEL: 70%] Hank caught him. The elevator stopped again after moving a few inches, screeching to another reluctant halt. Connor whimpered. Hank could feel the kid shaking in his arms. He helped Connor shift to sit against the wall, where he visibly took slow, metered out breaths. "You've never felt pain before." [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] Connor shook his head helplessly. His hair was slightly askew. It never looked less than perfect. Now, the stray strands of hair that were usually hanging from his smoothed back hair were dangling over his forehead, making him looked even more disheveled. "Usually, it helps to say something about it." "What?" Connor was a little breathless. "Say it hurts." "...it hurts." [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] "How's it hurt?" "I... don't know how to..." "Does it feel like there's not enough air in here?" Connor blinked and nodded. There was a pressure in his chest and head, growing, and it almost made him pout. [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] [PAIN] "Does it feel like your chest is caving in?" "It's not..." "Does it feel like that?" "...yes." [PAIN] ... [PAIN] His vision was clearing up. Hank knew it hurt. Hank was concerned, he understood what this felt like, he was helping. [STRESS LEVELS FALLING: 63%] "I'm scared," Connor admitted, his face pinched in pain. "I don't understand." Hank looked sympathetic. "It's just a couple broken ribs, you're gonna be okay. I know it hurts, but it's okay." [STRESS LEVEL: 57%] "Are you sure? It, maybe it's different for androids. Maybe it'll get worse." The doubt eating away at him made his voice tremble. "No." The way he said it made Hank sound like it was the indisputable truth. "You're going to be fine. I know, okay? Trust me." He placed his hand on the anxious droid's shoulder. Not jarring him, just grounding him. [STRESS LEVEL: 49%] The elevator car jerked again, and Connor flinched. The grip on his shoulder tightened comfortingly. "You're okay. It's okay." [STRESS LEVEL: 45%] "Th-thank you, detective," Connor forced the words out between teeth gritting together. Hank smiled at him, a little bitterly, mostly relieved, and Connor's LED flickered between yellow and blue for a moment before settling on blue. "Sure thing, kid."

[egg-writes-whump]

Robowhump anon - those were really good, thank you!

:D you're welcome!

[kianraidelcam]

IT’S UP! THANK RA9 IT IS FINALLY UP! Chapter 12 of @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge: Muted. Full fic under the cut, hope ya’ll enjoy! Next prompt is Sensory Deprivation! (pssst if you like whump, go check out @android-whump-big-bang and consider signing up)

“It's okay, kid, you'll talk when you're ready.”

Hank's words echo throughout his mind, sounding over and over again as Connor replays the memory file for the sense of comfort it brings. Following CyberLife's final attempt to assassinate Markus by taking control of him, hacking him, he finds himself… quiet. Muted. Unable to verbalize much of anything, let alone what it is that is truly bothering him.

He had thought he was free. That his actions were now his own. But CyberLife used him again and again and again, even after he deviated.

He was stupid, plain and simple. He probably still is.

So, he stays away from New Jericho, as the new deviant base of operation is called after the freighter was destroyed. After he destroyed it. He stays away from Markus and North and Simon and Josh. He stays away from Markus’ invitations to Washington D.C.and leaves excuse after excuse for why he is unable to attend or to give his refusal in person. “Unfortunately my caseload is too extensive at the DPD.” “Actually, I’ll be going out of town for a work-required seminar.” “I’m sorry but my schedule simply doesn’t allow for it. Perhaps next time?” All were weak but done safely behind a binary message from a distance away, leaving Markus unaware that Connor no longer even worked for the Detroit Police Department.

So, he instead busies himself with caring for Hank and Sumo. He owed the Lieutenant everything after all. He takes Sumo on two walks per day, at precisely 6am and 6pm, and ensures the Saint Bernard gets the correct amount of food and water daily. He cleans every inch of Hank’s house, despite the detective’s insistence otherwise. He cooks breakfast, prepares lunch, and cooks dinner each and every single day, slowly reducing Hank’s alcohol intake as not to shock Hank’s body. Gradually, the man takes more interest in his surroundings and the shadows around him start to disappear as the old Lieutenant Hank Anderson appears. Despite it all, Hank never forces Connor to say a word. He just offers him a sad smile and repeats the same sentence.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.”

That’s how it has always been since the day after the revolution, when Connor met Hank at the Chicken Feed. When Connor had finally pulled away from Hank’s hug, shaking with nervous energy, the Lieutenant’s smile had been full of pride as he asked, “So, what does the hero of the hour plan on doing next?”

And

Connor

froze.

Static had crackled both his vision and his voice, stress levels rising from 50% to 95%.

He’s no hero, he’s no hero, he’s no hero he's no hero,h͘͟e͝'̕s ̶n̛o̕ ̴h̢̛e̷̢r̶o҉, ,͡͝ ͟h̨e҉͟'̛͡s͞ ̕n̸̡o͘͝ he͞ro̶͞, ͜h̵͝ȩ͏̵'͢͞s̷͞ ̷n͟͠o͟͡ h͘͠e̢͘ro͜͝,̷  h̖̲̩̱͡e̳̮͙̩'̝̳͙̬s̴͙̣͍̠͍̞ ̞̻͕̜n̹̘̣o͇̙̲̰̻͡ ̫̲̼͟h̻̖̰eṟ̴o͎̻͡,̞͔͚͚͚ h͉̲̞͙̙̗͞ͅe͍̜̱͇'̟͓̫͘s̙̬̜͢ ̶͔̰̘̩͎no̶̮͕̲̙ ͇̼͓͖̳͚h̭̯͔͞ͅe͎̞͜r҉͖̺̭͇̻͕o͔̜͉̗̪̰̬,̴̤̗̼ ͈̰͎͓̬̥h҉e̦͙̝͚̖̹͝'̰̥s̡̝͖ ̡̱͔ͅṉ̵̙͇̣̹̯o̱̣ ҉͇̠̥̺ͅh̡͕ḙ̩̤͙r̤͓̭̜̙̙̜o̤͙̲,҉̺̻̤͓ ̵̞̟̹ͅH̟̦̭̳E̢'̢̳̟̞̫S̰̖̳̺̖ ̥̹̪͖̦͙͢N̫̫̖O̦̞̼̤̝͕ ̜H̙̩̘̰͢E͙R̙͇̻͜Ọ̩̹̺͉̱ͅ

“I...I…’

His LED had switched from a calm azure to a violent crimson, spinning with a dizzying speed to match the conflict within his mind.

“I……….I…..”

H̕e҉̡ a̕͡l͏̵m҉̶os̨t̸ ͘͡͡k͝҉į͠l͏le͢͏d ̨̢͞hi͢͏m̕͞,̵̡͝ ͟͏h̸e'̷s̸͜ ̢̧ņo͜ ̕ḩ̸ȩ͡͝r̵͡o,͠ ̶͝h̢͠e͡ ̷a̴l̡m͏̶̕o̶̧̨s͏̴̧t҉ r͡͝ųined ̶͜͝e͝v̕ȩ̛r͏̛y̢͜t̢͠ḩ͏i̸ng̸̡͠,̕͢ ̢h̵e̛'҉̛͠ş ̷ņo̸ ͘͏̡h̡͡e̛̕͢ro.̴̶

Feedback, shrill and deafening, had echoed in his audio processors, deafening him to whatever Hank had been saying.

“I………..I-”

A slap, not enough to harm but enough to break through the red haze that crowded his vision, had torn him from his downward spiral, and forced him to see concerned blue eyes only inches away from his own. Firm hands had rested on his shoulders, grounding him.

His gruff voice, unusually calm despite the alarm that lingered in his microexpressions, had finally reached his previously deaf ears.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.”

Connor had simply blinked in response and allowed Hank to lead him to the car.

“You gonna be okay while I’m gone? Gonna have to pull a fucking double to close up this one.”

He blinks now in response to Hank’s question, and tilts his head halfway with one eyebrow raised inquisitively. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Alright, smartass. Sumo, you be a good dog while I’m gone, and make sure Terminator here doesn’t get into any trouble.”

Connor smiles at the nickname, hiding his face in Sumo’s fur as he kneels down to pet the old dog, and listens as Hank leaves for work, on time for the 24th work day in a row. Pride, a rare emotion, settles in his thirium lines, warm and satisfying. He gives the dog a final, affectionate pat on the head before moving to the kitchen to wash the dishes from breakfast and he begins to practice.

͞”Ḩ͏a͘a̢ą͢a͞͡nk̷̨.”

Today is August 15th, 2039. Today marks what Hank would call “his first birthday.” Today, he is going to thank the man for all he’s done.

He has been practicing all month for it, forcing himself to reach further and further past his stress levels, past the painful static that claws its way through his throat whenever he attempts to say anything. One word at a time, each time offering marginal improvement. That, combined with Hank’s patience and assurances, as well as Sumo’s willingness to accept affection at any point in time, worked wonders and his voice grew stronger everyday.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll speak when you’re ready.”

Hank had brought him in when he had nowhere to go, no one to listen. Hank talked to him like he was normal, not broken, and let Connor communicate through text messages and body language. Hank picked up on his non-verbal cues and gave him new coins to get his nervous energy out. Hank never expected him to speak, like others undoubtedly would, and took care of him, buying him thirium or new clothes. Especially the baggier ones he preferred to lose his hands in.

Connor isn’t ready to speak to everyone, he thinks. But he is ready to speak to Hank.

At least, he thinks he is until Hank stumbles in the door gracelessly on at 2:39am on August 16th, 2039. Connor rushes from his position on the couch, worry at Hank’s truancy melting away to confusion as he scans the man. Intoxicated, that much is obvious, but what the scan cannot tell him is why Hank is stumbling in this late in this state.

Before the door closes, Connor can see the automatic taxi drive down the street, the Oldsmobile nowhere in sight.

So. At least Hank had that much sense.

Logically speaking, Connor knows that the odds of a relapse occurring within the first year of a recovering alcoholic is 80%. Emotionally speaking, Connor is still caught by surprise even as Hank flounders despite Connor’s support. He leads the man to the couch, ignoring Hank’s attempts at speaking in favor of laying him down and going to get him a glass of water. At least, he ignores it until his audio processors catch one sentence.

“Got nothing to say to me, huh?”

Connor freezes, unable to turn around to face the old man. Maybe Hank was just confused. His blood-alcohol levels had to be extremely high, judging from his state, he didn’t know what he was saying, who he talking to-

“Yeah, that‘s what I thought, you plastic asshole. Y’ know, there’s only s’much a man can take.” Hank slurs, words venomous and seething.

Static creeps its way back into Connor’s vision, red words in CyberLife Sans alerting him to the sharp rise in his stress levels. Like he doesn’t already know that.

“Jus’ don’t understand why ‘s so hard. I’m tryin my fucking best here, kid.”

Alarms begin to sound off in his ears, but it’s not nearly enough to drown Hank’s words. Tears prick the edge of his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision further, because damn it, he knows, he’s fucking trying, he knows.

He turns to face Hank, to make sure it really is Hank talking to him because his Hank simply does not do that. His Hank ruffles his hair whenever he passes by Connor on the couch. His Hank recommended paper books for Connor to read, occasionally bringing a new one home specifically for Connor, insisting that Connor actually take the time to read it and emotionally process it. His Hank tells him that he is doing a good job, thanks him for cooking and cleaning but letting him know he doesn’t have to, talks to him like he matters.

Sure enough, it’s Hank who faces him. Blue eyes circled by bloodshot red, gray hair lank and damp with sweat, exhaustion and anger etched in every wrinkled line on his face. It’s Hank, alright. It’s just not the Hank he’s come to know.

Past the shock comes the grief, the guilt, the fear, the smell of roses and the chill of a snowstorm. But even past that all comes the anger. Unbridled. Unmatched. Untamed. Because damnit, he’s fucking trying. He’s been doing nothing but trying all month.

“I know it’s not that fucking hard, Hank. You’re drunk, go to bed.”

His LED switches to yellow as he sends a text to Hank’s phone, the soft buzz catching Hank’s attention, but not in the way he hopes.

“No way, not this fucking time. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m trying, I can’t. Go to bed.”

Once again, Hank doesn’t bother pulling out his phone. “No fucking way, Connor! I’ve spent the last year putting up with your bullshit, the least I deserve is a straight, god damn answer, face to face.”

He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he doesn’t mean it. Judging from the third buzz, he unintentionally sends that Hank’s way as well, and sure enough, when he checks his message log, there it is.

“You’re drunk. Stop, you’re drunk, you don’t mean it.”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to send that. His mouth opens and-

“I…….I…..I̴͝ ̛͘”

“I…..I…..I…..”

His rising stress levels confuse the two commands, and Hank’s phone buzzes a fourth time even though Connor’s LED remains a stubborn red.

Hank’s lips press into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowing even as his eyes struggle to properly focus on the android in front of him.

“I̕͞͏.҉.̕͝.͝.͟.͝.͠I̕..̨.͢.͟..̢I̷.͠.̷..̸̨.̨”

“I can’t I can’t I can’t”

The phone buzzes again, and Connor’s anger is chased away by panic as he gets caught in a loop.

“I.̶̶.̵.̶̡̨.̴̸̨.̧͝.̴̨I̛͟..̵̛͡.̢͘.̸̷.҉̸.͝I̡.͜͝.̶̨͟.͘.̸̨.”

“Please I can’t please Hank please Hank I can’t”

“Ḭ.̜̣̝̤.̯͜.̭͔̝̪̕.̭͎̫.̩̜͢.͕̦̣͈̤̲͡I̩͎̲̣̦̗̟͡.͙̼̙̲̩.̵͖͔̰̻̻͔̜.͜.̫̣͍̻..̤I.҉.̵͉.̵.̢͙.̪͚̳̰”

“I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop”

“I̙̯͙͎̫͍͘.̸͖̘̼̞̼̠.̖̯̜.͏͎͙͕̹.̷͏̹͙̞͙̫.̢͉̣͓̥̙̹.̢̳̞̩̠̻̦Į̣̬͓̻̟͇.̨͏̹͕̻͞.͎͉͉͚̗̺̳.̨̛͙̝̜̠̫̫̥.̨͉͠͞.̸͙͔͖͎̜͔̰͍͚͡.̵̴̞͖͉͈̺̫͚̖I͡͏̯.̺͇͇͉̘̥̝.̟̞͓͖͚͓̺͕.̳̝̟̬͍.̻̘̩̪̗͜ͅ.̛̘̦̗”

"Hank please please please please please stop”

“I̛͔ͮ̈̓ͤ̋ͭͣ.̘ͥ́ͤ̾͑.͈͚̜͎̖̜̓ͣ̄͂ͭ.̭̬̥̆͑͂̽̆͐̕.͔̜̥̳͚͍͖.̎̂ͣ̆̆ͤ͜.̯̳̘̥͍̦ͬ̄̽ͨỊ̷̫͓̝̭̖͙̓.̸̭.̮̪͗̄.ͫͣ̅̅͒͏̼̮̠̰ͅ..͔.̢̣Ḯ̱̖̗̯̙̫̹͘.̼̫͍̯ͧ͆̀ͅ.̨̮̭̠͌̈.̜̩̉̇ͯ̀͗ͬ.͍͍͚̘̯͉̤̑͒͐̉̂͢.͇̠̔ͮͅ”

“Fuck this shit, I’m going to bed.”

No, no, no, no no no no wait. He needs Hank. He needs Hank to stop this because he started it and now Connor can’t stop he needs Hank.

"Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank”

“.̯̣͙̎̇̓̒.̺̹̱͍̟ͬ̋͂.̍͗͐̽̈̐ͩ͞҉̮̙͉̺.̳̯͑͋ͩ͡͠.̯̜̮̙̅̊ͧ́̔͗̅̍̅.̡̮̒̃̐̇̈́̅̌Î̢̟͔̳̤͍̠̙̯ͣ̒͞.̨̨̟͈̣̬̼ͭ̉͊͐̆ͥͯͬ̃.̙̗͎͓͂̽ͤ͗̅̃ͧ͞.̢͕̦̹ͨ̾̈́̈͒̓.̨̻͍̙̐̅.̸̜̀ͤ̈.̸̨̳̩̦̞̘̆I͈̞̭̦ͨ͒ͦ.̨̛̣̼̟̰͍͕̪̭̤̍́̀̏͑̾͡.̡̺͚̗̠͆ͥͦͩ͡.̣̝͈̘̭͎̉͆͊̌́͑̄̇̐͡ͅ.̒̿͆̍̊̈́ͦͨ͏҉͇.͈̣̏̄ͧͩ̿̄̒̃”

He can’t he can’t he can’t.

So instead, he sinks deep into himself, into his programming.

“Ǐ̸̡̞͎̫͉͚̰̄ͥ̊ͅͅ.̷̧̹̜͇̪̺̱͖̫̼͇̖̜͎̤͋́̒ͥͮ̐͜.ͯ̉̃͛̔̾̅̍̉ͤ̓ͦ̐ͬ̚͏͔͖͕̟̤̥̼̳͍͖̠̪̗̠͝͞ͅ.͍̭̯͈̩͉̠͙̥͚̙̣̹̪̎̂̒̊̿̎̍̈͂͌͟͞.̷͇͕̞̰̙͎̦̥̪͇͇̖̙̠̼̭̠͂̿ͥͧ́͐̚͡.ͦͤ͊̑ͬ̒̏ͯͩ́̅͛̎̀ͣ͏̴̶̧̬͉͙͎͉̹͚͎.̉ͯͫͪ̅̋̈̽̚��͖͉̬̝̰̼̱̼̮͈͉̣̕͢͢I̡̩̖̜͉͙̣͉͚̥̦̤͚͕̪̪ͩ̃ͧ͂̓̉ͨ͋̈́̔̀̇ͫ͑ͨ͛̉̄͢͜.̸̼̹͈̠̯̳̳̭̹͎͉̗̗̙ͯ̀ͫͥ͊̃ͣ̓̏ͦ̓ͭ͝͞.͂̑͐͌̃ͩ̈́͂͑̏͏̬̥͈̝͠͠.ͥ̊̇̅͂͂͐҉͏̸͈̣͖̤̫̲̞̝̲̣̼̬̱͢͞.̵̲͍̼̜̲̦̯̙̭̟̠̥̉ͨ̃̅̇͋ͮͤ̌ͪͬ̅ͤ̈́̚̕͡͡.̸̨̡͍̱̩̥͈̼̬͎ͯ͊̇ͥ͢͢ͅ.̸͙͙̭̘͉͉̲̯̫̯̦̭ͧ̾̋̈́͗ͩ̊̊͌̀̉̚͟Ĭ̴̶̸͕͍͈͕͔̬̈̾̂ͩ̓͑ͮͩ̆̾̓͑ͯ̆̅͂̚͘.̨̱͖̹̼͎̻̙̻͇̖̺̳ͬͩ̽̓̈͘͘ͅ.̷̡̪̙̼̣̹͚͇̮͉͔ͬͪ̒̑̄̿̀̚͜ͅ.̧̪̼̪͉̥͖͖̟̺͖̠̣̙̖͂ͯ͂ͪͯͤͤͪͫ͋̌̿̑̒̌̅̿ͥ̄ͅͅͅ.̛̛̙͈̭̘̱̤̇̔͒́ͦ͜͟.̴̴̺̤̼̞͊̊̈́̐ͩ̍́ͨͯ̿ͦ̏̈́͛͑̀̕”

He forces programs to shutdown.

He drifts as each program closes.

“Ȋ̆̓͌̇̍ͫͧ͊͞͏̢҉̮̦͎̫͎͈ͅ.̶͚̹͎̯͓̱̞̯̒ͪ̈̅̆̆ͨ̎̆̔̓͑̌̂ͭ͆͋.̷̨̻̜̬̫̮̬̙͙̻̼͙̜͓̦ͬ̑̊̌ͤ̀̆̈́̚͞ͅ.̷̸̸̡̖̰̮̥͎̇ͣͭ̀͋̓̊ͥ̂̌ͨ̌͊̚.̡͔͖̱̳̹̰̬̹̲̱̠̥̞̙̥̪̊̑̇̈ͥͩͩͣ̓̔̓ͫͫ͢͞.̸̵̨̢͇̮̦̲̟̻̥̦͍̺͉͈͗͗ͬͪ͛ͭ͂ͅ.̨̛̣̜̘̜̜̪̳̺̗̣̘̥͕̘͈̝̭̎ͮͩͧͭ̈ͮ̍ͭ̄͆͛ͯI̫̫͈͎͍͉̫͕̙͖̟̹͈̎ͩ̀ͧ̃̍͘͠.̧̛̳̮̫̲͕̩̲͉̲͖͎̩͙͈̰͎̃̉ͩͣͫ̉̎ͅ.̷̦͔̝̤͓͉͇̠͉͈͕͖͙͕̱̠̬̜̈̓̓́̓ͨ́͐̊̃̓̌̏ͮ̈́̐͆̑̓͞.̶̸̨̤͖̥̘̦̣͔̖̮̗̮̼̹̯͓̜̆̉͗ͣͭ̍ͪ̈́ͫ͒ͫ̑̍ͦ͝ͅ.̨͖͔̻̰̳͖̣͓̜͉̤̳̯ͭͬ̃ͫ̅ͮ͜͜ͅ.̶̧̢̲̮̫͚̞͇̭̹̗̉ͦ̔̋͌͐.̢̢̡͚͓͕̲̞̙͓̲͈̥̦̱̲̩̮͓̀͌ͧ̾̓̔ͧ̈̓̃ͫͪ̋ͩ̈́̉͟ͅI̸̵̖̺̳̞̥͚̼̫̟̍̊ͯ̉̈͡ͅ.͒ͪͩͯͫ̈́͛͐ͦ̽ͮ̈́̄̈́̚̕͜͢͏̵͈̞̱͍͓̫̥̝̞.̨̫̺̭̥̗̣͉͍̥̱̇͊̑͋̈̆͛ͯͤ͋̚͘͟.̶̴̝̣̮̙͔̝̜̥͎͛ͣͪͭ͝.̵̧̛̫͙̪̆̿̔̑̑ͫͣ̋̈ͬͣͮ̎̊ͩ̒̓̈́.͈͈͎̹̳̼͖̪͔̮̏ͬ̏ͧ̎ͫͮ͌͋̎͛ͬ̍ͮ͛͟͜͠͡”

Until nothing remains.

“I̲͍̼̊͑͢.̴͓͉̦̗̦̲̤͋̍ͬ̒̇ͮ̾̚͜.̡͍̳̞̄.̦̙̣̜͔̲̝̋̾̽̾̆̇̒̋.̦̟͓͆̐̄̎̔ͬͤ͆ͭ͘.̤̥̲̭̖̺̭̖͕̂̉͒̍̐̒̐͆̾.̫̣ͬ̀͞͠I̳̥̺̦̠̯͂̔̌ͮ͢͟͠ͅ.͎̰͓͙̝̘̤̂̅̓̏͛̅.̨̱̹ͨ̅̅̆ͭ̾̆͗.͍͕̱͚͔ͪ͒ͅ.͛͌ͨ͐̏ͯͦ̑҉̫̫̼̠̦̼.̢̪̼̤̦͕̗̱͙̔̐̌̅̔.̘̪̠̮̫ͬͨ̒̓͂͝I̷͎ͮ̔͟͠ͅ.̺̜͇̲ͣͦ̃̍̿ͯͮ̍̚͡.̋͌͋ͧ͏͙̮̫̹̗͝.̜́ͧͥͥ͑ͪ̎̚͠.̶̅͒̚͏̧͖̥̼̱̞.̪̲͓͇͍̠ͧͬ̕͠c̛͎̦͖͖̖̝̊͊̒͑ͪ̄̓ͮ̾ͅa̵͇̺̱͌ͭ͞n͈̖̰͙̓͐͟'͋̏͊̆ͤͣ҉͔̤̱̱̱̤͖̙t̏҉̴̺”

And he loses himself to the burning of static in his throat and the sting of shame in his chest.

Sunlight leeches in, dragging Hank from his stupor. Sour cotton coats his tongue and a hammer pounds the inside of his skull, forcing his eyes to remain shut against the burning sun. He groans, brings his hands to rub at his face as the hangover hits him with a vengeance. Shit, the was the first he’s had in over three months after Connor attempted to discreetly lower the amount of beer and whiskey he drank, slowly substituting it with water. Hank had pretended not to notice as he took it in stride, somehow actually finding himself appreciating the android’s efforts.

Wait. Connor.

His mind flashes to last night, after a case had driven him right back to Jimmy’s. It had been rough, and ended with a child’s murder. Killed by their father. Like he didn’t know what he really had. How much others would give to have their own child. So, instead of driving home, he went to the bar, ignoring Jimmy’s concerned glance and especially ignoring the buzzing of incoming texts from one undoubtedly worried, hovering android. And one shot of whiskey led to two, and two led to three until he could barely think, let alone walk and Jim forced him into an automated cab. After that, it was all a blur.

But his gut was telling him something was wrong.

He remembered coming home, and Connor’s startled jump. He remembered being pissed, not at Connor, but...but Connor was the closest target. And even if he hates to admit it to anyone, especially himself, he is frustrated with Con at times. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, he knows that much, and he tries his best to be patient, understanding. But last night… he was drunk… he was pissed…

“Got nothing to say to me, huh?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fucking god damnit! Of all the things to say, why the hell did he say that?

“I……..I……..I”

He remembers garbled static. Panic and anger simmering in brown eyes. An LED blaring red, red, red. And then, nothing.

Oh fuck. He messed up. He messed up big time.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and for some reason all he can think about is how he never changed last night. Until he grabs it and turns on the screen to see 117 unread messages.

“Fuck me.”

This time he curses out loud, hissing between clenched teeth at his own stupidity as he enters his password, eyes barely able to concentrate. “Great job, Anderson, you’ve fucked up big time,” he curses himself, trepidation filling him as he opens the chat history.

“I know it’s not that fucking hard, Hank. You’re drunk, go to bed.”

“I’m trying, I can’t. Go to bed.”

“You’re drunk. Stop, you’re drunk, you don’t mean it.”

“I…..I…..I…..”

“I can’t I can’t I can’t”

“Please I can’t please Hank please Hank I can’t”

“I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop”

“Hank please please please please please stop”

“Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank”

Hank’s horror and guilts grows as he scrolls through the increasingly jumbled messages, each making less sense than the last, until it just becomes nothing but binary code, 0’s and 1’s over and over again. Then, he reaches the last message and he throws his phone at the wall in a panic, ignoring the sharp stabs in his head to tear through his way to the living room, where he sees a prone android unmoving on the floor.

“FORCED SHUTDOWN INITIATED”

“Oh god, oh fuck, Connor,” he falls to his knees beside the android, pulling his limp body into his lap, “Connor, can you hear me?”

Connor doesn’t respond. Instead, his head lolls to the side, revealing a blue LED blinking slowly, occasionally turning to gray as the light fades in and out. Fuck, okay, not shutdown then. Blinking blue meant stasis, Hank knows that much. He gently taps the side of Connor’s face, as if trying to rouse a sleeping human. It’s worked before. Any sort of stimulus was normally enough to wake up the hyper aware android. “Con, are you there? I need you to open your eyes for me.”

The change is gradual. Hank occasionally talks to the android, eventually moving him to the couch as his LED gradually picks up intensity, spinning faster and faster as more systems come back online. Hank stays by his side as the sun begins to shift in the sky because he fucked this up, so he needs to fucking fix this. Even as mid-morning turns to afternoon, Hank only rarely moves, reassuring Connor and whispering apologies, anything to encourage the kid to wake up. Until at long last, the LED turns yellow and Connor opens his eyes.

Hank smiles, even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and he murmurs, “Welcome back.”

Connor stiffens, his LED shifting to red as his mouth opens and closes. His eyes clench shut as he begins to shake, sobbing even as his eyes remain dry. Hank rubs his arms, ignoring his own guilt making him want to do the same, “Hey, hey, none of that now. Eyes on me, Connor.”

Connor shakes his head desperately, deigning to instead roll onto his side, and damn the forgiving kid he reaches for Hank, drawing him closer.

“H͏͡a̢̡a͘ņ͠k̢̨͞”

“Shhhhh, not now kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that and I’m just an old fuck-up and fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. You did nothing wrong, you hear me,” Hank’s distantly aware he’s rambling as he draws Connor close, rubbing his back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture, “It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.

Time seems to stand still as the two stay like this, Connor’s shaking eventually settling as Hank mutters more nonsense into his ears. And eventually, Connor stills entirely and interrupts the older man halfway through another apology, “G̨ui͜lt ͟d͢o҉e̶sn't ͡suit you͝, L͢i҉eut̸ena͝nt.”

This time, it’s Hank’s turn to still and he pushes the android away so he can see his face. His LED spins yellow, a vast improvement over the red in Hank’s opinion, and his face is calm. But Hank knows Connor, and he can see the apprehension in gleaming doe eyes.

“I҉t's̷ it'̛s it͠'͞s̕ i͏t̡'s͞,” Connor jerks his head back, frowning, “It̡'s̡ a̴ b͜it͡ ҉o̵ut ͜of ̧c͏ha̕r̢acter̷ ̧fo̸r͢ y̕o͏u͢.͘”

Connor’s words glitch, occasionally stuttering, but it’s his voice. His voice. And fuck, if Hank wasn’t proud. He’d be damned if he shows it though, “Fucking smartass. You better watch it there,” Hank scratches the back of his head and looks around the living room, suddenly unable to meet Connor’s eyes, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Connor winces and Hank quickly backtracks, “Fuck, I mean….I don’t mean you have to talk. Like I said, you’ll do that when you’re ready. But I think I have some explaining to do, agree?”

The android nods, eyes downcast as well, "̛I I̛ I̢ I.....̵I ̷p҉ra͠ct͏i̵çed͟.̛"͞

Well, shit. If he didn’t feel like an ass already.

“Well, maybe we could practice together?”

He only hesitates for a moment before nodding.

“Listen, Con. I don’t expect you to fucking start reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy at me right away. This shit takes time, even for ‘CyberLife’s most advanced android prototype.’ I understand if you can’t say anything. ‘Sides, I don’t need to hear ya to understand ya. You’re fine just the way you are.”

A shift in light catches Hank’s eyes, and he notes with some satisfaction that his LED had finally switched back to blue.

Connor’s eyes rise to meet Hank’s.

Connor gives him that goddamn lopsided smile and brings his flat hand toward his lips before moving it forward and down.

“Thank you.”

Hank smiles back, “Yeah, whatever.”

[blinded-and-bloody]

Robowhump Challenge

Day : Two, Voice Modulator Damage

Fandom : NA

Characters : Dexter, Dave Martinez

Whump : Shut Off, Voice Modulator Damage

My name is Dexter. I was perfected by Dave Michael Martinez with the purpose of protecting Chicago from various criminals. My top priorities are Josiah Worth, Harvey Thompkins, and Hailey ‘H’ Tyler. My allies are Dave Michael Martinez, Miles Thorson, and Philip ‘Lip’ Que. I am to protect these three with my life.

There aren’t many people who remember the first few moments after their birth. Dexter is one of those very, very few people, if only thanks to the fact that he wasn’t really birthed. His body was created, in the corner of a bedroom, mostly out of scrap metal and anything Dave could sneak away from work.

Opening his eyes for the first time, Dexter saw Dave. His creator. A bit on the smaller side, with wild curly hair pulled back into a sort of low ponytail, hebwas a nice enough looking man. The average person might say hi to him on the street, but to Dexter, he was everything.

“Hi Dex. Can you say hi?” Dave asked, looking down at his sheet of lined paper check-list that had obviously been a little wrinkled.

It took a moment, but Dexter opened his mouth.

“Thaboxld.”

Dave blinked up at him, trying not to wince at the very high pitch. “Wanna try that again?”

“Hooep lkso shrpwl,” Dexter tried. “Hwofp opxbdh p-p-p-p-p-p-p-“

“Dexter, stop.”

He stopped trying to talk, much to his own dismay. Why couldn’t he form words? What was the matter with him? He could think them, but...

Dave was rechecking his list.

“Shit, your voice modulator must be broken. Or damaged... Dexter, shut down.”

And before he could whine his complaints, Dexter was shut off, eyes closing as his head fell forward, again.

[ @mauismuses @jackwriteswhump ]

[precious-whumps]

oooooh, keep the robowhump flowing!!!! you should gif other series too

i do be trying :) i remembered rollbots from my childhood which was a lot of fun, so i'll be rewatching it sometime for moments that i definitely know are in there but couldn't find with quick skims, and there's also a couple asian dramas i've seen gifs of around here ('are you human too' comes to mind)

[cardiaccadillac]

Chapters: 1/14 Fandom: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Adam Jensen & Francis Pritchard Characters: Adam Jensen, Francis Pritchard Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, One Shot Collection, EMP, Augmentations (Deus Ex), Whump, 30 Day RoboWhump Prompt Challenge, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence Series: Part 2 of robowhump 30 day challenge Summary:

Part 2 of the 30 Day RoboWhump challenge, which has taken me a lot longer than 30 days. Each chapter has individual tags and warnings, so you can pick and choose what you want to read. Gratuitous Adam whump. More tags and description to be added as more is written.

Reccer’s comment: Some really great whump here. Adam’s augs can’t help him against a well-placed bullet. 

[archadianskies]

This is random, but I know you're a fan of dad Hank and his RK sons - any recommendations for good fluff with that family dynamic?

Of course :D!

To Be Human- by Funkspiel; Connor sickfic

The 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge- by WayWardWonderer; Poor Connor goes through A Lot and Hank Dads for 30 days

Five Things Connor Had to Learn About And One Thing He Already Knew- by woolesbeano; 5+1 fic about Connor figuring out Life

and all their leaves will wither- by Ravenesta; post-revolution aftermath fic of Connor learning how to life

Heartstring- by Brachydios; that scene in SpiderVerse except it’s Hank embarrassing Connor in front of Jericho

Going Down Slow- by Istealurfrenchfries; Connor learning how emotions work and what it means to cry

Touch Me- by joliemariella; favourite rarepair of mine, Nines/Simon fic with touch starved Nines figuring out his place in the world, with super supportive brother Connor and best dad Hank.

[albino-whumpee]

Robowhump 4

Sorry this is kinda late, but thanks for the prompts to @whumptopia ! They´re all very interesting and fun to explore!

TW// guns and gun wounds, implied abuse, implied noncon modifications, blood, escape attempt, recapture.

Exia was running so desperately, it didn´t avoid quick enough the trash pile and fell head first into the pavement. It pulled itself up and sprinted through the alley. Readjusting its own object avoidance protocols as it ran.

It had been an hour ago, when Ian and Creek were watching something on the other room when the lights went off. A blackout. Creek depotricated as Ian tried to search for a light.

Exia was still on its place, tied to the hook when the set of hands that had got it there, pressed on the speakers button.

Then, the headphones were off and the first thing it heard was “I´m sorry Exia” as Liam put away the gag. Exia pressed its lips together.

“Why are you helping me?” the machine asked before feeling the blindfold buckles being undone and finally recovering its sight. It could enter night seeing mode anytime. The neural cable had given it energy 24/7 during the week without interruptions.

But it simply didn´t wanna see Liam´s face.

Liam stayed quiet as it lifted Exia up holding it from its abdomen. Exia could free its hands from the hook and wasn´t glued to the floor anymore. So it kicked Liam´s chest and fell on the ground on its back with a dry thud. Exia grunted as it rolled “Liam…I don´t know what they did to you” it said lifting itself up by the elbows “But you´re not you right now” Exia said walking to the working table and urgently cutting the neural cable after freeing its wrists from the rope. It took a while because of how thick it was “you wouldn´t…” it put more strength into the scissors Ian had used to cut its uniform “You wouldn´t ever sell me to them” Exia´s voice broke for a second.

No response.

Exia tried to take off the plug but it had a second lock. The robot pulled tight, but it was useless. With a defeated sigh it turned around.

Against it´s initial desires it activated the night seeing mode. It´s eyes falling flat on Liam´s guilty face. Exia looked down and found Ian´s white coat laying on the chair.

Exia dressed itself with it and was adjusting the belt when it heard Creeks voice on the outside.

“We just wanted you to make sure it didn´t run away, Liam. What´s taking you so long?” Creek said, his steps growing closer and drilling on Exia´s circuits.

“Exia!” Liam called in a hushed yell, making it jump “Trust me one more time and open that tramp on the floor” Liam signaled a metal door next to Ian´s desk. “If you follow the yellow line it should get you outside” Liam explained as the steps grew closer. Exia stared at the door, waiting for the moment it would slam open. “Please! Go!” Liam cried.

“Why should I trust you?!” Exia screamed. Seeing Liam´s face scrunch in pain. It opened its mouth various times before it closed it´s eyes shut and pulled something out of it´s neural cable dock.

“E…-ia! d0n´t… Fo1l0w… Y3L10W!” Liam forced out, fans whirring as it talked. . Engines overheating from the system´s errors and dissobedience protocols trying to stabilize. Exia took a step closer to the tramp. Recognizing its friend below the corrupted program “RED! GO RED!” Liam howled right before Creek left out a deep sigh.

“Goddamnit, Liam!” Creek yelled as he slammed the door open.

It was too late though. Exia had already gone down the trap on the floor.

Creek lightened Liam´s face. As it trembled with light blue liquid going down its eyes and nose. The boy stared from above and kicked it. “It´s supposed to be a hunting game, Liam” he said lifting its head and turning the lights on. Making it stare right into his eyes “Lucky for you, Ian loves a challenge” he grinned before stroking gently the dock on its nape “Now, let´s get into some repairs shall we?”

—

Exia had followed the red path and had gotten out to the south through a sewer, not so sure if it was safe to follow Liam´s advice.

It would have to roll with it.

So, it sprinted through the alleys with the objective to get to the police station. It was a kilometer away, even if Ian was following it, it would tire himself out quicker. Being a robot had its upsides, Exia thought to itself as it turned left. It was almost there, just 354 meters away and it could explain it had been stolen. The officers would help it get back to its owner. They could access its visual records and…

Suddenly there was a hole in the ground. It took Exia less than a second to determine the object on the ground as a bullet. And even less to know it had destroyed its arm. A splash of blue, painting the white coat.

Not giving it even time to howl, another bullet went through its right leg, making it lose its balance. It fell on the ground head first with a yelp. It heard steps getting closer and tightly clenched its injured leg as it tried crawling onwards. Getting the white coat dirty with grimace and light blue.

Clack

The pressure of a gun was put into its head, freezing Exia.

“Liam spilled didn´t he?” Ian´s voice made Exia´s circuits to bolt for a second “Good thing I checked on the red just in case” Exia´s eyes widened. Even when the original orders were to set a trap… Liam had really tried to help it escape.

“Doesn´t matter, but you got my coat dirty, Exia” Ian said eyes drilled into the blue spots all over the expensive white coat. Exia´s cooling system demanded more oxygen and whirred as it entered panic mode when the gun pushed its head slightly. “You know I hate dirty things” Ian said before the robot closed its eyes. Resigned of getting freedom.

“P-Please…” Ian lifted a brow. “Don´t destroy me. Please…Forgive me” EX144 didn´t talk back to Ian, but EX144 was begging him  “I will fix it. Please take me back. It will be good and fix everything” Exia slowly turned on itself to bow in front of him. Holding tight the destroyed left arm as its forehead touched the floor “Please…”

They stayed like that for a moment until Ian put down his gun.

“Alright” Exia heard him say with his characteristic coldness. “A robot who breaks its program amuses me more than a destroyed one” Ian smiled, his head lopping to a side as he made Exia stare at him with the end of his gun.

A car hunked a few meters away. Exia recognized the model as Creek´s van and didn´t resist when it was pushed into the trunk before driving back to their workshop.

TW// guns and gun wounds, implied abuse, implied noncon modifications, blood, escape attempt, recapture.

[lulu-balu]

Random reiteration that the robowhump in Heart is so gooood

Thank you so much Bugg! I put a lot of thought into it so it always warms my heart to hear 💞💖💓

[whumptopia]

30 Day RoboWhump Prompt Challenge

Most whump prompt challenges don’t work with robots or androids, so I’ve created a prompt challenge specifically for robowhump! Hopefully, most of these prompts should be compatible with your favorite robowhumpee!

Day 1: Low Power Cells

Day 2: Voice Modulator Damage

Day 3: Overheating

Day 4: Glitch

Day 5: Virus

Day 6: Panicking

Day 7: Temperature Regulator Damage

Day 8: Air Filtration Damage

Day 9: Kidnapped

Day 10: Hacked

Day 11: Restrained

Day 12: Muted

Day 13: Sensory Deprivation

Day 14: Shot

Day 15: Forced Reboot

Day 16: Shocked

Day 17: Painful Repairs

Day 18: Programming Override

Day 19: Limb Removal

Day 20: Vital Component Damage

Day 21: Mind Control

Day 22: Memory Loss

Day 23: Objectification

Day 24: Altered Pain Sensors

Day 25: Dehumanization

Day 26: Manhandling

Day 27: Explosion

Day 28: Body Modification

Day 29: Water Torture

Day 30: Shutdown

[friendlylocalwhumper]

Do you have any robot whump? In my story, my character has his panels/"skin" pried off, but I want to do worse than just toying with circuits. Their power pump that functions as their heart is in their chest, if that gives you any ideas

you should ask @malfunction-whump for some good robowhump ideas!