I was looking through old art folders and remembered this whump oc I made (way before I ever heard of whump). hes a wrong-place-wrong-time back alley science experiment that gets turned into a werewolf...via ˚｡⋆~science~⊹ ࣪ ˖
i remember this was an era where I really wanted to have a more defined art style so i was doing lots of intentional style experiments. tbh i still dont know if ive got a style I like yet but i feel closer than i was 7 years ago.
back then I was way too embarrassed to post any of this type of art. tbh I still am but I do it anyways bc you guys seem to like it.
Yandere!Cult Leader x Yandere!Brother (platonic pairing)
Summary: Sevyn has been brought back into the cult, and is facing punishment for running away.
Words: ~1730
. . .
Sevyn’s wrists burned like a salted wound. The weight of his body was supported only by the chains hanging from the ceiling, and it wore him down, slow, like a frog in a boiling pot. His shoulders ached for release, blood pooling in his lower limbs and driving pins and needles from his elbows to his fingertips. His head hung between his arms, unable to rest it due to the thorned crown adorning him.
For hours, the only sound he was allowed was the echoing drip of his own blood into the drain beneath his feet. The warmth of it wept from his torso, arms, and legs, providing only fleeting moments of solace in the cold basement he was confined in. He wore nothing but a pair of boxers, stripped of his dignity and forced to succumb to the will of his Shepard.
The door creaked open at the top of the stairs, allowing a shred of light to waterfall down the steps. It poured like honey, kissing the pool of blood by the drain once it reached the bottom. It glistened in the light as if the stars themselves were contained in the red mixture.
Sevyn strained to pull his head up, but quickly threw it back down as the light was switched on. It was much harsher than the sweet honey that poured down the stairs. No, this was isopropyl alcohol burning a scraped knee. A scolding for riding in the street.
The door was locked behind him, and Viktor began his descent into the basement. With each step, Sevyn felt a new wave of dread in his gut. He felt nauseous by the time he saw the Shepard’s black shoes.
“You’re still awake…” Viktor observed. Sevyn did not respond.
The Shepard brought a hand up to the jaw of his lamb. The younger man did not resist the touch, however, the grimace on his face was difficult to contain.
“Relax, Sevyn. You’re almost done.”
“Almost.. done?”
Viktor clicked his tongue and tilted his head. “Hm?”
“I-“ Sevyn breathed in through his nose. “What else do I have to do, sir..”
The Shepard hummed in approval and ran his thumb across Sevyn’s cheek. “I’ll let you pick this time.”
The younger was released from the unwanted touch, left only to watch as the cabinet at the far end of the room was opened. Inside contained several different tools to earn God’s- or Viktor’s- forgiveness. Sevyn’s least favorite was the barbed wire bat.
The Shepard took his time in choosing the tools for the job. It took at least three minutes for him to return to the younger man, and by then the pit in his stomach had grown into a sinkhole. He tried to keep his breath even, but was unsuccessful. He kept his eyes closed until instructed to open them.
In Viktor’s hands, he was met with his options.
The left held a muzzle. The right held a taser.
“What are the rules?” asked the lamb.
Viktor stayed silent until Sevyn realized what he was waiting for.
“What are the rules, sir….”
First the muzzle was explained.
“If you pick the muzzle, you won’t hurt for seven days. You’ll go outside again. Come to church. See your sibling. Sleep in your bed. But it doesn’t come off for seven days. Not for food, not for water, not for prayer. Seven days.”
The lamb swallows thickly. “And the- the taser, sir?”
“I’ll use it now. You’ll be punished for the next seven minutes, and then you’re finished for the week.”
The younger man had to give it some thought. There would be no immediate physical pain involved with the muzzle. But the humiliation, thirst, and hunger would slowly erode his body until he most likely died before the end of the punishment. It would be a slow and agonizing death. But he knows if there are only seven minutes of torture left in the week, it will be torture until the last millisecond.
“There is no choice,” Sevyn murmured. “There’s— I don’t have-“
“Pick, Sevyn, or I will.”
Sevyn hung his head in defeat. “… The taser, sir.”
“Very well.”
Viktor replaced the muzzle in the cabinet, and returned with a timer in hand. He set it to seven minutes, placed it on the window ledge, and began.
Minute one.
Viktor first pressed the taser into the left pectoralis major. The moment it made contact with the skin, Sevyn was howling in pain. While gripping onto the chains that held him in place, his body began to shake so fervently he was practically vibrating.
After seven seconds, Viktor released. Sevyn’s body relaxed and he whined like a dog left out in the rain.
His next trial was cauterizing.
Each gaping wound littering the body of the lamb was targeted. First it was his arm, a wide, torn, ugly looking thing in his shoulder. It would leave a deep and awful scar, and now, it would be worse.
The blood sizzled underneath the taser. Sevyn thought the pain before was all he could take, but now, he’s met a new face of it. It felt like claws ripping apart each individual nerve. It was digging deep, deep into his body, picking out the muscle fibers, the nerve cells, the bone marrow, and eating it alive until all that was left was the scorched, now bloodless wound that would never quite heal.
Viktor moved on to the next. The single moment of relief was the most blissful Sevyn had felt in days.
Minute two and three mimicked the first. By the fifth cauterized wound, Sevyn was pleading for the muzzle. He was desperate for relief, desperate to distract the Shepard for even one more second before the pain began again.
“Please!” Sevyn wailed. “Please, I- I change my mind, I change my mind, please, please, I wan- I want-“
“I don’t care what you want,” Viktor interrupted. “You made your bed, Sevyn. Lie in it.”
Minute four.
Blood poured from Sevyn’s forehead and scalp. The crown of thorns had been jostled around enough to sink its teeth into his flesh, mixing the tears on his cheeks with blood. It began to seep into his eyes, blinding him with thick, red droplets hanging onto his lashes. Now, not only could he not escape, but he also couldn’t see what was happening next.
And next, was the spine.
Viktor stepped around the younger to be at his back. His sobs and whines were testimony that even the most disobedient dogs could be trained.
The taser was no stranger to Sevyn by now. Its teeth sunk into his flesh like a hungry animal who could never be full. First, it bit into the muscles at his sides. Viktor was showing mercy by doing so.
Next, small spurts of electricity were shot into the lamb’s spine. For a few seconds at a time, Sevyn was subjected to an ongoing assault against his central nervous system. Instead of clawing at specific nerves inside the wounds, this time, the taser had access to paths it was previously not granted. The electricity shot up and down his body in the same moment, coursing through his spine and twisting into every limb. It felt as if it was burrowing between his vertebrae and shoving itself into the spinal cord, biting its way through like a vulture to a carcass. Sevyn saw white flashing in his eyes, soon corroded by black swirls that shoved him into darkness.
“— up, Sevyn. Wake up.”
The younger man lifted his head, blinking blood and tears from his eyes. Viktor hushed him as he cried, hushed him as he flinched at the feeling of something soft touching his eyes.
“It’s alright, shhh. Are you with me?”
Sevyn sputtered out a response even he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t form a coherent piece of conversation even if he tried, so he looked to Viktor for guidance.
“Are you with me, Sevyn?” the Shepard asked again.
The younger man nodded. “I’m s- I’m sorry,” he wept.
“What for?”
Truly, Sevyn didn’t know himself, but he knew the answer Viktor wanted.
“For running away. For dis- for disobeying, for- for questioning my faith. I’m sorry, Father, please forgive me. Please forgive me.”
Viktor’s head tilted as he begged. Sevyn couldn’t tell what gears were turning behind his eyes- he could only hope he had activated the correct ones.
“You have two minutes left, Sevyn. Can you stay awake?”
Sevyn mourned, tears springing from his eyes once more. A pathetic cry escaped his torn throat and he dipped his head, nodding in defeat. He shut his eyes as the blood lapped at his eyelashes once more.
Viktor unpaused the timer, walked behind the lamb, and continued to minute six.
Sevyn felt a sharp, slicing pain come from his right heel. Blood ran down his foot and into the drain like a hose. Before he could process the pain, Viktor was tying his feet together.
“W- what’s ha-“
“Hush.”
Sevyn obeyed. He wouldn’t dare make a mistake now.
At least twenty seconds passed before Viktor had Sevyn’s legs completely bound together. They were then chained to a shackle sticking up from the ground.
Minute seven.
Viktor grasped Sevyn’s right leg to help keep him in place, and then dug the taser inside his flesh. It had not yet been activated, but he could’ve been fooled. He couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t stop crying. His flesh was ripped apart, the taser gnawing away at the meat until it touched the Achilles heel.
Then, it began.
The worst pain he had ever felt in his life. His entire world flashed before his eyes. The church. The Bible. The woods. The city. Cigarettes at three in the morning, drunk on a curb. His sibling’s face. God. Viktor. It all melted into one big, awful moment inside his leg, the electricity reverberating across his entire body. He could feel it from the bottom of his foot, up to the whorls of his fingerprints. Every molecule occupying his anatomy had been ripped away from its original purpose to experience the wrath of God. The forgiveness of Viktor.
When Sevyn could taste his own blood, the timer beeped, and Viktor stopped. Wordlessly, the Shepard stood, walking round to look his lamb in the eye.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you,” Sevyn whispered. He had nothing left to give.
