#Grimshade

[silvertws]

Look at the boy. Look at him.

I love him (/p) your honor.

The bean. The baby ;-;

Zata when I catch you...

when I catch you...

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 01

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Grimshade Sanatorium, an isolated island of Blackridge in southern Canada.

It had been six long hours by plane from your city, three hours by boat, and now an hour and a half crammed into a private car with closed windows, traveling along a bumpy road that bordered a cliff as it climbed the hill. Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest at any moment, and your hands were sweating so much that they alternated between hot and cold.

You adjusted your glasses on the bridge of your nose after checking the map for the eighth time, dividing your attention between the aged paper in your fingers and the fog outside that made it impossible to figure out where you were. From what you could decipher, Grimshade Sanatorium was at the top of a hill, while the rest of the island was shrouded in dark, untamed vegetation. There was a single small town miles away from your lodging, and reaching it seemed daunting given the path ahead.

At that moment, you hoped you wouldn’t need anything from it anytime soon.

When you chose psychiatry as your specialization, you never imagined how difficult it would be to find a job in the field, especially as a newly graduated professional. It was tough for reputable clinics to give you a vote of confidence, given your youth and limited experience beyond mandatory internships and extracurricular activities in college.

Everything changed when a letter from Grimshade Sanatorium arrived—a glimmer of hope. You had applied to so many places you’d forgotten about that one. They sent a notice on vintage paper, resembling a direct invitation from Hogwarts, which you found amusing yet intriguing due to the details.

They were looking for a psychiatrist for the ward housing inmates awaiting their final sentences—many of them serving their time as residents. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, especially after researching Grimshade and discovering it functioned like a maximum-security prison for the most dangerous, mentally unstable criminals.

“This is where the road ends for cars, I’m afraid. You’ll have to continue on foot,” the driver said over his shoulder, turning to look at you in the back seat.

Your slightly wide-eyed gaze shifted between the dark dirt road ahead and his drooping eyes beneath his cap. You didn’t want to let on that you felt a faint shiver running up your spine.

“I don’t know how to get there alone,” you said, trying to mask the panic in your voice. “Okay, I have a map, but what are the chances it won’t confuse me? Is there somewhere I can get Wi-Fi or better cell service to use GPS?”

Rebert—that’s how he introduced himself—merely furrowed his brows and shook his head briefly, as if the words that had left your lips were absurd.

“With all due respect, miss, but a cellphone on Blackridge Island is the most useless device you could own. There’s no signal tower; we barely manage to watch TV or get news from the outside world,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” you asked, frowning as you adjusted yourself in the seat. “How do people communicate here?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Probably through letters and carrier pigeons, like a century ago.

“I need to ask one more thing. If I need to go into town, how can I call a taxi or get transportation?”

“When you get to this very intersection, you’ll see cars like mine heading toward the town. Since you’re a Grimshade employee, you’ll have unrestricted access with your ID badge. Just pay attention to the schedules and days of the week; town visits are limited to avoid coinciding with the arrival of new inmates.”

“They seem very strict about security,” you said, flexing your lips in mild surprise.

“Given the abominable creatures they house there, perhaps their measures aren’t strict enough. Strict is how I chain my dog to a post to keep him from running away. Those killers shouldn’t even have the privilege of eating and sleeping in that place,” Rebert said with a tone of contempt that left you slightly uncomfortable.

You hated when people spoke about patients that way, no matter who they were. But your beliefs and values didn’t matter much now.

“Well...” You cleared your throat, grabbing your coat and bag from the seat beside you, slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks for the ride and the tips, Rebert.”

“Not at all, miss.”

You hauled your suitcase out of the trunk, grunting at its weight, and dragged it toward the narrower stone path. In the distance, you heard Rebert’s car pulling away, its tires crunching against the gravel. Ahead, you could make out the mansion after a steep climb, with old tree branches and dry leaves forming an archway over the path.

The journey was silent, with nothing but the sounds of nature—the raspy chirping of birds—accompanied by the soft rush of water from the cracked concrete fountain decorating the front of the sanatorium as you crossed its gates. You walked slowly around it, grimacing as you noted the general state of neglect on the facade.

The circular driveway around the fountain had cracked and darkened tiles, and the mansion’s paint was as old as the building itself, appearing white under layers of creeping vines and cracks that altered its color. You couldn’t help wrinkling your nose at the sight, the chirping of birds replaced by the distant clang of heavy metal and muffled screams as you approached.

“You must be the new doctor!” A cheerful male voice addressed you from behind, startling you as you turned fully. “I’m Travis Rune, head psychiatrist of the custody ward. I’ve been assigned to welcome you to Grimshade!”

For a moment, you considered refusing the hand he extended toward you. He could’ve arrived a little earlier and helped you carry your heavy suitcase up the hill. On the other hand, the blond man with perfectly aligned hair and broad shoulders seemed far too pleasant to snub.

“Thank you! Have you been here long, Dr. Rune?” you asked, prompting a smile as Travis gestured with his chin for you to follow him inside.

“Please, call me Travis. We’re colleagues now.” He smiled, looking at you over his square glasses, winking one strikingly blue eye.

“That’s precisely why I prefer to keep things formal,” you said without intending to sound rude, though the words slipped out as you continued assessing the mansion’s interior.

A grand staircase led to the second floor, where nurses bustled about, and various patients were being moved from one place to another—some restrained, others not. Passing by a woman banging her head against the staircase railing, Travis led you upstairs, signaling to another staff member to take care of your suitcase.

“We’ve divided Grimshade into wings and levels. You’ll identify them by the bracelets on each patient’s wrist,” he explained as you moved down the corridor, ignoring the shouting coming from one of the consulting rooms. “Level One: green bracelet. Elderly patients abandoned by their families in our asylum. Their needs are managed by the nursing staff, so you won’t have contact with them.”

You absorbed the information, looking from side to side, thinking that abandoning a family member in a place like this was the ultimate proof of someone’s character.

"Level two: yellow wristbands. Patients of random age groups with mild mental disorders also abandoned by their families, or severe cases requiring institutionalization. They are monitored by the mental health team and have a monthly consultation with me for medication adjustments."

"So, they pay to be here?" Perhaps it was a naïve question, but you needed to know.

"Their families pay an annual fee and cover the costs of keeping them here. Unless it's a custody patient, we don’t treat anyone for free, if that’s what you’re wondering."

If they had so many patients and all of them paid to be here, why keep the sanatorium in the state of an ancient asylum? You wondered as you walked past a leak dripping water from the ceiling onto your hair.

"Understood, Dr. Rune."

He seemed quite young.

Okay, he was definitely good-looking and had a pleasant way of speaking. The age gap between you and him couldn’t have been more than two years. He was definitely the kind of guy you might have had a crush on in university, without the slightest reciprocation given the countless other, more interesting options he probably had. Not that you were particularly extroverted or social, especially when it came to interacting with men.

Locking yourself up at home with your face buried in books might not have been the best idea after all.

"Last but not least, level three: red wristbands. Custody patients awaiting trial or serving sentences at the sanatorium. We use treatment to extract information that can assist authorities and contribute to investigations."

He pointed toward a consultation room where a man in a dress shirt was speaking to a girl with her head down.

"Because these are highly dangerous criminals who can’t coexist with other patients, we keep them in a separate wing, which we call the Hidden."

Dr. Rune turned the next corner, and you followed him. As you passed through the doors and descended the stairs leading to the outside, the cold hit your face, and it was impossible not to cross your arms, trying to pull your sleeves further down.

You thought the scenery couldn’t get any worse, but with each step, it became darker. As you passed through gates and two guards, it felt like stepping into a TV prison show, walking along a corridor of iron cells.

A strong stench burned your nostrils, and the screams of patients mixed with the sound of something hitting the iron were enough to make your ears ring.

"This place is the reason you’re here. Our last professional resigned, and we urgently needed to fill the position before the next evaluation cycle started," Travis shrugged as he walked.

Your confidence dropped by a few percentage points upon realizing that your hiring was out of sheer desperation. Fine, you’d deal with that later.

"They resigned?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, dodging a stream of urine aimed in your direction by a patient. "Not exactly motivating to hear that on the first day."

"It’s a tough ward; it’s not for everyone." He smiled, and you hesitated immediately. "Besides the patient files you’ll handle, you’ll need to prepare for a new detainee arriving soon."

"A new detainee?" For the first time, your question sounded genuinely intrigued.

"He’s being tried for a brutal murder. There’s little information about the case, like his motivation or even confirmation that he did it. He hasn’t spoken a word since it happened, and the judge concluded he’s not mentally sound." Travis rolled his eyes. "They dump any trash here, and it’s up to us to sort through it. Along the way, we see if we can help at all."

He was definitely fed up with this job.

"So, let me guess... you think I can make him talk?" you asked, playing with a hint of innocence as you watched Travis stop in the corridor.

"I don’t think someone as inexperienced as you can go that far, no offense." He spoke with a touch of sarcasm. "We just want you to follow protocol with him, and I’ll handle the rest."

Something prickled at the back of your neck at the way he dismissed your years of study as absolutely nothing just because your resume wasn’t as extensive as his. Your hands curled into fists, your fingers pressing into your palms, and you took a deep breath before responding.

"Of course, Dr. Rune."

The tour of the Hidden was over, and you were exhausted. Travis left you at the door of your small room with its jammed window and dusty ceiling fan. Before leaving, he emphasized the importance of being well-rested to receive the new patient the next day. After your shower, you wanted to call your mother and let her know you had arrived safely on the island after hours of travel, but without any signal, no matter where you moved in the room, this mission was impossible. Tossing the phone onto your pillow, you promised yourself you’d give her an update as soon as you had a break and could visit the town.

With a tired sigh, you sat at the desk next to the bed, drying your hair with a towel while flipping through patient files. You weren’t sleepy yet, and without the entertainment of the internet, all you could do was work.

Patient File 1: Ash A., 39 years old - Admission: June 2019 Preliminary Diagnosis: Severe psychopathy; dissociative disorder.

History: Ash was admitted after being declared legally insane during the trial for a series of brutal murders. He worked as a taxidermist, and his obsession with preserving "human perfection" led him to conduct grotesque experiments on his victims, all meticulously chosen. He claimed he was "saving" their souls by preserving them in an "immortal" form. During initial sessions, he displayed a complete lack of remorse and a disturbingly detailed recounting of his actions. Current State: Apathetic during interactions, except when discussing his “art.” Shows no signs of rehabilitation or acknowledgment of the atrocities committed.

You raised your eyebrows and jotted down notes in your notebook before moving to the next file.

Patient File 2: Mariene G., 27 years old - Admission: October 2021 Preliminary Diagnosis: Schizoaffective disorder with violent tendencies.

History: Mariene was found in a state of shock next to the body of her older brother, stabbed 23 times. Apparently, she believed he was a demonic entity trying to steal her soul. According to family testimony, Mariene began exhibiting paranoid behavior months earlier, hearing voices instructing her to protect herself "at all costs." In one interview, she stated she "had no choice" and that "his eyes burned like embers."

Current State: Alternates between periods of lucidity and paranoia. Aggressive during confrontations, requiring constant supervision.

“Mariene is a pretty name…” you murmured, assessing the photo of the woman with blonde eyebrows.

Patient File 3: Brady P., 52 years old - Admission Date: January 2020

Preliminary Diagnosis: Antisocial personality disorder; extreme persecution mania.

History: Brady was a former financial executive who believed he was being pursued by a "secret society" responsible for monitoring his every move and manipulating his life. This paranoia culminated in a public attack at a shopping mall, where Brady set fire to three stores and stabbed two security guards, claiming they were "infiltrators." He maintains that each act was a measure of self-preservation against an invisible enemy.

Current State: Rarely sleeps, claiming that "they will find him" if he closes his eyes. Displays consistent delusions despite intensive medication.

With the third file finished, you exhaled sharply, letting your lips vibrate, imagining what could have driven the previous psychiatrist to resign, leaving this position open for you.

Patient File 4: Noah S., 24 years old - Admission Date: February 2024

Preliminary Diagnosis: Psychogenic catatonia associated with borderline personality disorder and severe dissociative episodes.

History: Noah was found at dawn in a grove near the university campus, kneeling beneath a large tree. Above him hung the mutilated body of his ex-girlfriend, Rachel E., 23 years old, suspended by her ankles and bearing signs of extreme violence: deep cuts marked her skin, symbols carved into her torso, and her frozen expression suggested a slow and painful death.

Noah was covered in blood, both his own and Rachel’s. When approached by police, he remained motionless, staring blankly at her hanging body. Initial investigations revealed the two had been seen together the night before at a rival fraternity party where, according to witnesses, a heated argument occurred. The circumstances of the crime raised questions of premeditation and symbolic rituals, but Noah never provided an explanation. From the moment of his capture, Noah had not spoken a single word. Extensive psychiatric evaluations concluded that his muteness and apathy were not conscious choices but the result of a profound dissociative state combined with severe trauma. During the trial, his inert posture and lack of defense led to an insanity plea and his transfer to Grimshade Sanitarium.

Current State: Noah remains in complete silence, minimally interacting with his surroundings. Nurses’ reports mention he is often found staring into space for hours, particularly near windows or trees. His only movements thus far have been sudden bursts of rage when provoked.

Closing the file, the feeling lingered — a deep chill seemed to originate from the center of your chest, raising the hair on your arms. Noah’s face in the photograph seemed almost alive, his intense, furrowed gaze carrying something impossible to name. For a moment, you wondered what it would be like to stand face-to-face with someone harboring such silence and horror within.

But your curiosity wouldn’t have to last long — you would meet him tomorrow.

The day began with an unusual restlessness. The hot water from the shower didn’t dissipate the cold that seemed to settle in your nape, and Noah’s face from the photograph lingered like a shadow, even with your eyes closed. It was as though the intensity of his gaze was imprinted on your mind, and more than once, you caught yourself trying to divert your thoughts — unsuccessfully — while instinctively clutching your thighs.

The tattoos — intricate and dark — covering his neck and peeking from the collar of his shirt didn’t help, drawing attention to themselves. Something about that man disturbed you more than any other patient you had encountered, and the feeling only grew as you prepared, choosing an outfit that projected professionalism, though a hint of nervousness threatened to show.

Descending to reception, you found Dr. Rune waiting with a calm smile and a hot coffee. You thanked him, holding the cup with both hands, trying to savor the warmth as a fleeting comfort. Walking together toward the outside, he explained some logistical details, but his words soon faded as a growing noise filled the corridor.

Crossing the main entrance doors, you stopped abruptly, startled by the scene unfolding before you. Journalists crowded like a compact swarm, camera flashes firing in rapid succession, and visibly overwhelmed security guards struggling to contain the horde. It was a chaotic visual and auditory assault, intensifying with each passing second.

“I should’ve warned you,” Travis murmured beside you, noting your expression. “Not only is his case infamous, but Noah comes from a very influential family. The owners of Blackridge, basically. They have fortune, power... and apparently no hurry to help their precious son.”

“They’re not trying to prove his innocence?” you asked innocently.

“All signs point to them wanting to stay out of the case due to the exposure. We’re in the isolated area, but Blackridge’s noble district is so conservative it’s believed that land still exists in a time capsule that hasn’t evolved.”

“That sounds... complicated.”

“Just another piece of gossip about a random patient.”

The information landed heavily, given Travis’s mocking tone, and you tried to ignore him.

“They won’t back off anytime soon,” Rune commented, his eyes scanning the commotion with a weary expression. “Be prepared — this will complicate things inside as well. Friends of mine at the penitentiary said this guy has an ego to match.”

The chaos ahead seemed to swell with the arrival of the convoy. You barely had time to process everything — the blinding flashes, the cacophony of voices shouting questions — when the door of the central car opened. Two guards stepped out first, taking rigid positions, before pulling Noah out.

He emerged with a surprising posture. There was no resistance in his movements, but neither was there submission. With his chin raised, his face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed on an undefined point on the horizon, avoiding the cameras with a determination that seemed almost practiced. The tattoos, now more visible, climbed along the side of his neck and hinted beneath the collar of his gray shirt, creating an almost hypnotic contrast against his pale skin.

Noah seemed unperturbed, untouchable, as though the swarm of journalists and flashes were nothing more than a breeze around him. But then, something shifted. His firm steps faltered for an instant, almost imperceptibly, and he stopped abruptly.

That’s when you realized: he was looking directly at you.

The air around you seemed to freeze under the weight of his gaze, as overwhelming as in the photograph, but now there was something more — an intensity that seemed to pierce through you, as if examining something far beyond what others could see. His eyes were a blend of ice and fire, fixed on you with such deliberate focus that your stomach involuntarily tightened.

The moment lasted only seconds but felt like an eternity. One of the guards touched Noah’s shoulder impatiently, and he resumed walking as if nothing had happened. Yet, the impact of that brief exchange lingered.

“He usually doesn’t react to anything,” Travis remarked beside you, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “That was... strange.”

Strange.

The word felt insufficient to describe what you had just experienced. As Noah was led inside, you remained frozen, trying to understand why that fleeting instant made your skin tingle, as though something inevitable was about to happen.

You were in the asylum’s forest, each step swallowed by the oppressive silence, broken only by the crunch of dry leaves beneath your feet. The air was dense, almost suffocating, and you knew you weren’t alone. Something—or someone—was behind you.

Your breaths were shallow and quick, every fiber of your being urging you to run, yet your legs felt rooted to the ground. Then, you heard it.

A whisper, far too close, as though it came from inside your mind:

“Run.”

The word was a command, and you obeyed without hesitation. Your body lunged forward, crashing through trees and brush with an urgency that felt primal. But the ground seemed to fight against you, each step more laborious than the last. Heat built between your thighs—confusing, strange—mixing with the adrenaline surging down your spine.

When the sound of footsteps behind you intensified, the adrenaline peaked. You could no longer think, only run, but you knew it was futile. He was too close.

Suddenly, something yanked your hair with brutal force, jerking you backward. A scream tore from your lips as your back collided with the rough surface of a tree. The pain of bark scraping against your exposed skin was eclipsed by his presence—a towering, menacing shadow.

His face was obscured, hidden in darkness, but the patterns on his neck were unmistakable. You recognized the intricate lines of tattoos that had haunted your thoughts all day. The broad shoulders and the strength with which he gripped your jaw confirmed your deepest fear.

It was Noah.

He tilted his head, studying you with a terrifying calm. The sound of his breathing was heavy, almost animalistic. Before you could react, he pressed his body against yours, pinning you between the tree and his overwhelming presence.

The heat pulsing between your thighs became unbearable, tangled in terror and tension. You tried to speak, but the words lodged in your throat as he gripped your neck with a possessive firmness, his fingers digging into your skin.

And then, like a violent wave, you woke up.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, breaths coming in ragged gasps, and cold sweat drenched your skin. The darkness of your room was suffocating, though not as much as the weight of that dream. It wasn’t merely fear—it was something deeply visceral, almost tangible, making your skin crawl and your entire body rebel against what you had just experienced.

That man was going to drive you insane.

[sleepyburito]

Hey so I don't know if you still need more OC's for your FTO rewrite but I have another. You don't have to use her but here you go. I had the line art done months ago, but I had a lot of things to do for school and also procrastinating doing her armour.

Name: Brunhilde; Magic: Metal Make; Age: 20; Height: 5' 4". She isn't a very social person in large groups but once she starts talking it's hard to get her to stop. She uses her magic to make things like weapons and armor for herself, or piercings she likes those. She joined Grimshade because her family had just moved to Altantilde due to her father working in architecture, and the city is still rebuilding from damage it gained in season 4. So her family wanted her to do something and get out of the house more. She doesn't live in the main city though. Her family definitely underestimated how expensive living in atlantide would be. She joined Grimshade specifically because she had joined one of the first guilds she heard about, and she is too awkward to ask about other guilds. She didn't know the reputation that Grimshade had when she joined, she joined sometime after the new guild hall is built, maybe even her dad working on the guild hall was how she heard about the guild. One problem is that she will pass out when looking at injuries/blood at least on people. The first outfit is her everyday outfit, the second is her more combat focused one. She changed her outfit because without the underlayers under her armour it would cause chaffing and callouses. Fun thing about her outfit is that her skirt is made of 2 kinds of armor, the top is called brigandine, the bottom is cloth armor. She made the plate armor with her magic, but she has leather straps to keep it in place.

I love all of this!!!! It’s never too late to submit more oc’s I love how Brunhilde looks and she will definitely make a fun addition!!!

[sleeps-au-bag]

it had been a long time since bryan was in this particular study. ever since his mother's passing, it had been left alone, only to be touched by time. it was evident too, with all the dust that covered every surface of it. he didn't really care for that now. he only cared about one thing.

he opened the bottom cabinet of the desk and took everything out of it. then he opened up the false bottom and brought out the coded books his mother left.

he never read them out of respect for her. he knew they brought her less than favorable memories and he wanted to keep them away from her, to keep her happy. she was gone now and these books were the only way to help solve a mystery going on in atlantide right now. he would beg her for her forgiveness when he reunites with her.

bryan's mother was. odd.

she was absolutely beautiful, stunning every man and woman who came across her. she'd entertain them with dates and when she got bored, she moved on to the next person who she attracted.

his mother was also insanely smart, making leaps of progress in the field of science. especially in thermodynamics. it was actually how she met his father, a half-fae who kept her academically challenged. they were rivals throughout their entire lives, even when married. his mother made sure he grew up with the right education and taught him everything she knew, not just science.

she and his uncle had some type of history together, he knew it. he didn't want to pry though. while he knew it was the reason for his uncle's shaking hands and his mother's missing eye, he never wanted to pry. he didn't like making them upset.

now he was about to uncover part of their shared past. he didn't want to but there was no other option. it was time for him to decode his mother's notes.

--

bryan felt sick. no one should have this power. this power his mother had... it would be a weapon of mass destruction in the wrong hands. it was a weapon of mass destruction, if he decoded his mother's notes correctly. he couldn't imagine the type of atrocities his mother was forced to commit. he didn't want to.

the circle in the book was mocking him. his only option to solve this mystery was a weapon of mass death.

at least he knew why his mother was so knowledgeable. why she insisted on teaching him everything to do with the science of fire the moment she found out he was a fire dragon slayer.

he looked at the pair of gloves hidden within one of the books. they were old and worn but the same circle from the book was still stitched on. he had on his own gloves, the same material as his late mother's. the circle was taunting him.

bryan knew what he had to do.

he took out his emergency sewing kit from a pocket and pulled out some red string. he carefully pulled off his white gloves and set them on the table. they were new. he also took out some spare flint from his pocket.

he made sure to thread the string and carefully look at the circle before he got to work. it needed to be perfect. it wouldn't work if it wasn't.

hours went by before bryan finished stitching the circles on the gloves. the flint was carefully stitched inside the fingers. he stared at the gloves before putting them on. thankfully the sleeves of his turtleneck were long enough to cover the design. no one would ever know.

except for two.

he made sure to put everything back into place before grabbing the decoded versions of his mother's notes and taking them to the fireplace. they served as good kindle while he grabbed his belongings and made sure everything was secure.

he needed to head to his uncle's bar before heading back to grimshade for training. he needed to tell his discoveries to acedia and majora. acedia couldn't really do anything with this knowledge, nor did she care to, but it already had a solid lead to what was happening. majora had already built a sizeable information network despite being new to atlantide, she could help him get more information with it.

bryan may be the weakest dragon slayer, but he was also the smartest one. like hell he was going to sit down while something's going on in his home.

he left his house with a purpose in his steps. he had work to do.

[merlinityart]

Artfight attack #5: GrimShade for Avery12345 on artfight!

[oakbruh]

The fire's found a home in me

The Moment Fotiás curse had fallen on the land, something overtook Grimshade. Something dark, and inherently evil.

[corvusavem]

Jericho scares me. I can’t handle the flirty!

[silvertws]

I was road down memory lane today so I drew the Protector's guild symbol on my hand using eyeliner. :DDD I think it looks good for a first attempt... Even though the quality of the picture sucks :'))) I wanna do all the other guilds as well even tho Grimshade is kinda complicated to draw on my body with one hand... Since my hands are shaky af.. I will draw them on paper next time and use them as a way to make the outlines better :3

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 02

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

"How are things over there?" Your mother’s cheerful voice echoed from the other end of the line, and you gripped the phone tighter.

By your estimate, you had only ten minutes left on your phone card, and she was known for talking without taking a breath.

“Why didn’t you call me earlier? I was worried!”

“Uh… yeah… everything’s fine, really.” You answered, biting your lower lip as you noticed the sky beginning to darken.

If it rained, you’d be in trouble on the long walk back to the sanatorium. Like the considerate coworker he was, Dr. Rune didn’t even bother offering to accompany you.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I didn’t call earlier because the signal’s bad here. I have to come all the way to town to use the phone, but there’s nothing to worry about, Mom. Everything’s fine, I promise!” You were never the type to struggle with lying, and your mother was easy to convince.

“I heard on TV that that rich murderer who killed his girlfriend is there. Is that true?”

The mention of Noah made your throat go dry. Your heart was still racing from the restless dream you’d had the night before.

“Yes, it’s true, Mom. It looks like I’ll be assigned to take care of him.”

“Aunt Becky says he’s handsome.” She chuckled—a raspy, broken sound, the product of years of smoking. “But the devil was handsome too, wasn’t he?”

The devil was handsome too...

“If there’s a chance to pass this case on to someone else, I’d prefer it. You just graduated, and handling something like this could be tough. And…”

“Mom, I’ve got to go now…” You cut her off before the speech started sounding too much like Dr. Rune’s. “We’ll talk in two days.”

“But…”

“Kisses! Love you!”

You slammed the receiver down with a bit more force than necessary. The store clerk gave you a stern look, and, to make up for it, you bought a few items you might need in the coming days: toiletries, extra socks, water, and cleaning supplies for your room.

Your day’s agenda was full. Two patients to see before the afternoon, when you’d have your first session with Noah. The previous night had been long, spent analyzing every detail of his case, searching for the best approach to start a conversation with someone who hadn’t spoken a single word in so long.

On the way back to the sanatorium, your mind was a whirlwind. Staring out the window, you couldn’t shake thoughts of the dream. It was disturbing how real it had felt: his touch tracing your body, the shadow his height cast around you, the physical discomfort that blurred the line between imagination and reality. Even now, in the back seat of the car, your body reacted involuntarily, legs tensing. As hard as it was, you had to push those clouds from your senses before it became impossible to face him directly.

At lunch, you picked up a tray of pasta, meatballs, juice, and an apple, determinedly walking past the chatter of other staff members you hadn’t met yet. Notebook tucked under your arm, you were ready to spend the meal studying.

Your first patient of the day, after returning from town, was a teenage girl accused of killing her own brother. Madeleine Skelter, fifteen, had been sentenced to a sanatorium due to her unstable mental state during the trial. She lost her mother at ten, and not long after, her father remarried. Madeleine gained a younger brother, but as time passed, strange events plagued the family. The boy was often injured, and the wounds worsened each week.

The family, desperate for answers, fired staff and grew suspicious of friends before the blame finally fell on the stepmother, who was diagnosed with postpartum depression.

Cracks formed like fragile glass in their home. When Madeleine was caught smothering her brother with a pillow, she was ready to frame her stepmother so she could have her father to herself. She’d admitted her plan: to remove everyone in her father’s life until it was just the two of them—"happy" at last.

She played the role of his wife, cooked for him, washed his clothes, and obsessed over appearing adult, despite his clear rejection of her behavior.

Madeleine showed no remorse, only weeping over her father, who had erased her existence from his life. He and his wife moved abroad and started anew.

Narcissistic and arrogant, she nearly drained your social battery in 45 minutes.

“Hey!” A familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked up, setting your pen down and leaving the apple on your plate. Dr. Rune, all smiles, waved as he approached. You quickly adjusted your posture and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Hello!”

“Eating alone? Oh no! Come on, sit with us at my table. I’ll introduce you to some friends!”

Deeply uncomfortable with his insistence, you reluctantly stood, gathering your things as he helped carry what he could. Together, you walked to the table.

“Everyone, this is the new psychiatrist at Hidden I told you about!” Travis introduced you, and the three people at the table smiled warmly, urging you to sit. “These are Jake, Sloan, and Charlote.”

“Welcome!” they all said in unison, and you smiled your thanks.

“So, you’re the one handling the handsome psychopath?” The youngest woman, dressed in a green nurse’s uniform, leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “Your hair smells nice.”

“Sloan, don’t scare her!” Travis scolded. “It’s bad enough she has to sleep on that information.”

Maybe Travis was annoying.

Or maybe not—he was annoying.

“Actually, I slept perfectly well with that information, Dr. Rune,” you said calmly, finishing the last bite of apple. “This place is full of killers. Noah isn’t that special. Maybe you’re the one a bit too excited.”

He blushed instantly as the others laughed.

“She’s right,” said Charlote Walker, her name embroidered on her coat. “He’s not the first famous nutcase we’ve dealt with.”

“Sure, he’s not that important,” Travis added, “but I like to remind the newbies not to get their hopes up. When we graduate, we think we can save the world. Unlike our other patients, this one won’t last long before they fry him in the chair.”

An awkward silence fell as everyone processed his words. All eyes turned to him as he nonchalantly scraped the last bit of grape jelly from his cup. His pristine white coat contrasted with the partially unbuttoned dress shirt underneath, revealing a glimpse of toned muscle.

"Then I’ll volunteer to be the last bitch he sleeps with." Charlote sneered to break the tense atmosphere, and everyone laughed. You didn’t find it funny at all but forced a laugh to blend in.

"Tonight, we’re having a little party just for the staff at the tavern, to take a break from this hellhole. We expect you there!" Sloan insisted, pulling a pen from her uniform pocket and grabbing your notebook to jot down an address and a phone number.

You loved parties, but you had no idea this kind of thing happened here, and you weren’t prepared for it. You hadn’t brought any clothes, no heels, and you suddenly felt so bare that embarrassment took over.

"We don’t take no for an answer if you even think about trying!" she warned, placing the notebook back in its place.

"I’ll think about it…" You nodded, pressing your lips together.

The conversation at the table was lively. Everyone, including Travis, talked excitedly about the much-anticipated party and how they desperately needed an escape valve to release the accumulated tension. You wanted to join in, to immerse yourself in the buzz of excitement, but your eyes remained glued to the clock on the wall. With each passing tick of the hands, the voices around you seemed to drift further away, becoming a distant echo. Your hands began to sweat, a persistent reminder that his arrival was drawing near.

Your office was modest, containing only the bare essentials: a desk and two chairs — one for you, one for the patient. You had taken care to remove anything that could attract his attention or pose any kind of risk. On the desk sat only a notebook, a bottle of water, and a pen — simple, safe items. The air carried a faint hint of lavender from the room spray you had purchased in town. It was a subtle fragrance you liked — present without being overpowering.

When you glanced at your wristwatch, exactly 4:00 p.m., a sharp metallic sound echoed from outside. The door was shoved open with force, and a guard pushed the man, shackled hand and foot, into the room. Noah wore a sleeveless shirt that revealed his tattooed arms. Despite his clean appearance — his hair slicked back and still damp from a shower — he scanned the room with an indifferent gaze, visibly bothered by the scent lingering in the air.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

He drew in a deep breath and stepped backward, a reaction you hadn’t anticipated. For a moment, confusion flickered within you until you realized Noah was trying to retreat toward the guard, as if seeking escape. You frowned and instinctively checked your reflection in your phone’s screen, discreetly sniffing your underarms. Was there something wrong with you?

"None of that!" The guard shoved him firmly into the room, forcing him to remain still.

"Thank you, sir," you said as you observed Noah’s shoulders tense. "We’ll see you in forty minutes when the session ends."

"I can’t leave you alone with him," the guard protested.

"I doubt your presence will make him feel comfortable. I’ll take full responsibility," you replied with conviction. Reluctantly, the guard sighed and closed the door behind him. "Now there’s nowhere to run. Just you and me."

Slowly, Noah turned, casting furtive glances your way. His face was a mask of disdain. He seemed to survey every inch of the room as if enveloped in filth or surrounded by a foul stench. His expression, haughty and nearly intolerable, remained as he dropped into the chair across from you with a show of complete disregard.

"Well, it’s only fair to start at the beginning, right? Noah, I’m Dr. —"

He let out a sigh of boredom, rolling his eyes. The soft light from the window cast shadows on the intricate tattoos that adorned his neck, each design hinting at stories hidden beneath his skin.

"I’m genuinely willing to treat you like a human being, okay?" you said firmly, slicing through the uncomfortable silence he cultivated. The irritation inside you grew, fueled by the way he examined the room with contempt, as if he were superior to everything and everyone around him. "That’s already quite different from how my colleagues see you. To them, you’re just patient 268!"

Your eyes locked on his, trying to pierce the wall of apathy he had erected.

"If you’re not interested in being treated that way, I can adjust my approach," you continued, your tone blunt and unwavering. "That doesn’t bother me. But I much prefer respecting people, regardless of who they are!"

A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at a reaction, but he simply stared at you with that same defiant gaze.

"We’ll take it slow. It’s up to you whether you speak or remain silent, but I’ll still be here doing my job, even if it’s just sitting quietly with you." You spoke calmly, keeping your tone composed. "Can you tell me how you’re feeling today?"

Nothing. Not a single response. He remained as still as a statue, though far from lifeless. It was the way he held himself that unsettled you — a predator behind a mask of indifference.

You paused, then tried again.

"What do you remember from the night you were found?"

His eyes sharpened, locking onto you. There was no emotion, but a sharp, undeniable presence seemed to tighten the air between you. He didn’t answer, but the slightest lift at the corner of his mouth betrayed a sardonic smile — anything but kind.

Heat crept up your neck as you felt yourself under his dissecting gaze rather than the other way around. His eyes roamed over your fingers gripping the pen, the rhythm of your breath, the way your legs crossed. His attention was so intense that it set your pulse racing, a reaction you struggled to mask as you shifted in your chair.

"Noah." Your voice was steady, but your skin burned with a growing tension. "Are you really not going to tell me how you feel? About what happened that night?"

Silence. His smile remained, smug and unkind.

Leaning forward, you caught a trace of his scent — metallic, sharp, clean. Threatening in its subtlety, much like the man himself.

"Did she mean anything to you?" Your words sliced through the thickening air. "Did you love her?"

His smile didn’t waver. But his eyes… they shifted — a flicker of recognition. Love stirred something within him, though what exactly, you couldn’t tell.

The weight of expectation hung heavy between you. The tension stretched thin, a thread about to snap.

"And anger?" Your voice softened, almost a whisper. "Did you hate her? For what she did to you? For how she made you feel?"

Nothing again. Just silence. But the measured way he breathed — slower, deeper — gave away the internal battle.

Noah remained a statue of control, but his hands betrayed a subtle shift. His fingers flexed against the chair’s armrest, as though suppressing the urge to crush something — or someone.

You caught every movement. The whitening of his knuckles. The tightening of his jaw beneath that treacherous smirk. He was playing a dangerous game. But you weren’t about to back down.

It was time to change the rules.

"You like testing limits, don’t you?" you tilted your head, keeping your voice neutral. "You know, staring at me won’t give me answers. Words will."

His smile widened a little more, but he remained silent.

Switching tactics, you opened a folder beside you and pulled out a faded photograph, sliding it across the table. The image depicted a family in a Victorian mansion—parents formally dressed, children posed as if part of a meticulously staged play. Noah’s face was younger, but the intensity in his eyes was the same.

"This is your family," you said, your tone almost casual. "What was it like growing up as the heir to Blackridge Island?"

The smile vanished. The change was swift, a transformation that made your skin prickle. His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze flicking to the photo as though it burned him. For the first time, you saw something different in his expression.

The silence thickened, becoming almost tangible. Without the smile, Noah shifted from a predator in check to a raw, visceral presence. The weight of his stare was now a blade, slicing slowly through the professional armor you’d carefully constructed.

"Families have power, don’t they?" His voice was low, almost confessional, as he leaned slightly forward. "They shape, bind, and sometimes… break."

The tension in his jaw became more pronounced, muscles clenching with barely contained restraint. His eyes, once cold and calculating, seemed caught in a dark, inescapable past. Yet, he remained silent.

Frustration, mingled with something you refused to name, tightened your chest. He was so close—like a storm ready to break—and yet, unreachable. His energy vibrated through the air, an electric current affecting you more than it should.

Your fingers lightly touched the edge of the photo on the table.

"What do you see when you look at them?" The question came as a challenge. "Guilt? Hatred? Or do you miss them?"

Still, no response.

When Noah finally tore his eyes from the photograph, his gaze landed back on you with renewed intensity. He wasn’t distant anymore. A shift had occurred.

The way he looked at you now was deliberate, methodical, as though peeling away each layer of your defenses. His eyes weren’t just cold—they were precise. They roamed your face, trailed down your neck, and observed the way you bit your lower lip, trying to mask your growing discomfort.

Your body reacted before you could stop it, vivid fragments of last night’s dream flashing unbidden through your mind. A sharp heat traveled down your spine—not fear, but something far deeper and infinitely less welcome.

You crossed your legs as if the gesture could shield the vulnerability he had begun to uncover.

"Anything else you’d like to share, Noah?" You forced a professional tone, struggling to regain control.

He tilted his head slowly, like a predator studying prey. Still silent. The smile was gone for good, but his gaze wielded more power than words ever could.

Then, a small, almost hypnotic gesture: his thumb grazed his jawline, a deliberate, slow movement, as his eyes remained fixed on yours.

The room seemed smaller. The air, heavier. Your breath shortened. He wasn’t just looking. He was unraveling you.

You tried to focus on your notepad, but your hand faltered for a split second.

"Very well, Noah," you said, aiming for finality but sounding far too fragile. "That’s all for today. In honor of your silence, I’ll match it until the session ends."

He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He stayed there—an immovable shadow, a living mirror reflecting truths you didn’t want to confront. Your fingers trembled slightly as you gathered the folder.

After what felt like hours of an unspoken battle, the guard stormed into the room, his brusque manner shattering the tension and drawing Noah’s attention. Forty minutes of unwavering focus, those uniquely brown eyes never leaving yours, came to an abrupt end. As he was led away, he glanced back once more. The knot in your stomach tightened painfully.

You were lucky.

You were very lucky.

No, it wasn’t luck. It was your meddling mother, who had insisted on slipping a dress into your suitcase, saying you needed to be prepared for anything. The red fabric hugged your body, the deep neckline accentuating your curves, and thin straps framing your shoulders. Its rich hue contrasted with your dark lipstick and smoky eyes. Waves in your hair, heels that weren’t too high.

Not bad.

You hadn’t intended to stay long at the tavern. These people were strangers, after all, and you barely knew them. But it would suffice for a night of socializing.

Sloan walked with you, laughing at the difficulty of navigating gravel paths in heels. The tavern lay hidden within the woods—a place where shadows and secrets thrived.

The tavern exuded a rugged nostalgia, a place the years had worn down but could never truly erase. The low ceiling, with dark wooden beams, loomed heavily overhead. Lanterns cast flickering shadows on walls adorned with faded photographs of Grimshade’s founders, broken bottles’ scars from forgotten nights, and a glass-eyed stag staring into nothingness. The air smelled of spilled beer, smoke, and the syrupy sweetness of warm cider.

Your friends were already tipsy, and a server handed you your first drink. The first sip burned like gunpowder down your throat but left a lingering sweetness.

The floor creaked beneath your feet as you moved, feeling the violin’s pulse guiding the clumsy dance steps of drunken revelers. At the bar, glasses clinked, calloused hands gestured wildly, telling stories taller than truth.

In the corner, Travis caught your eye immediately. He looked different—freed from the confines of the asylum’s sterile environment. Dark jeans, a light shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. His smile came before his words.

"You look… stunning." His voice was soft, almost swallowed by the music.

You smiled, heat blooming in your cheeks, but kept your tone light.

"And you’re wearing something other than a uniform. Impressive." You hesitated, trying not to admit how attractive he looked.

He laughed, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest, as natural as breathing. Before you could pull back, he offered his hand.

"Shall we dance?"

You hesitated. But when your fingers touched his—warm and sure—the music made refusal impossible.

Your steps were tentative at first, but familiarity grew quickly. Travis held your hand firmly, guiding your movements with effortless ease. The lively rhythm swept you both along with the crowd, but it wasn’t the sound that stole your breath—it was the way he looked at you, with a fascination so palpable that it made you wonder if the alcohol was already bubbling in your veins.

No. No. No.

You couldn’t be hallucinating about another man at a moment like this. Shaking your head gently, you banished the thought, focusing instead on the dance and the alcohol’s numbing embrace.

Much later, as the night cooled, he walked you home. The moon hung low, and laughter echoed faintly in the distance, carried by the soft breeze.

"I wanted to apologize for how I’ve acted since you arrived…" He began, his voice tinged with awkwardness. Without his glasses, his casual demeanor and clear eyes stood out, glowing silver in the moonlight.

"There’s no need to apologize."

"This job… it means a lot to me, and I’ve been overprotective ever since I became head psychiatrist," he admitted. "A ridiculous trait for someone so obsessed with perfection."

"I don’t think it’s ridiculous… Obsession usually stems from something deeper."

"Are you analyzing me, doctor?" His eyes narrowed playfully as he spun you around, wringing a laugh from your lips.

"There’s a lot of pressure for someone your age. I understand more than you might think."

"My father didn’t believe I’d amount to much, and he thought moving to Grimshade was a mistake," Travis paused, the memory darkening his expression. "He said I was wasting my degree."

"Well, he must be disappointed because you’ve become an excellent doctor, Dr. Rune." You winked, and he smiled shyly.

At the door of the bedroom, Travis stopped. For a moment, you both simply stood there, breaths mingling in the cool air. He seemed even more irresistible with his golden hair damp from sweat and his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his chest. You bit your lower lip as you noticed him watching you too — his gaze fixed on your neckline.

Then, tired of waiting, while your body burned with his nearness, you closed the distance and kissed him.

It was a kiss without space for hesitation or second-guessing. Intense. The taste of alcohol made the softness of his tongue even sweeter. He pulled you by the waist, your back lightly hitting the door as your lips devoured his, urgent and hungry.

The heat of his body pressed against yours was a spark, igniting every sense. Your fingers tangled in his hair, kisses becoming messier, deeper. You stumbled together inside, bodies entwined, the door slamming shut behind you and drowning out the rest of the world.

You pushed him onto the bed, confusion and desire flickering across his face before he surrendered. Straddling his lap, his hands grasped your hips, guiding you closer until your noses touched, a deliberate, tantalizing graze. His grip tightened on your hips, drawing you against his growing arousal as your fingers clutched his nape, your breaths mingling, igniting another fierce kiss.

Your hands buried in his hair, pulling gently as you savored his lips, your tongues tangled. The earlier tension dissolved, now knotted into a feverish desire binding your bodies together. You pressed against him, unbuttoning his shirt with urgency before tossing your own dress aside. His palm cupped your breast over your bra, and his hardness throbbed beneath his pants, teased by the slow roll of your hips.

A chill coiled in your stomach as the kiss deepened, a nagging feeling like a mistake — or worse — something you’d never felt before. You forced the thought away, focusing on the taste of his lips, gripping his neck and sighing when his fingers trailed from your thighs to your chest, a delicate, maddening caress.

Then a jolt struck you. Your eyes snapped open mid-kiss. There, outside the window, perched on a tree branch, a dark figure watched you both. Its expression was unreadable, moonlight illuminating only the edge of a long, lean silhouette, cloaked in black with fists clenched on its thighs — a silent, seething witness.

It was him.

Before you, as if conjured by some cruel magic, the golden strands between your fingers darkened, the musky scent of cologne shifted, and your hands roamed patterns on pale skin. You blinked, but the illusion remained — Noah, not Travis, was touching you, stripping you, and the pulse of his hardness against you made you gasp, slick with a memory too vivid to be dismissed.

A wicked smirk curved phantom lips. Teeth too perfect, too familiar, played tricks on your mind. You surrendered to your delusion, consumed by the fire he brought with him.

Grinding your wet heat against the rigid length beneath you, craving him inside for the first time, you freed him from his pants, rolled on a condom from the nightstand, and sank down all at once. A moan escaped your lips, loud, unrestrained. Eyes squeezed shut, you tilted your head back, moving with slow, rolling hips that matched his hoarse groan.

"Oh, my God," he rasped, breath hitching as his mouth trailed down your chest, teasing the piercing at your nipple.

You ignored him, lost in sordid thoughts.

You glanced back to the window. The shadow hadn’t moved. His head tilted, watching you ride another man, but the truth scorched your soul — it was him you wanted beneath you.

Pleasure tightened your chest, the raw thrill of being watched fueling your forbidden lust. Fingers traced your spine as your body arched, the sensation of him swelling deeper within making your moans crack like a roar. You stifled a cry — his name poised on your tongue.

What the hell was happening? You were ignoring the man inside you to provoke the devil outside? And you reveled in it?

Screw it.

It was Noah you craved, and in secret corners of your heart, you let yourself admit it. He was your sin, your destruction, and you yearned to drink deeply of his damnation.

You couldn’t look away from that tree, from his heaving chest, from the rage or the hunger. The climax hit you hard, molten embers bursting within.

As Travis flipped you beneath him, driving deep, your nails clawed the sheets, shutting out the infernal thoughts.

But the second wave of pleasure scorched hotter than before. Together, you shattered into shared groans, your bodies collapsing, breathless and undone.

You stared at the ceiling, biting your lip, his weight beside you. The window was empty now.

And you’d never know if it had been a trick of the mind — or a glimpse of a dark truth you weren’t ready to face.

[sleepyburito]

Hey I have another character for you. My thought process for this one was kinda funny, it went mushrooms, but it should also have floppy ears, maybe horns. Oh no I've made a mooshroom.

Name: Malo; Magic: Fungus/Mushroom; Rank:B; Age: 20; Height: 5'6"; Pronouns: He/Him/They/Them.

I think they would have joined Grimshade a few months before season 4 started. Probably a bit shy or nervous during season 4; his full body on the right is their season 4 design, he would cover up a lot to hide their more distinctive features like his horns, hooves and vitiligo. They gets to have a friend though(I'm currently working on her right now). He would have left not long after season 4 ends due to the fact the guild couldn't function without a leader, so they and his friend ended up sharing a apartment just outside of the main city, due to the fact it is expensive and ended up being more freelance mages for a bit before they find out that Grimshade is back during the beginning of season 5 so they and his friend rejoin the guild. I think in season 5 they would be a bit more open and less shy, doesn't change the fact his social battery is low. Maybe Malo could be a potential partner for Cyrus? I remember you saying something about giving potential partners for him.

In his close up his eyes are hidden, so I ended up drawing what they would look like. Their season 5 design is mainly based off of the fly amanita for the colors(being the well know red and white) and a Morel, which I used the pattern to make his shirt(even though it ended up looking more like a giraffe coat pattern). Their season 4 design is mainly based off of an inky cap mushroom.

Oh I’m loving all of this!!!! and yes applications for partners for Cyrus are still open… I’ll test out their dynamic and see what I can do

I’m loving Malo and everything about them and I can’t wait to see who else you create 🩷

[uniprimo]

A project I’ve been working on since last january has launched the kickstarter campaign. ⠀ Finally I can show you some of my creatures’ design for the “Grimshade” project.

Kickstarter: www.kickstarter.com/projects/talerock/grimshade

[niche-gamer]

First Major Patch Released for Tactical RPG Grimshade https://nichegamer.com/2019/05/02/first-major-patch-released-for-tactical-rpg-grimshade/

[madmanwonder]

Ragna: Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kiss your a*s out of my house.

Blake: 1: Yang stole my clothes. 2: If people see a woman stepping out of your apartment without clothes on, they’ll assume. 3: Do you really want to kick me out while I dress like this?

Ragna:…Fair enough. You can stay…for now…

[oakbruh]

Grimshade | Firclan Warrior | Mate of Thornstar

His Pelt is a mutation, which also caused him to be sterile, tired 24/7, and deaf in his left ear. He often suffers from stiff bones, headaches and trouble with his balance, but has gotten used to that more or less.

[gamingreviews]

[linuxgamenews]

Grimshade developer looking for Linux support

Grimshade turn based tactical RPG games developer is looking for Linux community support. Since the Windows release is now live on Steam. Talented Russian developer TaleRock, considers support. According to their email reply. Grimshade is the creation of 21 gaming specialists. Who now open up the world of Ree'fah. While presenting their work in this weeks release. A party-based, tactical adventure RPG. Which also includes an eye catching and beautifully turn based game. The Steam launch follows a successful Kickstarter campaign. Since the team create a unique twist of the RPG genre.

Linux Support:

"Grimshade is made on Unity. Don't know what to tell you more about it, just asked. We will port Grimshade to Mac a little bit later after the release and hotfixes. But not sure about a Linux now. Our tech lead doesn't have enough expertise to do it quickly. With the Mac version. And needs some research on this subject. I asked him about Linux but got nervous giggling back."

So this is the reply the Linux port on March 11th. But the community also show encouragement on Steam. With some positive news:

"Now we're gathering the information on how many people are interested in it. The initial decision will take place after the release. And strongly depends on its results. If there will be enough wishes [Wishlisting]. And some enthusiasts ready to help us with testing. We'll definitely engage the Linux port."

Since this the reply on March 13th. And definitely some interesting news. So I waited until the full launch, hoping for a Linux release. But that did not happen. Although I have personally tested Grimshade. The game works well via Proton. However, a native Linux build would be far better. Since this is again, a Unity 3D game. So the share some community Tux Love on Steam or Wishlist via Steam.

Grimshade - Launch Trailer (Linux, Mac, Windows)

Grimshade tells the story of the company of heroes, by a twist of fate, involved in the cycle of events unfolding in the world of Ree'fah. Numerous dreadful monsters infest the forest around the city of Brann and the high walls can no longer protect its residents from the attacks. The menacing army of the neighbouring kingdom have suddenly landed on the outskirts of the city, wreaking havoc. There is no hope for salvation. The strength of the city defenders is failing, and the King and his loyal Champions have vanished. Also, Grimshade comes with a not to be missed or skipped tutorial. Since this will introduce the player to the seven unique members. Along with their weapons and tactical skills. Each of the cast has five slots. All to equip different pieces of equipment. Since this pairs with a unique ability; melee/ranged attacks. As well as defensive boosts, utility or special boosts. So make sure to adjust the equipment before the battle. Selecting the squad and the skill set for each hero. Setting up the combat is just a small part of what is on offer. While the innate nature of progression in Grimshade is the key. Since this ensures a great level of ongoing immersion. As well as continuing challenges.

Features:

No meaningless grinding

Fully narrated tutorial to set players on the right path

A rich and varied artistic style

A deep but understandable system of equipment-based skill and character role development

A world brimming with discoveries and exciting adventure

Seven special characters in Grimshade

A game to master, not win

2D & 3D presentation

Find, trade, or craft new equipment to improve your characters and make them versatile and adaptable

Subtle tactical combat reinvention

And much, much more to be discovered

Explore the fantastic and sometimes frightening world of Ree'fah. With deep and intriguing dialogue. And visual detail complemented by the strong and compelling storyline. One that unfolds as you meet and interact with characters. Battling and becoming embroiled in ongoing conflict. Forge your own path. Make decisions in numerous side activities. Or head out and explore the world. You’ll find new special equipment to expand your toolset. While diving head first into the plot. And uncover facts about the world's history and its people. Search far and wide. Maybe even discovering hidden easter eggs. Which so much to do, and many decisions ahead. You’ll develop friendships between heroes. Unlocking a variety of possible endings. Grimshade tactical RPG is available on Steam. Priced at $19.99 USD | £15.99 | €16.99. Releasing on Windows. But with enough community support we can have a Linux build. And yes, the games also coming to GOG as well.