#drive you insane fic

[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.

[anna-scribbles]

the end of the world began on the day adrien agreste turned thirteen years old.

(first chapter is up! happy october)

[uc1wa]

jason todd who’s a little religious and says he wants to wait for marriage to fill you full with his cock and cum. jason todd whose tongue is lapping at your entrance and his fingers are circling your clit, reminding you that the bible doesn’t say anything about the inability to do this.

[vitreouspositive]

i find it both a shame and a blessing that their ship name is mainly known as skystar instead of jetstar because imagine constantly having to see your ship having the same name as that accursed aussie airline

[monsterhospital]

the most sickening part of being a caitvi stan is how prevalent it is in fanon that they would have biological kids. AND that caitlyn is always the pregnant one. why would they get ivf when obviously vi could find 3-5 perfectly good kids in dumpsters around town and raise those.

[nart-is-a-monster]

WAAAAHHHHHH ANNE I LOVE YOU SM AND THE STORY YOU WRITE AUUGOHOHOGOHOGOGH

You know I just HAD to draw that scene like- C'MON

IT GOT ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET ON MY LITTLE BED TEHEE

Now if you don't know

THIS IS FOR @dreadpirateurania13 who has a beautiful fanfic called "AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES"

That you should TOTALLY go and read right MEOOOWWW

[morallygreyintrovert]

Been having a hard time lately and I’ve had no inspiration to write but a few days ago I’ve started writing a post despair one shot where the empty returns Cas after only four hours because he’s so annoying and the last line of my fic has me kicking my legs and squealing like a teenage girl.

[puraiuddo]

༺JazzProwl Fic Recs༻

— brought to you by puraiuddo -

This is by all means not a complete list of banger JP fics! It's my personal favorites—those fics that lodged themselves in my brain for one reason or another and never left.

Hopefully this list satisfies at least some of the sudden influx of interest for JP fics (and given how well rec'ing a fic turned out last time...) But, nah for real, not to make rec'ing fics fake deep or anything, but I think the fandom would be a better place if people were more unapologetically enthusiastic about fics and less afraid to interact with authors. So if you use this list to find some fics you have to promise to leave some unhinged comments! ٩("•̀ᴗ•́")و ̑̑

But before I start, I want to acknowledge the prevalence of potentially stereotypical depictions of Jazz in regards to his speech (❞), criminal/violent/sexual characterization (▾), or backstory/origins (⟲) in the JP/TF fandom. I've attempted to flag fics with the corresponding symbols above, because I'd like to recognize those problems while still rec'ing for a variety of other fantastic qualities. That said, I'm not infallible so please use your own discretion.

I've also tagged fics with "hiatus" if it's been a while between updates, but the author hasn't made a comment—these fics are especially important to interact with, b/c you never know if the author stopped posting b/c they weren't getting any reviews!

Now, without further adieu...

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

༺JazzProwl-centric༻

Mistakes on Mistakes Until— by jabberish

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 280,212 - Alt-War AU』

Ricochet's got a bad case of conscience and he's pretty sure it's about to get him killed. (aka I think I've read every defection/ex-Con au and now I'm forced to make my own. Jazz-centric.)

* (づ ᴗ _ ᴗ)づ♡ The crème de la crème of JP fics. I really can't properly articulate the sheer amount of love and respect I have for MOMU other than that if you haven't read it, your life is worse for it. Go read it. Then read it again. Now. (I've read it 4 times. No, I'm not joking) I love all the fics on this list dearly, but MOMU holds a very special place in my heart. Flawless characterization, flawless dynamics, flawless plot, one-of-a-kind writing style... it's got it all. Of note: I've not flagged it despite its premise, because it will expertly subvert your expectations and you need to read it to understand. Bonus: it's got a lot of well-deserved fanart!

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Untitled Series by Need2Scream

『(2/?) - ffn - Words: 158,064 - War AU - hiatus』

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - 116,327

"Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz

Spark - 41,737 - hiatus

"Chase you deep into the unknown. In my dark, in my dark, you're the Spark."/ "Roam with me, come down to where all of the others fell. Get lost, in the dark to find yourself. Just remember what I said, 'cause it isn't over yet."/SEQUEL to Where the Lonely Ones Roam

*It's not clear by the summary, but the series is essentially about Jazz and Prowl's developing relationship as they overcome war-related trauma, intermingled with a spectacular amount of original lore. See the author's ffn bio for a rundown. The originality and attention to detail in the world building in this AU is awe-inspiring. There are 2 fics in the JP series, but the author has a bunch of other Gen fics set in the same AU and another on ao3. Bonus: some of the Gen fics are Jazz & Prowl-centric and can be read as romantic!

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Crime in Crystals Series by Aard_Rinn

『(7/?) - ao3 - Words: 258,030 - Crime/Hitman AU - hiatus - ▾ ⟲』

The Hitman - 6,942 - pt 1

Prowl is the last clean cop in Praxus, the final flickering light in the darkness. There are plenty of people who would like to see him snuffed.

2. The Clarification, 3. The Kill, 4. The Capture, 5. The Prime, 6. The Talk, 7. The Chase 8. TBD

*The main plot is broken into 7 separate fics, but it's all one continuous story. Read the whole thing! It's on my all time favorites. It's thrilling, tremendously action packed, and the character dynamics are some of my favorites. It's also hysterical and wholesome and I've reread it a stupid amount of times. Bonus: it's got fanart + there are 5 extra fics, including a Jazz-centric prequel, in the same AU.

༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻༺♡༻

War Eternal Series by Hearts of Eternity

『(3/4) - ffn - 2m? idk it's insane - Bayverse War AU - discontinued - ▾ ❞ ⟲』

Where You and I Collide - 362,090 - prequel

Separately, Jazz and Prowl are like forces of nature- they are uncompromising and uncontrollable. But what becomes of their natures when these two unstoppable forces collide? Will one break the other, or will they both be stronger for it?

As We Come Together - 485,586 - pt 2 - Gen

While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time

May We Never Let Go - 408,409 - pt 3 - Gen - d/c

Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.

1. As We Come Together, prequel 2: Surface of the Sun

*Long, convoluted explanation coming up given that this series is obviously a whole different beast compared to likely any other fanfic series you or I have ever encountered in our lives... b/c the author is just superhuman or smth idk...

The series is officially listed as 4 parts (WYaIC, WTWHL, AWCT, MWNLG). Where You and I Collide is the JP-centric prequel to the other 3 Gen fics (that have substantial background JP). WTWHL is technically part 1 of the series, but it's sorta more character-focused ficlets than a continuous story... which is why I didn't specifically list it as a rec even if that makes things more confusing... (ᵕ¬ᴗ¬) Also the author didn't list Surface of the Sun as part of the series, but it's a direct prequel (like WYaIC) starring the Lambo twins and it's... oh it's so good... absolutely shatters my heart that it's been d/c'd.

I've not listed an exact world count, b/c if you want to read every bit of the AU with all its prequels and offshoots (which I would highly recommend and have done)... I'm not gonna do the math for you, sorry. The main 4-part story is ~1.7m+ which I realize is frankly insane and extraordinarily intimidating, but it is so sooo sooooo worth it. The author has created their own fully fleshed out TF world with its own lore and characters and the time and effort they've put into is mind-boggling .

Anywho, despite ultimately being d/c'd, the series is still tremendously readable and nothing about JP is left feeling unbearably unfinished. I also happened to track down the lovely author and beg for a summary of the ending, b/c I'm a bit of a freak and they very kindly provided it so if not knowing how a fic ends bothers you/prevents you from reading, you have the option of getting closure even if you can't have it written out.

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Fathomless by Sroloc_Elbisivni

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 19,949 - Fantasy AU - complete』

Jazz is drowning on dry land on the other side of the world. Once upon a time, before Jazz was born, the Rust Sea covered a swathe of Cybertron bigger than the territory of any city-state except Iacon. The sea had been more powerful than any engine besides the one at the heart of the planet itself, big enough to swallow a metrotitan in its depths, the birthplace of storms. Thing is, none of that was Jazz. He doesn’t remember those days, before he was himself, except in his dreams. And his dreams are terrifying.

*This fic makes me feel some type of way... it gives me shivers. It's so eerie and the premise is so unique. It's also beautifully bittersweet, which is a hard concept to pull off.

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The Judge by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 107,653 - Alt-War AU』

Prowl’s got a secret, and he’d rather be dead in the ground before he let anyone find out about it. Jazz’s got one too, but he’s not as good at hiding it. Prowl is a secret superhero, Jazz is a secret fanboy who doesn’t know that he works with the guy. By night Prowl is the virtuous hero The Judge, but by day he’s just an unassuming tactical officer.

*Jazz and Prowl are sorta painfully adorable in this fic and the JP is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Plus it's got a really fun premise with lots of shenanigans.

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Black on White on Black Series by pipermca

『(3/?) - ao3 - Words: 86,248 - fix-it, War AU - complete』

Anamnesis - 31,097 - pt 1

When Jazz and his team are lost on a mission, Prowl has to carry on alone. But a discovery a thousand vorn later could turn his life upside down again.

2. The Ghost of the Howling Plains, 3. Pulling Strings

*Super interesting sorta-kinda-fix-it fic and/or explanation for the events and characterizations in IDW. There are 3 stories in the main JP plot line. Bonus: there's 2 "Extras" fics for cut scenes from the main fics.

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Crystal Ghosts Series by Rizobact

『(2/2) - ao3 - Words: 85,688 - Fantasy AU - complete - ⟲』

Enduring as Crystal - 40,517 - pt 1

There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.

Eternal as Love - 45,171 - pt 2

Prowl promised he would help Jazz, the ghost of the crystal chapel in the garden behind Praxus' central library. He just couldn't anticipate what shape that help would wind up taking.

*Another super unique premise! I love a good historical mystery and the imagery is specularly evocative! And I'm a sucker for the trope... which I can't reveal, because of spoilers.

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Untitled Series by Vaeru

『(2/2) - ffn - Words: 10,766 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Descant - 7,925 - pt 2

G1/Jux compliant. Requiem sequel. Prowl doubted that his desired image of Respected Superior Officer came across very well with a half-scrapped mech clinging to his hand, but he loomed as best as he was able and glared.

*Requiem is Jazz-centric and I'd say more of a prequel to Descant than Descant is a sequel to Requiem... if that makes any sense. Regardless of how you view it or what order you read it, it's fucking brutal. (-‿-“) Bonus: author also wrote another really great fic called Transformers: Juxtaposition which is Lambo twin-centric and OC-centric, but perhaps one of the only OC fics that I've ever enjoyed.

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Domino Milkshake by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - (1/?) - ao3 - Words: 24,886 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.

*It's a fake dating AU... what more can I say? I love the the begrudging developing romance and the meddling friends. Bonus: it's got fanart!

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Hunter's Spark by WandersUnderStarlight

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 43,645 - Alt-War AU - ❞』

Jazz disobeys orders to abandon the ruins of Praxus and runs into one of the Senate's dirty secrets.

*This author also has a few more JP fics that I enjoy like An Offer He Can't Refuse and Long Patrol. I gotta offer aisclaimer though: the fics are... fairly cliche and a bit OOC. Hunter's Spark is much more tame than the other two, though. They're all sorta a guilty pleasure of mine, because it's fun to enjoy Prowl being a bit of a BAMF and Jazz being a bit of a damsel on occasion even if objectively I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea. ("￣▽￣";)ゞ But the author definitely deserves credit for creative and entertaining premises and a really nice writing style!

༺☆★☆★☆★-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-★☆ ★☆★☆༻

༺General༻

Little Brother by Meiza

『oneshot - ffn - Words: 64,542 - War AU - discontinued』

Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.

*Prowl & Bluestreak centric, but Jazz has a solid amount of screentime. The subplot is pre-relationship, co-parenting JazzProwl and it's cute as hell. It's not 'officially' discontinued, but it hasn't been updated since 2010... so... At least it doesn't end in a cliffhanger. (╥﹏╥|||)

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Things We Don't Tell Humans by SineadRivka

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 363,057 - Bayverse War AU - complete』

This was a first for us Autobots; never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? Some things have translated between cultures without much effort. Other subjects, however…

*Please note the tags! Also... I'll be honest that I mostly skip to the JP parts and main plot points in this fic as it's about a very ensemble cast and I'm not interested in TF humans ... so I can't entirely vouch for the integrity of the whole thing. (￢ω￢;)

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Echoes of Messatine by MlleMusketeer

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 303,863 - Alt-War AU - complete - ▾ 』

Cybertron hurtles toward war, and only a handful of mecha see it. Not Megatron, whose inflammatory writings gain him agonizing attention from those on high. Not Ratchet, the Iacon Medical Center’s most prized practitioner, whose Dead-End clinic remains the worst-guarded secret on Cybertron. Not Overlord, whose iron hold over Cybertron’s underworld is beginning to falter. Not Orion Pax, whose concern over the sudden silence of one of his favorite writers drives him to take up his hero’s pen. Not Terminus, who only wants to survive. But Trepan and Senator Shockwave both know well what’s coming. One aims to use a defiant miner’s fall to crush the aspirations of the masses. The other wants to use that miner’s triumph to ignite them. Neither much cares about Megatron himself, or his ultimate survival. Therein lies their fatal error.

*Not clear from the summary, but the premise is essentially "what if Megatron got the matrix instead of OP" and how their pre-war lives would have to pan out for them to ultimately switch roles. Just a really fascinating, supremely well-done "what-if" fic, but also probably the weirdest one to put on this particular list, b/c JP turns into megatron/JP at the very, very end... but... I just kinda ignore that development since it happens in like almost literally in the last chapter and you can def read it as friendship up until that point... (¬⤙¬ ᵕ)

༺☓○☓○☓○☓○-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-☓○☓○☓○☓○༻

༺Mature༻

*listen... don't @ me. They're definitely saucy, but they're not explicit. Yada, yada... hey minors, don't read these! ...But we all know you will so just don't talk to me or anyone else about it, cool? Cool. (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Intermission by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 5,049 - War AU - complete - ▾』

As the war stretched on for interminable vorn, Prowl found himself faced time and again with the mounting stress of his position. Many of those times he was forced to face alone, the gear grinding stress sending him to Ratchet for system overhauls and forced defrags. But every so often he'd be fortunate enough to have Jazz on hand, and when he did, well, it didn't take much. Pressing Jazz up against the wall, cramming him into corners, pinning him facedown over Prowl's desk. It didn't matter as long he could keep Jazz still.

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Audition by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 12,783 - War AU - complete - ▾』

If one were to be delicate, one would say that Jazz and Prowl are incompatible. The blunt truth? 'You just lie there with this blank expression on your face,' he'd been told by his last partner. Signal had stayed longer then most, willing to try since Prowl was so obviously doing his best, interfacing to please his partner and give him what Prowl himself disliked. In the end, though, it hadn't worked. 'You don't like me touching you, you don't like the mess, you don't even like the overload, and half the time I swear you're running economic simulations in your CPU you look that bored. I don't want that. I don't want you miserable, and I don't want me miserable, either.' So why can't Prowl stop wishing?

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That's all, folks.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ω-)✧ ~Happy reading!

and for the shit tumblr search/tag system, i offer: #jazzprowl #jazzprowl recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl fic recs #jazzprowl fanfic recs #tansformers fic recs #tf jazzprowl #tf fic recs

[konigsblog]

MDNI. photo credit @ave661 — warnings: tentacle fucking, breeding kink, eldritch horror könig. 🐙

eldritch!könig who's very overprotective and easily jealous. he see's you talking to other sea god's, one's he'd forbid you from seeing in fear they'd flirt with you — or worse, take you with them.

so when he see's you over there, sitting by the shore, the sand beneath your toes and speaking to an ancient, powerful sea god, he feels his blood boiling. he drags you back from them, chanting out something incoherent and pushing you down against the sand in a cave.

sliding his thick, wet tentacles into you and forcing you to maintain eye contact and mutter his name through breathless moans. his eyes don't leave you; they're filled with red, an angry red as he continues to bury a thick, hard tentacle into your poor hole. he lives for your whines and mewls and how you beg him to cum, how you're under his control, under his gaze.

eldritch!könig who, oh so desperately, wishes to fill you with his babies. he's so possessive of you; his prized possession. putting a child in your stomach would scare off any other sea god's and creatures who got too close for his liking.

it takes a lot of convincing, but he has you breathless and panting for hours as he continues to slide each of his eight tentacles into you. he slides he first inside, letting it thrust in and out of your used pussy till he's satisfied and his suckers are drooling out potent, murky fluids. a substance staining your inner walls.

then, he pulls out, bringing it to your mouth to suck on and stiffle your needy sounds as he rubs another tentacle against your sensitive, overstimulated clit. his sweetheart beneath him just begging to cum. you're making yourself a mess, those glistening tears and puffy lips...

he eases one inside before pulling away, your eldritch using your body for his own pleasure until the sun rises over the horizon. that golden glow over your body, and those precious tits. he couldn't help himself from toying and playing with them, preparing you to take his cock instead this time.

and, he's so ruthless with you. yet, his words are so loving that you're a babbling mess by the time he's finished. slapping his thick, heavy shaft against your stomach and kissing your lips softly before easing the tip inside, fully pushing himself in and groaning out a string of german curses as you tighten around him.

there's no stopping till he's completely satisfied and laying beside you wth his seed still oozing out your sloppy pussy. he'll push a tentacle inside and plug you, keep you safe and full beside him.

...

reblogs and comments appreciated.

[dykedvonte]

The second fic idea is a what-if scenerio where Jimmy dies in the crash due to and altercation with Curly and how Curly would navigate being Captain once he has to notice the little things and how he and Anya's relationship develop as he adopts an identical view point to hers rather than just keeping the peace.

And maybe i will write it but only time will tell tbh but it's stuck in my brain dome for the time being.

[merakiui]

Okay speaking of magical girls.... Evil villain tako that has a crush on the cute magical girl at NRC but he doesnt know shes the magical girl that's trying to thwart his evil plan of taking over sage's island mwhaha

YES YES YES. And every week he gets his ass handed to him. You're determined to keep Sage's Island safe!!!! He's trying to get to know you through the fights. The (one-sided) sexual/romantic tension is too much. Tako who flirts at every chance during your fights... you genuinely want to take him out (defeat him), but he wants to take you out (on a date). And it's so obvious he's down bad for you, but you have no idea he's Azul Ashengrotto (your fellow classmate) and he has no idea of your identity either. Azul's trying to balance his love for the magical girl he fights on weekends and his darling classmate who he sees during the week hehe. How fortuitous that they are the same person.

Please imagine that trope where the villain ensnares the hero in tentacles, but it ends up looking more erotic than threatening....... orz evil villain tako whose tentacle is holding you upside down by the ankle and he's monologuing about how he'll take over the island and you'll get to watch, powerless against him. But then he looks at you and your skirt has flipped up and he's granted a gratuitous panty shot!!!!!!! Tako who gets a nosebleed on the spot. He's such a loser pervert. <3

Omg omg or you're squirming in the tentacles and ranting about how you'll get him for this, but Azul's trying so hard not to give into the horny thoughts because the way the tentacles are looped around you and squeezing is so attractive to him.

Like that one scene where Stocking's fighting the octopus ghost LOL.

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 03

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.

Fortunately, the disturbing sound of screams could feel inspiring when used as a backdrop.

You had been buried in the files for so long that, for a moment, you wondered if you even remembered how to read. Your fingers rested on Noah’s case file, and your nails made an irritating sound against his photo as you strained to think. He was a patient who refused to speak, and you didn’t believe that would change anytime soon, making it all the harder to know him well enough to determine if he was guilty or not.

Innocence had already been discarded by everyone. His silence reinforced the majority’s verdict, but you were never one to follow the current. You preferred to tread carefully, trusting only what you saw with your own eyes and your professional intuition.

And it insisted, relentlessly, that something was wrong.

What if Noah wasn’t guilty?

You knew that specific reactions emerged from different patients under certain stimuli. Maybe he had developed post-traumatic stress after finding his girlfriend’s body displayed so brutally, causing him to withdraw, trapped in that final scene. He could simply be struggling to process the trauma, and his aggressive outbursts might be the result of associations between the crime and the real perpetrator. Maybe he even knew who the killer was. It could very well be a case of targeted vengeance against him.

But... what if he was guilty?

Noah could be hiding his own guilt behind a mask of arrogance. He knew what he had done. He showed no remorse, as the diagnosis confirmed, and perhaps his silence was a calculated provocation to the authorities, a way to manipulate the media spectacle that had grown around the tragedy.

The possibilities felt endless.

“Fuck!” you muttered, slamming your fist against the desk.

Solving a case like that would be a major feat on your résumé. It would guarantee your career and bring enough recognition that Grimshade would become nothing more than a brief chapter. That case hadn’t landed in your lap by mere coincidence. It was the perfect opportunity to unlock the future you had always wanted.

Of course, if that damned man would just talk.

Your first and only patient of the day was about to enter, and a sharp wave of nausea coursed through you as soon as you realized who it was.

Tom Harrow.

You read the name on the clipboard, drawing a deep breath before allowing him into the room. Your body still carried traces of fatigue, but you straightened your posture, forcing professionalism to smother any distractions. At Grimshade Sanatorium, every encounter was a psychological game more dangerous than the last.

When the door opened, the cold, dull light revealed a gaunt figure with broad shoulders and skin marred by fine scars and burns like knife marks. Tom sat on a metal chair bolted to the floor, his arms restrained by leather straps binding his wrists to the armrests. He smiled as you entered, revealing teeth white and sharp like a trap.

“Doctor...” His voice slid out like warm syrup—slow and sticky. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

He always pushed sarcasm to its limit, every interaction dripping with malice, which he carried not only in his gaze but in every calculated word. Tom was a sexual predator accused of killing more than 35 women over three decades without raising a single suspicion. Mistaken for a respectable citizen, he went to church on Sundays and hosted neighborhood dinners where he was adored.

At night, he scoured the internet for vulnerable women, lonely for one reason or another, luring them to a secluded cabin where he abused, tortured them with depraved fetishes, and kept them captive until their bodies were deemed disposable after the skin began to rot. Harrow was only caught because he allowed himself to be caught, leaving a trace of a kidnapped neighbor in his home while the authorities did the rest.

But if not for that... he would still be free, you thought.

“Good morning, Mr. Harrow.” You closed the door with a firm click, trying to ignore the metallic scent in the air—a mix of disinfectant and sour sweat. “How are you feeling today? I heard a patient complained about being harassed by you in the lunch line. Is that why your hands are restrained?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his eyes slowly traveled over you, stripping away each layer of fabric, then skin. The silence stretched a second too long, making the air feel heavier.

You walk to the chair across from him and sit, positioning the clipboard on your lap like a shield.

"That’s not exactly how it happened," he said with confidence.

"Then tell me how it was," you allowed, activating the timer at the center of the table. "We have plenty of time today to talk about whatever you’d like."

"She provoked me, and I gave her exactly what she wanted with that attitude. You women are all the same—tease us, then can’t handle the reaction."

You remained expressionless.

"What do you feel when you have these impulses, Tom?" Your voice came out steady, though inside, a warning bell had already begun to ring.

His smile widened. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes gleaming with a malice.

"Impulses? You mean my... passion?" He stretched the word, letting it ricochet through the air. "Oh, doctor, you should know. Everyone has desires. It’s not wrong... to want. It’s not wrong to love women so much that you build an altar from the outer layer of their skin."

You kept your composure, but the knot in your stomach tightened.

"And what exactly do you want from all this, Tom?"

"Depends..." He leaned as far forward as the straps allowed, his tongue sliding slowly over his teeth. "Have you ever wanted something so badly it hurt? Felt heat under your skin, like a fire waiting to break free?"

Your eyes remained fixed on his, but your grip on the clipboard grew tighter. Your desires were none of his concern, and how you dealt with them even less so.

"Do you think that justifies your actions?"

He laughed softly—a low, rough sound filled with something that crawled along your spine.

"Who said I’m trying to justify anything? You think you understand me?" His gaze drifted downward, settling on your blouse where the top button had come undone without your notice.

"This conversation is to understand you—through your own eyes."

"Then what do you think I see when I look at you, doctor?" He leaned forward over his thighs, casting a look so dark it seemed to scratch beneath your skin.

Your body chilled, but your face stayed stone still.

"This session is over."

"Ah, don’t end it so soon... Sitting here... tied up like this... Isn’t it a bit insane? How they keep me bound while you... so free? Don’t you want to see through my eyes? How about I bind your arms and tear apart that sweet little cunt, doctor?"

You stood, the blood rushing too fast through your veins.

"We’ll speak again soon, Tom."

He only laughed again as you left, his chuckling reverberating down the corridor like a stain that wouldn’t wash away.

"Are you alright?" Travis’s voice broke the silence as his hand touched your shoulder suddenly, making you jump. You pressed a hand to your chest to steady your breathing.

"Got it," he said with a small smile. "Rough session?"

"Tom Harrow," you replied flatly, resuming your pace beside him.

"Shit. Was he... restrained?"

You nodded, and he exhaled in relief.

"Sorry."

"It’s over." You didn’t want to linger on it. "Since you’re here, I need a favor. I want to study Noah’s case more deeply. I could do it alone, but without internet or TV... it’s tricky."

If the case was as well-known on the island as people suggested, local news archives shouldn’t be hard to find. At least, that’s what you assumed.

"Hm. Old-school methods, then," he said with a chuckle, navigating the stairs with ease, greeting colleagues and signing prescriptions without breaking stride. "Old newspapers, interviews with people who knew him... that kind of thing."

"And where would I find all that?"

"In town, definitely. The university he attended still has plenty of stories about him. He was pretty well-known there. You know, because of the family name. It shouldn’t be hard to find someone willing to talk." He paused, eyeing you with renewed curiosity. "Are you really this determined to prove his innocence?"

You kept your tone professional. “I want to understand what really happened. The more information I have, the better my arguments will be during our sessions.”

“And you think that’ll make him open up.”

His sarcasm cut like a hidden blade. You lifted your chin, the heat of irritation rising slowly.

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Dr. Rune. I know Noah has the charm of a predator, and I’m sorry if giving up the case left you without an excuse to admire those…” You paused, your gaze sharp. “...incredible arms.”

The laugh that burst from Travis was genuine, full, and shook his shoulders before he shook his head in surrender.

“You’ve got a unique sense of humor, darling.” He winked, his blue eyes glimmering with amusement. “I don’t care about things like that, but when I started my career, I also thought my first problematic case would be my breakthrough moment.”

“And now you’re here, still stuck at Grimshade. Doesn’t seem like it worked out too well.”

The challenge in his gaze met yours, and for a brief, rare moment, you felt camaraderie—an honesty he didn’t bother to mask.

“I didn’t have enough time.”

“What happened?”

His expression darkened slightly, but he shrugged as if it were a trivial detail. “He killed himself.”

“I’m sorry...”

“It’s just another file in the trash. Don’t be silly.” Rune dismissed it and shifted his attention to a nurse calling him from down the hall. With a brief nod, he took off, his lab coat billowing as he hurried toward the masculine voice.

You understood why his apathy lingered like a cloud—it was a constant companion in this place, no matter how unsettling. Over time, nothing stayed surprising or shocking; it became just another day’s work.

Outside, the sky was a dull gray, making no effort to inspire anyone. You walked through the wide yard where patients had a designated hour of sunlight. Hidden Ward inmates came at separate times, under heavier supervision, for reasons that didn’t need explanation.

The trees were bare and poorly trimmed, and patches of grass fought for space amid wide circles of mud. The landscape was so devoid of color that when you held your arm up to the light, your skin looked as pale as your bedroom walls. The island’s low saturation was eerie, like the backdrop of a horror film.

You passed a minor commotion where a patient had lost control and harmed herself with a thread of fabric. Three orderlies wrestled her to the ground, dragging her back toward Hidden as she screamed.

“Prepare the hole!” one of them yelled to the nurse by the gate.

The hole? You didn’t know what they meant, a reminder of how incomplete your tour had been.

A few steps further, you stopped abruptly, noticing a figure crouched ahead. Almost instinctively, you adjusted your glasses on your nose and smoothed your coat before proceeding.

Noah, as always, was alone and silent, poking at the dirt with a plastic trowel, seemingly focused on a small garden plot.

The scene was bleak: dark brown, brittle saplings lay lifeless as he methodically pulled them up, tossing the dead roots into a bucket before covering the soil with fresh seeds.

“Keeping your mind busy with a hobby is healthy, Noah,” you said, your voice breaking the silence as your hands clasped behind your back, fingers twisting nervously.

He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge your words. He remained engrossed with the soil, as if the voice didn’t exist.

“If you don’t figure out what’s wrong with the ground, the next crop will die, too.” You circled slowly, stopping in front of him and crouching until your eyes met his. Sifting the dirt between your fingers, you let it fall softly. “First, you identify the problem. Then you treat the cause before planting again. If you just cover it up, the rot stays underneath.”

His eyes—cold, empty—rose to meet yours, the disinterest in your metaphor as obvious as the tension in his shoulders. From the dark look on his face, it was clear he wished you would simply disappear.

“This is your hobby, isn’t it?” You arched a brow, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Does working with plants bring you comfort?”

Utter silence. Of course.

“Well, at least now I know what you like!” Your tone grew almost playful, the smile breaking free. “We’re about to become great friends. Don’t you think?”

He remained unmoving, but something in his gaze held too firmly, cut too deeply—like roots refusing to be unearthed. Your body reacted to each layer his brown eyes pierced as though they reached beneath your skin with every silent exchange.

“You may be good at this game, but I’ve always been very competitive,” you murmured, leaning closer to narrow the distance. His posture stiffened, a warning, but you pressed on, ignoring the cold that slithered down your spine at the visible fury brewing within him. “I will make you talk, Noah Sebastian.”

Visibly tired of the forced social interaction, Noah threw the bucket and trowel at your feet with a sudden, sharp motion. The plastic clattered against the ground like a full-stop punctuation. Without sparing you a second glance, he turned and walked away, heading back toward the building with a confidence so disarming it required no escort of orderlies. He never caused enough of a stir to warrant physical restraints—the fragile peace of the sanitarium seemed to hinge on one unspoken rule: leave Noah alone.

Staff and patients alike followed that law as if it were an instinct for survival. Eye contact with him never lasted beyond two seconds, as if any longer would invite consequence. He was a lone wolf in the heart of the Hidden Ward, indifferent even to the most hardened criminals. No bonds, no conversations, no trace of connection to anyone.

Noah didn’t share space in the dining hall, either. While others sat together, murmuring or staring vacantly, he preferred the meticulous solitude of his meals, delivered and consumed alone, a routine as unwavering as it was unsettling.

And then, there was his appearance. Day after day, while others withered beneath the weight of confinement, Noah thrived. His uniform remained impeccably clean, fabric fitted to a solid frame that betrayed no sign of frailty. His hair—straight and brown like the smooth surface of a moonlit lake—fell effortlessly across his face, and his skin seemed untouched by exhaustion or sleepless nights. His eyes burned with a sharp, simmering fury.

Noah appeared more like a figure from dark fantasy than the specter of a bloody past—a twisted fairytale prince where the wolf owned the plot.

You had been watching him since the day he arrived.

“Hey, girl!”

Sloan’s voice pulled you back to reality. She tugged you down to earth with her usual flair, and you dragged yourself away from your thoughts, making your way to the back of the estate. You sank into one of the lounge chairs as she plopped down beside you, offering a cigarette that you declined.

“Hiding in a hole? Haven’t seen you around lately.”

“I…” What could you say? Oh, I’ve been far too busy obsessing over a patient, picturing him while I sleep with someone else, consumed by his case to the point of madness, driven by a twisted need to be near him just to hear his voice in a game where silence reigns supreme. “I’ve been working too much.”

Sloan shook her head, letting smoke curl lazily between her teeth. Her dark curls tumbled free as she let her hair down, her breasts pressing against her neckline as she stretched.

“Boring.” She rolled her eyeliner-framed eyes. Sloan was striking. “I was dying to see you after happy hour at the tavern. I saw you and Rune leave together. Damn, girl, you don’t hold back.”

She nudged your arm with a teasing grin, and you smiled.

“It wasn’t a big deal. We were drunk…” You trailed off, unable to recall the night with him—because your mind had been tangled up with someone else entirely.

“Lucky you! I’ve been trying for years to get that man’s dick between my tits, but he’s so uptight I’ve developed a kink for just seeing him shut up.”

“Definitely more attractive when he’s quiet.” You nodded with certainty, and her eyes widened before she burst out laughing.

“Been after him for a while?”

In just a few days, Sloan had proven herself more than a stellar professional—she was a living compendium of gossip. Nurses, doctors, even patients—none escaped her scrutiny. Nothing escaped her cat-like gaze, and there were no limits—gender, danger, status, or intellect—her reach was boundless.

You couldn’t deny how intriguing that was. Sloan was an endless source of untapped knowledge.

“When I started, he was already here. Just another psychiatrist—like you,” she pointed out with a smirk, not bothering to sugarcoat the insult.

You smiled.

“He was a total suck-up to the director. That’s how he climbed the ladder. But, with all his rich-kid vibes, winning isn’t exactly hard.”

“Working here is winning?” you deadpanned, shaking your head. “He’s definitely screwed.”

“Oh, you just killed my crush.” Sloan sighed, stubbing her cigarette against the wall.

You both laughed, and she hooked her arm through yours as you walked back toward the sanitarium together.

“You know I’ve taken over that patient’s case… Noah, right?”

Your question lingered in the air, and Sloan merely confirmed with a brief nod, waiting for you to continue.

“I need more information about him,” you pressed, your voice firm, laced with a touch of urgency. “The records are practically empty, and without internet access, I can’t search for old articles or any other data related to the case. I feel like if I only had the right pieces, I could get closer to him. Maybe even understand why this case feels so inconsistent, with such a huge gap between one point and the next.”

Sloan frowned, thinking carefully before biting her lip as though weighing her words.

“Look,” she began hesitantly, “I think there’s something wrong with this case too. But I can’t tell if I’m analyzing the facts clearly... or if I’m just falling for some kind of Stockholm syndrome, because, let’s face it, he is a hell of a looker, isn’t he?”

You sighed in disbelief, bringing a hand to your forehead.

“For God’s sake, Sloan!”

“Kidding aside…” She pulled you closer, lowering her voice. “There are a lot of rumors about how he ended up in Grimshade, and one of them is that his diagnosis was bought.”

“Bought?”

Suddenly, you were even more intrigued by Sloan’s friendship as she seemed to strike precisely at the point that had been gnawing at your suspicions. One of the things that most fueled your doubts about Noah’s case was his diagnosis — it just didn’t seem to fit.

“Remember, it’s just a rumor… but his family is insanely rich, and as you might already know, they own this island. They maintain an impeccable reputation; no one’s ever heard a bad word about them — just those glossy magazine articles about rich people’s successes. They say that when they found out what happened, they bought a diagnosis to get him placed here. That’s why his record is full of gaps. They knew Noah probably wouldn’t last long in prison, especially if the other inmates found out what he did. Here… well, here he’s just another killer.”

She shrugged, and you couldn’t hide how much the information impressed you.

“I thought his parents didn’t care about him after the incident,” you remarked.

“They don’t. He doesn’t get any visitors. But they fund absolutely everything for him here. Supposedly, Grimshade receives a good sum to keep him here and keep things running as they are. They don’t want him deemed competent — if that happened, he’d end up on death row, you know? And Noah being a stubborn jerk who won’t speak just helps.”

Rumor or not, every word aligned with your own suspicions. His file lacked the traits expected of his diagnosis, and you viewed all his behavior during therapy as a rebellious act. Was he part of his parents' scheme? You doubted it, not after how he reacted to seeing his family photo.

It was all about protecting their image.

“I appreciate the honest update,” you said with a smile as you both stopped by the coffee machine. Sloan ordered a cappuccino, and you went for a latte, though you had no real desire to drink it. “I considered asking Travis about these things, but he always seems so prickly when it comes to Noah.”

“Doctor Rune was his first psychiatrist. The big boss upstairs,” she gestured toward the administrative wing with a nod. “He referred Noah during the trial. But Travis has a temper. He’s got rigid opinions on certain methods and zero patience. When he realized the kid wasn’t going to talk, he blew up.”

“They argued?”

“Not sure you could call it an argument, since one side wasn’t talking, right?” She chuckled. “But yeah, the tension was thick, and they decided to bring someone else in, since the Hidden Wing was being neglected too.”

Dr. Rune clearly had no intention of sharing this part of the story with you. It was no wonder he sent you off with a suggestion to look into town for answers.

“Now I’m even more curious…” you admitted, biting your lip and watching the steam rise from your cup. “If it’s more than just a rumor, if the diagnosis really is wrong… he could be innocent.”

“Sounds like one of those dramas,” Sloan said, draining her cappuccino.

“Rune mentioned the city would be the best place to dig up more,” you added, folding your arms. “His family’s well-known there, so it shouldn’t be hard to find something useful.”

“Perfect!” Sloan grinned conspiratorially and winked. “On our day off, we’ll go investigate Noah’s life in town!”

A flicker of relief passed through you. Slowly but surely, you were getting to know your colleagues better, and the way they welcomed you made the environment less toxic and lonely. Now you had information that made things feel a bit more concrete, even if it was just hearsay. Still, you were determined to go deeper.

Getting Noah to talk seemed like a promising plan to boost your career and leave the asylum behind, but turning the tables with a proper diagnosis — and possibly solving his case — would be even better.

From the corridor window, you had a clear view of the grounds outside. Well, clear might be an exaggeration — the exterior was a tangled mess of chaos — but you could still spot patients moving about, including him.

“The Hidden Wing’s outdoor time ended already,” you noted to Sloan, checking the wall clock. “But he’s still out there.”

Noah had returned to the same spot where you had found him earlier. Crouched, he sifted through brittle branches, pulling up rotting roots and planting new seeds. As always, he was alone. You tried — and failed — to look away from the way his shirt clung to his chest, soaked with sweat, and the arms that seemed ready to tear through the fabric. In a fleeting moment, he lifted his eyes from the garden and squinted toward the window.

A wave of heat surged up your neck. You rubbed the back of it, but the gesture did little to douse the flames his furtive gaze ignited within you. You weren’t sure if he hated you, despised your presence, or wanted to add you to his list of victims. But one thing was clear: he felt something.

“He’s allowed to roam Grimshade freely,” Sloan said, following your gaze. “Privileges, right?”

Your body went rigid, eyes widening instantly. Your reaction was so obvious that even from afar, Noah allowed himself a sly, wicked grin.

“Free?” you repeated, your voice tight. “At any time?”

“That’s what they say.”

Breathing suddenly became a challenge. Your gaze remained locked on his dark, provocative smile. Your heart thudded wildly, threatening to leap from your chest as heat crawled up your face.

It wasn’t your imagination. He really had been watching you through the window that night.

[seepingfrommyskin]

“I don’t belong with you, I never did.”

hi yes my first time posting my art here and I come bearing fanart for @hella1975 ‘s amazing atla fic The Art of Burning, you can find this specific scene in chapter 28! if you haven't read it yet I highly recommend.

(click for better quality)

[rafeysbby]

i just rewatched that one clip of rafe snorting a line up close and OH MY GOD PLS DADDY SNORT A LINE UP MY INNER THIGHS AND PRESS UR FACE IN MY PUSSY I BEG OF U

[itsdefinitely]

hey don't cry. the jeri/rys will never be able to share simple human intimacy. they'll never get to hold hands. why are you crying louder

[itsalmostavengers]

Ik we stevetonies love our ‘Steve pulling Tony out of a bender in the workshop’ trope but me? I LOOOOVE the other way round. A bad mission and Steve loses someone - he tried to save them but it was too late, he couldn’t get there in time. And post-mission he just holes himself up in the gym and stays there. For days. Working himself to exhaustion just so he can shave half a second off his sprint (half a second and that person would be alive), punching bag after bag until his hands are bloody and raw.

Tony is the only one who can get through to him like this. It’s only his voice that can make Steve pause, come back to himself. Sometimes Tony has to actively stand in front of whatever it is Steve’s attacking, which absolutely infuriates him, but damn if it isn’t effective in a way only Tony no-thought-to-his-own-self-preservation Stark could be. And Tony is equally as infuriated that steve is insisting on doing this to himself, but even though his tone is angry, his touch against Steve’s knuckles is impossibly soft.

He’ll drag Steve back up to the land of the living. Put him in the shower and clean him off, freshen him up, make him feel human again. Steve will already be healing, of course, but Tony still tends and bandages his hands - attentive to the finest detail, devoting every part of his mind to just making Steve feel a little bit better.

They don’t talk much throughout this. God knows Tony’s tried it before, but Steve is never in the headspace for it, and Tony never says the right thing anyway. But he’s there.

He runs his fingers over the back of Steve’s palms. Up his forearms. He strokes the sharp curve of Steve’s neck, settling against the quick pulse. Steve’s face is blank, but Tony is always surprisingly patient with him. He waits.

“I’m fine,” Steve will say every time, while his face will say the opposite.

“You’re an idiot,” Tony will respond. “I’m locking you out of the gym.”

He won’t. Steve needs it, even if it’s unhealthy, even if it’s agonising for Tony to watch. This is just how they get through.

But Steve will see the way Tony is looking at him- distressed, angry, worried - and it’ll break through the fog. The thing that always takes priority over everything is Tony, and even though Steve’s brain is screaming at him to get right back to it, he just can’t put it above Tony’s well-being. He couldn’t ever do that.

“I Guess I can take a break now.”