#deadmans rock roar

[fallinblossoms]

デッドマンズ (DEADMANS) - ROCK ROAR

[zeyris-daydreams]

Nocturne to The Consecrated - 15.6k longfic

Yandere!reader x (whatever this is)!Sunday

This idea was piling in my mind for weeks now, but it is finally done. Reader displays some concerning tendencies, all the while we get to watch. I’m not sure what to label Sunday in this, yandere is too harsh but he’s NOT normal. That aside, special thanks to Adam, my musically talented friend, who lent me his expertise for orchestral accuracy in this.

Warnings; stalking, manipulation, sort of abuse of power if you squint.

[ao3] [music used for this fic]

“He was never supposed to know you existed. You kept your distance, content with watching from the edges, learning his movements, his habits—his power. But Sunday has always understood the weight of unseen things. And when he calls you forward, it is not with accusation, nor with anger. It is with amusement. With interest. Because the moment you stepped into his world, you were already playing by his rules.”

The paper was a white, dove colour, shade of the freshest feathers plucked, long before they had a chance to stain with the unruly ground - stark contrast to the blood red seal at the front of the envelope, throwing off the harmony of the already too thick sheet.

It weighed heavy in your sweaty palm, breathing shortened as you stared at the object, pondering the reality of the situation - or lack thereof. The envelope bore a shade similar to the halovian’s feathers, and as himself, the stamp was perfectly pressed. Not a spillage of wax outside of the shape it held, formed into the innermost layers of a tree. A symbol you’ve grown used to seeing already, and you could imagine his gloved hands pressing the form into the wax.

Sitting on top of the beige sofa in the comfort of your own apartment didn’t fix the restless feeling of unease in your gut. Lack of emotional control in your own safespace, lack of control over the situation - things unfamiliar. You didn’t want to know them.

The wax felt smooth beneath your fingertips when you grabbed it instinctually, like all the other times when you've taken the courtesy of receiving the mail from the Oak Family in the comfort of your office.

Your fingers lingered on the envelope for a moment too long, as though the act of unraveling it would change something irreparably.

Index finger easily pried the edge of the wax up, before you remembered to keep it intact. It is a symbol of the Oak Family, and a symbol of a perfect person. Then again why would something like this matter to a deadman? It was nothing but bad news to be addressed by him directly, feeling akin to a freshly penned death sentence.

Your position and expertise was nothing but a candle’s flick to a sun’s roar, guaranteeing you no recognition in this field. To be sent paperology so personally was below your tasks.

You could gently peel it off to hold onto it like with everything related, but perfection didn’t matter in this situation. This time, this single time, you ripped it off in haste. If— If there would be another chance like this, you’d preserve the wax. To ruin such a shapely sigil would be unsightly, you knew he’d most certainly dislike it.

A strange bile rose in your throat when the paper protested, holding onto its shape despite your harsh tug on the front, and the edge of the envelope tore in the sudden action. It didn’t matter.

Your heart felt like a rock upon water, its beat sending a steady rhythm down your fingertips.

The envelope gave you one last mocking frown before it was unveiled, and the pristine white sheet was taken out from the inside. Empty and purposeless exterior fell to the ground as you held the beating heart of the problem, fingers digging into it like into your last meal, and you pulled the organ apart, exposing its secrets to all eyes that may be watching—

All colour and blood drained from your face. Your fingers shaking against the thing that felt all too thick and all too glassy, like blood ready to spill from your fingers. With a flutter of paper the temperature dropped, the chill settling on your skin as though the air had anticipated with you. Eyes drifted down towards where the signature would be laid, at the end of the correspondence. So down it was almost passable, and despite the dimmed light in your apartment, you saw it well.

“Sunday, the head of the Oak Family”

The ink felt bold, as if it had been pressed with force into the writing - precision remained, as many of the items he wrote before. It bled into the thick sheet, still in your retina despite your frantic glance around the space of your dull living room.

As fast as that happened, your eyes shot back to the culprit, and you scanned it. Once - skimming, the letters blurring as if they smudged under the weight of your gaze.

Second - drawing out the key words, ones which escaped your grasp, like a mouse from the claws of a cat.

Only the third time did the message register, painting in your mind as you analysed each stroke, lips moving along to each syllable.

”—Esteemed member of the Nightingale Family. It is my utmost pleasure to invite you to a private soirée following the Assembly of the families this Friday,“

The dryness in your mouth only intensified. It was Wednesday.

”where the evening shall continue with further contemplations in a more intimate setting. Please arrive promptly at the close of the performance, for the evening promises to unfold in unexpected ways.”

The penmanship was what you knew already, having collected countless letters and signatures with the same strokes before. The same quill, the same ink. The same hand.

As a member of the Nightingale Family you were more than aware of the tradition; each year Family representatives gathered around a table to discuss the future of the land of festivities together - more to uphold an idea than to have any political discourse.

That, and apparent parties they partook in for the duration of the day.

”Should you accept, you may find the atmosphere illuminating and serene—

Though I suspect it will be, for you, anything but.”

Your gaze felt pinned to the sheet. That is all it said, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that the wording left much to be considered.

Hand tightened against the paper and the fabric bent like a neck to jaws, the thick saliva in your mouth finally swallowed.

—

The residence was quiet, spare for the echo of footsteps you took. Hum of conversation and murmurs of others long died - never to be witnessed by your ears. Maybe you had come too late - an idea proven by the eerily empty room you stood in.

Perhaps they have slipped unnoticed, long gone to leave you to your reckoning - and perhaps if you knew it was the plan, you too would’ve slipped into the shadows as always.

Now though, you were alone, with light above too bright for the liking of your eyes.

The realisation weighed like a boulder, each breath becoming heavier as you looked around. The walls were washed over with a dull shade of blue, akin to a vast ocean in which you could easily get lost in, where all land was too far to be seen.

As though the room wished to retain nothing but stretching emptiness - your body felt lightweight.

You had come, expecting the soirée, the event—you had come wishing to slip unnoticed at a time opportune. But now the space seems cavernous, the shadows stretching long, looming above your frame. Mocking, laughing at the predicament.

The butler that had taken your coat has long vanished, and yet the feeling of eyes on you was unmistakable.

A sharp note cut through the quiet.

Your body turned rigid. Another note joined it, narrow, and they danced in your ear in a tango from the very far left, tempting you to join their flow. Their threads pulled your limbs out of the space, forward and down the corridor.

You knew the tune immediately, and just as instantaneously you wish you didn’t. You have heard the piece before - when he played the piano like this during the private event, then again you couldn’t be sure if that was more than once; being too preoccupied with the pianist each and every time.

Sunday was at the piano when you had found him, seated with utmost perfect posture, his back to you. Skillfully his hands glided across the keys akin to a painter mastering their craft. The melody building and twisting, every note deliberate. The way he played it - precise, restrained, as though there was something beneath the rhythm being held back. It gripped you in an unmistakable way.

He spared you not a glance. He didn’t acknowledge you. For a moment, you’d be hopeful enough to believe he hasn’t taken notice of you at all.

The sound arches as you observe him, rolling down a steady slope-

But then, as the melody faded into silence before the next part of the composition you’ve already grown to anticipate, the fugue, he glanced over his shoulder.

Eyes of gold met yours.

”Ah,” he mused, as though he only realised your presence. “You’ve arrived.”

Nothing in the halovian’s tone sounded unusual, nothing to suggest he had been expecting you, here, alone. Yet the faintest rise of the edges of his lips - a knowing smile.

For a moment you opened your trembling lips, trying to apologise for intruding, but your throat felt tight. It was of no significance to Sunday, as he turned back to the piano. His gloved hands returned their dance upon the keys. The silence between notes stretched out however, purposeful and nearly deliberate.

”Do you recognise it?” He asked suddenly, voice so soft it blended with the sharp tune of the music, smudging with each passing second.

Your chest tightened, throat burning. Of course you recognised it, how could you not? The obvious answer doesn’t find the escape through your teeth, clenched together.

And so you said nothing, and he too didn’t press. The melody shifted, the last keys being played, and the tune grew softer, before a sense of almost pleasant silence followed. As though the aroma of the tune remained in the air, lingering thickly like smoke.

Not for long.

As if nothing happened, he raised to his full height, facing you as he smoothed down the sleeves of his suit. Perfect. Preened.

”I’m sorry for the absence of company,” his voice cut the momentary reprieve, words so casual they felt nearly calculated. Restrained, and deliberate, a perfect chord resolving a dissonant phrase. “But I thought it might be better this way. Simpler.”

Simpler. The word twisted in your mind, an apple rotting as soon as it began its descent from grace. It felt sour on your tongue.

You wanted to leave, now. The urge clawed at you, sharp and insistent, a cat scratching at the window to take run. Something in the way he watched you, though, his head tilted slightly. Sunday waited for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, a reaction possibly.

”You’re quiet,” his tone was conversational, light. Sunday stepped closer, and it took every single fiber of your will to keep yourself grounded, not retreat. “But then, you always were.”

The calm in which he said it, the purposeful use of ‘always’. A fact, not a guess, something he knew as well as the fact that the sky is blue. And that the candles are meant to burn.

Before you processed his words and had a chance to decide on a reaction, he tilted his head slightly, arm gesturing towards the hall beyond.

“Come,” he says. “I’d like to show you something.”

The words carried a tune of softness, but they weren’t a request.

You hesitated, but something in his posture and unblinking, unrelenting gaze forced you to move. The weight of his tone made it impossible to refuse.

Sunday waited just enough for you to take a step, and he then turned, beginning the walk. Each move was precise, soft yet measured - certain against the floor. Despite the tightness of your mind and your flesh, you followed him.

You tried to focus on the sound of your own footsteps to drown out the sense of anxiety that muffled your rational sense, the floor feeling as though it dipped beneath your shoes. Like sand, wanting to swallow you whole.

The walls, despite the lights, felt long, decorated with your moving shadow, one that laughed cruelly at the predicament of the ‘real’ you. The silence stretched similarly to each darkened spot on the walls, mocking, staring over you.

When he finally stopped, you nearly stumbled, heart racing when you realised that you’ve reached a room. For a change, you didn’t recognise it, an unknown pathway of the forest you always bravely threaded. The doors were closed, surface carved with an intricate design you again didn’t find familiar - regardless of the dim light.

A sense of sickness pooled at the bottom of your stomach, threatening to burn through the layers of the already sensitive flesh.

Sunday turned to you, his face unrecognisable. For a moment the halovian merely watched, gaze steady as it was when he played Bach’s melody, and you felt its weight sit heavy on your shoulders, weighing you down like a sinner’s record.

”Go ahead,” his voice was smooth, hand gently pulling on the handle to reveal the interior to you.

”After you.”

—

The light shone from above you in a distinct halo, and you looked towards your ticket once more. The edge dipped in gold, reflecting the beam from the chandelier in an almost blinding manner. Yet your walk persisted, following the usher into an entrance tucked away from the common guests.

Upright posts traced the way forward, the most elaborate pathway towards the grand doors at the end. The surroundings around the venue felt spacious, creamy white walls and intricate decor of the walls, the pillars which supported a far too high of a ceiling. Crown mouldings above were nothing but detailed, white and free and pure and untouched.

As you walked you wondered what sort of person could reach and clean it from possible cobwebs. Fingers absentmindedly moved over the repertoire of the concert, the surface glassy and smooth against your skin. A measure to ground yourself, a futile one. You chose to focus on the feeling of your formal wear against your body, and the discomfort of your shoes against the heels of your feet.

The usher led you towards a gradually darkening hallway, where you and the grand doors could bid each other another greeting and farewell. With a smile akin to paint on porcelain, the usher opened the doors, letting you walk through, as the manners demanded.

The grand concert hall beyond was one you’ve witnessed already, the main stage in front of you, the seats empty still. As a person of precision, you were always present before most other guests; a privilege you weren’t truly aware of.

Behind you the usher waited for you to take in the scenery, automatic, still as a robot. Your eyes lingered at the seats before the stage, the balconies in front of you. As of now, your perspective was laid from the spot behind the stage, elevated.

An important point indeed.

The chandelier was elaborate, shards and crystals hanging from it, the water hardened upon branches of a tree from the frost - hanging and anticipating warmth of spring. A cruel irony when the tree looked best in the cold. The light from it was sharp, separating in thousands stars and halos in your vision - starbursts and rays of shine.

Your thoughts drifted to the balconies, eyes following sluggishly. The hall was well lit for now, illuminating each empty seat, highlighting absence of presence. Unknowingly the corners of your mouth moved up, in a smirk you had a hard time keeping down. Soon enough everything would be filled with life, but for now it was yours to enjoy.

The orchestra situated in front of the stage was an intriguing concept. Not one for you, no. While the stalls in front of the musicians provided an auditory experience out of this world, it wasn’t that aspect that drew you to observe. From your perspective it was no effort to lay your eyes upon the guests who chose seats with such little proximity.

From that point the melody surely seemed multifaceted, filled with layers that threatened to spill from the nearly full cup, overflowing to the edges - held only by its surface tension. The listener must have been able to feel the steady drumming of the liquid underneath their fingertips. Each blow of flute - painfully separate from the essence of the violin. All notes and tunes flowing in a river to fill the senses, yet not mixing, like oil to water.

To witness it must’ve been extraordinary. The melody diverging into few, solely due to how easy each sound could be separated from the rest had they paid attention. Not that you’d know - price wasn’t an issue. Had you deemed fit, you would’ve graced the stalls - which were closest to the stage on the ground level - with your presence.

The guests at the front must’ve thought themselves to be connoisseurs, wishing for an up-close view, as though it made a difference due to the balanced acoustics and the view of the performance.

But you weren’t one to enjoy cacophonous melodies.

The true performance wasn’t in the eye of the guest; not in the eye of the conductor, and definitely not in the wooden or metal hearts of instruments. The true performance was the event, the observation of all that unravels - and in that light, you were the spectator.

The usher took a step to lead you to your seat - once you were done admiring the view of the unmoving hall, that is. You were led towards the designated choir spot - empty during this performance, and the other person left.

Formal dress felt comfortable once you wore it often, and you found yourself feeling as easy as in any pair of clothes, spare for the bite of your shoes. The coat on your arm was slowly put onto the arm rest of the seat, before you walked forward to the barrier-like structure between the seats and the stage.

It bore ornamental mouldings at the top, extending forward to you, and you could rest your elbows on it. Leaning against it you took in an inhale.

You opened the plan of the orchestra in your hand, pretending to yourself, and anyone that can be watching, that you paid any mind to the compositions listed.

“Beethoven” You mouthed.

Beethoven - Egmont Overture, then Symphony no. 7,3rd movement.

Bach - Erbarme dich, mein Gott

Beethoven, Symphony no.3, 2nd movement.

The repertoire at the back went over the musicians at play today, but any technicalities caused you to shut the paper soon after. It was of no significance, in the end, the music was not what you judged.

Someone could call it recklessness or inelegance, but you weren’t one to dwell. The performance tonight was a special show indeed - an appearance of a prominent figure; a man who was to take the leadership over the Oak Family. That itself gave you more power, it was after all an exclusive performance which only family members could join. And - as many as there were - not all afforded the ticket. A delight for not many eyes was what you were in for, disregarding the parts of this that went unspoken.

You thought yourself to be above such political matters, and so you had no care in that aspect; then again you were always like this.

The emptiness of the hall was enjoyed by you for about half an hour, where you gazed and thought absentmindedly, before it began to steadily fill. With the grace and normalcy of a cat you moved back from the barrier, sitting in your designated place.

The guests arrived from entrances slowly, filling in the balconies and the boxes along. Perhaps you were lucky enough to visit this unusual hall, none wished to share your space.

For a moment you considered whether this was due to you, or due to the spot. Not that you’d ever complain of solitude. It was enough to see with your very sharp eyes how people gathered in pairs and groups, little doves and robins flocking together to pick at the seeds dispersed. Only prey stuck together. The three-course meal of this orchestra seemed to have been tailored to you.

Your stomach fluttered at the thought.

—

The people all took their places in an orderly manner, like ants to honey - all drew in by the sweet promise of melodies and sounds cleansing their mortal mind. Seats near you remained nearly empty due to their unconventional placement, much to your pleasure. With your legs crossed subtly, you watched the musicians tune their instruments. And the audience fell into one, long quiet note of nothing - respectful to the craft.

Your face slowly moved once the whispers began; far away; but you saw it. People in balconies leaned towards each other to speak quietly, their tone a hushed sound, like dust in the otherwise clean air. It was evident their thoughts were ignited by a spark, and soon enough the person came into view.

It was time for the conductor to enter - and he did, with grace unseen by the mortal squarol previously, from the far entrance, walking towards the stage.

All the whispers stopped, hung in the air like a promise.

As he stepped his figure grew clearer, and given your unique position in the seats behind the stage, you saw the man from that much more unique standing. Dark suit tailored by the night, elongated at the back - plain and simple, yet elegant all the same.

A halovian - you realised.

The apparent new heir to the Oak Family. Your fingers laid upon your knees so you could lean in to focus better, and you looked with bated breath.

He walked onto the stage with no slip up, measured and precise. Once atop, he turned his back to you, and acknowledged the audience. Sunday - that was his name, that was what you remember from all the gossip you have overheard. In arrogance you ignored the thought which appeared in your mind; no, you were not aloof, nor were you dismissive. Why should you care who pulls the strings this time?

However, the impact was undeniable. You were in this hall many times, and not once has this man played. In fact, you never heard of his protege before. Your eyes followed each move with judgement, and found not a thread to latch onto, rather, you were left with an impression.

An impression of skill, as Sunday graced the audience as though he did it thousand times over before, the anxiety of performance not read from his body either. And as the halovian turned back to the musicians before him, his face remained equally as neutral as his body language.

Your upper tooth caught against the dry skin of your bottom lip, a strange cotton filled your mind. The concertmaster readied her bow, straightening instantaneously, as though she hadn't sat properly previously.

The chandelier above the stage illuminated his halo, which reflected in rays and beams that made your eyes squint, an ache to the very back of your skull. It was a cruel mockery of fate, the astigmatism you were bestowed got in the way of truly analysing this new figure.

From what you saw, his silver hair gave a sheen of iridescence as the light fell upon it, draped over his shoulders. Despite the odd sensitivity to light separating from all that emitted it, your vision was as sharp as always.

Beneath the glow of his halo you saw a pair of golden eyes - as you assumed. The sharp features of his face like paint upon canvas, crafted and catered to by someone already mastered. You saw it all despite the proximity, the stage was quite the distance in front after all, and nothing around seemed to matter, spare for the main course. As everything around grew dark, the focus was on the musicians.

In spite of that, only the man seemed to have been graced; seemingly bestowed upon heavens with sunlight breaking through the clouds of the weather, highlighted as starkly as snow during summer. (Snowflakes could not dream of reflecting this sort of shine)

A strange feeling in your throat rose, and you forgot how to breathe for a moment. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, unlike all times otherwise.

An angel. He must have been an angel. His gaze swept over the orchestra - subtly and unhurriedly, with certainty which seemed preordained. You felt ringing in your ears, and he raised his baton, the musicians nearly under a spell. With no further dragging or prolonging, sharp noise of strings cut through the air, building slightly to cascade in a slope. A bold and decided melody, it was much more than just that.

A statement of bravery, a statement of honour. Your tongue moved against your lip. Sound bold and foreboding and-

The musicians pulled and moved their hearts of instrument, but all you focused on was the movement. He welcomed other sections to join in the dance, a heavy feeling in your lungs. This was no mere performance of skill.

Involuntarily you leaned forward, hands at the barrier separating you from the space in front. For the first time in months your brain stopped sending signals, and you looked to the conductor empty minded.

It felt akin to a hypnosis, you stared thoughtlessly as the tunes changed. Each time his demeanour fit the melody - but it was pushed to the back of your mind. You were no longer trying to gauge reactions of the crowd, no - your eyes were glued with amber to his grace. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to break through it, the soft flutter of feathers in your skull pushing against the boundaries of mortality.

—

The music carved a space in your chest. When he moved, the orchestra moved, and so did the air, and so did your mind. And he conducted the performance with something- something else.

The baton altered the law of reality itself, and with the last note’s death came the end. And before he even had a chance to turn around properly you rose from your seat, hands joining together for a moment temporary. You inhaled deeply. This you have never done - you have never graced people with your approval. You stood for none and clapped for none.

Yet your heart decided for you, movement so quick you couldn’t register your logical will behind it. The sound of your clapping gave way for others joining in, the sound filling the hall shortly after.

Sunday bowed to none. And he didn’t bow now either, turning away from where your gaze could see him. He surveyed the room not with air of appreciation, and as the applause echoed into its death, his gaze swept over the audience.

Not with politeness, but quiet authority— as though the evening had never been about music at all.

The guests took their time to come down from the grandiose, and he watched like a hawk as they slowly left, trailing through the exit in monotony.

You couldn’t budge. Your feet were planted, and it took minutes for the room to empty once more. Sunday finally turned his gaze to the puppets he guided, and gave them but a nod of approval. But then he looked up, eyes meeting yours for only a second.

Throat tightened on an instinct, and before anything else he averted his gaze—you were another soul in a crowded cemetery, abandoned by your saviour.

It was time to go, but your feet moved on their own only when the musicians were left behind by Sunday. He headed for the exit, and you headed for your own, grabbing your coat and walking back in haste. With your chest burning, you stepped fast, nearly stumbling over your feet before you forced yourself into grace. Through the dimly lit corridor, up to the doors which you swung open hurriedly.

Most parts of this hall had their own entrances, and you walked fast, to catch even a glimpse of him in the entrance hall where all the exits connected-

Sunday was at an advantage, as he could swiftly make his way out through the grander entryway; you felt blessed to even witness him truly leaving the building, moments after your entry.

Your feet carried you to the centre of the entrance hall, and you stared at the doors for moments, long after he had left.

A sweet aftertaste lingered in your mouth, and you licked your teeth.

—

It was innocent - initially. You had to see him once more.

The first purposeful encounter wasn’t hard to navigate, and to satiate your curiosity, you decided to grace the event with your presence. A week and a half since his debut and final performance in one, came his ascension.

And he looked brilliant as he did all these days ago, white suit, perfectly ironed. His wings were preened as always, nearly translucent at their ends; only this time his halo didn’t reflect the light right at your eyes, allowing you that much more comfort.

Your side leaned against the pillar, the shadow of it like a comforting blanket for a person with fever. The side of your head pressed into the carved stone soon after, and you averted your gaze from Sunday.

It wasn’t worth mentioning what kinds of people gathered here, family representatives and the executives, and then the other four heads of each organisation - showy and loud about their presence, begging for a gaze as divine as sweet.

Not you, no. Refined as you were, you knew what to do despite your elevated rank. Amongst your kind - the aristocrats - you were still quite low, a piece of wood right near the ground, hardly necessary for the ladder to function. You knew that, and in spite of it, you were still important enough to enter seamlessly.

There had been no issue with signing onto the guest list.

The room was dimly lit despite how spacious it was, quite intimate for family’s standard; with tens of guests, yes, yet still smaller than life itself. That was proven by the scarce decor of the tables, only drinks served - when speech was delivered, no one was to consume food.

It wasn’t the food you craved, nor the appraisal that the other representatives seemed to strive for - you knew they didn’t care about the speech. They didn’t care about Sunday and his rank, merely what he had to offer.

They were here to show everyone that they were here, to make a statement with their insignificant presence, demanding approval. Not you.

You were here with purpose, and you’d fulfill it. You weren’t like them; you weren’t here for favour from singing Sunday praises, and you weren’t there to scrutinise the new family head. Different — that’s what you were, and you weren’t here as a Nightingale Family member. You were here as you.

Your brow rose, and you straightened upon hearing the chatter come to and end - and then a soft clink. Decisive voice cut through the air, in a mere clearing of his throat.

It was time. Your head whipped sideways as you leaned aside from behind the shadowed pillar, watching Sunday at the very end of the room. That marked the first time you heard him speak, for a smaller audience at that, but you were here.

“On behalf of the Oak Family, I’d like to extend my gratitude to those who took time out of their day to come. Alas, on my own behalf as well.”

He held a glass in his hand idly, somewhat elevated before the guests. You watched carefully, unnoticed and concealed, subtle like needle amongst hay.

Like a cat flattening into the ground when it was observing a bird.

”It is a rare privilege to stand in front of you today—not simply as an individual, but as a representative of what we all wish to achieve. Today we not only celebrate an appointment, but a shared vision and a shared wish; one that binds us, not separates us.”

Sunday spoke boldly, against all you expected. From the distance you could take in vague hints of his demeanour. Your eyes narrowed softly.

In his gold irises there was calculation, and in his words - a sense of certainty. He had no need for reading off anything, as a person of his stature should. You turned to face the pillar, fingers on the cold stone as you ran your finger down the engravings on it.

You remained concealed, despite the tilt of your head allowing for vision of the saint to shine through. “It is not our personal ambitions which allow us to weave law into reality — but a sense of duty we share. As we stand here, let us remember it is our collective will to push the boundaries of the possibilities we have today.”

The guests paid much attention, and you tried to as well. It was hard to focus on the taste, and you drank the honey of his voice like a deserted hermit, left with no water to the point of their lips resembling dehydrated land. The sweetness stung your sore and dry throat, but you couldn’t stop.

There was no focus on admiring the taste. Trying to decipher what sort of flowers went into the golden dew you were drinking wasn’t an option anymore.

His tone was fluid, and you swallowed dryly.

“Our ultimate goal is to benefit Penacony, and we are not competitors in improving our ways; rather, we are collaborators.“ Sunday glanced over the guests, scattering an air of appreciation for their presence, the pollen of flowers to rest upon their eyes.

In your mind you felt there must’ve been more to his words. There always was, and the orchestra hadn't been only about showing people his conducting talent.

It were the people that he conducted, and the orchestra was only the symbol of it—something clear as day when you considered his stance when addressing others.

Once the guests were paid attention to as such, the halovian continued, his tone gaining an air of boldness, confidence. Firm and unwavering as stone. Cold stone. Your fingers touched the pillar with an unseen curiosity.

“It is not enough to respond to the changing world; we must seize it and adapt our ways, improve in ways we want the future generations to do. We must set an example not only in the public eye, but in places where no eyes lay.

Penacony is a planet of potential—boundless and ripe, full of opportunity not only for us, but for our people. It is up to us to direct that potential, mold it, guide it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the pressure in his words evident. Sunday wasn’t trying to appease the elders' ways, despite what all the other heads did. He took the route of openness, stunning them with light and only then—allowing them vision.

“And so, as I step into this role, I make this promise to all of you; I will do what is necessary. I will push the limits of what we thought was possible, we will no longer simply adapt to change—we will become it.”

A strong middle of the speech, as strong as it was in the orchestra. And then the aftertaste; lingering and sweet whisper of what would come undoubtedly. Like in his performance.

“I will not ask for approval based on words, what I offer is action. And with action, I’ll reap results. To those who stand beside me, I offer support, and I’m grateful to know the weight of choice is understood. To those who oppose—I offer nothing but silence-“

You involuntarily gripped at the stone tighter.

”-for in silence, we will do what others cannot.”

—

The public meetings left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, akin to drinking tea after consuming a cake most layered and sweet. Such tea was reality that you had to be struck with when the sweetness of the event eventually washed away like foam upon sea.

It was nearly voracious and gluttonous, a stomach which didn’t know how to seek satisfaction with a balanced diet; disregarding the idea of a fulfilling, voluminous light meal, for the idea of something small and dense, over and over.

Your gaze was trained on the papers in your hand, the desk beyond them so dull and lacking that it didn’t catch your interest. Your eyes moved upon the words with little interest — it was a proposal for a financial strategy for the upcoming year, one you had to analyse and sign to confirm that you realised your responsibilities.

Like all areas of your work, the technicalities didn’t matter, as longest as the job got done. A weary sigh, and then the papers dropped onto the wood in front of you. Your elbow rested upon it, and you instinctively flipped to the last sheet, signing it without realising you held the pen all this time.

The secretary in front of you tensed. A frail and new thing really - her hands balled at her lap, her breathing coming to a stop. Unimpressively you watched her mouth open.

In that moment you wondered what it may be that she wanted to say—maybe question you, or correct you. Leaning back against the seat you released the paperwork, and waved her off; her nervous departure taking even less than reading the writing itself.

Many people hoped for this work to be a gate for them, a stepping stone to an oh so grandiose and dream-like future they assumed they’d get access to. It was proven by the way they decorated their work areas and offices, you’ve seen it countless times really. Pictures of their family and loved ones, small memorial trinkets of their goals and interests. Some even kept plants, or testaments of their hobbies; like paintings or figures.

With a sharp gaze you looked at the walls of your office. Plain, with the decor scarce spare for what you arrived to all those years ago—a still-life painting and a vase which was empty for a long, long time.

Some people got too invested in their work, while some took it for granted; you were neither. A boat never ending too far on the deep end, yet never as much as scraping the oceans floor. All reports were on time—never early, and never late.

Conversations and useless chatter reduced to minimum, spare for whatever could bring gain.

Some people worked too hard, while some worked too little. Former—welcomed promotions, more money, more power, which inescapably tied to more responsibility, less time. And the latter ended up on the grey end, replaced by better; fired.

You would say you value your free time; you would even say your schedule was already too tight as it was. Colleague invitations all declined, small talk cut with a dismissive scoff.

With your head held high you never engaged in office politics, never asked questions. Your colleagues talk about career trajectories, while you’re wondering when the work hours are over.

—

Sunday was an important figure now, more so than he was before.

He was so utterly unlike you, in that aspect. The man seemed to have been ambitious, something you’d never imagine in your own life. Stuck in monotony, content in uncontentment; having enough to live, but not to dream. In a sense it was intriguing, a person living so.. distinctly.

Sunday must have had it all. The recognition fell upon him shortly after he was officially recognised as the new head of the Oak Family, and it didn’t take a genius to guess other parts at play.

An underwater current, unseen to the naked eye, until it pulls you in, and you’re drowning — you had to stay away, never allow yourself to linger too close for fear of being tugged into its rhythm.

You never danced to someone else’s tune, and you never sang to the directions of others.

And so—to keep your distance, you joined a conference where he would be the speaker. Counterproductive, in a sense, but your actions didn’t need to be logical for others. The ascension event has left you hungry for more of his articulate wisdom—

Because you didn’t want to truly stay away. Not in any way that mattered - it wasn’t usual for something to properly catch your eye, catch your heart. Admiration—a word you’d use to describe this occurrence.

You admired Sunday, and that’s about it.

And admiration truly could carry people places they’d never think to visit; that’s how you found yourself seated in the last row of the otherwise empty hall. It felt clinical and grey, large windows on one side of the room, draped over by zebra blinds, cream coloured and clean.

The windows gave way to a majestic view of Penacony from great height, but you didn’t find it in yourself to look through this time—waiting in your seat like lamb for slaughter.

As before you were early, rationalising it by the need to observe rather than be watched. Yet the seat was quite far from the spot where the speakers would converse, an unpleasant taste left in your throat at the idea of not seeing the events unfold properly.

You leaned back in the chair, and half-mindedly thought to grab your coat and just sit elsewhere—but whoever watched over you, be it Xipe or otherwise, had different plans. Before you made your move a group of people entered the hall, marking the end of your silent campaign.

So much talk—you shouldn’t be annoyed, the conference hasn’t even started yet. Yet the lack of appropriate behaviour boiled you over, and as more guests arrived in their restless and bored chatter, you inhaled and exhaled shakily.

Then, you checked your wrist watch, and looked ahead. People sat in front of you, next to you. Never behind you—something to actually be grateful for.

Ten minutes.

And then it was five minutes, which dragged over like hours. You bounced your knee, hands pressed together on your lap as a deep sense of unease filled you. As people took up their seats, you hardly felt like watching them this time.

It was different from the previous admiration.

—

You wouldn't say you were infatuated or enamored with the idea of Sunday at all; he hardly lingered in your mind. Then again that was the best subject for observation, and as such he would remain one. Something to treat as a sweet treat, or as a dessert.

Perhaps it was a good way to get out of the house more often. You never got along with people, and so it was easier to stay home with your own thoughts, rather than be exposed to the mediocrity of others. Given that attitude, you usually spent time by yourself.

Occasionally though you were in a people watching mood; not just any sort of window-gazing or park-sitting watching. Sometimes you picked places where humans gathered to dine and discuss, to wine and speak.

It wasn't that you needed their secrets in particular, or that you needed their sense of familiarity from some form of loneliness—rather it was a background noise you seemed to want.

Sometimes you'd try to filter the noise and information with your mind, cutting through the nice and useless threads to gather an image of something. Usually you weren't trying to spy.

You weren't spying now either, you were merely observing. Sunday was a few tables away after all, sat straight, with no sweet drink in sight as all the times before.

It was an accident that you found yourself here—well, one that became intentional with each visit. Wind told you once that a particular person enjoyed such a setting on very specific days, and you merely wanted to check it out yourself. That was how it began.

Soon after you found yourself arriving at the cafe multiple times a week, slowly trying to gauge out a routine tied to this place. The day was long, and so was the week.

It was mere curiosity that led you to sit in the cafe for hours at a time to try and see which moments were the graced ones—as it was only fascination that caused you to memorise the schedule.

You had a habit of chewing your food slowly and steadily, instead of consuming it all before you accurately enjoyed the taste. Watching from a controlled distance was a sign of a connoisseur.

The cafe was muted in colour, beige and darkened, giving off a feeling of an autumn evening rich with burned shades of yellow—spare for how washed out they were.

The halovian was at the table in the corner, and so were you, just the opposite side. His discussion was most fruitful indeed, and instead of focusing on the tablet in front of you, you were listening.

Sunday seemed to have been engaging in a light yet meaningful conversation, which carefully threaded between personal and professional. The noise around them and you made it harder to catch all detail—so your mind wandered.

From what you gathered, the person was someone close, whom Sunday must've known. Not by work, despite the distance that was between them, as the tone was far too light hearted. Each time Sunday frequented the cafe, it would be easier to spot the same habits of his.

Such as the way he hardly gestured during a conversation, spare for when you assumed he was making a point. Frequently he would place his hands upon his vest to straighten it out, if it ever dared to crinkle from his movement.

Even in such a comfortable setting he tried to carry himself with grace, just like at the events. And just like at the orchestra, he was eloquent in movement. His hands never made any sudden gestures, and he would ensure his vision remained trained on the guest he was speaking with.

Slight changes were present, you noted, finally lowering your gaze to the tablet. You grabbed the pen nearby to write down more.

Sometimes, Sunday would change the ordeal of his actions depending on who he spoke to. Once he came here with a family member of his—the famed singer Robin. You only knew more of her after extensive research which followed that encounter, and it led to more conclusions.

Sunday seemed more carefree around such a trusted person. He even allowed himself to lean an elbow on the table, his expression ever so pleasant then. Unlike what it was now, neutral and to the point. A mixture of his professionalism and an inherent familiarity he couldn't reject nor deny.

Not often would his posture become harsher—strictly detached and shielded, yet offensive nonetheless. It all laid in the anger of his gold eyes sometimes, covered over by a soft neutrality to mask his stance. Maybe Sunday remained detached, keeping his cards to his chest, but you could see it on his face.

You bit your lip in deep thought once your eyes moved up. The Head of the Oak Family seemed to have been holding onto something at this very moment. Perhaps it was his sense of conduct.

Remembering these few differences of his demeanor, you leaned down to put the straw of your drink between your lips. You wondered how he'd act around you. Would he disregard you? Would he treat you with disgust?

How does a rabbit behave around a fox? Would a dove fly away if a cat sat close?

The black haired male in front of Sunday nodded to him, and the cacophonous conductor only looked to the side, meeting the gaze of someone near his table. It was averted shortly after.

You wondered for a moment, with a sense of unease; if he sees them, does he also notice you?

—

Formally, the Oak family was a collaborator, not an enemy or opposition. Then again formal agreements hardly translate into words or actions, and it was no surprise that the name of competition lingered within the work area like cheap perfume, gone when waved away, short-lasting.

It was unlike the true aroma of your coffee, not enjoyed in silence, but in the noise. As soon as you grabbed a sugar packet you turned away from the machine, only to watch that one inconvenient pest trail behind you.

Superficial as all—a person kept around only for appearances. The girl cleared her throat as she walked with you.

”…and still they haven’t. What should I do?

Her voice was like a sound coming from an untuned accordion, and you gripped at the paper cup. You spared her a glance only. Nothing was as annoying as interrupted willful solitude.

“I don’t know”

The reply caused her to frown, and she immediately reacted at the dismissal. “What do you mean? Here I am asking you for advice, and—“

”Well, this is your problem.” You retorted.

Frankly, you didn’t care whether she had her reports on time or not. You only gave enough to hold onto her in case of emergencies—a nameless girl you simply felt bad for.

”But I need this report—“ She spoke, catching up to your step, and you weren’t willing to slow down your walk to the elevator in the building. You clicked the number of your floor without looking at her. “If i don’t get it, the presentation won’t get done in time.”

The anger simmered in your chest, but your face remained as neutral as before, and the metal doors of the elevator slid open. “Why won’t you tell him to wrap it up then?”

She skittishly followed you in, eyes closed as her long eyelashes rested upon her cheeks. “How do I make it not sound rude?”

When she didn't notice your eyeroll, you glued your gaze to the closing doors of the elevator. “You're asking the wrong person.”

“But I really need it-”

“Tell the higher ups.”

“I'll really get in trouble, I really need that report to- to calculate the possible profit from collaborating with Oak Family on a project and-”

She wasn't aware what sparked your interest, but you immediately turned your face towards her. She swallowed under the scrutinising gaze, but her reaction was misplaced.

“Send me the items of interest. I'll do it.”

—

The next time you saw him at an event, you secured the spot with your unique predisposition. Maybe this work of yours was useful sometimes, as it was with financial access to exquisite things. Museums and galleries, orchestras, operas. You wanted it all.

Reactions of people to artistry were interesting to put it simply, how their eyes would squint or narrow—and their brows would furrow, knitted together in a concentration similar to a prophet upon receiving a revelation.

Some people would have a different reaction, with eyes widened and brows raised—shock and surprise, akin to witnessing an apocalypse, hearing an angel blow the final trumpet, closing the gates for forgiveness.

You were never the subject who experienced it, spare for understanding the reactions of others, a second hand emotion you were privy to.

And while elaborate paintings or sculptures hardly moved your long rotten heart, there was something that had your blood flowing anew, breathing life into you like a musician into their trumpet. It made you come alive—no longer a piece of metal, but a thing to be heard. An utter vibranto.

Despite the setting of a museum, you weren't here for whatever new items of culture it could offer you. You were here due to the event which would follow its opening, an invitation to all the folk of Penacony.

You ensured your placement at the back of the hall despite the early arrival, the guests and alike all gathering at the front. They wished to hear Sunday's opening speech, to see him. And oh, did he have a way with words.

It was for Penacony's grand history, a museum to gather the evidence of Families hard work and ambition. A monument of sorts, to celebrate how far everyone has come.

But that was only a side reason, something you convinced yourself of to feel better. You weren't here for it, no—you were here for Sunday.

He was speaking as always, a long talk to appease the masses with his wisdom and eloquence. A charming ritual in which all the eyes were magically drawn to him, hanging on each word he spoke. The details of his face evaded you from the distance, and for a moment your fingers shook in your pocket. You wanted to be closer. You were here only for him after all.

The history of Penacony was something you had no care for.

Would he see you from the first row?

—

All you had to do was to ask, and it was a given. Securing an important position at your work wasn't because of ambition, but because of your will to own.

It was hard to remain in such a placement without being promoted, or without drawing much attention to yourself that is; and while the job helped with achieving your goals, it wasn't ideal.

If you could have the same pay for less labour, you'd gladly take any offer; but good things don't just occur like natural phenomena, just as miracles don't shine down on sinners.

Another weekly meeting, another scheduled misery. Your arms were neatly placed upon the long table in the room, and you ignored the coworkers which sat around as. With a gaze most bored you stared at your folder, not meeting the gaze of the executive who was explaining the agenda; there was no need to. You never asked questions, and you never wanted more.

“We are currently facing many allegations from different sides” The executive stated, her blonde hair tied behind her head in a slick bun. It didn't get in the way as always—everything was programmed to not get in the way.

She looked behind herself to the whiteboard which contrasted with the otherwise dark blue wall. “First being our deal of halving the Bloodhound income in half.”

You frowned to yourself, fingers moving over the skin around your nails. You focused on the shape of it, feeling the texture beneath your fingertip.

You traced the side of your finger, to the dip between the digits, before moving up again, right to the peak of the knuckle. The art of not listening was ingrained within you by then, and as the executive listed current issues, you were wondering when the break would be.

You could do with a coffee.

“...inherently tied to the new Head of the Oak Family. He may not be as lenient as we had hoped—”

Involuntarily you looked to the executive. You wouldn't have listened otherwise, but— “While it is not Oak Family's business what we do with our deals, they allege we violated the code of..”

Whatever else she mentioned faded to the background. Oak Family. Sunday—

She went over the possible lawsuits or disagreement, but it didn't matter. You hardly listened to the tasks which were expected to be fulfilled regarding that issue, and when she asked who would partake in that assignment of the week, your hand shot up.

Eyes lingered on you, but you held back the urge to shrink under the gaze.

—

Like all figures which were sacred and holy, Sunday was away from the reach of your palm. A star you could only gaze at when it was night, a rare occurrence of the moon when it took different shades to show to the mortal filth below.

To a literal extent, he was also far from reach. The head of the Nightingale Family was someone you couldn't hope to meet despite being its member; what made you believe you were worthy to know Sunday, the head of an entirely different family?

Perhaps over time it wasn't about knowing him. It should be enough to admire him from a controlled distance. Distance gave certainty, and measured proximity gave control.

Two things which you found more delightful than any cake. And to uphold said control over the situation, without being a reckless fool, you decided to take a closer look this time.

Sunday was a prominent figure for months, and as his reputation and responsibility over the Family grew, so did the curiosity of many prying eyes. But you weren't just any prying eye.

You didn't wish to ever know him personally, and you didn't want to be a part of his life. His company you didn't seek because of possible fame or clout, but for your own satisfaction. Sinner casting prayer in silence, compared to ones who proclaim their worship in the street.

Inherently, that made you better than all of them. And such human weakness could not hold you back from confessing your wrongdoings.

You hoped to find no forgiveness in the holy scriptures that the private library offered.

As an important member, you could enjoy the privilege of having connections. Superficial as all, but that was what mattered in the world of adults; not deep friendships which ended with sleepovers, rather—dinner parties which ended with agreements and unspoken favours.

It took nearly nothing to sign up for a membership which only important figures were privy to, after all who sane would be in a private library?

Sunday could easily afford to make a library within the Oak Family manor; in fact, if he wished to, he could probably own an entire library for himself. It was most intriguing then, that he picked this specific one.

You slouched in your seat, the thick book raised just enough to cover your face. You sat near a computer, at the second story of the grand family-owned library. Commoners couldn't hope to be here, and a sense of warmth filled your throat at the idea of such exclusiveness. A private bird sanctuary in an enclosed garden.

Sunday didn't come here often and so it wasn't a treat you could get your hands on. Still, there seemed to have been routines he followed. As with cafe being the more-likely spot, you found he visited the library at least once a week. There were places you visited already as well, such as his most frequented benches in the Golden Hour.

Or his most favourite balconies at the edges of the city which never slept. You were there already. Sunday never changed.

You weren't surprised at his pristine attire as he browsed the sections, his back turned to you. All the other people ignored him, busy in their books.

Maybe they thought themselves to be better than him. A figure of Sunday's stature was a sight unseen, and your jaw tightened at the thought. His fingers lingered over a book, which he pulled out to scan. Dark wood of the shelves against the emerald green book cover, as mystical as a forest. The halovian tilted his head in curiosity, his wings fluttering.

Soft and gentle as ever. Preened, clean. You wondered how it would feel like to touch them, to run your fingers over them, to pluck them for yourself. Take away his metaphorical flight.

You wondered how it would feel like to slide your fingers underneath his gloves, to push the boundary of what you knew to be possible. A mortal craving the delight of flesh of a saint. You wanted to sink your teeth in his jugular.

The item was put back on the shelf soon after, and he stepped aside, where your eyes could no longer see him.

Perhaps it was his means of having a slither of commodity, behaving like an average person for feigned normalcy.

When Sunday finally moved to a further section you closed the nameless book you held, slowly walking to the bookshelf abandoned by him.

Your eyes scanned the spines, and your fingers touched upon the book he discarded, an indirect way to feel connected. You didn't pick the book up though, looking towards the doors of the library. The distance was enough for him to be right next to the exit.

He grabbed the engraved handle, and then stopped. Your heart throbbed, and his face turned. Sunday looked in your general direction, brows knitting together—a small shard of his broken up composure, and your heart stopped. It appeared as if he sensed something—someone— and you held your breath.

His facade concealed him once more, and he left.

—

Routine was a defining factor of a member of the Nightingale Family, and the schedule didn't change much. Meetings were always on time, spare for emergencies. The work hours didn't change, and all holiday breaks were consistent each year. The layout of the offices and rooms never switched, and workers usually stayed the same.

Routine—integral and true part of your life, as real as the blood that rushed through your veins like a wild river restricted by the channel layered with stone and sand. Something so simple, so expected, yet troublesome all the same.

Discipline was something tied to routine, and routine was dependent on previous discipline, creating a cycle of short lived codependency, in which the routine finally tore away to be by itself—leaving discipline to tie different aspects of life to established habits.

The more you watched Sunday, the more integral it was in your routine. As obvious as the moon rising in the night, it was slowly becoming a necessity. Like the smoker needing nicotine because of their own weakness—unable to stay away, despite initially using cigarettes as a means of relaxation.

Reliance gave way to habits born from stress, and escapism with such reliance was another means of growing a routine. A routine not based around day to day life, but a situational one, only working when certain things clicked into place. An addict only smoked when stressed, and the habit of stress-smoking created the routine of smoking on a time-based schedule.

You weren't sure which applied to you, but the gnawing scrape of routine gnawed at the lining of your stomach. It took your appetite and will to live with itself, causing a vortex only satisfied with relentless pursuit.

It was no longer thought of or planned, it was desperate. Like a hungry dog whining and scraping at the doors, a mouse squeezing through the hole in the wall only to slither inside.

As before, it only took a small amount of curiosity for you to gain more gossip. You initially were against the idea, provided your general nonchalance towards your job; if you privately asked your connections about questions only relating to Oak Family, you'd be seen as suspicious. And so you had to slowly worm your way into the graces of the Bloodhounds—their.. unique job in the Penacony made it all the more easier.

Bloodhounds were responsible for ensuring safety and peace of citizens, and so they were always watching, observing. And, in your growing desperation, you used some of your connections to gain favour within them—something which your co-workers would only see as making more connections. That was something praiseworthy.

From there, by pulling a few strings on behalf of Bloodhound Family, you were privy to information pertaining to routines of figures of importance. Because even the most important figures relied on routines and habits, that was what made them successful.

In mere mortal desperation, as a smoker consuming any sort of cigarette, you quickly used such an opportunity to ask about the Head of the Oak Family, despite the original plan to ask around for others first.

But it didn't matter. In the perpetual evening of Penacony's sweet dream, you didn't feel like you were committing a crime in broad daylight. Because you weren't. Observing someone wasn't something punishable.

You walked a pace slower than Sunday did, watching him from the street parallel to the one that his footsteps graced. The light above his head illuminated his halo each time he walked beyond a street lamp, the shine beaming and splintering into thousands shards in your vision as with all light.

The lamps emitted a rainbow halo around themselves, the brightness making it difficult to keep your eyes open. Even as he strolled peacefully as a means of relaxation, he was graceful. A swan confident of its swim across the shimmering, moonlit lake.

In retrospect, the halo around particularly bright objects did take your mind to Sunday. Something illuminated past your mortal comprehension, as if trying to gaze out into the roaring sun. Lately everything took your mind to him.

An apple that you bit, or the movie that you watched. A cat always eats the bird, but not all birds are prey, and not all cats are predators.

The street was filled with joined buildings, and people around didn't seem to care for anything other than going about their day—something you wilfully deprived yourself off. Like a madman cutting off their leg despite not being bound.

You did this to yourself.

Despite the stark awareness you continued the walk, at all times remaining a pace behind. His halo was shining as always, as if freshly polished and wiped away, his wings relaxed despite the spikes which bound one. You wondered how it would feel to place your mouth over the cold metal of them, and then tear at it. If you gripped his throat, would he have the strength to stop you?

His step stopped abruptly, and your body ducked into an alleyway with an unreasonable speed. Concealed by the comfort of the darkness you saw him turn his head to a poster on one of the buildings, entirely uncaring about your—

Sunday's back was to you, but he moved his head to the side, just enough for you to see his eyes flicker, looking at the street ahead with a newly formed frown.

It was like nicotine on an empty stomach, and a weird sense of rush filled your body.

—

“Didn't think you cared about these briefings.” A voice from beside you muttered as you took the seat close to the executive, just this once.

“I don't,” you replied, flipping through the agenda. “I just want to know who's attending.”

It wasn't an utter lie, but thanks to your newfound connections to the Bloodhound's, you figured out there would be a business deal in regards to the Oak Family.

All you had to do was get the Bloodhound's some information and keep a stable contact, something unlike your connections to the Iris Family. Those required little to no contact, spare for only exchanging favours with no further familiarity.

Bloodhounds were more knit together you realised—troublesome, but doable nonetheless.

With a few bats of your eyelashes you learned new things. New opportunities to witness Sunday —and gain political intel.

The executive finally arrived, and you closed the folder to put it back down. Proper and perpetual courtesy you did but default.

The blonde woman looked over at the gathered co-worker's, before turning on the screen situated behind the ever present whiteboard. “Thanks to the quick thinking of one of you, we managed to salvage the deal with Oak Family before the allegations got out of control.

Mr. Oak liked our programme and the idea to improve on our cultural industry—courtesy of the Iris Family.”

Whatever that meant, you nearly rolled your eyes. That was until the executive finally said your name, and you straightened, looking towards her with your hand at the table. It squeezed into a fist.

“Thanks to you we managed to get the presentation in time—where credit is due, of course.” She cleared her throat.

Mr. Oak liked the presentation. He saw it; you signed it.

Something in your stomach fluttered, simultaneously excited and nauseous. You didn't know whether to throw your hands in the air or to throw up, and you swallowed the dryness that formed within your throat.

You forced a smile on your face.

The eyes lingered on you, and you gripped at the table, before switching to holding your paper cup. The executive briefed everyone else on their tasks, while you wondered if you weren't digging your own grave.

He saw you where you couldn't see him.

—

You arrived to the event early, an Opera. You figured Sunday must've enjoyed the themes of grandiose and grandeur, and all things classic and exquisite. Bloodhound's were known for their straight forwardness, yet even they couldn't escape the tug of culture and an air of normalcy that the Oak Family enforced onto others.

Before they would sign the agreements once more, due to the five year policy, Mr. Oak required the important personnel to accompany him to one of the Opera's hosted at the grand theatre of penacony. Unnecessarily so, as the real discussions were said to start in an entirely different spot once the theatre was over.

The act was one he picked.

The Bloodhound who informed you of it was kind enough to let you know that only Bloodhound's and the Oak Family knew of this arrangement. Then again the tickets were available to everyone, as the event wasn't private.

Of course you had to go. And of course you chose the VIP section.

Glancing at your wrist watch you realised there was half an hour left until the performance began, and once more, like at the orchestra, your seat was elevated just enough to oversee the stage. The actors prepared the props, the musicians their instruments, and you prepared your mind due to a weird sense of unease.

A waiter came over with a smile strangely stretched, and you accepted the offered drink. You placed it at the small table in front of you, glancing around the darkened cubicle.

People of importance enjoyed the privacy that the shadow provided, and this was no different. Only when the light is cut, only then can the roaches crawl from underneath the stones like vermin.

You finally picked up the glass, red wine. Your hand was flat against its bottom and your brow furrowed when you felt a strange texture against your skin, akin to experiencing the streaks of the wood in a tree.

The glass was raised to your eye level, the bottom of it engraved in a pattern of a rose. Your palm slid towards you gently, until your fingers could run over the intricate design. You haven't seen glasses like these before, but it wouldn't change the taste of wine, and it wouldn't change the outcome.

—

You were here before. But it was only right to be aware of the territory you stepped to. The Oak Family manor was usually open for guests in the parts accessible, alongside the specific offices you could go to if you wished to file a complaint.

You were overstepping. But all your control and observation? You had nothing to show for it—the wax and stamps you've collected didn't count. You received them at your work, after all, merely as means of exchanging envelopes with the family in regards to some matters you didn't care about.

There was a need for something closer. A fear of wanting to eat the entire cake after tasting a slice, but you'd control yourself.

Maybe you'd try to break into some space, just for the feeling of familiarity. Surely he had to have his office, and he had to have his belongings—you were utterly pathetic.

A crime in broad daylight. You stole the gloves that he accidentally left on the table after signing paperwork. One time you watched him press the wax into the envelopes that he sent.

And one time you saw him from a balcony at a gathering in a garden. It was truly a beautiful day.

The sky was clear, spare for a small amount of pristine white clouds, and the guests were more than happy to discuss things with him in the open air, a breath of life from the early spring.

Things didn't make sense anymore.

—

It wasn't enough. Public meetings, seeing him walk on the street; it wasn't enough to satiate the gnawing in you.

You wished to know him; as well as you could from a distance, as a researcher astronomer knows the stars, as well as a biologist knows the layers of an oak tree. For now you had to satiate on the scraps you were fed after sacrificing your dignity.

No amount was fulfilling enough—and this time, in foolish recklessness, you arranged an entry into one of the private parties of the Oak Family. It was hosted right in the famed manor, and you signed up for it a week or so before it even took place. It wasn't something members of other Families would do, but you couldn't think of the consequence. You've followed him to events before.

You've been where he was, and did what he did, and you admired the view of the city once when he was admiring it, in a skyscraper. He wasn't aware of your presence then. But that was before, and now is now. And just because someone ate dinner, didn't mean they didn't crave breakfast.

Who would blame you, though? You've been starved of his enlightening presence for over a week—he didn't partake in anything special over the time, and just seeing him in a library, or a cafe, or on his walk, or in his gardens; it wasn't as satiating.

In his lonesome moments he didn't speak. He had no reason to. If you engaged with him, would he converse with you? Would he wave you off?

Your decision was done in haste, in sheer animalistic desperation with no thought. You hesitated for a second only, before deciding to screw it all. What would you from nearly a year ago think of yourself now? You'd shame yourself.

And so, right when the announcement came a week ago, you signed up, handing over your information just to be granted entry. Just to see him.

You tried your best to force your hands into compliance, stiffening them when you showed a guard your identification document. As they took it from you to inspect, something incoherent lingered on their otherwise neutral face, before you were allowed to pass.

All Families had their property; not that the members lived there, it was more like a governmental building tied to the place where the officials stayed.

You were allowed into the general guest area, while the other parts of the manor were entirely blocked, accessible only from the outside entrances for these specific parts. As much as it gnawed onto you to travel around, despite the risk of being caught, it simply wasn't possible.

As all guests were led to the major hall of the event, you wondered how personal this one would be. The space was gentle blue and heavenly, the light wooden panels serving as the great basis for tall walls and windows, and the blue curtains which draped over like leaves on trees.

The chandelier was grand, and you looked upwards for a moment, its colours golden and rich. Squinting, you cast your gaze downward again.

The guests gathered round an important figure, gravitating towards him like planets around the sun, listening intently to all he said. With a shaky sigh you found your feet involuntarily leading you over to the nearest table at the disposal, your shoes inaudible against the noise of the people.

Your hand lingered on its pristine white surface, but you didn't sit. Slowly but surely your gaze resumed its walk forward, spotting an empty table right near the centre of all the fuss.

It felt strange. Your blood was turning cold, and you swallowed. With one last hesitation you stepped forward, claiming the empty seat within Sunday's vicinity, where there were gaps between the guests in the front.

That felt.. nice. He looked over at the people, and he was smiling. The champagne in his hand was merely a prop, and his sister stood beside him. She wore some sort of a nightgown that you didn't spare your time for— your eyes quickly drifted to Sunday.

It seemed he was comfortable here, the cold facade of stone and divinity dispersed like leaves on wind. He talked to the guests as if they knew each other closely, his halovian sister smiling. On occasion she nodded, and added to his sentences, having guests laugh.

Your eyes remained glued to his suit, a cold and ice shade of white, and then a hot blue tie, like the utmost bottom of an iceberg. His hair was neat as always, parts of it brushed back while the longer strands draped upon his shoulders like water which spilled from glasses.

Behind Sunday was a white piano to match the design, something you assumed to be only a piece of decor.

“Exactly that, dear. Though it makes me wonder what challenges we will face next. After all,” Sunday gestured to the crowd. “we can expect the unexpected from some, while some choose to be predictable.”

Robin nodded, tipping her head. “Well said, brother. It makes me all the more excited for the charmony festival this year—” her wings fluttered excitedly, contrary to his, which seemed to hardly respond to his emotional stimuli.

You leaned your elbow into the table, hand supporting your chin. Just hearing him talk made your earlier anxiety ease, the hands of darkness which peeled at the lining of your intestines having retreated far into the world unknown. Sunday was akin to a miracle cancer to a condition he himself caused upon you. Truly cruel.

Sunday hummed. A guest joined the discussion, an older man. “I haven't seen such development since the times of the old Gopher Wood, Sunday. You truly do live up to the promise!” a hearty laugh followed.

Despite how often he was praised in public, in the newspaper—oh, the newspaper. Once it called him the most handsome man in Penacony, followed by so many mentions of fan accounts. A celebrity of his caliber seen by so many. It made your throat tighten and an unreasonable anger rise in you, just thinking about it—

“Now, now. Let's not be excessive.” The head of the Oak Family stated, tone gentle and conversational. He did not speak to you, but it felt like it.

“Let's focus on things that truly matter. Now, I've been asked quite nicely by someone,” Sunday's face turned to his sister, who couldn't keep her face neutral, as a smile involuntarily formed on her face. “to play a piece for us tonight.”

He slightly side-stepped, giving view to the piano behind. Robin's wings gave a flutter, and she nodded.

Sunday straightened his suit a little. This was unlike the conferences between families, this was more casual. Personal. Private, intimate.

Why were you here?

He headed for the stool situated in front of the piano, opening it for all the guests to see. To keep the politeness, he was still turned sideways, his back straight. But a soft chuckle left him. It seemed he only now realised the piece he'd be playing, reading off the musical sheet right in front of him. And then his face turned towards the audience for a moment.

“As requested, I'll play Clair de Lune. To commemorate this eventful night—” he stated. “And to bring upon ease.”

The guests whispered for only a moment, and Robin stepped aside, letting her brother take the attention this time. You assumed it must've felt good when eyes weren't on you, as they always were.

His hand moved to the keys, the touch gentle as he pressed them. Sunday's gloved fingers moved with ease, trailing along the instrument with an unseen softness and care, each break between the note filled with an echo.

You forgot how to swallow for a moment, the saliva collecting in your mouth until you finally recalled how to perform functions such as breathing.

On an evening like this, the tune was most appropriate, liquified moonlight amplified by his instrument. Despite no change in light, it felt akin to the piano dispersing the reflected beam of the moon across the guests, and all seemed as in awe as you were.

It was breathing life into you, and an uncanny unease as well. No one dared interrupt nor speak, and you leaned forward, both your elbows resting upon the white table.

Sunday moved with grace. You could see his head slightly tilt, despite seeing mostly his back at such an angle. All it did was help you witness the measured and precise dance of his fingers, like droplets of water upon the moonlit lake, gentle and careful and carefree.

The tune was revitalising, and when the last note died, your body forced you to finally exhale. Small round of applause fell shortly after, which you didn't join.

Unexpectedly Sunday raised his hand. “Well, while I am at it, I do believe another piece would be appropriate?”

But he didn't look at the crowd. Hell, he didn't seem to want to hear what they had to say. Sunday tilted his face to Robin. And she nodded excitedly.

It was sweet in hindsight.

“Very well then. For the new beginnings, and for the ends which start them”

This time he didn't need a sheet in front of himself, playing an entirely different rhythm. Sharper.

And by the time the guests were satiated with Sunday humouring them, the party was coming to an end. It was hard to say where each melody began and when it ended, and while the guests slowly began to converse between each other, Sunday's play faded to the background.

It all ended. The guests were leaving, spare for you and few others. They drank, and you lingered in the after-taste of the moonlight you were hand fed. The hosts were leaving too, Robin first, and then Sunday. His conversation with one of the people came to an end, and he stepped to the exit, shoes softly sounding out as he made his way forward.

You realised you pushed your limits when he stopped in his tracks right next to your table. A flicker of amusement was all you were given, and he left soon after.

The liquified moonlight’s effect was cast away when the coldness of anxiety coated your skin once more.

Does he know?

If he does, why doesn't he say anything?

—

There is always a bigger fish, just as not all birds get eaten.

Some birds eat.

—

You didn't want to walk through, but it was as inevitable as a hawk stealing a lady's pampered dog.

Then again you clung onto hope like a leech, hoping that maybe this really wasn't true. It sure felt like a dream, and it made you light headed with sickness. Your face turned to his to try and gauge any silent confirmation, but his eyes were glued to your face.

Lowering your eyes you walked through into the room with hesitation, acutely aware of the sound of his footsteps right behind you.

Before you was a rather large table, filled with blocks and models of sky-scrapers. The front of the model, Penacony's banner, was turned towards the doors. Such a mini city caused uncertainty to build in your throat, and your fingers twitched against each other as they folded before you.

The sound of a click cut through the air, and you didn't have to turn your face around to realise that the gates to salvation were long locked for you. Closed, never to be reopened again.

Above the grey model of the city was a lamp, leaving the room in a comfortable yet dim, warm yellow light. It did nothing to make you feel any warmer or any more welcome.

You were aware of sofas situated near each wall, it seemed like a gathering spot of sorts—spare for the way it's been mostly empty.

Aside from the two of you.

Sunday stepped from behind you, approaching the city model with an ease and certainty inappropriate for the situation. Using the opportunity you looked behind yourself once more, the engraved doors having been long shut as you had assumed.

The halovian cleared his throat, and your face shifted back to see the space before you. He stood at the side of the table, picking up the wine that was sitting conveniently next to him, a thing so normal yet out of place.

“Come,” his other hand gestured to you. “there is lots to discuss.”

As ambiguous and vague as it was, you had truly no choice. And so you took the first step, approaching the model. You were sure you were shaking despite the composed demeanor, one you held onto like a lifeline—your heart struck your ribcage with each frantic pump, but it felt like the blood coursing never gave enough air.

It was art to not hyperventilate right now, your senses dulled; as though the rush of your blood muted your ability to hear. And, yet, you heard him well.

You stood a good pace away from Sunday, but close enough to the table for him to have no objections. The bottle of wine was already open, and all he had to do was to take one of the glasses into his gloved hand, tilting it. The red liquid poured inside of it, rolling over the walls of the glass like a heart filling with blood.

He reached it out to you, and after a momentary period of stillness, your hand took the glass.

It did not spill, your oversensitive muscles however did not take kindly to the strain, the grip on the wine causing it to vibrate. It was not only humiliating, but just embarrassing. Your other hand joined the grip, moving underneath the glass’ bottom.

Sunday had his gaze glued to you, and the temporary shaking of the glass did not escape his gaze. Alas the corner of his mouth only moved up, before he cast his look down to the glass he was filling for himself.

Your skin felt the intricate design on the glass’ bottom, and you could swear your heart stopped. With eyes widened you took a peak downwards, and surely enough you saw that the bottom of it was engraved.

You would run out of here if you could. Even if it was pathetic, even if it was embarrassing and humiliating and even if you had to look like a prey to get out, you would. You'd leave Penacony, change your number, you could even change your face and identity. You'd—

“The city breathes, you know?” he began, causing your train of thought to derail entirely off the mountain. You swallowed, your confused expression causing the man to continue. “Not because it wants to. Because it must.”

The model before you was detailed, as a model could be that is. The buildings had their respective lights from the inside, even the Golden Hour held an unnerving degree of accuracy to it.

Sunday always made sure all buttons were in place. “Not in the way people do, of course not, but in a way that something vast and living shifts under its own weight.”

You were aware of his face turning to you for a moment, the silence stretching. It lingered on your face, before he tilted his head to the model, hand sitting loosely on one of the wider buildings. His index finger moved in a circle for a moment, but he didn't unnecessarily fidget.

“A change in the air, a tilt in the balance—no matter how small and insignificant, it's all felt somewhere.”

Your eyes glued themselves back to the model, and you felt tense, like a piece of wood waiting for the carpenter to arrive. No—the carpenter has arrived. And right now he was preparing his tools properly.

His hand moved towards one of the streets, pressing into one of the buildings. It dipped into the model's bottom, before clicking, and as his pressure released, the building loosened. Sunday picked it up with his hand, bringing it closer to his face.

It was a cafe, one too similar, and you felt like you were being mocked right now. Sunday sighed. “More often than not, it isn't the grand movements that matter, not the political ones either. It's the small ones that set the tune for the city's music. These ones—define its breath.”

He hummed, his finger running over the bottom of the mini building. With a click its light turned on, and he pushed it back into its appropriate place, slow and unrished, with no misstep.

Your fingers tightened against the glass, and you prayed you wouldn't shatter it. “Small steps like these measure up to grand tunes, be it a street closing early, or a whisper in the wrong ear,”

“even a shadow where there shouldn't be one.”

His gaze flickered to you, unreadable.

With a throat tight and mind spiralling, you couldn't hope to know what to say. It was no magic trick, you didn't know your last words.

“It doesn't take much to alter the shape of something—yes, even something as vast as this.”

He raised his glass in a silent toast, and you did not raise yours. You had no intention of consuming it, not from fear of it being drugged—Sunday did not play dirty. Rather, you were afraid your stomach would reject all that wasn't his flesh. Not from desperation, but sheer anger at the situation.

Sunday's eyes closed as he straightened, head tilting. His movement was slow and deliberate. “That makes watching interesting, don't you think? That's why I do what I do—”

“—it is most interesting to see what happens when someone changes the rhythm.”

He was calm, something contrary to your jerky movement as you set the wine glass down, the tension inside you snapping like a hairband; flying across the room like a miscalculated bullet of a faulty gun. “What's the meaning of all of this?”

Sunday didn't snap back. He smiled knowingly. Instead of responding immediately, he tilted his head slightly, as if considering whether to answer at all.

Informed and restrained, yet not forceful, as though the causality was something simple. He spoke at his own pace. “What is it, I wonder. Maybe you can tell me?”

The room felt all too small, and your words didn't change anything. Subtle amusement found itself passing on his face, yet he didn't wait for your response as you would've expected.

“I’ll admit—” he began. “I thought, for a time, that you belonged to someone else.” The halovian mused, his fingers lightly moving over the edge of a building, dancing forward towards the concert hall. “That you were someone's carefully placed piece.”

He exhaled, almost amused. Almost disappointed.

“But no.”

Sunday's fingers knew where to look, and you followed their movements as they pressed against a part of the structure of the building. The concert hall clicked, and its outside lights sprung to life like confetti bursting from pressure. This soft click, precise and deliberate, caused things to fall into place.

“You were moving on your own, weren't you?”

His gaze meets yours. Not in passing as before, Sunday truly looked at you, eyes flickering over your eyes, and the curve of your lips. A glance measured in centuries, in calculations that have already reached their conclusion long before you were aware of them taking place. His finger rested on the model, poised like he could collapse the entire thing with the slightest pressure.

“It's a dangerous thing,” he continues. “To move like that, without knowing whose board you're on.”

A beat of silence.

Sunday's hand leaves the city, and he lets it fall to his side, watching you with something unreadable.

“Then again you know what by now, don't you?”

There it is. The checkmate. A fail proof strategy which you thought you controlled, falling through your fingers like sand. The checkmate. The knowledge that this game—your game—was never yours to control.

Another pause, each stop between the notes of the tune made your heartstrings compensate for the silence. Then, just as the weight of it settles—

“Of course,” his voice is light, a shard of kindness in the otherwise cruel situation, as if he was offering you the last slither of dignity. “you could always try again.”

His lips curved into a smile.

“This time, perhaps, with me watching.”

—

There was a deliberate sense of being observed. It was unlike being watched by his mentor, and it was unlike being watched by a pesky Alfalfa spy.

Sunday showcased his abilities before; he could guide the masses, the grand symphonies—as easily as he guided singular figures and pawns.

He was a soloist as he was a conductor, and a conductor should know how to push things into place. He could lead the whole and he could lead the singular, yet there was something that was hidden in the darkness.

Sunday had realised it long before anyone else, and he saw through it long before being warned. Gopher's words, for the first time in a while, fell upon deaf ears.

And while originally it was his idea to introduce Sunday to the masses with orchestra, to have him make the repertoire, it wasn't his idea to drag the game longer than necessary. Much to your displeasure—if you ever did find out—the air of the order around Sunday pulled dirt out from the darkness without having to be prompted.

And, while you initially saw your steps as infallible—instead of covering them up like branches used to cover traces in the snow, you only highlighted your path.

With his resources it was a game of cards. Many names have repeated before, it was to be expected that same members visited the same events more often than necessary.

But there were things which were not accidental. Why would a spy have to follow him to a library? Sunday, when he was young, learned that the only way to understand mechanisms was to push all the buttons. He did not do that anymore of course, he preferred instructions, but it's not how it worked with people.

In your blinded following you chased after him everywhere he led you, without realising it. Sunday found it amusing—you were no good of a spy.

And then, he came to find you weren't anything like that at all. You were pathetic.

[ensemblewithsenpai]

Nov 14th: DEADMANS’ ROCK ROAR animation music video has been released. Its beatmap will be added today at 9:30PM JST.

[xitty]

Akatsuki album: Konjiki senya yumebutai is indeed really really good. ❤️ Ito (the lead track) is good too but Konjiki senya yumebutai leaves it in shade. DEADMANS' Rock Roar is good too. Keito's solo is great! Surprisingly rock! Nice bass. Kuro's solo needs more listening, it's nice but...? Souma's solo has lovely verses but chorus lacks something maybe. It might grow on me though.

[ajwrites52]

Batober Day 1-ALIVE

Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday, 

Christened on a stark and stormy Tuesday, 

Married on a grey and grisly Wednesday, 

Took ill on a mild and mellow Thursday, 

Grew worse on a bright and breezy Friday, 

Died on a grey and glorious Saturday, 

Buried on a baking, blistering Sunday.

Batman arrived at the edge of the swamp, the fog obscuring all but his cold white eyes and the yellow circle encompassing the sigil on his chest. His boots squelched against the muck and moss under them as he wandered deeper within the bog. A chill travels down the Dark Knight's spine; he quickly pivots only to be sent flying through a nearby clearing of trees. 

"Ow." Batman slowly rose from the rubble, his vision slowly returning as a gigantic shadow loomed over him. His eyes widened, and he quickly leaped to the side, barely avoiding the giant grey fists that slammed against the ground. Landing on his feet, the Caped Crusader glared at the charging hulk of undead flesh stampeding towards him. 

"SOLOMON GRUNDY, BORN ON A MONDAY!" 

Batman fired a grappling line upwards, using it with Grundy's back to launch himself behind the zombie. Grundy growled and turned, wrenching the trunk of a tree out of the earth before throwing it at Batman like a javelin. 

"Christened on a Tuesday," replied Batman, barely dodging the deadly projectile before launching his grapple line towards the giant. The hook flies past his head, hooking onto the tree trunk behind him, pulling the Dark Knight forward giving him enough momentum to slam into his chest. He hissed in pain as both fell into the murky waters of the swamp, with Batman doing his best to hold his breath as Grundy reached for his neck. Batman responded in earnest with an elbow to the dapper deadman's nose, breaking it but doing nothing to stop him. 

"Crap!" 

Batman groaned as Grundy's massive hands wrapped themselves around his cowl. It was then his turn to be the projectile thrown. He launched out of the water like a bullet, crashing into the nearest mud pit with a loud SPLOOSH! Grundy then followed him out of the water, now huffing on account of his shattered nostril. 

"MARRIED ON A WEDNESDAY!" Grundy threw a punch, crashing into the mud where Batman landed and caking his fist in the wet earth. 

"T-Took ill on Thursday," Batman spoke, rising from behind as Grundy removed his fist to find three Batarangs embedded into his rotten flesh. After a series of faint beeps, the weapons exploded in a burst of heat and light, blinding Grundy. 

"GREW WORSE ON FRIDAY!" yelled Grundy, flailing his arms in response to being blinded. Batman fled into the shadows, firing his grappling line to act as a makeshift trip-wire. The giant tumbled around. Eventually, his ankles meet the cable, forcing him to fall into the same mud that once held Batman. 

"Died on a Saturday." 

Batman dove into the waters, using his chance as he swam more profound into the waters below. Clicking the switch on his buckle ignited the lantern on his chest, illuminating the darkness of the water. He scanned the area as best he could, his eyes widening as they finally caught sight of their target. He swam over, grabbing hold of it as he fired his line once more to propel himself out of the water and into the cold night air. 

"*cough* *cough*!" Batman groaned as he emerged from the water. In his gloved right hand was a withered and old rope connected to the source of his target. A noose wrapped around the neck of a corpse long since devoured by fish and maggots of the swamp. "Finally." 

Grundy roared as he stood over Batman, his fist ready to pulverize the Dark Detective at a moment's notice before stopping as the cowled figure removed the noose from the deadman's neck. The sun slowly rose over the horizon as Batman fell to his knees and began to dig into the mud. Grundy, frozen like a statue as it watched his opponent dig before placing the corpse into the hole. He then covered the hole, used his Batarang to etch words into a nearby stone, and used smaller rocks to surround the grave. 

"Buried on a Sunday." Batman removed his cowl, revealing his tired expression as he stared at the grave before him. "I'm sorry you were kept awake for so long."

Tears then fell from Grundy's dried eyes, his body fading away to dust as Bruce stared at the grave. The headstone placed reading the words-

HERE LIES CYRUS GOLD. 1944-1964 May you live on as you finally achieve peace.

Bruce stood up once more. From his belt, he produced a white rose before placing it under the headstone. As he walked away, he threw the noose into the water to never be seen again. Reverting to his cowled self, Batman then left the swamp as day shined over the grave. 

"Thank you." whispered a voice in the Dark Knight's ear. A faint smile found its way on his face; behind him stood the specter of a well-dressed young man with a peaceful expression on his face. As if he was finally alive for the first time in years. 

-THE END-

[clareguilty]

Bewitched by a Deadman's Heart

I had an anon request Pirate AU Gabe and then I took a month to write it im so sorry anon i hope youre still here

Read it here on the AO3 Gabriel Reyes/Reader | Pirate AU Rating: Mature/Explicit | No Warnings Word count: ~2600

You never took your eyes off the captain as he stalked back and forth through the hold. Sweeping black and crimson coat, broad hat. He had worn a white bone mask when he entered; now you could see his face. 

He wasn’t human. Not fully. Monstrous, a beast made more of smoke than bone. You had seen men like him before, cursed by Neptune. They were all the same, unrepentant bastards. You knew exactly what he wanted.

Chains chafed and scratched at your wrists and ankles, and the gag was making your jaw ache terribly. Being held prisoner was unsurprisingly dreadful. A lantern swayed violently, casting strange living shadows through your cell.

Just get on with it. You rolled your eyes. Mortals were always so predictable. This whole fiasco was more of an annoyance than anything.

The captain disappeared, vanished between one step and the next. You jumped as you felt a presence behind you. He had rematerialized within the bars of your cell.

A large rough hand grabbed your jaw, forcing your head back until you met dark eyes. 

“I hate for things to be this way,” he said, voice cold. You didn’t have it in you to believe him. How many cruel men had sailed the seas, capturing and hunting your brothers and sisters? You scoffed behind the gag.

The captain’s grip tightened and then released all at once. You slumped to the floor at his feet, glaring up at him with as much contempt as you could manage. His expression softened minutely. “You’re innocent. It was not you who cursed me with this form.”

Then let me go, you thought.

“I need you to summon Neptune. I need him to reverse what he has done.”

You did not lessen the force of your glare. The captain held your gaze: a stalemate.

But mortals lack patience, and he quickly caved. A heavy boot collided with your side, and you cried out behind the gag. Scrambling as far as your chains would allow, you never looked away.

The captain growled and disappeared once more. He emerged from the shadows, storming out of the hold and slamming the door behind him.

You slumped in your binds. Captain Gabriel Reyes, the Reaper of the Seas. The ship you were currently imprisoned on could be none other than the Blackwatch.

If anyone were to capture you, then at least it was the most fearsome pirate alive. Your pride couldn’t have handled if you had been stolen by some nobody with hardly a feat to his name.

For all the rumors that surrounded Captain Reyes and the Blackwatch, you had not known about Neptune’s curse. What had he done to earn such a fate? You wondered if he had been cursed before he turned to piracy, or if he had committed a crime worse than any other during his reign of terror.

He wanted the curse lifted. He wanted Neptune himself to undo his punishment. How precocious. How would your situation change if Captain Reyes knew you were capable of granting him his wish? It wasn’t difficult magic. You had taken on far greater feats back in the time of heroes. It had been centuries since you had really been able to test yourself.

Not that you were very inclined to help out the bastard that captured you, trussed you up, tossed you in a cell, and kicked you. Being a Nereid didn’t mean that you were incapable of bruising.

You sulked a few hours in the dim cell. The Reaper would be back. You would be able to survive torture if it came to that, but you certainly hoped this beast knew better. You looked forward to being released from your chains, then you could exact vengeance for your mistreatment.

The door to the hold creaked open and the captain stepped inside. He was still in his crimson coat, cutlass at his hip, yet he carried a bowl of food and a bottle.

Something emerged from the shadows behind you, pulling the gag from your lips. It was a neat trick.

Reyes stopped outside the door to your cell. “I-” He genuinely looked unsure. “I wasn’t sure if you needed to eat. I’ve brought you food.”

You scoffed, eyeing the bowl with disdain. “I enjoy divine offerings and sweet wine.” Divine offerings were a thing lost to time, but stale bread and boiled vegetables held no appeal for you.

The captain set the plate down and vanished. He rematerialized within the cell, leaned back against the bars, arms crossed.

You stared up at him, expectantly.

He was quiet for a long while. You waited. At last, he sighed and spoke. “I’m sorry for stealing you away.”

“Then let me go.” If he truly was sorry, he would have freed you.

“I can’t do that.” His voice was sharp. “You’re my only hope of lifting this damned curse.”

You slumped in your bonds, but your curiosity had gotten the better of you. “What did you even do to deserve the wrath of Neptune?” 

The captain’s frown deepened. “What haven’t I done? I staged a mutiny against my commander in the navy, turned against crown and company, attacked and pillaged any ship that crossed my path. I’ve slain. I’ve slaughtered. This curse has made me the perfect killer.”

You didn’t have it in you to be impressed. “Many men have done worse than you and never ended up cursed by the god of the sea.” 

The captain sighed. "It was after a victory against Commander Morrison-"

"The one you mutinied?" You asked.

“Yes, the one I mutinied. He's my greatest rival, always armed with the best of the king's dogs. We had won a battle, and gained quite a bit from it. I was boastful -- drunk -- and talking to my crew.

"'Just you wait,' I said. 'We'll take down every ship on these seas and sail right to old Neptune himself. He doesn’t stand a chance against us.' That was enough, apparently. A storm swept in, and suddenly… I was this."

You laughed. “He’s done far worse for far less offense.” Such a curse for such a trivial mistake -- the god must have been rather cranky that day. “You insult the god of the sea and decide the best way to make amends is to capture a member of his court? To tie her up and beat her? You sure have a strange method of going about things.”

The captain looked sheepish, almost repentant. 

“I have a request.” 

Captain Reyes glanced up in surprise. He probably wasn’t used to his prisoners being so bold.

“I’d like to see the moon,” you continued. 

“The moon?”

“I can still feel her call. The tides have risen. Could I just see her, please?”

You could see his mind working, trying to determine if this was a trick. That’s not to say that you wouldn’t take any chance you could get to escape, but you were patient. You would wait for the right opportunity.

The captain made his choice, kneeling beside you to release the chains on your ankles. Your arms remained bound, and he lifted you to your feet with remarkable strength. He helped you out of the cell and up to the main deck, gently lifting you through the hatch. The members of his crew watched you, but didn’t say anything. You kept your gaze straight ahead.

The water was inky black save for the silver crests of waves. You longed to dive in, to return to the safety of Neptune’s court and escape the troubles of mortals. But the captain held fast to your chains.

The clouds parted, and the brilliant light of the moon washed over the ship deck. You basked in the glow. It was safety and comfort after the hours you had spent locked away.

captain Reyes was surprisingly patient, letting you gaze into the sky until the clouds rolled through once more. The darkness ached, but you resigned yourself to another sentence in your cell.

“Would you-” The captain struggled to find his words. “I do not have to take you back down below deck.” He said.

“And I suppose you’ll be setting me free then?” you smiled dryly.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. But you could remain in my quarters for the time being. Until you call to Neptune, until my curse is lifted, I cannot let you leave this ship. But I can make your time here as comfortable as possible.”

You considered his offer. “How do you know I will not simply steal away after you have fallen asleep?” It was a good way to get you locked back in the cell, but you couldn’t keep yourself from testing him.

“I don’t sleep. The curse… I am unable to rest, to dream.” He looked anguished.

“And you wish to torture yourself further by inviting me to fill your waking hours?” 

He pulled sharply on your chains. “I can lock you up again if that is what you truly wish.” His voice was an inhuman growl.

You yanked back, defiant. The bruises would look horrid, but you weren’t about to cower before this beast. “You forget who has the true power here. Locking me away will only worsen your punishment. If you thought Neptune was angry before, then you should imagine how he punishes those who have harmed the members of his court.”

The wind whipped around you, waves rising taller and taller. A crewmate shouted from below deck as the entire ship rocked on the raging sea. The captain’s eyes widened in fear. Since your capture, you had hidden the true power of your magic.

“I won’t free you,” he snarled. “Not until my curse is lifted.”

“You will treat me with the respect I deserve as a spirit of the sea,” you demanded. The ocean roared. Your threats were not empty. The captain acquiesced.

“I will protect and care for you within my power. You must call to Neptune. Have him free me.”

The waves began to calm, wind dying down between one breath and the next. You never took your eyes off Captain Reyes. “Take me to your quarters.”

-

He locked the door behind him as soon as you were inside. You took a seat on the fanciest, most plush looking chair you could find, eyes scanning the walls and shelves. Captain Reyes’s quarters were luxurious, filled with treasures and trophies from his conquests.

He dropped a bottle into your lap. You inspected it carefully.

“Sweet wine,” he said, removing his coat and cutlass to hang. “I’m all out of ‘offerings’.”

You pried the cork from the bottle with your teeth and took a sip of the wine. It certainly was sweet, nicer than you expected a pirate to have. You helped yourself to a long pull.

Captain Reyes was slouched in a chair across the room, looking decidedly mortal as he rubbed his forehead and let out a long sigh.

“Why do you refuse to do as I ask?”

You cradled your bottle, rattling the chains around your wrists as you raised your eyebrow. “I consider myself very generous when I’m not being snatched away by pirates. To be honest, I’m waiting for the first chance I get to destroy your ship and crew and escape.”

“I may just hunt you down again, you know. I could even find a way to kill you.” His words were empty, though. There was no heart behind them.

“Why do you want your curse lifted so badly?” you asked. “Does it not make you the most powerful man on the seas? Strong? Tireless? Unkillable?”

He disappeared from the chair, rematerializing right above you. Monstrous and formless, black smoke and long teeth and glowing eyes. “Is there not more than just power and glory? I am not the monster I was cursed to be. This form… I’m a beast! My own crew fears me. I’m alone. Unable to sleep or dream or feel. All of my victories mean nothing.”

You dropped the bottle in shock, wincing as it clattered and rolled across the fine rug. 

Captain Reyes was gone. Back across the room, shoulders hunched. He leaned against the wall, heaving with breaths he didn’t need.

You stood, chains rattling as you slowly made your way towards him. Reaching slowly, you placed a hand on his arm. He didn’t react to your touch. “What will you do? When you are mortal again?”

Slowly, he turned to look at you. Defeated. Captain Gabriel Reyes, the Reaper of the Blackwatch. He looked defeated.

“I’ll carry on. I’ll take my crew and my ships, and I’ll keep on as I always have.”

“Without your curse, you would be in danger.” You led him over to the bed. He sat beside you, staring at his hands. They were clawed, monstrous.

“I’m not afraid of danger.”

“What are you afraid of?” You clasped one of his hands between your own.

“I’m afraid of being alone. Of being unwanted. I’ll spend eternity as a monster, and one day I may lose myself and become nothing but beast.”

It wasn’t what you expected. The ruthless Reaper, afraid of being alone. Your heart broke for him. This wasn’t what he deserved.

“Can you unbind me?” you asked. “I promise no harm will come to your crew.”

The chains fell to the floor. You knelt before the captain. He refused to meet your eyes. Placing a hand on either side of his face, you lifted his head. His eyes were pleading.

Your lips brushed his. He recoiled at first, not expecting the touch. “Please,” you whispered, “can you trust me?”

He held still. And you kissed him once more. He responded this time yet was still hesitant to touch you. Deeper and deeper, you ran your fingers through his disheveled curls. He moaned into your mouth, and your lips curled against his.

He finally pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours as he panted and gasped for air.

You let out an undignified yelp as he scooped you into his arms and laid you on the bed. “I feel… What did you do?” He looked at his hands, dark scarred skin in the place of monstrous claws. 

“I lifted the curse.”

He stared at you in disbelief, grinning widely. “You could have done it all along? You did do it! I’m… How can I thank you?”

It warmed you to see him so overjoyed. You remembered the satisfaction of helping out heroes a millennium before. 

He was handsome, no longer a shadowy monster. Dark, scarred skin. Full lips. Curly black hair that fell across his forehead. He was still broad, huge even for a man, but now it was flesh and muscle under the thin fabric of his shirt.

The captain was kissing you again, so deeply and with so much passion. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“It’s wonderful.”

He pushed aside the fabric of your dress, kissing every inch of exposed skin. You trailed your hands over his arms and shoulders, feeling the strength and muscle from years of living aboard a ship. 

Clothes fell to the floor and soon the both of you were bare. You admired the captain’s newfound mortal body. Every scar, every mark, every dip and curve. He shuddered and gasped at each touch, not used to the sensation after so many years under the curse. You let him pin you down and ravish you. He couldn’t get enough.

You finally pushed him away, pulling him by the hair from between your thighs. “You’re mortal now,” you reminded him. “You need to rest.”

“Will you still be here when I wake?” he asked.

“I’ll stay here with you.” You opened your arms. He pulled you in close. You listened as his heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened. The ship rocked and creaked on the waves, moonlight streaming in through the glass windows.

[kittyanonymity]

Song List!! :D Some of these are super sad, ngl guys. I put warnings next to a couple songs just cause I know some of the lyrics or subject matter could be alarming, so watch out for that! I’ve been listening to this playlist non stop for like 2 weeks, just using it to get inspired for my daminette fic I started lol 

Maybe you guys’ll like it too! <3 The genres are pretty mixed, so be ready for a bit of everything lmao

Gonna want a read more, I think lol 

Stay - The Score

Natural - Imagine Dragons

Hero - Skillet 

Black and Blue - Long Hawke 

Monster - Starset

I Walk the Line - Halsey

Me Against The World - Superchick

Blue Eyes - Within Temptation

Centuries - Fall Out Boy

Walking on Air - Kerli

Decode - Paramore

Red Stars - The Birthday Massacre

Love Goes On and On (feat. Amy Lee) - Lindsey Stirling

Dance With the Devil - Breaking Benjamin 

I Don’t Wanna Die - Hollywood Undead

Devour - Disturbed

Lips Like Morphine - Kill Hannah

Death of Me - PVRIS

Not Strong Enough (feat. Brent Smith) - Apocalyptica

Warriors - Imagine Dragons

Rise - Katy Perry

Welcome Home - Cohered and Cambria

Wicked World - Cold

You’re Mine - Disturbed

Cold (But I’m Still Here) - Evans Blue 

Think Twice - Eve 6

Cirice - Ghost

Gasoline - Halsey

Angel - Theory of a Deadman

A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

Champion - Fall Out Boy

Rock What You Got (Fight Underdog Fight! Mix) - Superchick

All I Ever Wanted - Basshunter

Summertime Sadness - Within Temptation

Take a Bow - Rihanna

Undisclosed Desires - Muse

you should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish

Set Me on Fire - Flyleaf

Satisfy - Nero

Running Up That Hill - Meg Myers

Phoenix - League of Legends (Song slaps, don’t judge me)

Strange Boy - Kerli

Roar - Katy Perry 

The Mystic - Adam Jensen

S.C.A.V.A. - Hollywood undead

Misery Business - Paramore

Wanna Be Missed - Hayley Kiyoko 

Bound to You - Christina Aguilera

Anthem for the Broken - MISSIO

Taking Over Me - Evanescence 

Memories - Within Temptation 

Funhouse - P!nk

Mirror - Barlow Girl

The Last Night - Skillet 

Unfamiliar - The Birthday Massacre

Hey Hey (Vampires vs. Cheerleaders Mix) - Superchick

I Bet My Life - Imagine Dragons

Your Betrayal - Bullet for My Valentine 

New Day - Hollywood undead

Broken Pieces (feat. Lacey) - Apocalyptica 

I Don’t Care (feat. Adam Gontier) - Apocalyptica

Already Over - Red

Together Again - Evanescence

Mad Hatter - Melanie Martinez

Shatter Me (feat Lzzy Hale) - Lindsey Stirling

Miss Murder - AFI 

Forevermore (feat. Broken Iris) - Aroth

Passion - AWOLNATION

You Call Me a Bitch Like It’s a Bad Thing - Halestorm

Shapeshifter (feat. Styles of Beyond) - Celldweller

Whatever It Takes - Hollywood undead

I Will Possess Your Heart - Death Cab for Cutie

It’s the Fear - Within Temptation

Can I Exist - MISSIO

I Can’t Do This - Plumb

One Step at a Time - Jordin Sparks

Only Girl (In the World) - Rihanna

That’s What You Get - Paramore

Never Say Die - CHVRCHES

Devil’s Backbone - The Civil Wars

Kill the Lights - The Birthday Massacre

Still Here - Digital Daggers

Immortals - Fall Out Boy

No Light, No Light - Florence + The Machine

Castle - Halsey

Hearts a Mess - Gotye

Where Did the Beat Go? - P!nk

NFWMB - Hozier (it’s the pitched lesbian version though)

Next to Me - Imagine Dragons

Blood in the Cut - K.Flay 

Love is Dead - Kerli 

Crazy Angel - Kill Hannah

Dark Paradise - Lana Del Rey

How to be a Heartbreaker - Marina and The Diamonds

You Don’t Belong - Daughtry

What You Want - Evanescence

Tag, You’re It - Melanie Martinez (potential TW for this song)

Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea - MISSIO 

Had Enough - Breaking Benjamin

Ricochet - Starset

Young - Hollywood Undead

Stockholm Syndrome - Muse

High Hopes - Panic! At the Disco

Crushcrushcrush - Paramore

What’s Wrong - PVRIS

Rock This World - Hilary Duff

In the Dark - The Birthday Massacre

My Girl’s Ex-Boyfriend - Relient k

Pretty Girl (The Way) - Sugarcult

Heathens - twenty one pilots

The Bird and The Worm - The Used

Only One - Yellowcard

Now You’re Gone - Basshunter

Bad Boy - Cascada

Something Just Like This - The Chainsmokers & Coldplay

Live For The Night - Krewella

I Am Woman - Jordin Sparks

Secret Door - Evanescence

Defeated - Breaking Benjamin

U Don’t Know (feat. Wayne Coyne) - Alison Wonderland 

Black Dahlia - Hollywood Undead

Someone Who Cares - Three Days Grace

Bewitched (feat. Lady Nogrady) - Blood on the Dance Floor (don’t judge me, it’s a fun song)

Hold On (feat. Brave) - Arman Cekin

Sever The Ties (feat. Esther Sparkles) - Arman Cekin

Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met - Celldweller

Paris - M.O.O.N.

Guilt - Nero

Love Me (feat. Jacob Banks) - Wide Awake

Daughters of Darkness - Halestorm

Never Alone - Barlow Girl

Anthem - Superchick

Burn Away - The Birthday Massacre

God is a woman - Arian Grande

I Did It for Love (feat Sean Garrett) - BoA

Beautiful Liar - Beyonce & Shakira

Angel With a Shotgun - The Cab

Anthem of the Angels - Breaking Benjamin

Everytime - Britney Spears

Haters - Hilary Duff

I Look So Good (Without You) - Jessie James

Battlefield - Jordin Sparks

Weight of the World - Evanescence

Wide Awake - Katy Perry

Cannonball - Kiesza

I Need to Know - Marc Anthony

Problem - Natalia Kills

Rude Boy - Rihanna

Counting Stars - OneRepublic

According to You - Orianthi

The Truth About Love - P!nk

I Hate This Part - The Pussycat Dolls

Eternity - Rachel Taylor

Towards the Sun - Rihanna

Ready to Fight - Roby Fayer & Tom Gefen

Brave - Sara Bareilles

Good For You (feat. A$AP Rocky) - Selena Gomez

Invisible - Skylar Grey (potential TW here) 

This Love - The Veronicas 

Beautiful - Akon

Too Little, Too Late - JoJo

Knock You Down - Keri Hilson

Bang - Armchair Cynics

Shut Your Mouth - Attack Attack!

Leaving Tonight - The Birthday Massacre

Breaking the Silence - Breaking Benjamin

Beautiful Girl - Broken Iris 

All These Things I Hate (Revolve Around Me) - Bullet for My Valentine

Stupid Girl - Cold

Traitor - Daughtry

Love and Tragedy - Digital Summer

Haunted - Evanescence

Iris - Goo Goo Dolls

Beautiful With You - Halestorm

My Name is Human - Highly Suspect

Can’t Love Me - It’s Alive

Gone - My Darkest Days

How Did You Love - Shinedown

It’s Not Me It’s You - Skillet 

Halo - Starset

Until the Day I Die - Story of the Year

Bitter Taste - Three Days Grace

Always Find Me Here - Transit 

Liar Liar (Burn in Hell) - The Used

The Heart of Everything - Within Temptation

I Want Out - Young Guns

World So Cold - 12 Stones

[silverfootstepswrites]

Middle Ground [2]

Stage 2: Desert Level

“Naruto.”

“Yeah?”

“What’re you doing?”

“Chewing on a leaf.”

Sasuke pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean... I can see that. Just... why?” he pressed. 

Naruto, sitting on a stump, stared up at him, eyes wide. “This is supposed to have medicinal properties. It’ll heal me, like a few health points, I guess,” answered Naruto. 

Sasuke stared at Naruto. Then pointed at Sakura who stood a couple feet away. Also staring. 

“Why don’t you just go to Sakura instead of chewing on a plant?”

Naruto shrugged a shoulder. “An old lady in a cave told me this would heal me a couple points. So I wanted to try it. I guess I feel a little better,” Naruto answered. 

Sasuke turned around to look at Sakura, who just shook her head. 

“Where’d you even get that?” Sasuke then pressed. 

Naruto’s expression brightened. “Oh! Off that big spider we killed yesterday.”

Sakura’s forehead wrinkled. “Why... how... How would a spider be carrying a medicinal herb?” she demanded. 

Naruto shrugged again. “In its... inventory, I guess?”

Both Sasuke and Sakura turned around to look pleadingly at Kakashi. “Do you understand him”” Sakura asked. 

“I rarely understand anything the three of you talk about,” answered Kakashi before burying his nose deeper in his battered book.

-----

Once their party united, they took the quiet merchant’s path through the forests. Where the biggest danger were the occasional mosquitoes that swarmed them whenever they passed by water. 

After several days, the terrain grew more and more rocky. And the lush carpet of moss and plants began to turn scraggly. Withering up until all that was left was stone and sand. Soon, even those plants disappeared, and they found themselves on the edge of a massive desert. 

“We don’t have the supplies for this,” Neji warned as they surveyed the area. 

“And where are we even going anyway?” Sakura then demanded, turning to Naruto. 

“Oh, shit. Did I not show you the map?” Naruto replied. He set his pack down to pull a map from inside. It was made of tattered parchment. He glanced around before Sasuke pointed at a slab of rock jutting out of the ground. Nodding, Naruto walked over to it to spread the map open. Everyone followed to look at it. 

“So, we’re... here,” Naruto said. He pointed to a spot on the map. Neji leaned over to nudge Naruto’s finger into the right spot. Naruto gave a sheepish laugh.  Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“And we gotta go all the way up to the Deadman’s Peak,” explained Naruto. The tip of his finger traced a path through the desert, through a stretch of blue, and then up a jagged mountain range on the other side. “There’s an ancient temple that’s supposed to house a portal to the Abyss.” 

“And once we’re there, what do we do? ‘Hey there, Demon King’ and-” Tenten interrupted. And then she made a jabbing gesture as she blew a raspberry. Neji snorted beside her. 

“Well, no. I’m supposed to get some legendary weapon along the way. It’s at the bottom of the Sleeping Gulf,” Naruto recited as he recalled some sort of prophecy. 

“Naruto,” Sakura called. 

Eyes bright, Naruto lifted his head to look at her. “Yeah, Sakura?”

“Isn’t the Sleeping Gulf a sea?” she inquired. She pointed at the looping letters that spelled out the name. 

Naruto glanced down at her finger, then back up at her face to nod. “Yep.”

Just to confirm that she wasn’t losing her mind, Sakura looked over her shoulder at the rest of the party. Neji shook his head, as if to warn her that it was pointless to have this conversation. Kisame also made a face as he squinted down at the map. Sasuke didn’t give her any sort of reaction- just stared off into the distance.

“Naruto, can you swim?” Sakura queried. 

Naruto gave a cheerful “nope”, lips popping at the end of the word. 

Sakura nodded a little. “Okay, well, do you have some kind of artifact to get us there, then?”

Naruto shook his head. Normally, this was the part where Sasuke made a sarcastic remark. Oddly enough, he remained silent. Instead, he began very slowly rubbing his temples.

Sakura nodded again. “Fine. Last question.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” questioned Sakura, a sweet smile curving her lips. 

Naruto shrugged. “I figured someone would come up with a plan. This kind of stuff always just works out, right?” he replied. 

As Sasuke’s expression turned murderous, Kakashi, who had read the warning signs in his face, seized him by the back of the cloak. At the same time, Sakura grabbed his hand before he had a chance to grab an arrow from the quiver on his back. 

“Okay. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page,” Sakura declared in a light voice. 

“He’s gonna get us killed,” Sasuke growled. 

“I know. I know,” Sakura sighed. She used her other hand to pat his back.

They both looked up when they felt a hand clap down on their shoulders. It was Kisame, who gave them a smile. 

“I saw a town a few miles back. Let’s get drunk,” he suggested. 

“Fine,” Sasuke agreed right away. 

“Tenten, let’s go!” Sakura called over her shoulder as she followed after them. 

“Wait for me!” Naruto yelled, scrambling to fold his map up. 

They got uproariously drunk. The kind of drunk where the room started to spin when they turned their heads too fast. 

“Tenten,” Sakura said, patting the back of the other woman’s hand. 

“Yeah?” A smile on her lips, Tenten turned to her. “What?”

“I’m...” Sakura paused to hiccup and then tried again. “I’m so glad you’re here.” And then she leaned in closer. Tenten copied her. 

“I mean, like.... do you- do you see what I have to put up with?” Sakura added. And then both of them looked over at Naruto attempting to chug down an entire tankard of ale. This wouldn’t have been that impressive had they not noticed the five empty tankards sitting beside him. His feat had gathered a small crowd of spectators. A roar of approval rose when Naruto banged his tankard on the table and demanded another. 

Across from Naruto sat Kisame, who was the loudest voice encouraging him to keep drinking. Sasuke sat beside Naruto, still scowling. The plus side was that he didn’t seem intent on attacking Naruto anymore. Asuma had struck up a conversation with a troupe of traveling musicians on the other side of the tavern. His easy smile made it easy for him to ingratiate himself with almost anyone, Sakura had noticed. Kakashi sat in a corner where he had a clear view of both everyone in their party and the door. 

Sakura’s eyes returned to Naruto when she heard him cough. He sputtered on his drink, drawing more laughter and some jeers as they urged him to finish. She wondered whether they had a tab riding on what seemed to be a rather intense competition. 

“The bartender says that if someone vomits, we need to clean it up,” Neji announced as he set more drinks down in front of them. 

“Lovely,” muttered Tenten. And then she shared a snicker with Neji as they stole glances at the grizzled old man staring at them from behind the bar. Sakura barely even noticed this interaction as she heard Naruto slam down his empty drink. Another cheer rose from the crowd that had gathered around his table on the other side of the room.

Sakura continued watching a little longer before she raised her right hand. Her holy symbol hung from a golden chain that she kept wrapped around her forearm. It was probably meant to be worn around the neck, but she preferred it closer to her hand. Plus, the gold eagle was a beautiful work of craftsmanship. 

Tenten’s eyes followed her as she cast a little spell. Sparkles appeared around the tankards that had just arrived at Naruto’s table. None of the people who grabbed the drinks seemed to notice anything unusual. 

“What was that?” asked Tenten. 

“I purified their drinks. It’ll taste the same, but there’s no alcohol in them,” Sakura explained. She watched as Naruto and Kisame each took huge gulps. Their eyes locked and they both began chugging as quickly as possible. “That should keep them from getting too drunk. For now,” she added. 

“Cool. Could you do that for ours, too?” Tenten then queried. 

Sakura turned her attention to their tankards. 

“I mean, yeah, I could,” she admitted. 

“Well don’t. We need to get more drunk,” Tenten then instructed. She grabbed the handle of her drink. Laughing, Sakura lifted hers to knock it against Tenten’s. And then they looked at Neji, waiting. He heaved a sigh, a smile crossing his face as he obliged them with a knock of his drink too.

After another hour or so, Tenten complained of a headache and went to get some air. Before Sakura could suggest that Neji go with her, he turned to give her a pointed look. 

“Go. Go,” she urged him with flaps of her hand. Neji hesitated to look around the room. He locked eyes with Kakashi before he looked at Sakura. Kakashi dipped his head. And then Neji was out of his chair to hurry after Tenten, who apparently was prone to starting fights when she drank too much. 

Sakura watched him, a smirk on her lips. She hadn’t understood what Sasuke had meant all those weeks back. Why would Tenten be the reason why Neji was so tolerant of other races? Elves, especially sun elves, were well-known for their superiority complex. It was the sort of arrogance that rubbed most people the wrong way. But after spending every day together with them, Sakura finally got it. Caught the way his gaze lingered on her. How he smiled just listening to her speak. She wondered whether Tenten had any idea of the elf’s complete infatuation with her. 

“Well hello there, pretty lady.”

Sakura clicked her tongue as someone sat down across from her.

Across the room, Kisame’s head perked up as he heard the slurred pick-up line. Sakura had the expression of someone trying to ignore a mosquito whining in her ear. In front of her sat one of the bar’s other patrons, who had been quietly sitting by himself up until now. As he leaned in to speak, Sakura wrinkled her nose.

Kisame slammed his tankard down. Wiping the foam on his mouth with the back of his hand, he got out of his chair. But as he took a step forward, he saw both Sasuke and Naruto shaking their heads. 

“Don’t bother. It’s faster if she handles it,” Naruto assured him.  

“Five gold that she sends him flying across the room,” Sasuke bet. 

“Nah. She’s gonna set his cloak on fire,” insisted Naruto. And when they both noticed Kisame still standing, they motioned for him to sit. Grunting, Kisame eased back down in his seat, glaring.

Across the room, Sakura heaved a sigh. She had tried telling her unwelcome companion that she was waiting for her friends to return. And that she wasn’t interested in any more company. But the man just went on rambling about himself, her beauty, and mostly himself.

As she began to feel a headache building in her temples, Sakura spoke again: “Hey. Buddy.”

“Yeah, angel?”

Sakura finally looked up, resting her chin in her hand. “How about you go fuck yourself?” she suggested with a sweet smile. And then she opened her mouth to release a flood of black insects. 

“Holy fuck!” the man exclaimed, stumbling backwards. 

A few of the tavern’s other patrons jumped out of their seats too until they saw that the insects only followed the man as he ran around the room. Some grumbled as he knocked into their tables, sloshing their drinks. As the bugs caught up to him, they began biting his neck, his hands, even his face. Screaming, he burst out of the tavern, coughing when some of the bugs flew into his mouth.

He took off into the night, squeals of terror mingling with the fading buzz of insect wings. 

Sakura closed her mouth. A funny look crossed her face. She spat out one last bug into her hand. It gave a pitiful whine as it took off into the air, trying to catch up to the rest of the horde. 

Naruto and Kisame roared with laughter, fists banging against the table. Sasuke smirked as he took another gulp of his alcohol. He scooted over as Sakura settled in beside him. 

“I’m curious about something,” Kisame suddenly said. Everyone looked at him. 

“If that’s what he gets on the first date, what does he get on the second?”

Naruto burst into hysterical giggles. Sakura kept a straight face for about five seconds before she threw her head back and laughed too. 

When Tenten and Neji re-entered the room a couple minutes later, they found Sakura and Naruto both howling with laughter. Naruto banged his fists on the table. Sakura sat with her head pillowed on her arms, just her back shaking. It almost looked like she was crying until she lifted her head and they could see her bright red cheeks.

“You should’ve told him to buzz off,” Kisame suggested. This was evidently not the first pun he had unleashed because Sasuke groaned, his forehead hitting the table. 

The following morning, their party was back on the road. Although Tenten and Asuma winced a little at the sunlight, they seemed to otherwise be in fine shape. Even Naruto, who had earned death glares from the barkeep for drinking an entire cask, was sprightly as they headed down the dirt path. 

Kisame squinted at Naruto’s back. And then he hung back a little to fall into step with Sakura. She shook her head when he offered his canteen of water. 

“So.... Doc,” he said. 

“Yeah?”

“You seem kind of winded,” Kisame began. 

“Do I?” Sakura answered with a smile. 

But Kisame went on. “Yeah. Almost like you’re tired from casting some kind of healing spell on all of us or something,” he observed. 

Sakura looked away from him. But she glanced back when he didn’t say anything else. He was studying her. Black eyes narrowed as he seemed to measure her. 

“Why would you burn a spell slot for something like that?” he wondered. 

It was Sakura’s turn to give him a look. 

“Is wanting my friends to not suffer weird to you?” she asked in return, scowling. Kisame stood dumbfounded as she trudged on. But then she glanced over her shoulder at him to add: “Besides, Sasuke whines non-stop when he’s hungover. Come on. We’re falling behind.”

-----

It took a full day to stock up on all the supplies they would need to travel through the desert wasteland. Once they ventured onto the hot sand, the complaints began. The only exception was Sasuke. As a fire genasi, he was part flame and therefore unbothered by any additional heat. His lack of discomfort offended Sakura, who spared no opportunity to glare at him. 

“Sasuke,” she called. 

“Yeah?” he heaved a sigh. Already rolling his eyes. 

“I just wanted to let you know, from the bottom of my heart, I hate you right now,” she informed him. She squinted up at the sun, then at Sasuke’s sweat-free form. 

“Thank you for that update,” he responded, not looking back at her. 

“If we have to kill one more poisonous snake, I’m gonna lose my mind,” grumbled Kisame, wiping sweat from his brow. 

“You know, if you remove the venom sacs correctly, those are pretty tasty,” Sasuke pointed out, gesturing to the long corpses strewn across the sand. 

Sakura stifled a giggle as Kisame grumbled where Sasuke could shove those venom sacs. But that laugh disappeared as they felt a rumble under their feet. The ground beneath them began to shift. Slowly, they could see scales. Gleaming eyes. Sharp fangs. 

They scrambled backward, grasping for weapons as a gigantic snake rose from its hiding place in the sand. It opened its mouth to let out a hiss. 

“....Well... shit,” Kakashi muttered. Before anyone could talk strategy, Naruto charged at the enormous serpent, greataxe swinging through the air. 

“I like your style, kid!” roared Kisame, charging right after him. 

Groaning, Sasuke turned to Sakura to share at least one commiserating look. Instead, he found her chasing Naruto, trying to grab him so she could cast resistance over him. When he jumped out of her reach, Sakura ground her back molars together. 

“Ah, screw it,” Sakura snapped. She extended her hand, holy symbol glowing as she conjured a spiritual weapon. Which was a spear that jabbed into the side of the snake. It let out a shriek of agony as purple blood spurting from the wound. 

“Nice!” laughed Naruto as he brought his axe down on the snake’s tail. 

The fight itself wasn’t so difficult. It ended rather cleanly with Naruto severing its head from the rest of its body. All was well until a young dragon stumbled out of its cave, drawn by the smell of blood. It opened its mouth to spray their party with fire. Tenten and Sasuke easily leapt out of the way. So did Kakashi and Asuma. Naruto was close enough that he grabbed Sakura and raised his shield just in time to protect them from the blast of heat. 

But the flames engulfed Neji’s arm and shoulder as he dodged a second too late. Kisame grabbed him by the cloak and yanked him out of the way. He threw him to the ground, smacking his hair and clothes to put out the flames.

“Asuma, back me up!” Tenten called as she rolled out from behind her cover to throw several knives at the dragon. Some bounced harmlessly off the tough hide. One burrowed into the soft spot on its throat. It roared in response.

“Got it!” yelled Asuma in return. 

“Naruto, get me to Neji,” Sakura said, shaking his arm a little. Without hesitation, Naruto grabbed her and threw her as hard as he could across the sand. She collided with Kisame’s back. She didn’t have time to apologize as she shoved past him. 

Neji grit his teeth, good hand clenching into the sand. Through the singed fabric of his shirt, she could see his skin- red and shiny. Already blistering where it had come into contact with the flames. They could hear the dragon unleash another roar as it swiped its claw out toward them. Sasuke’s swords slashed down onto its foot. A shriek filled the air as the beast turned on Sasuke instead, momentarily distracted.

“This is gonna hurt,” Sakura warned. Before Neji could ask, she placed her hand on his raw skin and recited the spell that would knit his skin back together. The downside was that meant that all his nerve endings regrew together along with his skin. Sakura knew first-hand how excruciating it could be. Which was why Sakura was unsurprised when Neji cried out. 

The dragon, which had been bashing the ground with a spiked tail, froze. Smoke puffing from its nostrils, it turned back toward them. 

“Fuck fuck fuck- Sakura! Look out!” Naruto shouted.

As the scales around the dragon’s throat began to glow, Sakura could see more smoke billowing from its mouth. Throwing her hand up, she drew on her magic to cast a command spell on it. She wasn’t even sure whether the spell had taken hold before she screamed, “STOP!” as loudly as she could.

And for a moment, the dragon froze. It stood there, glaring at her with bloodshot eyes. 

“Cool. My turn!”

The dragon turned in the direction of the voice right in time for Naruto’s javelin to pierce its right eye. The screech that left its mouth made Sakura’s ears ring. 

“Alright. Time to go, folks,” Kakashi announced, shuffling away from the dragon. 

“Naruto, you idiot! Warn us before you pull shit like this!” Sasuke howled. He grabbed a fistful of Asuma’s shirt and hauled him to his feet. 

“Sorry!” Naruto yelled right back as he fled.

Sakura’s gaze flickered from the enraged dragon to Neji still lying in the sand. As she tried to figure out how best to move him, Kisame scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. At the same time, he did the same for Neji and threw him over his other shoulder. And then he began running as fast as he could. 

A column of swirling flame erupted from the dragon’s jaws.

“Run faster!” she yelped, slapping Kisame’s back. But even as he raced across the sand, she could see the tongues of flames drawing closer and closer. Squeezing her eyes shut, she cast a shield around Kisame, praying that it would be enough to protect all three of them.

“Shit!” Sakura exclaimed as the flash of heat burned across her hand. The falcon emblem fell from her grasp, landing in the sand.  But besides the stinging in her palm, everything else seemed alright. When she squeezed one eye open, she understood why. 

Neji, barely conscious, had managed to conjure a sleet storm over the beast. As the snow and rain pelted the sand, they extinguished the flame. The dragon scrabbled for purchase on the slick ice that had covered the sand. It huffed more fire as it struggled to gain its footing. But after a moment, it skid on a particularly slick patch and fell to the ground. 

“Eat shit, dragon tits!” Tenten howled as she raised her crossbow and unleashed a bolt in the dragon’s direction. The scaly beast writhed as the bolt drove deep into its side. 

“Kill it! I’m almost out of spell slots!” Sakura called to no one in particular. 

“Dibs!” Naruto whooped as he raised his greataxe. 

“Put your back into it, kid!” Kisame reminded him. And then, a moment later, Kisame added in a smaller voice, “Oh, shit, the ice.”

“Oh,” Sakura and Neji both said. 

Everyone watched as Naruto slipped. His momentum sent him barreling straight into the dragon, the blade of his axe plunging into the moaning creature’s  chest. 

“Oh, nevermind. That was good,” Sakura sighed with relief. 

“OW!”

With its final breath, the dragon mustered enough energy to smash its tail into Naruto’s chest, knocking him to the ground. 

“... sort of,” Sakura amended. 

Everyone waited to make sure that the dragon had stopped moving before they slowly began moving. Tenten hunted down the weapons she had dropped in her hurry. And once she had collected those, she climbed atop the fallen beast to wrench her knives from its leathery flesh. 

“Owwww. Sakuraaaa. Fix me!” Naruto whined, waving a hand in no particular direction. The front of his shirt was soaked dark red as his blood soaked through. It couldn’t have been anything too serious from the way he was both conscious and speaking. But Sakura still didn’t feel like risking it. 

“Do you want me to take you over there?” asked Kisame. 

Sakura glanced at him. She had forgotten that she was still flopped over Kisame’s shoulder. She noticed a faint scar running along the side of his neck, all the way from behind his ear, disappearing into his shirt. 

“Nah. This one’s verbal. I don’t have to touch him,” she replied.

Closing her eyes, Sakura muttered the healing prayer that she had learned many years ago. Green light encased her hand. As the divine energy flowed through her, the red streak on her hand shrunk and faded. And from on top of the melting ice, she heard Naruto inform her, “Thanks, Sakura! I’m good!”

Kisame looked from Sakura to Neji. He scratched his nose as he thought. And then he said, “You know, you guys can get down now.”

“Don’t feel like it,” Sakura responded. 

“Your shoulder is really comfortable,” Neji agreed. 

Glowering, Kisame shrugged and sent both of them tumbling into the sand. 

By the time they’d gathered their things (and Kakashi, for some reason, had harvested some of the dragon’s teeth of all things), it was time to start thinking about setting up camp. Kakashi started a fire while Asuma went to explore the dragon’s cave to see if they could take shelter inside. As Sasuke went looking for water, Sakura patted her bare wrist. She searched her pockets. 

“Ah, shit, I think I lost my holy symbol,” she announced. 

Naruto’s ears perked up. Throwing his head back, he cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Sasuke!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. 

Tenten snorted, hand on her hips. “Naruto, there’s no way he’ll hear you.” 

Ignoring her, Naruto tried again. Louder this time. “SASUKE!”

And then, there was a faint reply from far away. 

“What?!”

Kisame let out a snort. Neji shook his head in disbelief. 

“Sakura lost her holy symbol!”

There was a pause. And then Sasuke called, “Her what?”

Naruto wrinkled his nose. “Her necklace, stupid!”

There was an even longer pause. 

“Then find it, stupid!”

Naruto tilted his head to one side as he considered that. “Oh yeah.” And then he spun around once, staring at the sand surrounding them on all sides. 

“Where’d you last have your necklace thingy, Sakura? Sakura?”

Naruto turned back around to find Sakura squatting in the sand, her head in her hands. He rushed over to her. 

“Are you alright? Are you sick? Is it because you don’t have your god necklace?” babbled Naruto, shaking her shoulder. It took Sakura a long time to raise her head. And when she did, she was pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. 

“Naruto.”

“Yeah?”

“....If I knew where I had my symbol last, do you think it would still be lost?” she questioned slowly. Patiently. 

Naruto tilted his head to the other side, taking a long time to think. And then he looked at Sakura to shrug. “I don’t know. I’m not the one who lost it,” he answered. He looked bewildered as Kisame walked past to slap him a high five. Naruto’s confusion lasted for all of five seconds before he looked over and saw that Sakura was gone. He spotted her disappearing over a dune of sand, Tenten and Neji running not far behind her. 

“Hey! Wait up!” Naruto yelled. He grabbed the sleeve of Kisame’s tunic as he took off. 

“Why are you dragging me too?” demanded Kisame, scrambling to keep up with him. 

“It’s not fair if Sakura gets a buddy and I don’t. Duh,” Naruto answered before he continued on in his mad dash through the sand. Kisame toyed with the idea of gnawing his own arm off to escape before he sighed and decided to follow along. 

They scoured the sands for several minutes. It was easy to see where they’d been from the corpses of snakes littering their path. Some of them were missing. There were plenty of hungry scavengers in the desert who were probably glad for a free meal. Tenten kicked one of the snakes aside to check underneath.

“Dude, help me move this,” said Naruto, pointing at a giant boulder. Neji stared at him. 

“Why would it be under there?” demanded Neji. 

Naruto rubbed the side of his nose. “Dunno. Maybe it crawled under there? With god powers? Can it do that?”

Neji just continued staring at him. But Naruto started to really think now. 

“Hey, Sakura, can your holy thing move on its own? Is it, like, alive?” wondered Naruto. 

“I think Naruto’s saying something,” Tenten pointed out. Sakura straightened, dusting sand from her hands. 

“Just ignore him. He’ll stop eventually,” muttered Sakura in return. 

“Oh. There it is. Right by your foot,” Naruto pointed out a little while later. Sakura followed his finger. She squinted until she saw a little glint of gold next to Kisame’s boot.

For some reason, Kisame hesitated. His eyes darted from the gleaming symbol to Naruto. But when Sakura took a step forward, Kisame held out his hand to stop her.

“It’s alright. I got it,” Kisame assured her. He grabbed it and handed it over to her. Sakura accepted it with a smile. But as he turned away, he flexed his hand. Clenching and unclenching his fingers. Forehead wrinkling, Sakura began to wonder about it before she heard Naruto call her name.

“It’s gonna get dark. Let’s go back!” Naruto urged. 

Sakura hesitated for one last second. Feeling her stare, Kisame glanced over his shoulder at her. His eyes sharpened for a moment as he caught her gaze. Sakura didn’t look away as she thought. Slowly, she offered him a smile. 

“Let’s go, big guy,” she said. 

After a moment, Kisame smiled, too. “Sure, Doc,” he replied.

They turned around and headed back in the direction of their camp for the night.

[wolfkat]

R?

Im assuming this is about the 5 favorite songs starting with whatever letter thing, so here goes, in no particular order

Roaring 20s by panic! At the Disco

Rock god by Selena Gomez

Rap god by Eminem

Rx aka medicate by Theory of a Deadman

And

Red like roses from the Rwby ost

[bluboothalassophile]

Blu, I have had an though of what if Raven got taken in by John Constantine instead of the Teen Titans. Also I love your writing. It always brightens my day when I see you have posted. Oh, and all the spoiler shorts make me want the stories more. Thank you for all your writing. 💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️. (>0.0)>

Hello!

And I’m so happy to hear that! As to  your request, I like the way you think and I hope you enjoy the story!

Fathers…

John Constantine was many things, demon adopter was not onthe list as he stared down at a little demoness looking at him with wide,innocent, dark eyes and tangled black hair in the depths of Hell.

He had come here to kill this little menace.

Before the menace was a real threat.

He’d even come with the tools to do it and make it stick.But looking at this little girl, he couldn’t as he smoked his cigarette andthought his options through carefully. If he didn’t eliminate her then shewould grow and succumb to her father, and if her father was unleashed on theworld of the living. But if he did eliminate her, he would be killing a child,and Constantine didn’t kill children. He had one on his conscience and he didn’tneed another.

“Are you here to kill me?” the girl asked, a warm, sulfurscented breeze ruffled her hair.

The question knocked him back, it was like a punch to thegut, and he pulled the cigarette as he flicked it away. “What do you think I’mhere to do, love?”

“I think you don’t know.” she answered softly. “I’m notevil. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Constantine asked.

“I just wanted to meet my dad,” she whispered.

“Oh,” he sighed. “Come on kid.”

She looked up again and he scooped her up as he opened theportal and walked into the House of Mystery. He might come to regret this, buthe couldn’t leave the kid there to fend for herself.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” a scream had him bolting up in hisbed as he shoved Zed off him, grabbed pants and yanked open the door to seeRaven come barreling down the hall screaming as Deadman, Boston Brand and Chasran behind her.

In the four months since taking in the demon he had learnther name was Raven, not the Gem of Scath and calling her the Gem got himblasted. She was eager to learn, anything, she was so magically adept that he hadto start teaching her after she started figuring out how to read ruins. She wasalso more than willing to abide by his rules, and learning about morals andethics. She was Azarathian, her mother was Arella Roth. She was an empath. Shehad demon behaviors and characteristics which seemed to be a minor influence onher. Otherwise she seemed to be a normal human child, and after a nosey hag hadstarted sticking her nose into his business, he had simply adopted Raven. Evenfiling legal papers in England after forging her citizenship papers. Raven hadtaken rather quickly to calling him Dad and Daddy.

“What is it!?”

“Demon!” Raven launched herself at him, he caught her justas Etrigan rounded the corner with a roar.

“Oh Fuck!” Constantine slammed the door shut as he ranthrough a portal with Raven.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“You can’t be the real Devil,” Raven stated to the Devil’s face.Constantine blinked at this sight as his twelve year old sat in Lux withLucifer looking like a cat ate the canary with Raven, it was the only placeConstantine could think of with a female demon to explain puberty to Raven. Mazikeenwas here, and she was the only female demon he knew to be alive at this oldage.

“Constantine, she is just a darling little pet,” Luciferdeclared.

“Careful Lucifer, this is the Gem,” Mazikeen said walkingaround Raven.

“Nonsense, she’s my darling granddaughter, and I insist youbring her around more often,” Lucifer declared.

“Are you my daddy’s daddy?” Raven asked.

“Trigon’s creator,” Lucifer clarified.

“Oh, I never had a grandpa.”

“Fuck,” Constantine muttered. Mazikeen just looked vastlyamused.

“Then I’m your aunt Maze,” Maze decided.

Raven just nodded and smiled deviously, Constantine had afeeling that her enemies should be wary.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Ten years of having Raven as his daughter this was the firsttime he had left her behind on a job, it was for the best because he had kepthis daughter away from the Young Justice Team for this very reason.

“Constantine,” Fate greeted him.

“I heard you have a problem of Chaos,” Constantine saidlooking up at the screen past the League members.

“Our team is trapped in an energy field of some sort,”Batman said. Constantine’s eyes flicked up at the ruins dancing.

“You have fought something like this we were wondering ifyou could get around it, the children are trapped,” Diana stated.

“I never got around this,” Constantine admitted reluctantly.Flicking his cigarette away he exhaled as he stared at the screens.

“What do you mean?” Fate demanded, he could see Zatara inthere then, trying to break the surface of Nabu’s hold.

“I mean I have never gotten around this barrier, the onetime I did it was because of help I had.”

“Help from who!?” the League sputtered.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason covered Artemis as there were blasts at them from thatpsycho brat. Jason wanted to kill him.

“I can’t get close to him!” Zatanna shouted.

“Come out! Come out to play!” Klarion cackled.

“I’m going to kill him!” Jason snarled.

Then the shadows warped, she breezed by him. He stilled, theindifferent, pale, girl looked like she was more shadows than human and abouthis age. Her eyes were cold, dark, and she moved like a ballerina with thisfloating grace.

“Didn’t anyone tell you to pick on kids your own sizeKlarion?” she asked so coldly as a surge of power rippled in the dome they weretrapped in.

She was the prettiest woman Jason had ever seen, as hepeeked over the rock. She wore a black trench coat, black boots, jeans and aworn shirt for Deadpool; the drawing, and ‘Ouchie!’ written on the caption.Fuck she was sexy as she stood there.

“Well, they sent you to play with me, Gem,” Klarion cackled.

“Get out of here,” the girl ordered as a portal was tornopen.

“It can’t be,” Zatanna started.

“Don’t know about you, but we’re out of here!” Dick declared,and Jason shoved his teammates through the portal before running in himself. Lastwords he heard were:

“Show me what you got, you prat.”

~~~*~*~*~~~

“We are welcoming a new teammate, today,” Bruce stood therein the cowl beside a rumpled blond man who looked half put together smoking acigarette.

“Who?” Dick demanded. Jason had a guess.

“John Constantine’s adopted daughter, Raven,” Bruce continuedas if Dick hadn’t spoken.

Jason blinked when she walked out of the shadows again, herlong black hair pulled back in a ponytail, she wore a trench coat, and lookedmore put together than her father in jeans, boots, and a grey t-shirt then.

“Hello,” she said.

“You can’t be serious! She’s a demon!” Zatanna shouted.

“A demon who saved our asses!” Jason snapped as he walkedforward. “Robin.”

“Raven,” she answered taking his hand.

“You’re awesome, and thanks for kicking his ass.”

“No problem.” she smiled. He was gone. Sunk.

Jason was pretty sure he’d just found the love of his life.A dangerous little bird.

[ensemblewithsenpai]

Nov 23rd: DEADMANS’ ROCK ROAR music video music video has been released. Its Special beatmap will be added on Nov 24th at 3PM JST.

[krispyweiss]

Founding Motörhead Guitarist “Fast” Eddie Clarke Dead at 67

”Fast” Eddie Clarke, founding guitarist of Motörhead and the last surviving member of the band’s original lineup, died Wednesday, according to the trio’s Facebook page.

Clarke was 67 and had been hospitalized with pneumonia.

The post said those associated with Motörhead were “devastated” by the news.

”Edward Allan Clarke - or as we all know and love him Fast Eddie Clarke - passed away peacefully (Wednesday),“ it said. “Fast Eddie, keep roaring, rockin’ and rollin’ up there as, goddamit man, your Motörfamily would expect nothing less!!!”

Motörhead frontman Lemmy and original drummer “Philthy Animal” Phil Taylor died in 2015.

Longtime band drummer Mikkey Dee mourned “the last of the three amigos” on Facebook and noted he and Clarke “always hit it off great.”

”Now Lem and Philthy can jam with Eddie again, and if you listen carefully I’m sure you’ll hear them, so watch out,” Dee wrote. “My thoughts go out to Eddie’s family and close ones.“

”Heaven just got a lot louder,” Slash bassist Todd “Dammit” Kerns tweeted. “RIP Fast Eddie Clarke. Thanks for the music. They’re all gone now.”

Clarke was with Motörhead from its eponymous 1977 debut through 1982’s Iron Fist.

He then formed the metal band Fastway, which had a run through the early 1990s, and released a few solo albums, most recently 2014’s Make My Day – Back to Blues.

"Such a shock,” former Motörhead guitarist Phil Campbell wrote on Facebook. “(Clarke) will be remembered for his iconic riffs and was a true rock ‘n’ roller.”

The British rock biographer Mick Wall took to Facebook and lovingly called Clarke “49 percent motherfucker, 51 percent son of a bitch.”

On its Facebook page, Saxon called Clarke’s death “a big shock” and said, “we did not see this coming.

”We have great memories of our times with him,” the band wrote of their “good friend.”

Girlschool deemed itself “so devastated to have heard the terrible news” and offered condolences to Clarke’s family.

”Fast Eddie Clarke. R.I.P.,” Living Colour’s Vernon Reid tweeted as he quoted “Ace of Spades,” Motörhead’s most-famous track.

”The Deadman’s Hand Again…”

1/11/18

[oarfishfever]

QUAG DUMPS MUSIC MASTER POST 7

i had to sweep through all of these and fix a bunch of links. here’s a new this one’s a doozy because im lazy.

previous posts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 

Chet Baker - I’ve Never Been In Love Before [Jazz] Hiromi Mine - Akutagawa Ryuunosuke’s Kappa ~ Candid Friend [Touhou/Piano] Macross 82-99 - 葛城 ミサトYEBISU (YUNG BAE EDIT) [Future Funk] マクロスMACROSS 82-99 - NEW DAWN [Future Funk] architecture in tokyo - ヒスイ MARBLE (ft. ULTRA ウルトラ) [Future Funk] architecture in tokyo - CITY (ft. マクロスMACROSS 82-99) [Future Funk] Logic - Under Pressure [Hip-Hop] Perturbator - Meet Jimmy (ft. Le Cassette) [Synthwave] Ox - Soul [VGM/Hip-Hop] Masayoshi Furukawa & Apollon Quartet - But Not For Me [Anime/Jazz] Naofumi Hataya - Burning Depths [VGM] Grant Green - My One And Only Love [Jazz] Lupe Fiasco - Mural [Hip-Hop] Thin Lizzy - The Boys Are Back In Town [Rock] BLΛNK BΛNSΗΣΣ - Eco Zones [Vaportrap] SAINT PEPSI - Cherry Pepsi [Future Funk] Carpenter Brut - Roller Mobster [Synthwave] The Green Kingdom - Untitled [Ambient] Magna - Divide (Miami Edit) [Synthwave] El Huervo - Rust [Electro] Riyou Kinugasa, Takuya Kobayashi & Hiromi Mizutani - Life Is Beautiful [VGM] Obadiah Parker - Hey Ya [Cover/Acoustic] Shibayan ft. nachi - Turn Back Time [Electro] iamthekidyouknowwhatimean - Run [Electro] El Tigr3 - She Swallowed Burning Coals [Synthwave] M|O|O|N - Dust (Carpenter Brut Remix) [Synthwave] Towkio - Heaven Only Knows (ft. Chance the Rapper & Lido) [Hip-Hop] YUNG BAE - Honey [Future Funk] Harrison - Sure Ain’t News [Future Funk] マクロスMACROSS 82-99 - Fun Tonight [Future Funk] Flamingosis - Outside/Grounded [Beats] Rika Muranaka - The Best Is Yet To Come [VGM/Gaelic Folk] ❀ Harrison ❀ - Comfort Cruise [Future Funk] Stevie Wonder - Higher Ground [Soul] Vanilla - The Winter [Instrumental Hip-Hop] コンシャスTHOUGHTS - Take Control [Future Funk] DJ Okawari - Represent (ft. Chieko Kinbara) [Instrumental Hip-Hop] BLΛNK BΛNSΗΣΣ - Ammonia Clouds [Vaportrap] BLΛNK BΛNSΗΣΣ - Teen Pregnancy [Vaportrap] ❀ Harrison ❀ - Down, B, Up, B [Chiptune] LCD Soundsystem - Get Innocuous! [Dance-Punk] Flamingosis - Football Head [Beats] SAINT PEPSI/Skylar Spence - Fall Harder [Nu-Disco] Machinations - No Say In It [Disco] Tohru Minegishi, Shiho Fujii - Staff Roll [VGM] Al Stewart - Roads to Moscow [Folk] The Long Winters - The Commander Thinks Aloud [Indie Rock] Ray Bryant Trio - Misty [Jazz] 悲しい ANDROID - APARTMENT¶ - の主人公 Heartbeat Soap Opera 恋に落ちます [Future Funk] Dance With The Dead - Nightdrive [Synthwave] Perturbator - Humans Are Such Easy Prey [Synthwave] Perturbator - Perturbator’s Theme [Synthwave] Jan Hammer - Crockett’s Theme [New Wave] マクロスMACROSS 82-99 - Lynn Minmay [Future Funk] Pete Rock & C. L. Smooth - They Reminisce Over You [Hip-Hop] Jungle - Busy Earnin’ [Neo Soul] 猫 シ Corp - Ocean Beach Highschool Prom 1984 [Vaporwave] Nujabes - Voice of Autumn [Chillhop] Disconscious - Endless Escalation [Mallsoft] 死夢VANITY - kiosk centre [Mallsoft] B L U E - ☕ Coffee Break ☕ [Mallsoft] 식료품groceries - Interlude (Lost in the Freezer Section) [Mallsoft] B L U E - \ \ Visual \ \ / / Entropy / / [Mallsoft] Toby Fox - Nyeh Heh Heh!/Bonetrousle [VGM/Chiptune] Toby Fox - Spider Dance [VGM/Chiptune] The Specials - A Message To You, Rudy [Ska] Infinity Frequencies - Lotus Bloom [Vaporwave] Skylar Spence - Can’t You See [Nu Disco] Chance the Rapper ft. Saba - Angels [Hip-Hop] Soul Purpose - Survival [VGM/Hip-Hop] Flamingosis - G E T - L O W [Hip-Hop]* NOVA - Agua de Beber [Cover/Lounge] Thomas Happ - Trace Awakens [VGM/Synthwave] Boom Boom Satellites - Shut Up and Explode [J-Rock] Hideki Okugawa - Let’s Get It On [VGM/Hip-Hop] Run The Jewels - Lie, Cheat, Steal [Hip-Hop] ２８１４ -  恢复 [Vaporwave] Floème - Joanna [Instrumental Hip-Hop] Chet Baker - Let’s Get Lost [Jazz] Vince Guaraldi Trio - Christmas Time Is Here (Instrumental) [Jazz/Piano] Masato Nakamura - Star Light Zone [VGM] Meiko - Leave the Lights On (Silent Gloves remix) [Synthpop] Herb Alpert - The Midnight Tango [Jazz] Leslie Odom Jr, Daveed Diggs, Okieriete Onaodowan - Washington On Your Side [Hip-Hop/Musical] Carpenter Brut - The Good Old Call (ft. Franky Cadillac)  [Synthwave] Tame Impala - The Less I Know The Better [Synthpop] VHSテープリワインダー- showering together [Vaporwave] Infinity Frequencies - As Darkness Falls [Vaporwave] Skylar Spence - I Can’t Be Your Superman [Nu Disco] Masafumi Takada - Steel Python [VGM] Mitch Murder - Ocean Avenue [Synthwave] Run The Jewels - Run The Jewels [Hip-Hop] コンシャスTHOUGHTS X 悲しいANDROID - APARTMENT -『ダンス! ダンス!』 [Future Funk] ceruleancerise - cosmic space latte [Future Funk] C2C - Happy (ft. Derek Martin) [Electronic] DKO - School Pop Machine [Beats] Kamasi Washington - Miss Understanding [Jazz] Hiroshi Kawaguchi - Passing Breeze [VGM] Run The Jewels - Rubble Kings Theme (Dynamite) [Hip-Hop] Tsukasa Saitoh - The First Hunter [VGM] SAINT PEPSI - ENJOY YOURSELF [Vaporwave] Masahiro Aoki, Keiki Kobayashi - Theme of F.A.N.G. [VGM] The Seatbelts ft. Tim Jensen - Ask DNA [Anime/Jazz] The Seatbelts - What Planet Is This?! [Anime/Jazz] POCARI ステューシー  - Adorée [Vaporwave] Saint Pepsi - Better [Future Funk] 식료품groceries - s o f t drinks [Mallsoft] Televisor - The Pressure [Nu Disco] Disasterpeace - Vignette: Panacea [VGM] Disasterpeace - A Chorus of Tongues [VGM] L'indécis - Staying There [Triphop] Emapea - Smooth Walk [Triphop/Funk] Boho Fau & Elevated Soul - Really, Truly (INS) [Triphop/Instrumental] saib. - hawaiian flower. [Chillout/Tropical] Hiroki Morishita, Takeru Kanazaki, Yasuhisa Baba, Rei Kondoh, Masato Kouda - Road Taken (Roar) [VGM] Digital Voyager - Introducing Your New Spaces! [Vaporwave] ２８１４ - 悲哀 [Vaporwave] S U B W A Y S -  アイスクリーム [Future Funk] Disasterpeace - Cascades [VGM/Ambient] Perturbator (ft. Greta Link) - Venger [Synthwave] Takeshi Terauchi & His Blue Jeans - Diamond Head [J-Rock/Surf Rock] The Avalanches - Frankie Sinatra [Plunderphonics] Ryo Fukui - Early Summer [Jazz/Piano] Takuya Kuroda - Everybody Loves The Sunshine [Jazz] Daisuke Ishiwatari - Starry Story [VGM/Rock] Trevor Something - Summer Love [Retrowave] Ronnie Jones - Video Games [Disco] Masafumi Takada - When The May Rain Comes [VGM] Ryan Amon - Hail The Nightmare [VGM/Choir] tyDi - Die This Way (ft. The Ready Set) [EDM] Spyro Gyra - Morning Dance [Jazz Fusion] The Who - Eminence Front [Rock] Kraftwerk - Computer Love [Synthpop] DJ Shadow ft. Run The Jewels - Nobody Speak [Hip-Hop] Barns Courtney - Fire [Rock] BLΛNK BΛNSΗΣΣ - Dreamcast [Vaportrap] Terukazu Hiroki, Yumiko Hagiwara - Transvestite (Boutique) [VGM] DJ Okawari ft. Agehah - Chocolate [Chillhop] Waveshaper - Wisdom of Rage [VGM/Synthwave] Kn1ght - Something Memorable [VGM/Synthwave] Blazo - Essential Violet [Jazzhop] 死夢VANITY - moonlight  [Mallsoft] 死夢VANITY -  ガレリア [Mallsoft] milo - Going No Place (ft. Elucid) [Hip-Hop] Ashtar Command - Deadman’s Gun [VGM] LCD Soundsystem - you can’t hide/shame on you [Indie Rock/Live] Tatsuro Yamashita - Magic Ways [City Pop] Hiroshi Okubo - Disco Ball [VGM] Nujabes - Sea of Cloud [Chillhop] LCD Soundsystem - New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down [Indie Rock/Dance-Punk] Gorillaz (ft. DOOM) - November Has Come [Hip-Hop/Triphop] Shibayan -  躍る夜雀～Invitation to evening [Touhou/Electronic] Bill Evans Trio - Nardis [Jazz/Piano] Carl Norén - DonAcDum [VGM] Daisuke Ishiwatari - Jack-a-Dandy [VGM/Rock] Run The Jewels - Down (feat. Joi) [Hip-Hop] Mitch Murder - Breeze [Synthwave] マクロスMACROSS 82-99 -『82​.​99 AM』 [Future Funk] Masafumi Takada - Season of the Samurai [VGM] Rui Sato, Kokoro - No More No [VGM] MatrixMarioX - Oldies But Happiest [Mashup/VGM] Carl Norén - Bullet Rain [VGM] 

*the link is no longer available on SoundCloud; to keep the order correct, instead of deleting and remaking the post, i provided a youtube link to the song in the text of the post  

[herri-writes]

デッドマンズ (DEADMANS) - ROCK ROAR

[ensemblewithsenpai]

Nov 23rd: DEADMANS’ ROCK ROAR music video has been previewed. Its music video will be released at 6PM JST.