Name: Five Nights At Freddy's Type Beat | ...hide & seek | @JayJBeats by whotfsjayjbeats in Best 7
Duration: 2 min 16 s
Description: Another to add to the plate. FNAF is an intriguing art style and I won't stop here! Lemme know what you guys think!

@day_dream_muzic: I was mad making this. You're the only one that knows why.

This still hard af think I'm inspired bro

911 jayj murdered this beat ! send an ambulance

Best 7

THELEGEND

Just imagine coming in the forest and you heard this beat 

Forest of Myth

Stellar

Final Fantasy 14's new main story update (6.2) releases soon which also includes content of their version of "Minecraftharvestmoonisland". I'm generally not interested in the housing type content, but lets see how it's implemented lol.

Related Series: FFXIV: Endwalker (Final Fantasy XIV)

SOUNDCLOUD: https://soundcloud.com/azurenova
YOUTUBE: https://www.youtube.com/c/AzureNova/featured
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/AzureNovaOST
BANDCAMP: https://azureillustrations.bandcamp.com/
SPOTIFY: https://open.spotify.com/artist/6XE1u9JzunfVGSNr5wkW1c

#ffxiv #endwalker #finalfantasy

Sophia (Primal Island Remix) (Part 1) Please Be Excited

JR's

Spacing OutOriginal (Hip Hop Beat 3.0)Madara Marc Exclusive X Kanji Kobayashi (2016)

a track inspired by kingdom hearts 
2nd beat of 2023

S.O.R.A

London, 1782. The streets swelled with rain like veins brimming too close to the skin. A storm dragged its heavy cloak across the city, rattling shutters, drowning alleys, and turning the cobbled lanes of Bishopsgate into black mirrors. By candlelight and guttering lantern, the city’s wealthy fastened their doors against the night. They were accustomed to thieves, footpads, and cutpurses, but what weighed upon them now was different. It was heavier, a dread that had no coin purse or purse string to cut.

That morning, before the storm, the first key had appeared. A long iron shaft, pitted with age, dangled from a black thread tied in a meticulous knot upon the door of the shipping magnate Lord Ephraim Colgrave. By noon, word had spread. Keys had been found on the thresholds of others as well: a banker in Cheapside, a judge’s clerk in Temple, and a charitable priest whose benevolence carried the stink of unpaid rents and purchased absolution. Each key was marked with a sigil, faint and sharp, as if carved by a hand both ancient and impatient.

Servants whispered of a shadow moving between the rain, of a figure vast as a rampart whose presence bent gutters and chimneys. When asked what face they saw, they fell quiet. It was as if the word itself could not be brought to lips.

By dusk, Lord Colgrave had dismissed the rumors. His counting-house was a fortress of oak and iron, his ledgers stacked in neat towers, his guard a veteran of His Majesty’s navy. “Superstitious rot,” he called it, brandy warming his belly. The storm grew meaner. At the witching hour, the watchman swore the rain ceased in a single circle around the door, like a stage cleared for an audience unseen. He raised his lantern. The wick dimmed, as though ashamed.

Inside, Colgrave’s pen scratched across parchment. He revised his accounts, striking out columns of losses and transmuting debt into profit with a confident flourish. Yet the ink blurred, spreading like spilled silt. He cursed, leaned close, and found the grain of the page wet. The water was thick, dark, and smelled of river rot. His hand trembled.

From the shadows between rafters, something shifted. The watchman outside later insisted the ceiling bowed as though under great weight. Colgrave turned, his quill snapping. The air grew heavy, not thick with smoke but with a silence deeper than thunder.

The watchman’s shout went unanswered. He forced the door, lantern in hand. Inside, he found his master seated upright, spine unnaturally aligned, head tilted back as though in study. The man’s mouth was filled with Thames silt, packed as tightly as mortar between bricks. His eyes were wide, glassy, staring at the ledgers which now lay soaked, ink dissolved into black pools that mirrored nothing.

In the margins, written not in ink but in a residue like ash dissolved in rain, was a single word: Grathok.

By dawn, the tale had spread across the coffee houses and taverns. It was spoken by printers’ apprentices and drunkards alike. Some claimed Grathok was a hired blade, a mercenary turned specter. Others swore he was a revenant risen from the gutters, vengeance given form. A beggar at Moorfields swore he had seen him crouched atop Ludgate, armor gleaming like wet stone, sword angled like a lightning rod to the heavens. A washerwoman muttered that he was no man at all, but the city’s own conscience, risen from filth to collect its debts.

No one agreed except on one point. With the keys came death, and with death came a silence that even thunder dared not disturb.

That day, as the rain still clung to the eaves, men of standing checked their doors twice. Some hired more guards. Others prayed. But all watched the dripping thresholds, waiting to see if a black thread and iron weight would hang upon their own.


And beneath the storm, Grathok walked unseen, his mission beginning.

Chapter I: The Rain of Keys

1st beat with @crucifymordy

1:13 solo

2:08 with numb (@actixns)

2:58 with numb (@actixns)

4:00 solo

4:51 with numb (@actixns)

@rideneverfail

@sbjrdn clips ft. mordy & numb

...COMING SOON
Hook
Burn the crown, don’t bow down,
Tear the tyrant’s temple down,
Every voice becomes the sound,
Freedom’s fire is battleground.

Verse 1
Built from the rubble, I rumble with iron lungs,
Every syllable’s a bullet, every beat is a gun,
They legislate hate, then parade it as law,
But the mask always cracks when the people see raw,
I’m the fracture in the marble, crack in the seal,
Truth bleeds through the lies they can’t conceal,
From the factory floor to the alley at night,
We forge revolution in the sparks of the fight.

Hook
Burn the crown, don’t bow down,
Tear the tyrant’s temple down,
Every voice becomes the sound,
Freedom’s fire is battleground.

Verse 2
They monetize fear, disguise it as order,
Draw red lines, then profit off borders,
But I cross every line with a pen like a blade,
Every rhyme is a riot, every song’s an arcade,
You can’t pacify rage when the masses awake,
You can’t silence the storm when the levees all break,
So I lace up my lines like boots in the street,
Every verse is resistance, every bar is concrete.

Hook (Reprise)
Burn the crown, don’t bow down,
Tear the tyrant’s temple down,
Every voice becomes the sound,
Freedom’s fire is battleground.

Bridge
Wake up, no waiting, the system is breaking,
The power we’re taking, no time for debating,
No kings, no cages, no thrones to defend,
If justice is silence, then silence must end.

Tag (End)
Crown in ashes.
People rise.

BURN THE CROWN

Check out the bro! Huge inspiration to me! 

https://soundcloud.com/jayjbeatsofficial

Pokemon Remix, Under Lavender Town - Tanji Kobayashi (JayJBeats Type Beat)

abyss is out now!

http://twitter.com/whxtekatana

DOWNLOAD

ETHEREAL

Sorry the mix is SUPER rough. I finished it a while ago and just now decided to upload it. The project is way too laggy to go back and fix. Enjoy.

Champion | @LouisPierreProd

MUD | Inspired by VI Seconds | @RealDealRaisi_K

Another to add to the plate. FNAF is an intriguing art style and I won't stop here! Lemme know what you guys think!

Five Nights At Freddy's Type Beat | ...hide & seek | @JayJBeats

... i make music that's different and aesthetically pleasing to the eardrums. 
  please like, comment, and follow me. i am experimenting styles right now but 
   always staying true to the ocean. #OceanLife. website coming soon... merch 
    coming soon... stay tuned lol XD

                                            #Bropocalypse #OND #LGR

For anyone tryna hit me up for quicker response, just hit my 

instagram : @whotfsjayjbeats

Five Nights At Freddy's Type Beat | ...hide & seek | @JayJBeats

whotfsjayjbeats

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