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#Post#: 1201--------------------------------------------------
Re: Endings and beginnings
DIR By: Inkglitched
Date: February 10, 2026, 1:22 pm
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The tension in the garage shifted like a storm cloud rolling in.
Asher moved first, stepping subtly between the door and the rest
of the group, his Alpha presence calm but commanding. His voice
was steady, edged with authority that even humans felt in their
bones.
“Mr. Ravencroft,” he said smoothly, “thank you for letting us
know. We’ll keep it down from here.”
No challenge, no sharpness—just a firm finality that left little
room for argument.
The older man’s scowl faltered for half a second before he
huffed, turning on his heel. “See that you do,” he snapped over
his shoulder before stalking off. The heavy thud of his boots
faded down the alleyway, leaving behind a vacuum of silence.
Adara’s brows furrowed as she glanced between the door and her
friends. “What the hell was that about?” she muttered, her
protective instincts kicking in.
Aiden crossed his arms, his sharp blue gaze narrowing as he
studied the now-closed door. There was something off about the
man—not just his attitude, but the way his presence seemed to
cling to the air even after he left. It prickled against Aiden’s
skin, stirring the faint trace of dragon magic he carried.
“Neighbor’s got a stick up his ass,” he said flatly, though his
tone carried an unspoken warning. “But maybe… we keep an eye
out. Just in case.”
Then, with a shift of his focus, Aiden glanced toward Nathan,
who was still holding his guitar.
“That song you played earlier?” he said, his voice more measured
now. “The lyrics were powerful—raw.” His head tilted slightly.
“If you drop the rhythm on the second verse just a half beat
earlier, it’ll hit even harder. Gives the words more room to
breathe.”
Meanwhile, Rave sat rigid on the couch, his breath coming fast
and uneven. The clash of Alpha dominance from Asher, Titania’s
quiet hum of magic, and the lingering edge of hostility from Mr.
Ravencroft pressed in on him, suffocating. His magic sparked
beneath his skin, dangerously close to flaring again.
This time the steady strong presence of Chuckles closeness,
helped Rave keep control of himself.
The effect was immediate. The storm inside Rave eased, the
oppressive weight fading like fog burned away by sunlight. The
blue glow beneath his skin flickered once and stilled.
Rave exhaled shakily, leaning subtly into the touch.
“...Thanks,” he whispered, his voice rough but sincere. "We can
get some air, and dinner," he added, his cheeks flushing.
Titania caught the moment, her sharp gaze flicking toward
Chuckles. There was curiosity there, a question she didn’t
voice. Instead, she reached to take Trip's hand in her own,
squeezing it gently.
Asher let out a breath, scanning the room. “That could’ve gone
worse,” he said, his voice steady but edged. “Next time, we get
ahead of these interruptions.”
Titania’s smile widened, calm and unbothered.
“I could help with that,” she offered, her tone deliberately
casual. “Some soundproofing. Subtle.”
Adara perked up instantly. “Oh, that would be amazing. We’ve
been talking about upgrading the walls forever, but the budget’s
been a nightmare.”
Titania only hummed softly, the sound like silk over steel. She
didn’t elaborate—not with Adara and Lucinda standing there,
blissfully unaware of the deeper truths swirling through the
room. But the promise lingered in the air, quiet and certain. It
was only a matter of time that they found out the truth. Though
she suspected Adara knew more than Lucinda did.
--Fin
Nathan blinked, still half lost in the echo of his song. The
tension in the garage had thickened, leaving a faint taste of
static in the air even after Ravencroft stormed off. His hand
hovered near the mic stand, fingertips brushing metal. It
grounded him—barely.
Aiden’s voice cut through.
> “If you drop the rhythm on the second verse just a half beat
earlier, it’ll hit even harder. Gives the words more room to
breathe.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up right away.
“Yeah,” he murmured, pen tapping against his thigh before
scribbling something in the small notebook he carried
everywhere. “Half beat earlier. Got it.”
He said it like a man taking a note he didn’t agree with but was
too tired to fight about. His tone wasn’t sharp—just dulled, the
edge hidden under quiet restraint. He flipped the notebook
closed, the snap of paper against paper louder than it should’ve
been.
“Appreciate the feedback,” he added after a moment, the words
neat but distant. His gaze drifted to the floorboards where his
final note had died, as if still hearing the echo of it there
instead of whatever critique had followed.
Across the room, Chuckles gave Rave’s shoulder a final,
grounding squeeze. The air had steadied, and with the storm in
Rave’s aura finally quieted, Chuckles’ role here was done—or
close enough.
“C’mon,” he said quietly, leaning down just enough for Rave to
hear. His voice rumbled low, warm with steady certainty. “Let’s
grab that air before the walls start humming again.”
He helped Rave to his feet without hurry, his touch never
patronizing—just there, sure as stone. The tension bled out of
Rave by degrees as Chuckles guided him toward the side door,
away from the cluttered garage and its watching eyes. Before
they stepped out, Chuckles glanced back once—at the others, at
Nathan still standing by the mic like a man balancing on the
edge of silence—and gave a short, respectful nod. Not
familiarity, just quiet acknowledgment.
Then the door opened, letting in the crisp night air and the
faint hum of city noise. Chuckles rested a hand lightly at
Rave’s back and steered him out into it, the heavy door swinging
shut behind them with a final, echoing click.
Nathan finally exhaled when they were gone. The faintest frown
tugged at his mouth as he thumbed the corner of his notebook,
smudging a line of ink.
“Half a beat,” he muttered under his breath. “Sure. Like
timing’s what broke it.”
He didn’t mean for anyone to hear it. He just stood there, still
as a held note, letting the room settle around him again before
the next song could begin.
—fin—
Lucinda lingered in the echo of tension as Asher smoothly
intercepted the man’s departure. His scowl, sharp under the dim
light, faded into the distance as he turned away, and she barely
tilted her head to watch him go. For an instant, her uncle’s
face caught the light—something like recognition sparking
there—and then he was gone.
A slow exhale left her chest, softening her jaw. The room seemed
to open up again, its edges no longer pressing in. Laughter and
murmurs resumed like a river finding its course, talk of
soundproofing and stage setups washing over her. She didn’t
quite register the quiet exit of Chuckles and Rave; her focus
drifted to the rhythm of the team in motion. Nathan, confident
and unbothered, fielded a stray critique with an ease that
surprised her—a sharp contrast to the version Donovan had
painted years ago. That lie, like so many others, crumbled
quietly in the back of her mind as she let herself settle,
finally, into the flow of the group.
She repeated the line in her head, almost tasting the sting of
it: “
*She’s just a friend, you said—hand in my face—turns out she was
there to stand in my place.*
Part of her wanted to speak up, to suggest how the music could
carry that ache better. She could already hear it in her mind:
the music fading out, only the drums pulsing steady like a
heartbeat, that one phrase landing like a realization before the
song swelled back in. But she hesitated, fingers fidgeting in
her lap. They were deep in their practice, and who was she to
interrupt? The words pressed at her lips, but she held them,
letting the thought echo quietly for herself alone.
Miran was the first to notice her expression, a face lost in
thought. Her fingers twitched in time with their song, as if she
were analyzing every note herself.
Alastor spoke up.”can we go through the middle line again befor
the whole thing? I did trip up some- the harmony didn’t feel
right.” He said.
—fin—
Asher was still leaned against the wall, arms crossed, when
Nathan muttered his quiet jab about timing. He caught it, of
course—he always did—but didn’t press. Instead, he tilted his
head toward Aiden, breaking the tension before it could stretch
too thin.
“Not bad advice,” Asher said, his tone steady but careful. “But
don’t lose what’s raw in it. The break isn’t in the rhythm—it’s
in the breath between words.”
Aiden glanced up from where he was retuning, his mouth quirking
into something between agreement and amusement. “Fair. Still,”
he said, fingers sliding deftly along the strings, “you hit that
breath too hard, and it drags. Keep it bleeding into the next
line—you’ll keep the edge without losing the pulse.”
The exchange was brief, light—an easy rhythm between two men
who’d done this a hundred times before. Then Aiden nodded toward
Alastor, rolling one shoulder lazily. “Yeah, let’s hit the
middle line again. I felt the drag too. If we clean that
transition, the harmony will lock in better.”
Across the room, Titania’s gaze drifted toward the door where
Chuckles and Rave had disappeared. A soft, knowing smile curved
her lips as she leaned closer to Trip, her hand brushing his
arm.
“They’re rather cute, aren’t they?” she murmured, voice low and
warm. “The way he steadies him—it’s sweet. Like earth meeting
lightning.”
-------
Outside, the air was cool and sharp with city wind. Rave
exhaled, the tension in his shoulders finally easing under the
weight of Chuckles’ steady presence.
“Sorry,” he said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“It’s not… them. It’s just—too much at once. The noise, the
magic, the scent of it all.” He hesitated, glancing down at the
ground. “If I have time to prepare, ground myself, I’m fine. I
can control it. But walking into it cold like that…” His voice
trailed off, the admission small but honest.
Chuckles didn’t interrupt—just waited, his patience a kind of
calm gravity.
Rave finally lifted his gaze, meeting his eyes. “That’s why I
wear the mask sometimes. It helps. Keeps the magic from
sparking.” A faint tremor ran through his fingers as he rubbed
them together. “And—there’s this dark mage. Warlock. Been
hunting me for years. If he finds me, he’ll use my power to fuel
his own spells. So I move around. Change names. Faces.”
He laughed weakly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Stupid, right? Running never feels like enough.”
-----
Inside, Adara noticed the distant look on Lulu’s face—the way
her fingers curled against her leg, eyes still chasing the
echoes of the last song. Quietly, she moved closer, crouching
slightly to meet her gaze.
“Hey,” she said gently, laying a hand on Lulu’s leg. “You okay?
You looked miles away there.”
After a short beat, Adara smiled softly and held out her hand to
Lucinda.
“Come on. Let’s get out for a bit. We can grab drinks, maybe
some food for the break. I’m sure they’ll work out what they
need while we’re gone.” Her tone turned lighter, teasing. “And
if it’s too noisy here, I can call the bar I waitress at—see if
you can practice there. It’s quieter, got decent acoustics, and
nobody’s going to barge in mid-song.”
She offered her hand, her warmth and calm a quiet promise that
the world could slow down for a while.
_Fin_
Nathan stayed where he was long after the others began talking
again. The rhythm of their voices filled the space—threads of
sound weaving over the static hum that still clung to the amps.
He flexed his hand once at his side, the ghost of vibration
still tingling in his fingertips.
He should’ve written something down. Adjusted a line, marked a
note. Instead, he just stared at the scrawl already there on the
page, the half-finished lyric looping back on itself until it
blurred.
> Half a beat earlier.
Breathe between words.
He could still hear them saying it, Aiden and Asher—both right,
both missing the thing clawing just under his ribs. Timing
wasn’t what cracked it. It was trust. The way a voice faltered
when it didn’t believe its own words anymore.
He let out a slow breath, thumb tapping the edge of the notebook
before slipping it into his back pocket. Around him, the others
were already moving—Alastor testing harmonies, Trip laughing at
something Titania murmured, Lucinda standing with Adara by the
door. Normal again. Like the air hadn’t just been thick enough
to drown in.
Nathan finally stepped away from the mic stand. “Run it once
more without me,” he said quietly, not quite looking at anyone.
“I just need a minute.”
He didn’t wait for a reply—just crossed the room toward the far
wall where the garage light cut into shadow. His hands found the
strings of an unplugged guitar leaning there, and he started to
pick through the melody on his own. Softer this time. Less for
them, more to find where the truth of it had gone.
-fin-
Alastor gave a quick nod, fingers already finding their place on
the strings again. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said, voice low
but certain. “Let’s run it once more, Miran—just the middle.”
Miran shifted closer, matching his chord. Their voices lifted in
sync, weaving through the rough patch Nathan had pointed out. It
wasn’t perfect—there was still a tremor in the blend—but this
time the harmony met in the center, balanced, like two lines
finally remembering they were part of the same song. Alastor
gave a small grin when they hit the end. “There. That’s the
groove. Feels right now, yeah?” he murmured, glancing at Miran
for confirmation before settling back into rhythm, ready for the
next cue.
Across the room, Lucinda hummed a soft “mm-hm” at Adara’s gentle
offer, her agreement light but distracted. She turned toward the
door, hand just brushing the frame before she hesitated. Her
gaze caught on Nathan, half-shadowed under the garage light,
head bent over his guitar.
The quiet between his notes drew her in more than the melody
itself. She took a few steps back toward him—enough that her
voice wouldn’t cut across the others’ rhythm. “It’s just a
suggestion- use it or not- it’s your call.,” she said softly,
the edges of her words tentative but sure. “That line—*‘hand in
my face’*—try cutting the beat at the end. Like it hits you
right then. *’Turns out she was there to stand in my
place..’*Let your voice carry it for a breath before the music
comes back in. Might bring in more impact.” She said softly. Her
eyes lingered a moment, searching his face for understanding.
“It’ll feel more like a realization than a break,” she added.
>>>>
Stepping out into the open air, Lucinda drew in a deep breath,
the cool night brushing against her skin like a quiet release.
The hum of guitars and voices inside the garage faded to a muted
thrum behind her, replaced by the soft chirr of crickets and the
faint buzz of a streetlamp flickering down the road. For a
moment, she just stood there beside Adara, the two of them
wrapped in the kind of stillness that only followed hours of
sound.
Her eyes swept the yard, searching for only one thing—her uncle.
She wasn’t planning to leave, but she knew his patterns like the
back of her hand. And there he was, slouched on the porch, a
bottle tilted in his grip. He drank as if the amber liquid were
nothing but water, his third bottle nearly empty, his gaze
drifting and unfocused against the fading light.
She took Adara’s hand and led her to the porch of her brother’s
house to sit down. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her shorts
as she hesitated, quietly debating with herself.
“Alright,” she finally said, letting out a slow breath. “Truth
time.”
She paused before speaking again. “That neighbor… he’s family,
or at least he was. Now he’s more like dead to me.” Her voice
was honest, a hint of pain beneath the words. “And I have no
clue how long he’s lived here or how often he’s complained—but
from what I remember he has a long history of causing problems
with musicians in general.”
She paused.
“He complains at first- but he can escalate.. he will try to
break a few instruments or the amp- seen him do it to a teen on
our old street growing up.” She said. “Who knows- maybe he
actually wised up - I hadn’t seen him since I took off at 18.. -
but if anything it’s just a mild warning.” She said honestly.
—fin—
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