Really wanted to write something, so here's a chapter based on the 8 Ancient Greek words for different types of love, because why not? Also because I've been playing a game set in Ancient Greece and so that's where I'm probably inspired from...
This is just part 1. I really REALLY promise there will be a part 2 soon because I'm about 1/2 done with it hahaha
Philia (Friendship)
Shadowhunters, of course, were not entirely naive of the modern world, but 19th century technology had always better suited them. Perhaps succumbing to cars, phones, and internet would make them closer with mundanes, and Raziel forbid they find any similarities in their existence. Runic magic had never fared well with technology anyway, so it was logical for those in Idris, who were surrounded by wards and runes, to mostly stick to more archaic methods of life.
Alicante had always struck Devi as some sort of modernized Grecian city, at least from what he'd read about Greece, which admittedly wasn't very much. Still, he had some sort of romantic idea of the city, despite its actual contents. It was easier to get lost in the sights as they used a carriage to enter the city from their manor in what he supposed some considered the countryside. If Shadowhunters had suddenly decided to only use cars, he guessed he'd make a lot less trips into Alicante, for there weren't any good asphalt roads where he lived nor would they have an easy time importing gasoline. Technology, as a whole, had always seemed a little useless to him.
"I hope it's not just weird, old people at the meeting today," Naya said suddenly, breaking his train of thought. "I spent extra time making sure I didn't look like I got a hot four hours of sleep last night."
He guessed one would say she was pretty, though he'd never really thought about it. In fact, he'd seen her so many times that her image had already been solidified in his mind and he sometimes thought he knew her image better than his own. That day, she looked pretty much the same, though he didn't say anything in response. He just leaned against the glass of the window, watching the grass hills eventually shift into gates, buildings, and large constructions of ponds in the middle of the city.
"I can tell when you're in a weird mood," she sighed, raising an eyebrow at him. "I know you like the back of my hand."
Questioningly, he sat up straighter. "That saying doesn't make sense."
"You know what I mean, though."
"Oh?" He reached out to grab her hand, taking it in his before clasping his other hand on top of it, watching her expectantly. "And what does the back of your hand look like?"
She stared at him for a moment, almost looking a little annoyed before she gave a slightly exaggerated look of exasperation at him and his nagging, finding that she would play into his insistence if it'd make him lighten up a little. "You know. Hand-y. Rune marks and all that good stuff."
Looking a little unimpressed, he frowned. "You have a freckle right below the knuckle of your ring finger," he stated, finally released her hand from his own and drawing back. Adjusting her bangles back to her wrist when they'd slid up slightly, Naya stretched out her arm to look at her hand.
"Well, would you look at that? I do." She let her hand fall back in her lap, glancing over at him with just a small smile on her lips. "What was all that about, Dev? Trying to prove a point?"
"I don't know."
"Then what's the cause with your mood?"
Shaking his head, he found he really couldn't give a good answer, deciding to make one up. "I don't know. I guess I was just...thinking about this place. It all seems a little pretentious, doesn't it?"
She stared at him and rolled her eyes before looking outside of the window as well. While he wasn't sure she saw the same thing he did, he was just glad she didn't seem to want to interrogate him about his thoughts. "We're Shadowhunters that live in Idris, Dev. We're basically the definition of pretentious by default."
"Yeah. I guess you're right," he said in resignation, moving so he could rest his head lightly against her shoulder. She shifted to accommodate, used to the arrangement. "You also have a tiny scar on your thumb from that time I accidentally nicked you with the knife, by the way."
"Stop focusing the the city and my hand and just go to sleep," she laughed, hitting his leg lightly. "At this rate, you'll be lucky if I wake you up when we do arrive."
Storge (Familial)
The house is wide and drafty, unconventional of living spaces in Japan, but not so uncommon in the rural expanses of Hokkaido. It's old, and the tatami mats that line the rooms are frayed in certain spots. The shoji screens are weathered, spots of blood against some of the paper. Some other warlock child, unrelated and younger, lies asleep on a mattress nearby, curled goat horns protruding from her black hair.
A door clicks open from a few rooms away and familiar footsteps grow closer. A tall silhouette and a hand against the shoji screen. It pushes open and there is red smeared against the paper, seeping through the other side. The man looks into the room for a long moment before entering it, his gaze careful and purposeful, small flames dancing in his irises. There is blood against his mouth, against his clothes, and hair that isn't his under his fingernails. Those too are caked in red. He licks his lips and his eyes fall on the warlock that sits kneeling on the floor, a book in his hands and the sleeves of a robe pushed up his arms.
"Good hunting?" The question rolls of Luca's tongue and he watches his father cross the room like he has all the answers.
"Yes. Like always."
Luca waits a few seconds, his father's hand pulling open the shoji screen on the other side of the room to leave. "Will we train tomorrow? I think I have studied this spell enough."
He tries to hide the anticipation and the excitement in his voice, but it's still evident. There is little that can dull his fervor for such magic, having convinced himself that it is his greatest fate to live and die by it. His father stills and then looks over at him, nodding briefly.
"We'll see." A moment passes before his form collapses in on itself, a shadow dispersing against the tatami mats, gathering and thickening into an ambiguous four-legged creature that remains hidden in dark obscurity. Rot hangs in the air, fire gathering at the paws of the demon that has appeared, though it only singes the mats and never burns them entirely. From within its form, a low growl escapes it and it slinks away, leaving a heavy trail of black smoke. It doesn't linger for long and a phantom breeze clears it.
Agape (Universal/Infinite)
Kellan has always been connected to nature, but there is something intimate and sacred about the land within the Seelie narrative.
One day, Ethos offers to take him to the cliffs, giving him a chance to see a ripple of magic foretold in the prophecies of the ley lines. It's close enough to walk, but it still feels like they've crossed an ocean by the time they get to the location they've been heading towards.
"It is not easy to see through the glamour of the Faerie," Ethos warns him as he sits at the edge of a cliff, looking out into the steep forest that lies at the ground. "She can be stubborn."
"I'll try my best, then," Kellan promises, sitting beside him. He isn't sure what to look for, but he doesn't want Ethos to think he brought him out there for nothing. But Ethos' eyes are shining and his lips are slightly parted as he waits, a corporeal passion that is rare in his expression. There is always kindness in his eyes and sometimes a joy in his tone, but now there's a passion and an excitement that is rare to see. His fingers smooth his cloak before his hand brushes the grass and presses his palm into it. It's an impatient gesture, Kellan realizes, but it's a loving one nonetheless.
A flock of birds soars between the cliffs, their feathers ruffled and spread as they catch the wind. It draws Kellan's eyes down into the ravine.
The ground shifts like so many pinwheels, grass folding into stretches of ocean and trees curling into steep rocks. The hills become a wave of deep ocean, crashing against the face of the cliff before dispersing into white foam, as deep and dark as the unknown of the Faerie. A quiver shakes the ground and Ethos raises a hand to ensure that Kellan doesn't move, but also to assure him that everything is alright. That despite the chaos and utter destruction that has swallowed the forests of the ravine, they will survive untouched and unmarked. Groaning, the Faerie shifts and contorts. Elk are engulfed in the sea and the high songs of whales pierce the air.
Kellan wants to reach over and take his hand, but doesn't want to spoil this lovely, unearthly moment with his mortal and impulsive wants. That it might be something that shatters the surrealism of it all.
"Did you see it?" Ethos asks, finally ending the silence, though his gaze remains trained on the new sea.
"Yes," Kellan breathes, glancing over at him. "I think I do."
Pragma (Enduring)
Aspen isn't sure how or why he and Caspian are at the grassy edge of a lake, but he doesn't question it. He's laying on his side and Caspian's laying on his back so he can perfectly watch his profile as he speaks, talking about some Unseelie tradition that makes a minimal amount of sense. But Aspen listens anyway.
"I didn't think your old Court had all these rituals and so forth," he sighs, pulling up small blades of grass to keep his fingers busy. "It seemed more...cut and dry. Straightforward."
"They are. More so than the Seelie." A lingering hint of distaste colours Caspian's tone, rightfully so. "But they also have a number of beliefs, as do most faeries. Maybe except for you, if you weren't raised with that sort of thing."
It isn't something that Aspen considers often, mostly because he doesn't like to, but he does take a few moments to ponder. "There is so much magic here in the Faerie. I find it silly that other magic things wouldn't be true. Maybe there's a hell or something. Or a heaven. I mean, there's demons. They have to come from someplace monstrous. Thankfully we don't look monstrous."
Caspian rolls his eyes, but doesn't seem to poke much fun at his words. "If there's a hell, that's certainly where I'm going. I think, after what I've done, I certainly deserve to suffer."
"Then you had better prepare yourself for an eternity with me." That's his way of lightening the mood, and it seems to work well enough because he doesn't get a response for a long moment, so he just continues. "I have been fairly sinful if I do say so myself, anyway, and while neither of us plan on dying soon - I hope - I will not plan on repenting if we are on the path to the same place."
"Like I said. I deserve to suffer."
Cracking a smile, Aspen scrunches up his nose. "You scoundrel. Eternity in my presence is a very good deal. Even in some wretched hellscape."
"I have made a vow and I don't plan on going back on my word," Caspian says and though his tone is untroubled, it's still serious. "I wouldn't mind being stuck with you.
"I thought so." Aspen laughs, mixing with the sound of small, gentle waves lapping at the lake shore. There is too much he plans to do in life to be so concerned about whatever hell they might end up in together, and he reaches over to brush hair behind Caspian's ear.
He only grasps at soft sheets. There's a scent of bergamot that takes a long time to identify before a warlock woman stirs in the bed beside him. She's at least a century or two older than he is, not that he really cares. When she sits up, her fingers stroke his hair lovingly or possessively - he can't quite tell the difference - and he doesn't move.
"Go back to sleep," she croons, and he lies awake all night.