Here's part 2, as promised! Sorry for the repeat in some characters. Which mostly means sorry for so much Aspen. I find in this context, he's easier to resort to because he's often the perpetrator or recipient of all the categories.

I currently have a paper due in a day and a half on social criticism displayed in 90s Japanese neo-noir films as a response to WWII tensions with Taiwan (what even is that prompt?), but this takes priority ahaha.

Not as happy with this one, but I'm glad I got it done hahaha. Also for some reason, I found myself really going in and out of present tense within the sections so I really hope these all have tense-continuity within the sections and don't randomly switch from past to present from sentence to sentence. Don't know why my brain was being weird hahaha.

Mania (Obsessive)

Savannah can feel eyes on her through the Clave meeting. The gaze is hard to ignore, but she does so anyway, making sure to take the hand of her current boyfriend and exchange a few pleasantries. A tease for what may come later, just to keep him patient and happy. She never misses a thing, though, and the stare begins to annoy her. It's bait, she's sure, and she doesn't understand how anyone can think her own tricks can work against her. If someone is waiting for her to indulge them, then she will endeavor to drag it out and leave them wanton.

When the meeting ends, she excuses herself from the Gard, making her way through the people until she is ahead of the crowd. Usually, she would stay behind to socialize, but she has other things on her mind. If there is anything she has learned, it's that all minor issues must be resolved before they become fully-fledged dilemmas. How embarrassing it would be for her to have to deal with everyone's petty problems.

"Savannah."

She feels a hand grab her wrist and she doesn't pull away too quickly, as if reacting in such a way would make it seem like she was too on-edge. Instead, she seems unbothered as she looks back and slowly slips her hand from the Shadowhunter's grasp, meeting his eyes with a brisk look. It is tiring to be so calculated all the time, but she's become good enough at it where it starts to feel like a trait that she's had all along.

"Oh? What's the matter?" Her words are purposefully condescending, but nice enough to be disguised as otherwise, and the Shadowhunter takes another threatening step towards her.

"So that's it? You leave me and immediately get with someone else?" He watches her in disgust, a growing indignance in his expression. "Was I not good enough for you? Or do you just like to be a tease and then leave people for no good reason?"

There's no upside to becoming angry at him in front of others that are passing by, their conversation still inconspicuous enough that no one pays them any mind. "You're going to make a fool out of yourself behaving like this. It's a breakup," she replies evenly, looking unbothered. "We were never going to work."

"It's humiliating. Haven't you ever thought about what I want?" Reaching for her again, he grabs her hand. "I told my parents I was going to marry you. It can still work out, if you just take me back, and I'll forgive you if you do. I can give you more than any other guy ever can, Savannah. Don't be an idiot."

She can see her current boyfriend coming down the steps, she slowly withdraws her hand from his grip for the second time. "We all have to move on sometime. I suggest you do the same."

With a sharp sigh, he takes a step back. "You bitch-"

"And you wonder why we never would have worked out. Now, if you'll excuse me," she says coolly and her eyes never give away her annoyance. When she meets up with her current boyfriend, she assures him that there's no trouble. It's only a minor inconvenience, and she'll deal with them as they come.

Eros (Passionate)

Reclining on Lily's bed, Blake flipped through the pages of a book in interest. It was strange to him that Shadowhunters had a book that guided them on life. That there might be a recorded history they all learned that was encompassed in some vade mecum called the Codex. Most faeries learned by word of mouth, and while it was not the most reliable way to gather information, that was how they had always done it.

He'd learned English from a young age and had spoken it fluently in the Unseelie, as had most, but the script was not something he was not raised to be entirely familiar with. Writing and reading had never been particularly important there where most communication was spoken and he had no dealings outside the Courts, and he only utilized forms of Sylvan script when needing to do so. It was more proper, at times, and he preferred his faerie roots than so easily adopting the writing system of mundanes.

Now, the words in Lily's books had grown simple to him, finding they were less intricate than the sprawling script of fae languages. They were simple and blunt, taking little time to master and memorize even despite their tendency to stray from phonetic rules.

Lily came back late, dressed nicely in her white attire. It was a funeral of a relative she refused to specify, not that she ever spoke of family, and Blake wasn't entirely sure how to deal with the complexities of empathizing for her. She wasn't the type of mourn openly, though he hadn't been sure how close she and the deceased had been, and he'd never been good at reassuring others about emotional subjects. They were at a standstill, it seemed, and he just watched her as she entered the room, the dress rustling against the floor.

"Untie the back, will you?" she asked, though it sounded more like an order. He didn't argue, setting the book down on her nightstand and moving over to her. She brushed her hair over her shoulder so he could have access to the laces, and he worked at undoing them, loosening the chiffon that held her dress up. There were marks on her back from faded runes, permanent ones, and light scars from various run-ins with demons, but he said nothing on the matter.

"How was it?" English wasn't easy to sound delicate in, and while he didn't usually strive to sound delicate, he wouldn't have minded the ability to soften his words. "The funeral."

She shrugged and started pulling her dress off, slipping her arms from it and letting it fall to the floor before she stepped out of it. "Not any more exciting than-..." her eyes flickered to the book he'd set down when she'd first come in "-reading the Codex."

A little awkwardly, he swallowed, not knowing what to say about her situation. He was used to banter and her teasing, so him having to prolong a conversation was not something he was at all familiar with. It didn't matter anyway because she was suddenly reaching for him, a hand against his cheek as she started to kiss him. She felt sad in his arms. He wasn't sure exactly how to describe it, but there was something different about the way she held herself, not that she would ever want to admit to it. But kissing her was nice and she only addressed him with murmurs of encouragement and her nails on his scalp. That was enough to make his breath hitch, as if he'd never get quite enough used to her for her gestures to go by unnoticed.

When she pulled away, it was only to take his hand and tug him to the bed. He obliged easily. Although it was strange to think about, he'd almost gotten comfortable with her advances, letting her push him back into the comforter. She sat over him, kneeling over his hips, and watched him closely, her fingers smoothing out his shirt before she leaned down to kiss him again.

He liked the feeling of her waist in his hands, her skin warm and presence inviting. But she still felt sad, and even though he desperately wanted to grasp at her and pull her closer to obtain whatever contact he was starving for, he was slow and undemanding.

A long moment passed by before she stilled and curled down into him, her forehead pressed into his chest. Her shoulders shook and he laid there with some timid confusion until it became more apparent that she was crying. It was territory that he hadn't yet learned how to deal with. A language of shared sadness he couldn't yet voice. Gently, he shifted her so she was laying on the bed, rolling over on his side so he could curl an arm over her. He had nothing to say, but he hoped the gesture was enough. It was rare that he felt like anything he did was enough, but she didn't make any snide comments or push him away. She just curled her hand around his and kept her silence.

Philautia (Self)

The murder of his father is still fresh in Caspian's mind, and it isn't easy to quiet his guilt.

"You still don't understand what the Unseelie is like," he mutters after a frustrating conversation and tries to remember that it's not Aspen he's angry with. "What importance honor and family have within that faction."

Aspen is drowsy, but listens to his words anyway, shifting in the sheets where they lay. "There's nothing that can be done about it now, Cas. Don't beat yourself up for it and go to sleep."

But Caspian has always been stubborn and quick to lay blame, knowing he cannot forgive himself so easily. He tries to control his breathing and quell his anger, but he has worked on quelling it for so long that now it threatens to spill in his panic. "So that's it? I just forget about it and move on?"

"That isn't what I'm saying-"

He laughs humorlessly, staring up at the ceiling. "Back in the Unseelie, I just wanted to make my parents proud and have some...shred of respect. Instead, I have lost my wings and committed patricide and made a fool out of my blood," he says bitterly, looking troubled and regretful. The past is not easy to ignore. "I could not even give them an heir. A faerie doesn't get brought more low than this."

His hand is knotted in the sheets, he realizes, and he releases them slowly, finding that shame has made his tongue reckless and his frustration tangible. But Aspen just brushes a hand against his shoulder, too sleepy to indulge him in his temper. The air hangs heavy with his guilt, and he feels worse for having forced the burden onto him, even if he's carried Aspen's burdens many times. It scares him to think that they cannot find stability without each other.

"If I could have just been more careful-"

"Cas."

He swallows forcefully. "What?"

"You aren't low to me," Aspen sighs, finding Caspian's hand under the sheets to hold it. "You are too hard on yourself and it's just bad luck that you've been given this fate."

It isn't enough to completely eliminate the nagging self-loathing that he feels within his thoughts, but he makes an honest effort to block them out. His back twinges and he readjusts to make himself more comfortable.

"I think you spend too much time hating what you've done with your own life, and not enough time remembering what you've done for me," he continues tiredly, pressing his lips lightly to his shoulder. "And the Hunt. But mostly for me, even when I don't deserve it. Don't insult me by bringing yourself low."

While he still looks troubled, he tightens his grip on Aspen's hand, reassured by his presence even if he cannot take all of his words to heart just at the moment. If he says anything in response, he's worried about it sounding stupid or transient, knowing Aspen has never quite understood the values of the Unseelie. It isn't something he wants to fight about, and while he does not think he can get much sleep, he is hesitant to trouble them both about matters he knows he will not forgive himself about anytime soon.

"Let's go to sleep," Caspian says, resigned, and while he can't bring himself to believe all of the words that he has been told, he still hopes they are partially true.

Ludus (Uncommitted)

There's little reason Jai should be seriously annoyed with the prospect of Aspen visiting Finn, but it's a thought that still plagues him. Though he is not a particularly jealous or temperamental person, he still has to remind himself that Finn lives with him and cares for his company, and the presence of a Hunt faerie for a night every couple months is nothing serious. But it's still...disappointing each time that Finn continues to flirt and please, as if he has forgotten about the hostility he's encountered in the past.

Jai is cleaning a mug that has been forgotten on the counter a day too long for his liking, mindlessly running a soapy sponge across the outside where water spots have dried and stained it. It's partially a distraction from the sounds of conversation coming from the living room. Every time he turns the water on, it muffles Aspen's voice just a little. He wonders if he knows how obnoxious his words sound.

"You don't have to do the chores, Jai," Finn calls suddenly, watching from the couch. "I can do it tomorrow."

"Let him busy himself." This time, it's Aspen that speaks, his fingers playing with Finn's hair. "He's never liked me anyway."

Without risking indulging Aspen's ego or making Finn feel badly for the company he keeps - that is a delicate line to balance on - Jai just goes back to wiping the mug off. "I don't mind doing the chores. Don't worry about it." He looks directly at Finn when he talks, keeping his tone even. There are always customers at his job that seek to make him annoyed, but he's gotten better at tuning them out and staying polite. Not that that's what Aspen deserves.

"You know what, come on, Jai. We could do with another person to converse with," Aspen says in a sudden change of mind, looking him up and down discreetly, as if sizing him up. As if he is...threatened by him? "Besides, it'd make Finn happy."

"You don't need to speak for him." Jai's gaze remains focused on Finn, imploring him silently, but he doesn't seem to notice. He considers it selfish on his part to seriously warn him off the reckless Hunt faerie anyway, as if he'd be stepping into territory that isn't his to trespass into when it comes to Finn's life. He doesn't want to risk seeming envious either. Not when he is the plain one in the room with his brown hair and brown eyes; how could he compete with Finn's wit and energy, or a pair of wings that shine brilliantly in the light, reminding him of the inferiority of his blood? The Towns do that enough already, with their judgemental stares.

But Aspen doesn't appear satisfied with the end of the conversation, his hand moving from Finn's hair to his wrist to bracelet his fingers around it. "Do you want a kiss? Maybe that'll make you feel better."

"Don't be mean, Aspen," Finn says, but doesn't seem to recognize the challenge in his words. "And to think you'd offer him a kiss before offering me one. I'm the one that's really sticking my neck out for you."

"It's fine, Finn. Do what you two like. I have errands to run anyway," Jai remarks decidedly, taking the keys off the counter and a reusable bag from a table. The tightness in which he grips the key to the apartment is the only indication of the discomfort he feels, attempting to push it down and remind himself that it's nothing personal. Oh, but it is. He can hear Finn admonish them both playfully, but he's already crossing the room to the door.

When he spares a glance back, he can see Aspen's hand has tightened slightly on Finn's wrist, as if to keep him in place. Like he's worried about Finn choosing Jai over him. If he didn't dislike the Hunt faerie so much, he would have found the desperation in his expression a little pitiful, but he leaves the room without giving him another acknowledgement. He chooses to rely on time to smooth things out, and hopes it will not fail him once again.