✷ HASAN KAPLAN“and still the flame does not go out”
( oktay çubuk | he him | homosexual | 30 | support )
divine parent: hestia
former occupation: restaurant owner and cook
hometown: new orleans, louisiana
current location: london, england
traits: kind, patient, optimistic, protective, emotional, and self sacrificing
( OKTAY CUBUK,HOMOSEXUAL, CIS MAN + HE/HIM, SUPPORT ) «—◦—→ well met, HASAN KAPLAN! the divine born child of HESTIA. your name sings in our ears! it’s been 30 years and now they have answered the song in their veins. before they answered the song, they were a RESTAURANT OWNER AND COOK and were living in NEW ORLEANS, LOUSIANA. history and myth will remember them for their KIND, PATIENT, AND OPTIMISTIC but will also magnify their PROTECTIVE, EMOTIONAL, AND SELF-SACRAFICING if it causes them to falter. now it is time for the world to sing their name with them.
Hasan Kaplan never expected his life to matter to myth. He was born in New Orleans to a middle-income household built on warmth, worn floors, and long-held family recipes that were sinfully addicting. The son of two schoolteachers who believed in working hard and showing up for people, Hasan grew up learning that healing didn’t always come with bandages. Sometimes it came with a hot meal and someone who listened. It's just as important to heal someone's soul as it is to heal their body.
When his grandfather passed, he left Hasan the keys to the small restaurant that had anchored their neighborhood for decades. Most saw it as a burden. Hasan saw it as a home. He rebuilt it from the inside out. Painting the walls himself, learning to cook every dish with love, memorizing the names of every regular. What began as inheritance became identity.
At twenty, the world felt full. His high school sweetheart, a man he’d quietly loved since they were fifteen, knelt beneath a flickering neon sign and asked him to marry him. Hasan said yes with tears on his cheeks and flour on his hands. A year later, they adopted a daughter. Jasmine, all curls and chaos, light in a world that sometimes didn’t feel worthy of it.
They loved her more than anything.
But fate is cruel, and sometimes the fire goes out.
When Jasmine was four, an accident took her life. The silence that followed filled their home, their hearts, their marriage. What once bound them together now tore at every corner. They tried. Gods, they tried. But love became grief, and grief became distance. They were finalizing divorce paperwork when hasan felt it...The song.
Not in words. Not in dreams. In feeling. A warmth in his chest he couldn’t explain. A whisper in the quiet. A pull in his bones like homesickness for a place he’d never been. The hearth inside him stirred.
Hasan has always been kind, patient, and hopeful. Sometimes recklessly so. He believes people can be better. That there’s still good in the world worth feeding. But he’s also protective to a fault, emotional in ways he tries to hide, and self-sacrificing enough to forget himself completely.
He didn’t know he was a demigod.
He didn’t ask for this power.
But when the call came, he answered. Because that’s who he’s always been.
A child of Hestia in a world at war, offering fire not to destroy. But to heal. Practically a pacifist, but understanding that peace can't always be found with peaceful actions.
He is the flame that comforts.
The hearth that survives.
And his song is just beginning.
The forest had started to thaw, but only barely. The air still carried a chill that lingered on skin like a stubborn memory, and Hasan didn’t seem to notice. Normally he would’ve been the first to comment on how the cold could bite, or how Ziggy’s skin looked a little too pale in the slight chill, but tonight… his eyes didn’t soften the way they used to. A side effect of the curse. A small chunk of his empathy being gone for the winter in exchange for a trio of spells to be added to his grimoire, and some scrolls sent to the camp.
He’d chosen the spot for the late night picnic himself. A small clearing by the lake where the reflection of the stars danced like candlelight on the water. A blanket was already spread out, food neatly packed, even tea kept warm in a metal flask. Everything about it looked like the kind of romantic effort Hasan was known for. A small hearth contained but big enough for the warmth to spread out and to keep the chill away once they got close enough to it. But when he turned to Ziggy, his expression wasn't as warm as it usually was..
“I figured this was quiet enough for us,” Hasan said simply, voice calm, even. “You’ve been busy. I thought it’d be good to take a break.”
No smile. Just quiet sincerity that somehow didn’t feel sincere anymore. He poured two cups of tea, handed one over with the usual brush of fingers but not the teasing glint in his eye. The deal had dulled something in him. Not his intelligence, but how he showed how much he cared for the others. And hell, even that care has taken a slight hit.
He looked out at the water for a long while before finally speaking again. “You should tell me how you’ve been. I’d like to hear it.” The words were polite, but distant, like someone remembering how conversation was supposed to sound.
raul let out a quiet laugh, the sound low in his chest. “sleeping on the battlefield, huh? bold strategy. let’s just hope your enemies are polite enough to wait ‘til you’re rested.” his smile lingered as he helped steady hasan, not quite letting go right away before he did. “good grip, though. i’ll give you that.”
he stepped back, folding his arms loosely as his gaze flicked over the field. “spectator today,” he admitted. “mostly keeping an eye on the younger ones so they don’t accidentally fry each other. healing duty, unofficially.” a small pause, his eyes returning to hasan, bright with humor. “though you did make me wonder for a second if i’d have to patch up a corpse. glad to see you’re alive.”
he tilted his head, curious. “what about you, hasan? you always train ‘til you pass out, or was today a special occasion?”
Hasan’s laugh came easy, as it usually does. Warm and breathy, the kind that carried more life than fatigue despite the ache still lingering in his head. “Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to ruin your evening by turning into a corpse on your watch.” He dusted off the back of his pants, glancing at Raul with a teasing grin that softened around the edges. “Though I’d say that’s proof your healing aura must be pretty strong. You were standing nearby, and I woke up feeling… mostly human again.”
He straightened, rolling his shoulders once before clasping his hands loosely behind his back. “Guess that makes us in similar lines of work then. I’m one of Hestia’s. Tend to the wounded, cook for anyone who needs or wants a good meal, make sure people don’t burn themselves alive in the kitchens and the battlefield. Y’know, all the glamorous stuff.” His tone was playful but genuine, the corners of his eyes creasing.
Then, tilting his head slightly, he added, “So, Raul the Spectator-slash-healer… what’s your specialty when you’re not making sure no one dies on your watch? Anything of interest?”
The temple was quiet tonight. It felt… alive with a low, steady hum that thrummed in Hasan’s heart in time with it's beat. Every brazier along the temple walls burned low and gold, their light pooling gently across the beautiful floors and the statues of the gods and goddesses.
Hasan crept up to his mother's statue and knelt in front of it, the firelight painting his tan skin in amber and rose. His staff of healing rested across his knees. It was a beautiful piece of work that Hasan couldn't help but appreciate and wonder how long it took someone to craft and how much effort they put in it. The temple had such a relaxing atmosphere. That quiet warmth that wasn’t scary or unsettling, but something deeper.
His hands trembled only a little as he pressed his palms together and bowed his head.
“Hey… mom? Hestia? Mother of the Hearth? I don't really know what you prefer to be called." Hasan admitted softly with a chuckle. “It's been awhile, huh? Sorry for not coming here as often as I probably should. Considering circumstances and all.”
The words came slow, deliberate, the kind of prayer meant to be felt rather than heard.
“I’ve been… busy. Trying to do good, trying to help, trying to run a business… but I think I finally hit the point where ‘trying’ isn’t cutting it anymore. I'm sure you heard, but we lost a demigod recently. And I know I'm not the most experienced guy here… I would like to try to keep that from happening again.”
He glanced at his staff, running his thumb over a groove in the wood. “People are dying out there. Good people. And not all of them, or their families, are ready." He gets a little choked up at that last part. A little girl briefly flashing before his mind before he took a deep breath.
He looked back toward the statue, his reflection warped and trembling in the glow from the torches and hearths in the temple. “I want this staff to carry your warmth. To hold that little spark that keeps people fighting and alive. When someone’s right there on the edge… when they can feel death breathing down their neck, or even if death has it's grip on them briefly… I want them to feel what I feel right now. Safe. Home. Like they’ve got one last reason to hang on.”
He exhaled through his nose, slow and steady, then laughed quietly. The kind that cracked with emotion more than humor. “I, uh… I gave something up, too. The Comfort Pot. Signed it over to someone who’ll take care of it. Someone who’ll keep the kitchen open, feed the locals and travelers, make sure that place stays what it’s meant to be. It sucked at first when I considered it… but I realized I wasn't losing a home. I was changing the location of one.”
His smile softened. “That was my home, you know? My little corner of peace. But I can’t split myself anymore. If I’m gonna do this? If I’m gonna really protect people like I want to… I’ve gotta give it everything I got." His throat tightened, but he kept talking, voice low and rough around the edges. “So I let it go. Signed it over to someone I trust. Someone who’ll take care of it better than I could right now. Feels weird, like I just gave away a piece of my heart. But maybe that’s what an offering’s supposed to feel like, right? Not easy. Just right.”
The fire cracked, a single pop echoing through the stone chamber. Hasan’s fingers tightened on his staff. “All I’m asking is… help me make this count. Let this staff carry something more than my hands can give. When someone's close to the edge, or perhaps briefly crossed over it… let me and this staff help me guide them back to us. Back to camp."
“It does.” Brad smiled. For someone so rooted in community, family carried a different meaning, and yet, it felt right when coming from Hasan. Still, the other man looked disheveled - which Brad wouldn’t normally mind - and frayed, which was a bit more concerning. His words lacked weight, one Brad sensed they’d normally have. And his own words showed Hasan wasn’t at his best.
Just what had happened that night?
“I did. I’m more of a cook than a baker, but I enjoy making bread and desserts every now and then.” He sat beside Hasan in his bed and, instinctively, squeezed his shoulder gently. He didn’t want to intrude or impose his presence, but it was quite obvious the other man - his brother, in a way - needed something. Needed company, at least.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve all had our days and, honestly? Now that I’m here, I have the feeling you would have waited until you’re feeling better before reaching out to anyone. That’s not ok with me.” He waited in silence for a few minutes, letting Hasan get his bearings back. He’d remain touching him, grounding him, at least until told otherwise. There was something soothing about the other's warmth despite his state. Brad only hoped he could offer the same in return.
“Did you have a nightmare?” He asked after a few minutes. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard you sobbing.”
Hasan’s breath caught again. Not as sharp as before, but enough to betray how thin the air still felt in his lungs. The warmth of Brad’s hand on his shoulder shouldn’t have steadied him as much as it did. Yet, for the first time since he’d woken, the shaking in his hands started to slow down.
He stared down at them for a moment before answering. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Something like that.”
His voice was rough… the kind of hoarse that came from crying, not screaming, and though he tried to make it sound casual. There was no hiding the break in it. “Usually, when I dream about it, it’s just flashes,” he went on, eyes fixed on the hearth across the room. “Smoke. Screaming. Sometimes I see the fire coming for them and I wake up before it hits.”
He hesitated, jaw tightening as the next words scraped out of him. “This time it didn’t stop.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, staring into the low, steady flame. “I tried to save them. My daughter. My grandfather. And for once… I did. The fire came for me instead.” A bitter little laugh escaped him, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Even in dreams, I can’t seem to control it as well as I should.”
He turned to Brad then, eyes rimmed red but softer now, vulnerable in a way few ever saw. “Sorry. I know that’s… a lot. You just came to share bread, not trauma.”
A pause. Then, quieter her said, “But… thank you. For staying. Most people probably wouldn't.”
His lips twitched into a faint, shaky smile, half gratitude, half apology. “Hestia’s children really are good at keeping others warm. I just… forget how to let myself be.”
Hasan’s costume for this year is a fallen angel. Gold shimmer dust traces along his shoulders like scars where his wings are. Dark, feathered wings, singed at the edges, stretch behind him. He wears a red sash along his waist that's held in place by a dramatic belt buckle and a tight pair of black leather pants that hug his lower body sinfully. A pair of black shoes rest on his feet to complete the look, Hasan taking the chance for once to go shirtless.
“Everyone says he’s awesome. Why am I so…?” Brad let out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t even finish his sentence. He’d been at camp for days now and, truth be told, he felt at ease. More than he’d ever been. More, he thought quietly, than he probably deserved to. But there was one sore point in that new peace, something he hadn’t faced yet. Something he needed to, if only to understand himself better. Maybe to understand her better, too. His divine mother was one thing, but this was different. He wanted to meet him. Why wouldn’t he? Besides, he’d been staring at the cabin in front of his own for days. It looked similar enough on the outside, with its warm wood, the faint smell of ash and the same gentle hum of stillness. It felt like home even when it wasn’t. And today, for some reason, he couldn’t stay away.
Wasn’t it lucky he had just baked a fresh loaf of bread?
The door to the other Hestia cabin creaked open the moment Brad stepped onto the stairs. Slowly, welcoming. Familiar, even if he hadn’t been there before. Inside, he half-expected to find fire somewhere—a stove, a hearth, a candle burning low. Instead, he found quiet. Not peace, but the kind of hush that carried weight, as if the whole cabin was asleep. And then… there were echoes in the walls. Sobs?
Brad’s chest tightened.
He set the still-warm loaf on a nearby table and made his way deeper into the cabin. It was strange, going in uninvited and yet, welcome? Soon, he found an open door. Inside, a man. Shook, unsteady. Hurt, in a way that felt raw.
A brother.
He gently knocked on the open door.
“Hey.” His voice came out softer than he expected. “Sorry to just… walk in. The door was open.” Still, he hesitated. At least, until his eyes met Hasan’s. Something just… clicked for him, and he smiled. “I’m Brad, son of Hestia. Nice to meet you.”
Hasan blinked up, dazed, like he hadn’t really heard the voice at first. His chest still heaved with uneven breaths, the taste of smoke and salt in the back of his throat. For a heartbeat, he thought the dream had conjured another ghost. Someone new to blame, or maybe forgive. But then the voice softened again, human and steady, and he finally looked up.
The man standing in the doorway wasn’t a ghost from his past or his future. At least he doesn't think so. Just… another demigod. His eyes had that same faint hearthlight glow, the same calm warmth that Hasan saw in the mirror some mornings when he remembered how to breathe again.
“Son of Hestia,” Hasan echoed quietly, the words cracking at the edges. “Guess that makes us family then, huh?” He tried to smile, but it came out faint and rather unsteady. Much like a candle about to burn out.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers trembling before they steadied. “Sorry. You, uh… probably didn’t mean to walk in on a grown man having a meltdown.” The humor was thin, but it was there, a lifeline he tried to throw across the heavy air between them.
After a pause, his eyes flicked toward the table. The loaf of bread still steaming faintly. Something in him eased. “You… baked that?” he asked, voice lower now, softer. “Smells like home.”
He exhaled, this time slower, and gestured weakly toward the bed beside him or the chair by the wall. “Come in, Brad. Sit. I'm likely not going to fall back asleep anytime soon.”
For a moment, the silence returned. Not as heavy this time, more like shared space. Then, almost too quietly to hear, Hasan added, “Thanks for coming. Sorry I wasn't better prepared to meet or greet you.”
Ziggy had been expecting Hasan; the number of nights he'd spent with the night had forged a bond that seemed unshakeable. It was rare to find something so wholesome, simple, and sweet when they were always in a state of constant worry and duress.
"Hey, there. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Ziggy mused as he pulled Hasan closer, burying his features in the man's chest like he'd done so many times before.
"I just needed you here. We don't have to do anything. I just wanted a second to breathe."
"How have you been, though? I've recently come into my powers, meaning I had that dream people were talking about. It was enlightening, if not bittersweet, but it definitely fueled me with enough purpose and strength. I feel like I could reshape creation itself,"
hasan let himself relax into the pull when ziggy pulled him forward. one of hasan's arms wrapped around ziggy’s shoulders and holding him close without hesitation. the warmth that radiated from him wasn’t divine. it was simple personal. the familiar kind of comfort he always offered freely when it appeared someone needed it. especially ziggy.
“you don’t have to ask twice, you know,” he said softly. allowing his chin to brush lightly against ziggy’s hair. “if you need to breathe, i’ll stay as long as you want. no questions, no pressure. just… us.”
at the mention of powers, hasan couldn't help how his expression shifted. curious but not surprised. “ dream? oh, yeah. i think i recall people mentioning it. like it shakes something loose in your chest you didn’t even know was there.” he gave ziggy’s back a reassuring rub before leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. “reshape creation itself, huh? sounds about right. i believe you could even before a dream.”
a small smile tugged at his lips. purely warm and earnest. “and if you ever doubt it, i’ll be here to remind you. do you want to talk about it?”
The sharp thump, thump, thump of his heartsong echoed through his chest as Hasan jolted awake with a scream. His breath was catching like he’d just surfaced from drowning and was trying to gasp for air. The familiar warmth of Hestia’s, and his, hearth washed over him with a steady and reassuring feeling suddenly felt unbearable. A spark of flames appearing briefly in Hasan's hands before he quickly put it out. But his body still trembled as though the flames of the dream had never let him go. The feeling of the flames licking at his body as he manipulated it to come to him and not at his daughter and grandfather… it had been the most pain he's ever felt. When Hasan looked down, he almost expected to find himself horribly scarred and burnt. Still not sure if it was a dream, or he had just been knocked unconscious. Or something in the middle? Sweat clung to his skin in beads, catching the glow of the cabin fire as if he were still alight. His fingers curled into the sheets, nails digging in like he was afraid of letting go again. The phantom sound of Jasmine’s laughter, of Mehmet’s voice, still rang in his ears. So vivid he could almost believe they’d been here.
A broken sound left his throat, halfway between a sob and a sharp gasp. It tore through the otherwise quiet cabin, raw and too loud to hide. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes and tried to drag in a shuddering breath… trying to steady himself. But the guilt and relief twisted together until it was unbearable. Because at the end of the day? This was the third time that he's had to deal with seeing Jasmine in this situation. But… this was the first time that he felt like a heaviness was off of his shoulders. For the first time since he’d come to camp he felt lighter. yet the ache of absence was still there, gnawing. He had saved them this time. He had seen them smile. But the cost of waking up to emptiness cut deeper than the fire had.
The sobs and cry must’ve carried further than he realized, because his voice echoed back against the walls of his room like a confession. Hasan shifted upright on the bed, back braced against the wall, and tried to swallow down the wave of emotions that threatened to drown him all over again. His chest still burned. His hands shook as he flexed them. Almost expecting to see ash but finding only his own calloused palms. He couldn’t decide if the silence that followed comforted him or made him feel more exposed.
Finally, he exhaled a ragged and unsteady noise and let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud. “I’m fine,” he muttered into the empty air. It was such a wierd feeling. He felt lighter, but it still hurt to see the family that he couldn't keep. “Just…. just a dream.” He tried to tell himself.
Tobias just smirked once Hasan seemingly snapped back in the moment. He had to tilt his head in mild confusion for a moment. "Can't say i know much about ouiji etitiquette, so I'll just have to take your word for it," not that Toby was planning on having any conversations with dead people any time soon. He'd leave that the sons of Hades and Hecate thank you very much. He could tell the concept did irrititate him, which truth be told only amused Tobias even more.
Tobias certainly wasn't judging Hasan in the slightest. He knew exactly what it felt like to miss your roots. Granted, while it had been a long time since Tobias was home home, he still couldn't help but wonder what his brother's were doing, the ones who left anyway. Then of course, that tinge of anxiety crept up once he remembered why he left in the first place, and what he'd actually left behind. He knew he could never go home again, not like he wanted to.
"We all get a little nostalgic once in a while, but you're right. There are ways for you to go back if you really needed to. Have you been back since you've left yet? Don't tell me you've worked a shift during some of your down time," he chuckled. He had to admit he'd be a little impressed if he found the time.
He frowned, not sure to feel sorry for Hasan, or happy for the guy for getting out of a bad spot. "Nah, i was going to say the opposite. You're too young to already have an ex-husband," he shrugged, lips curling into a smirk at the wink. "I feel like having a family you're attached to like that would make a job like this almost impossible, right? Being so far removed from them, always risking your life. You guys parting on good terms at least?" Not that it was any of his business. Still, Tobias was nothing if not nosey.
Hands tucked in his pockets, he eyes Hasan with a quiet interest at first. "What kind of pleasure are we talking?"
hasan let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “guilty,” he admitted. “i’ve snuck back once or twice and ended up in the kitchen. old habits die hard, i guess. besides, it calms me down. easier to dice onions than fire a spell, at least for me.”
he leaned back, shoulders loosening as he considered the next question. “as good of terms as divorce allows,” he said honestly, though his tone stayed light. “we… tried. we loved. we broke. i don’t hate him, he doesn’t hate me. that’s about as much as i can ask for. ”
then his gaze flicked toward tobias, a grin curling at the corner of his mouth as he let the flame reappear, rolling lazily across his palm. “as for the pleasure…” he let the words hang in the air, his grin widening just enough to tease, “guess that depends on how close you’re planning to stand.”
The days where we get to focus on our more human aspects are a blessing, it’s true. It was easy to get bogged down in the minutia of their daily grind: quest, train, study, practice, and repeat. They had to exercise, eat well, try to regulate the naturally inflating ego that came with being the children of gods. Clear skies, pleasant weather, and simple pleasures were among the best ways that Samson had found to decompress.
“Well… any requests?” Samson had an extensive repertoire, but the question was geared more toward trying to understand the genre that Hasan gravitated to most frequently. Stanis was an easy guess, an accurate one too. He smiled into clear ease, warm, “Something outside the realm of gloom would be most appreciated.”
hasan tilted his head thoughtfully. hasan's lips curled into a small smile at the way samson phrased the request. he let the silence stretch just a beat too long before he answered, as if he was weighing the weight of every option.
“outside the realm of gloom, huh?” his voice was soft, warm, a little amused. “guess that means i should keep my usual sad songs to myself.” a faint flicker of fire danced at his fingertips, harmless, as though his body couldn’t help but hum along to the idea of music.
he shifted, settling a little more comfortably. “something hopeful, then. something that feels like… a decompressing and relaxing day. perhaps something like…landslide.”
hasan’s gaze lingered on samson, gentle but earnest. “the kind of song that makes people breathe easier in my opinion.”
open starter
location: the amphitheater
notes: open to all
The amphitheater was quiet enough that any sounds made within naturally carried - sandaled feet brushing against stone, the distant chatter from those enjoying camp life, the subtle creek of strings as Samson turned a peg and continued to tune his cello. He sat cross-legged on one of the rising stone seats, sunlight falling in shafts through the high arches, painting gold across his shoulders.
Samson had no intention of performing, but soon enough summer would be over, so he wanted to enjoy it while he could. Which included stepping out of the cabin to get out of his head for a change. The music he coaxed from the strings was soft, contemplative - still tuning each of the strings, he'd play another note - then pause to make adjustments.
When the sound of another presence stirred the air - footsteps, a cough, the faint shift of fabric, something - Samson’s head lifted. His eyes showed clear signs of fatigue, but those bright eyes only warmed with the sunlit smile that lifted his lips.
“Sorry,” he said, voice carrying easy warmth, “Were you wanting to use the space? I can rehearse at my cabin."
hasan blinked at the question, almost startled to realize he’d been standing there longer than he thought. the sound of the cello had stilled him in place, as if he’d been afraid moving would break the spell. hasan had many talents. musicality, unfortunately, was not one of them. still he enjoyed listening to other people's musical talents. whether it was singer, instruments, or a dj? hasan could appreciate good music.
“oh no, not at all,” he said, offering a small smile as he stepped closer. he was careful not to make too much noise on the stone as he moved forward. “i wasn’t planning on using it, honestly. just…walking. thinking mostly.” He gestured faintly toward the instrument. “you can keep playing if you want. it’s…nice. peaceful.”
he moved to sit a few rows down, giving samson space but clearly not in a hurry to leave. “camp feels different when it’s a quiet day like this,” hasan said after a moment, glancing toward the sunlight cutting through the arches. “almost like it breathes easier. or maybe it's the fact that no one is in a life or death scenario.” hasan jests.
the late afternoon light painted the camp in warm gold, catching on the tips of the grass and the edges of the cabins like the whole place had been brushed with soft embers. hasan sat on the porch of the Hestia cabin, a steaming mug of tea balanced between his hands as the fire near him kept the air at the perfect temperature on the porch. the firepit glowed softly, throwing off a comforting warmth that seemed to pull people closer as they passed.
it had been a long week. training, cleaning ash out of his shirt for the fifth time… but this was the good kind of tired. the kind that settled in your bones and let you breathe and relax once you get a moment. he took a slow sip, watching some of the other campers practice sparring in the distance, and felt something ease in his chest.
“not bad,” he murmured to himself, smiling faintly. “the camp feels… steady tonight.”
he set the mug down beside him and stretched out his legs, leaving plenty of room for someone else to sit if they wanted to join him. the cabin practically had a open door policy at this point. hasan always willing to entertain and dote on someone. his palms idly flickered with harmless flames, little tongues of light that danced and swirled like they were playing along with the camp’s peaceful hum.
“guess this is as close to cozy as we get around here,” he said to whoever might be passing by. “you sticking around to enjoy it, or are you one of those people who only relaxes by nearly dying in the training yard?” he asked when he noticed someone walking towards him with a polite smile on his face.
His gaze settled curiously on Hasan for a moment. He could tell the guy had gone somewhere in his head mid conversation. He couldn't help but arch a brow, almost quizzically. "Everything okay? Did I strike a nerve or something?" he asked, more so out of concern. The idea of talking to and seeing a dead people, might have been neat for some people, but for others, Tobias included, it was a bit much. "The simplest rules? What are the simplest rules when it comes to talking to spirits?" he asked with a smirk. Hasan spoke like he was some kind of expert.
It was obvious how much Hasan seemed loved his hometown, that sense of pride was hard to miss. "Sounds like you're a little homesick," he pointed out. Not that Tobias could blame him, or anyone who missed their life before all of this. "Who's taking care of your restaurant now that you're here?"
He wrinkled his nose at that. "Who actually likes that stuff? I mean I get it if you're broke and in a tight spot, but to willingly go out and get it for occasions?" he shook his head in disbelief. He'd had to do a double take at that first bit of information though. "You're married?" He asked, taken a bit by surprise. He didn't think people with families would have chosen to do this. "How does your husband feel about you doing all of this?"
A smirk etched even wider across tanned features, "Wasn't exactly talking about violence," he mused. If there was anyone who usually used fighting as a last resort, Tobias. At least, he'd used to before being forced into it more or less. He nodded in agreement, "I get it. All bets are off when the people you love are threatened," he could certainly relate to that. "Who knows, some guys are attracted to the fire, yeah? Like a moth and all that."
Hasan came back out of his thoughts and heard Tobias' question. Hasan shook his head. “Oh, no! Just kind of get lost in my thoughts at times.” Hasan explained with a sheepish grin as he scratched the back of his head. “Well I'm specifically thinking about movies with Ouji boards and what not. But remembering to say ”goodbye" at the end of a session and not breaking the circle and yada-yada." Hasan shakes his head with a snort. “They do everything they can to piss the audience off, I swear.” He laughs.
“Hm… Do I? I suppose I am…” Was he homesick? Hasan supposed so. This is really the first time he's been away from home for so long. Although he does go back when he has business to attend to with the restaurant and divorce lawyers, but he supposed it's been awhile since he allowed himself to truly just relax in his hometown.
Maybe he should go on a trip sometime soon.
“I have always had managers and workers that I trust. Honestly, I was kind of just there to help out in the kitchen and talk to customers about what we could improve upon or possibly add.” Hasan said. “Plus, we have magic and all that. I can get back home faster then by plane if I truly need too.”
“People who hate themselves or don't have good taste.” He responds when Tobias asked who gets that whine. He laughs when it seems to hit him that Hasan is married. “For now. I'm in the process of reverting back to single." Hasan says with a shake of his head. “Think I'm to old for the dating scene again?” Hasan joked with a wink.
“I decided it's best he doesn't know about this. The mystical part, anyways. He thinks I'm doing some long cooking program here.” Hasan explained with a chuckle. “I didn't want to lie but… I also figured that this might not be something that I should spread needlessly.” He explained with a shrug of his shoulders.
He chuckles and nods his head. A smile lighting up his face as he summons a small flame into his hand. “True. Although a moth touching flames usually end up dying. I like to think I have more of a pleasurable outcome.” Hasan says with a chuckle.
raul had been hovering at the edge of the training field for the last hour, keeping an eye on a group of demigods as they sparred and practiced their abilities while he did his. it was mostly routine—making sure no one overdid it, offering small tips, nothing too taxing—but then he noticed a figure lying flat in the middle of the field, completely still. his brow lifted in mild concern; it wasn’t every day you found someone face-down like that, not even at camp. after a moment of watching, relieved to see the chest rise and fall in steady rhythm, he shook his head lightly and stepped back, deciding not to disturb the man any further.
the sudden movement of eyes blinking open a little while later drew him forward again, curiosity piqued. “ah,” he murmured softly to himself, noting the sheepish grin that formed as the man sat up. it seemed he’d only been napping. raul stepped a little closer, letting his presence be known without crowding. “well,” he said, voice light, a grin tugging at his lips, “that’s certainly one way to train. falling asleep in the middle of the field—most people at least try to stand while looking exhausted.” he offered a hand, just enough to be polite but easygoing. “i’m raul. and you are…?”
Hasan let out a huff of laughter as he heard the other man's words. Leaning up on his elbows to get a better look at him. He watched as the other man offered his hand and accepted it. Using it as leverage as he pushed himself up with a grunt. “My name is Hasan. And hey, I need to learn how to sleep on a battlefield. So figured this was the best chance.” He joked with a smirk and a shrug of his shoulders and a playful little grin on his lips.
He dusted himself off briefly before looking at the other man once more. “Did you come here to train, or just figured you would be a spectator?” Hasan asked the other man curiously. “Normally more of a spectator myself, but I try to make sure to put some time in to train.”
"yeah hating the people you are fighting next to would suck what little fun their is right out of it." He finished the rest of his dessert and pushed the plate into the sink. Turning his focus to the plate of cookies and other snacks he had gathered. "sure it would make for great reality tv if that was the case we could be bigger then the Kardashians."
Leonardo was glad to here that the other was keeping his family's business open. Even if he never had any of his own it was nice seeing someone being so close to the legacy his had crated. "I will have to go your restaurant and order it try if from the hands of a master bet your family recipe is one of the best. " was he blowing smoke up the man's ass, maybe, but he was cute and Leo was a flirt.
“True…Plus the stuff we're going through? Who would want to go through it with people you don't click with, you know?” This place is already crazy. Hasan couldn't imagine what the shit would be like if they had no friends as well here. Hasan couldn't stop the chuckle that passed through his lips when the other talked about how it would make them better then the Kardashians. “Be careful now. We must not compare ourself to the gods that are the Kardashians.” Hasan jested with a smirk.
Hasan would be lying if he said that he didn't preen a bit pridefully at the compliment to his house. The other claiming that he was sure it was one of the best. “Please do if you're ever in New Orleans. Like I said, it's open to both tourists and locals. We ant everyone to have a happy experience regardless of if you plan on being in the city for a long time or short time.” Hasan said with a nod of his head and a smile.
The camp was alive with its usual noise. Training swords clashing, laughter rising from the cabins and some of the mystical inhabitants that they share the camp with, the smell of smoke and grilled food drifting faintly from the kitchens. But Hasan Kaplan sat apart from it all, perched on one of the flat stones just outside the amphitheater, where the shadows of the lights didn’t quite reach.
He was still in his work clothes, sleeves rolled to his elbows, having just gotten done helping a few hours ago at the infirmary of the camp. Helping and trying to practice with his medical skills. The flames he carried, those gentle embers that so often leapt at his fingertips, were subdued for now. His palms, usually warm, were cool against the fabric of his jeans.
In a few days, it will mark another year. Another turn of the calendar without her. His daughter would have been five—
He stopped himself before finishing the thought. The number shifted every year, but this year would be the first time it felt like a knife twisting. Because she wasn't alive to celebrate it. And a few days after that? Another knife, as it would have been her birthday. He didn’t want to picture her taller, older, laughing in a way that would never exist outside memory.
Hasan let out a slow breath, the kind that trembled as it left him. A tiny flame licked up at his palm, unbidden, and he closed his hand around it, smothering it. The hearth was supposed to be comfort, safety, warmth. And he still believed in that. He still gave that to others, as best as he could. But grief made a cold house of his ribs, and tonight no fire seemed bright enough to fill it.
“I thought time would… Soften it.” His voice was low, half-whispered to no one in particular. “But it just keeps burning the same.”
The words fell into the night. Not really expecting them to be picked up as he thought he was alone. Maybe by the breeze, maybe by someone who might pass and heard the crack in his voice. Hasan didn’t look up right away. Instead he subtly tried to collect himself. To make himself more presentable. But he supposed that he couldn't stare at the stone beneath his feet forever. The camp was full of life around him, and he was grateful for that. But tonight the quiet ache in his chest left him hollow, raw, and unbearably human.
“Sorry. Not feeling like the life of the party tonight.” He says with a chuckle as. he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
