( ZANE PHILLIPS, HOMOSEXUAL, CIS MALE + HE/HIM, FIGHTER) «—◦—→ well met, BRADLEY HOUGHTON ! the divine born child of HESTIA. your name sings in our ears! it’s been 28 years and now they have answered the song in their veins. before they answered the song, they were a COMMUNITY COOK and were living in PORTLAND, OR. history and myth will remember them for their LOYALTY, WARMTH and PATIENCE but will also magnify their PRIDE, SELF-SACRIFICE and RESENTMENT if it causes them to falter. now it is time for the world to sing their name with them.
Brad was Bradley, but no one ever called him that, except his dad, and only when he’s angry. At twenty-eight, he hadn’t achieved much in the traditional sense. Sure, he was popular in high school, people might even say he peaked at eighteen and never again, all good looks and wasted potential. Truth was, Brad never wanted to be anywhere else other than home, despite life trying its hardest to make him fly much higher. Brad cared about community, and that’s what he strived to build.
He did, in a sense. Just not the way he expected.
Cooking wasn’t a passion, exactly. It just came naturally, as did his affinity for fire and spending countless hours at the gym. His first job was at a local diner, flipping burgers for less than minimum wage and occasionally waiting tables whenever they needed a replacement. Not the most exciting role; it didn’t last long, but it sparked something.
Then, it continued: another restaurant, cooking classes, gym, hooking up, dating, fucking around, getting his own place. At twenty-two, Brad had figured out a lot. He wasn’t excelling by any means, but he had a small community around him, people he could rely on. It mattered. He mattered. And that was enough. So, it became time to help.
The community kitchen wasn’t something that happened overnight. At first, it was just something he started to make sure leftover food from local restaurants didn’t going to waste. He started cooking at home, by himself, with whatever he could source at that point. Asking for help happened almost by coincidence, guys helping with packing and serving, paid for their services with sex and cuddles.
Slowly, his fame grew. More people found out about him, and there was never enough food to feed the hungry. He borrowed kitchen space from friendly restaurant owners, then eventually partnered with a community center where he could cook safely and in larger batches. Then, he asked for more help. It came, occasionally. Restaurants, bakeries, grocery shops, gradually, he was building a network of community assistance and support that grew far beyond his expectations. By the time he was twenty-eight, he was managing (and cooking for) a reasonably large group of people, with a kitchen that was his in all but name.
Halloween isn’t quite Brad’s favorite night, but he’s never been one to turn down an excuse for fun or for making someone feel wanted. He likes the simple magic of it: the smell of smoke and candy, the laughter spilling into the streets, the flicker of carved pumpkins in the dark. For him, it’s all about warmth, the kind that keeps people close when the nights start to bite.
This year, he’s got two costumes. The first is a couple’s idea: Ziggy’s the siren, and Brad’s the sailor doomed to fall for him. It’s simple but flattering: a striped tank clinging to his chest, white trousers loose at the hip, and a sailor cap he keeps cocked at an angle. A man who’s spent too long at sea and still hasn’t learned to resist temptation.
When he’s on his own, though, he trades the sea for flame. The firefighter costume’s a little on the nose, but it works: tan turnout pants hanging low on his hips, suspenders slung loose, the jacket worn open to bare the warmth beneath. There’s soot smudged along his jaw and collarbone, the faint scent of smoke that never quite leaves him. It’s cliché, sure, but when Brad grins, it all makes sense.
Brad didn’t bother getting dressed. It wasn’t out of disrespect for Tristan, just honesty, really. In keeping with the tone they’d set for each other (or, at least, the one Brad believed they had), he kept things simple: shirtless, grey sweatpants, visibledick print, messy hair, and a slightly unshaven beard. His smile, though… It was open and genuine as he greeted the son of Aphrodite at the door.
Still, the newcomer’s questions feel like a trap, words coated in honey.
“I’m perfectly normal. Which, depending on who you ask, might land somewhere on the higher end of arousal.” His grin was easy, teasing, as he stepped aside to let Tristan in. The cabin itself was wood and woven blankets, the slight scent of cinnamon and black coffee in the air. Near the fireplace, a few potted herbs in old ceramic pots. It looked like someone’s home, no more and no less.
“Now, I have to ask.” Once Tristan was inside and Brad closed the door, he slung one arm around the other man’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?” He asked as he guided him through the hallway. “People tend to feel very comfortable around me. It may not be all charming presence and big biceps.” Yet, his fingers tracing lightly through Tristan’s back, warm to the touch.
perfectly normal. here the son of hestia is, shirtless with his dick print on full display, as if it's his usual attire. maybe it is, maybe this is just another day for the taller of the two demigods. tristan's green-gold eyes look his fill, as if sipping from a cup of undiluted pleasure. he can't say that he's not attracted to the man. brad is an adonis in his own right, carved from marble and made flesh. the problem with men being made from marble is that when they crack, they crumble. he's seen it time and time again. he wonders if brad would be any different.
the son of aphrodite looks at the cabin as he's lead further in. the hand tracing along his back doesn't go unnoticed and he doesn't pull away from the touch. it is comforting, even if he can feel the underlying heat dancing beneath his skin—or maybe that's the heat from brad. “i'm sure the biceps help.” he retorts, looking up at the other. “but yes, i feel fine. comfortable, relaxed, even.” tristan turns and stops in front of him and places a hand on his well muscled chest. “do you have any objections to me getting on my knees right here?” he looks down between them, eyes on the man's bulge but looking at the floor. “or are you trying to get me some place more comfortable?”
“I’m sure they do, but it’d be nice to have some confirmation.” Brad wasn’t oblivious to how he looked. All this life he’d been tall and conventionally attractive, and while he tried to not let it make him cocky… the camp made that much harder, heightened libido and all. Not that Tristan was any less impressive. If anything, the pictures didn’t do enough to justice. He was stunning up close.
He wanted to take the blond to his bed; it felt like it was the natural course of action. But Tristan had different plans, and a very direct way of showing them. The hand on Brad’s chest made the taller man stop breathing briefly. The request made him throb.
“No.” He said it simply, leaning back against the wall. One hand slid into Tristan’s hair, gripping a handful. The other moved lower, cupping his bulge before tugging his pants down just enough to reveal a line of trimmed hair. “Get down.”
Losing Elian hurt. It was such a deep pain because Elian so was important to him, because Brad had been there to see it. He couldn’t even properly grieve him until days after, once he returned to camp and allowed himself isolation to get his own feelings in order. It was very clear the energy around the camp had shifted. Until then, they all had losses: curses, people giving up, defeats. But straight-up death? It was something new to all of them.
And yet, the one person he was truly worried about was Victor.
Elian hadn’t been initial connection between the two of them, but he was the ember that ignited something between them. Their night together was one of the most memorable, and it led to Brad’s own private time with Victor. He had been unsure whether they’d be able to establish a deeper connection based on everything he knew about the son of Nemesis, but…
He worried about Victor. And how he was taking it.
Still, he wasn’t surprised when he was noticed quite before he was close to the swordsman. He nodded briefly, a slight knot to his stomach.
“It’s beautiful.” He whispered and sighed. He still kept some distance, not wanting to invade the other’s personal space too much. But… he had to ask. It had been in the back of his mind since he say the other fight, in Athens. “Is this where you come to feel, too?”
The warmth of the son of Hestia was something that Victor had only gotten to see firsthand, the night after he and Elian had returned from the quest to rescue Icarus. The two of them may have sparred prior to that, Victor impressed with the ability of the demigod despite him being relatively new to the camp - a reflection of, perhaps, what sort of man he would be once he truly came into his own and his abilities - but they hadn't really spent much time together apart from that until Elian had brought them together for a steamy night. After that, the two warriors had tea together and then, just like that, they were called away for another quest.
Only not everyone came back.
There were some people that seemed observant of the fact that Victor had a connection with the son of Hecate - whatever that connection was - but he hadn't expected the son of Hestia to notice. Then again, Hestia was the goddess of home and hearth... it made sense that he'd have a way to sense the connections between people and it was Elian that had made the camp feel more like a home to him than any other place he had lived - welcoming him and encouraging him to be better and do better without challenging him or pushing him too far.
"It's..." A pause as he tried to think of what to say, of how to answer the other's words, and he shifted his attention back to Brad. "It's a place where I come to... Just be." That was the best way he could phrase it. Ever since he had first found it, it had been a place that he found comfort in - to the point that it had been the place he had seemingly transported to in his dream after facing the demonic figure of his father - and it was a place that he had shared with Elian when he had opened up to him and told him about who he was.
"I told Elian about my past here. Free of judgement, free of pressure," Victor admitted in a soft breath, turning once more to look at the water as fell into the river bank below. "He never... He was a good man. Possibly the best of us."
He could see it. He could feel it, in Victor’s voice, aching with sorrow in a way that sounded both too familiar and not at all. Elian hadn’t told him much about the man, except how much Victor meant to him. In a sense, they were walking the same path, one that would lead them both to being the fully realized version of themselves. Not in a divine sense, but simply as people.
And now, Victor looked like he had no one to walk with him any longer. Yet, he looked like he’d still keep walking.
There was a softness in Victor’s voice that felt welcoming, or as welcoming as the son of Nemesis could be. Carefully, Brad stepped to the edge of the lake and sat beside him. At first, they remained silent. Victor carried much pain inside himself, it seemed only recently he was starting to let it go, little by little. Brad could almost feel the ache, as well as his own need to do something. Except, you can’t make people overcome pain, only help them move forward.
And it was not like Brad was any closer to be done grieving anyhow.
So, he did the one thing he knew he could do: he stayed. One hand found Victor’s thigh to squeeze gently, and moved in to cover the older man’s with his own. He wasn’t using his powers to ease the other’s pain, though he considered it. That wouldn’t be fair to Victor’s effort to feel.
“He is. He… was. Now, all we can do is to follow his example and be the best we can.” He sighs, but smiles back. “I hope you don’t mind me leaning on you for that. I hope you’ll lean on me, too.”
Everything Samson said seemed to settle somewhere deep in Brad’s chest. Without even realizing it, he was smiling already. The son of Apollo had that kind of light about him, the kind that made it easy to be around. “You might even say kindness is my main thing.” His tone teased, but it wasn’t untrue. Sure, he had been training how to fight, and he had been told many times now how important it was to get better with both weapons and his own divinity (as much as the word weirded him) would be.
And yet, there was something heavy on Samson’s words about cause. Having something, and someone, to fight for wasn’t foreign to Brad. He had that in spades. But the way Samson said it... there was a weight to it that didn’t quite belong to him. Loss had a sound, even when unspoken. Brad opened his mouth to ask, and then the topic shifted, to one he was much more comfortable with.
“Dude.” He was very serious. “I would. Never. Skip. Breakfast. Or second breakfast.” His grin broke wide then, almost a laugh. “If anything, I’ll be hunting down campers who aren’t eating well. I know there are already a lot of cooks here, but I signed up for kitchen duty anyway. It’s what I used to do back home, so….”
He looked around, finally realizing Samson had been in the middle of… something. “I don’t mind helping out, if you think I won’t be in the way. I’ll just need you to explain what you’re doing. Those look way more complicated than the first-aid kits I’m used to.”
If there was anything that the healer was known for besides his level head, it was the warm disposition that rolled off of him in waves. Bright like the sun, but in the comforting sense that came with the first light of day, “You and I have that in common.” Samson mused, playful in his own way; undeniably so, ease came off of Brad in waves. The kindest hearts were often the strongest, but it was far from his nature to pry.
“I’ve said it before, it takes many hands.” To build a village, to form a community, and to sustain what they’ve made here: what their Heartsongs called them to. “I’m sure the cooks appreciate a relief in duty now and then - and I certainly appreciate a hearty meal.” At every meal hour Samson was generally easy to find sitting at one of the long tables, plates piled almost comically high as he neatly worked his way through whatever mountain of food was placed in front of him. “Sweets and pastries are a bit of a vice, something to keep in mind if you ever feel like baking.” Generally unselfish, he could be a bit greedy when it came to food - but everyone had their flaws.
Looking around, Samson felt his face go a bit red as his hand moved to scratch nervously at his temple, “Well..” caught in the proverbial act, so to speak. “I like to get here in the morning and just do an inventory: make sure the cupboards are stocked, double check potion levels, check for creases in the bed linens.” An unmade bed could cause skin breakdown, a tidbit he’d learned while watching the healers tend to Adrian months ago. “A bit anal, I know: but I made a checklist if you want to go through the cupboards for me.” He’d laminated it and stuck it to the wall, and yet, things were still often missed. A fact that might be infuriating to some, but Samson held patience in spades - and the time to amend any mistakes.
“Sweets and pastries, hm? You’re in luck.” Brad chuckled, It only made sense that someone as sweet as Samson had a sweet tooth. “I’m no baker or pastry chef, but I make a mean pie. Might just have to drop one at your door one of these days.” Yes, that was Ziggy’s thing, but good ideas and great effort deserved to be rewarded. Especially since Samson kept the infirmary so well organized, and that was essential.
“I get it. It just takes so much more time to find the things you need when they aren’t the right place, and sometimes you just don’t have that time to lose.” It was a cardinal rule in his kitchen, and it seemed the son of Apollo made sure to run the infirmary with the same order. “Besides, it helps someone like me, who’s just getting here, to understand what should be where, and to spot what’s missing.”
So, he made his way to the cupboards. The list was plastered on the wall, easy to check while he went through the items. “I’d imagine being a son of Apollo, you’d wake up to see the sunrise every day.” The camp was still sleepy, and few people were up already. “How is it, living here? Do you miss home?” He asked, more softly. Samson felt so similar to him that Brad couldn’t help but relax around him.
“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.”
“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.”
Training was… tough. Brad wasn’t used to any of that and yet the flames kept answering him, easier each time. The sword in his hand was starting to feel lighter; his swings, sharper. He wasn’t sure how necessary any of it would be in the coming days, but everyone he’d talked to had said the same thing: practice as hard as you can. And if they all agreed, no matter how different they were, then things had to be pretty bad.
Brad was so focused he didn’t notice the other man approach until he was close. He lowered his weapon at once, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Cian, as he introduced himself, might have been the most anxious person the son of Hestia seen around camp so far. He could feel it, another small gift from his Mother. But he could also sense that the guy meant well, which was honestly kind of touching.
He hoped his smile came off comforting enough.
“Nice to meet you, Cian. I honestly appreciate it.” He gave a small laugh, shaking his head before turning back toward the dummies he’d been working on. Practicing on them was easy enough; sparring was where things fell apart. Maybe his choice of partners hadn’t been great so far, but losing three times in a row had left him wondering.
“I’m not sure I’d be a good sparring partner for now. I still have so much to learn.” He shook his head, trying to push those thoughts away. “But I’d appreciate it if you have any tips for me. I’m still very much a beginner.”
And then, it hit him. “Oh, right. I’m Brad, son of Hestia. Things have been… intense since I got here, but I can say I’m happy I ever came. Got to meet all sorts of cool people like you.”
cian blinked, a little caught off guard by the smile — it was softer than he expected, and somehow it made his chest feel lighter. he laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “oh, you’re… you’re kind to say that. most people just think i talk too much,” he admitted with a small grin, cheeks already warming.
he glanced toward the dummy brad had been working on, the faint scorch marks still glowing where the flames had caught. “you’re doin’ grand, honestly. it’s all muscle memory, y’know? the more you move with it, the more it’ll listen to you. the sword, the fire, all of it. looks like you’ve already got the fire part down.” his grin grew a touch wider, crooked but kind. “don’t sell yourself short. i’ve seen plenty of campers take months to get a spark, never mind whatever that was.”
he shifted his weight, crossing his arms lightly. “and hey, everyone starts somewhere. i was awful when i first got here — couldn’t lift a blade without hittin’ my own shin. still do sometimes, if we’re honest.” another quiet laugh, breathy and a bit shy. “but if you ever want to practice anyway, i meant it. i’m happy to spar, or help out, or just… stand there and let you swing till it feels right. whatever works.”
he paused, glancing at him again, then added softly, “and, uh, it’s nice to meet you too, brad. really nice, actually. hope camp's been treatin' ya well so far.”
“Talking is good. Means you’re trying.” It didn’t seem natural for Cian to be talking, at least not like that, and that made Brad’s heart melt a little more. There was just something so charming about the other half-blood that he couldn’t help but feel giddy. Now, Brad was generally someone who knows his worth. But being surrounded by other demigods, and knowing, little by little, how outstanding each one was in their own ways, it felt nice to be recognized as some sort of equal.
Even if he felt he wasn’t there yet.
“It helps that my fire doesn’t come from a place of anger, I think.” Quietly, Brad opened his palm and an ember surged. Warm, but not hot. It flickered out a moment later as his eyes met Cian’s. “As long as I have people to protect and make sure they’re safe, they’ll burn.” And then, he smiled. “At least, that’s what I like to believe anyway.”
“Camp’s been amazing. Surreal, really, but it seems you… we’ve got a nice little community here, and everyone seems to get along.” He laughed, bright and easy. For someone so tall and broad, he could look like an oversized kid in moments like this. “It also helps that my cabin is really cool. It’s easily the biggest space I’ve ever had for myself.”
And since Cian was offering so nicely, Brad decided to accept. He knew he could use all the training he could get, after all. “If you’re willing, I’d love to spar with you, Cian. Just… take it easy, I’m still getting the hang of this.” He stepped towards the center of the arena and lifted his sword. “Ready when you are.”
there's authenticity to a man who isn't afraid of being direct. the text conversation reveals things to tristan that, more than likely, would've remained hidden. the honesty about the subtle details of his powers—the ability to sense attraction, arousal, desire—weren't lost to him and the admission meant that they could both be honest about what is easier. for tristan, sex is always easier. things can grow from there, if need be, but it gives him a way to control the narrative, to keep expectations from forming that he won't be able to keep up with.
with his hair still damp from a shower, curling around his ears and his forehead, the newest son of aphrodite makes his way to the hestia cabin. he's dressed comfortably, clothes that are easily removeable. he hums to himself, knocking on the door of the cabin as he waits for brad to open for him. once he does, he offers a smile, full of perfectly aligned teeth. “now that i'm in front of you, how are you feeling? the arousal and attraction there?”
Brad didn’t bother getting dressed. It wasn’t out of disrespect for Tristan, just honesty, really. In keeping with the tone they’d set for each other (or, at least, the one Brad believed they had), he kept things simple: shirtless, grey sweatpants, visibledick print, messy hair, and a slightly unshaven beard. His smile, though… It was open and genuine as he greeted the son of Aphrodite at the door.
Still, the newcomer’s questions feel like a trap, words coated in honey.
“I’m perfectly normal. Which, depending on who you ask, might land somewhere on the higher end of arousal.” His grin was easy, teasing, as he stepped aside to let Tristan in. The cabin itself was wood and woven blankets, the slight scent of cinnamon and black coffee in the air. Near the fireplace, a few potted herbs in old ceramic pots. It looked like someone’s home, no more and no less.
“Now, I have to ask.” Once Tristan was inside and Brad closed the door, he slung one arm around the other man’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?” He asked as he guided him through the hallway. “People tend to feel very comfortable around me. It may not be all charming presence and big biceps.” Yet, his fingers tracing lightly through Tristan’s back, warm to the touch.
@keepershearth
notes: hi hello not me doing this ridiculously late lmao
cian had been hanging near the edge of the training grounds, pretending to stretch but mostly just watching, when he saw him. the new guy. hitting the training dummy like it was nothing. the dummy didn’t stand a chance, honestly, and the way he moved—it wasn’t like cian could put it into words, but it just… looked cool. really cool. solid, confident, strong. and there was that little flicker of fire dancing along the blade, like it belonged to him, which made cian’s stomach do that stupid little flip it always did when he was impressed.
he didn’t even think, really. he just walked over, boots crunching on the dirt, heart thumping, and tried to sound casual, which was an absolute fail.
“hey,” he started. “uh—hi. i… i just… wow. i saw you with the dummy. with the sword. you’re—well, you’re… impressive. like, really. the way you hit it, and the… uh, fire thing… it just looks… i dunno… amazing. most people just, uh, swing and hope it works, right? but you—you… oh, crap, i’m rambling.”
he ran a hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly. of course he was rambling. always. “i just… yeah. it’s cool. really cool. and uh—if you ever want someone to spar with, i mean, i’d be happy to. or, y’know, not get in your way. i just… yeah. wow.” cian realized he was probably blushing, of course he was, but he didn’t care. he just wanted him to know someone noticed. someone thought he was, well… wow. “oh, uh, i'm cian. hope you're enjoyin' your stay.” why could he never leave a good first impression on anybody?
Training was… tough. Brad wasn’t used to any of that and yet the flames kept answering him, easier each time. The sword in his hand was starting to feel lighter; his swings, sharper. He wasn’t sure how necessary any of it would be in the coming days, but everyone he’d talked to had said the same thing: practice as hard as you can. And if they all agreed, no matter how different they were, then things had to be pretty bad.
Brad was so focused he didn’t notice the other man approach until he was close. He lowered his weapon at once, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Cian, as he introduced himself, might have been the most anxious person the son of Hestia seen around camp so far. He could feel it, another small gift from his Mother. But he could also sense that the guy meant well, which was honestly kind of touching.
He hoped his smile came off comforting enough.
“Nice to meet you, Cian. I honestly appreciate it.” He gave a small laugh, shaking his head before turning back toward the dummies he’d been working on. Practicing on them was easy enough; sparring was where things fell apart. Maybe his choice of partners hadn’t been great so far, but losing three times in a row had left him wondering.
“I’m not sure I’d be a good sparring partner for now. I still have so much to learn.” He shook his head, trying to push those thoughts away. “But I’d appreciate it if you have any tips for me. I’m still very much a beginner.”
And then, it hit him. “Oh, right. I’m Brad, son of Hestia. Things have been… intense since I got here, but I can say I’m happy I ever came. Got to meet all sorts of cool people like you.”
With eyes closed, the son of Nemesis listened to the water rushing as it fell over the cliff and into the river below, letting the sounds of nature calm him. Only a couple of weeks ago, Victor had been here with the son of Hecate and he had opened up to him about his past - letting him know just what it was his father had made him be, how he eventually broke free from that cycle of violence, and then how he spent the next few years working to atone for his past. And now the one he considered his confidant, the one that he found himself the closest to, was gone.
Emotions were not something he was that familiar with, his father having trained and punished him to not show an inch of feeling as he worked to make him an emotionless killing machine, but the pain in his chest was tight and apparent and it took everything within him to keep it from consuming him. All he could do was listen to the water, let it calm him and try to focus on the sound like he was meditating.
But underneath the sound he could hear the sound of someone approaching, a crack of a twig underneath a boot, and he could feel the warmth radiating from them before he even turned to look over his shoulder at them.
"This is my... This is my calm," Victor stated simply, looking at the broad figure of Brad before he shifted his attention back to the waters edge, watching as the water ran over the rocks and pebbles in the river. "I come here to... relax. To think."
Losing Elian hurt. It was such a deep pain because Elian so was important to him, because Brad had been there to see it. He couldn’t even properly grieve him until days after, once he returned to camp and allowed himself isolation to get his own feelings in order. It was very clear the energy around the camp had shifted. Until then, they all had losses: curses, people giving up, defeats. But straight-up death? It was something new to all of them.
And yet, the one person he was truly worried about was Victor.
Elian hadn’t been initial connection between the two of them, but he was the ember that ignited something between them. Their night together was one of the most memorable, and it led to Brad’s own private time with Victor. He had been unsure whether they’d be able to establish a deeper connection based on everything he knew about the son of Nemesis, but…
He worried about Victor. And how he was taking it.
Still, he wasn’t surprised when he was noticed quite before he was close to the swordsman. He nodded briefly, a slight knot to his stomach.
“It’s beautiful.” He whispered and sighed. He still kept some distance, not wanting to invade the other’s personal space too much. But… he had to ask. It had been in the back of his mind since he say the other fight, in Athens. “Is this where you come to feel, too?”
“He’s a good one, isn’t he?” Brad couldn’t help but remember how the unusually tall son of Demeter stopped by his cabin one day to offer him some of the best potatoes and squash he’d ever tasted. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve met anyone here who hasn’t been incredibly nice, or ridiculously cool.” A quiet chuckle followed. Samson, standing before him, seemed to be no exception. There was a warmth in him that seemed quite effortless.
“I’d love some advice. You guys have lived… this more than I have and there’s a lot I can learn from it.” Besides, it gave Brad the freedom to make a whole set of new mistakes, all of his own.
That’s when he realized his manners. “Sorry, I never introduced myself. I’m Bradley, but please call me Brad. I’m a son of Hestia.”
“One of the best.” Samson affirmed, considering the Son of Demeter for a few beats longer, his relationship with Samson’s brother - the genuine heart that lived beneath a veil of shadow. Typical goth behaviour. “I didn’t have many friends before, I was an only child- everyone is here for similar reasons, because we want to make a different. We want to help others, for the most part that inherently makes everyone quite nice, and very cool if kindness is your thing.” The amused look on Samson’s face slipped as he considered the next question.
“Apollo,” Samson offered, “as in Son of -” he laughed, obviously. “It’s good to meet you, Brad.” He’d waited a beat to answer Brad’s question, taking a moment to consolidate his feelings on the matter; they’d nearly lost Cian, Adrian had his divinity stripped only for him to awaken then opt to leave camp entirely. Merrick had left, Gustave, Leonardo, Skylar, etc - the list of those who didn’t wish to contend with this life grew longer as the weeks went by and their trials escalated. “Find something worth fighting for, someone or… some ideal. Hold onto it, when things get dark, you’ll be grateful for it.” Holding onto the good times was all they had, sometimes. “Oh, and don’t skip breakfast… or second breakfast, for that matter.”
Everything Samson said seemed to settle somewhere deep in Brad’s chest. Without even realizing it, he was smiling already. The son of Apollo had that kind of light about him, the kind that made it easy to be around. “You might even say kindness is my main thing.” His tone teased, but it wasn’t untrue. Sure, he had been training how to fight, and he had been told many times now how important it was to get better with both weapons and his own divinity (as much as the word weirded him) would be.
And yet, there was something heavy on Samson’s words about cause. Having something, and someone, to fight for wasn’t foreign to Brad. He had that in spades. But the way Samson said it... there was a weight to it that didn’t quite belong to him. Loss had a sound, even when unspoken. Brad opened his mouth to ask, and then the topic shifted, to one he was much more comfortable with.
“Dude.” He was very serious. “I would. Never. Skip. Breakfast. Or second breakfast.” His grin broke wide then, almost a laugh. “If anything, I’ll be hunting down campers who aren’t eating well. I know there are already a lot of cooks here, but I signed up for kitchen duty anyway. It’s what I used to do back home, so….”
He looked around, finally realizing Samson had been in the middle of… something. “I don’t mind helping out, if you think I won’t be in the way. I’ll just need you to explain what you’re doing. Those look way more complicated than the first-aid kits I’m used to.”
Pegasi travel would never cease to amaze him, being able to get anywhere in the world at such speeds was a luxury he never wished would end.
The white sandy beaches of Playa Flamenco now at his feet, his stride quickened as his smile grew. "I've missed this place so fucking much," he mused as he ran forward, telekinetically carrying everything he had prepared for this trip. He looked full of life, laughing as he ran along the shore to a nearby area he knew all too well.
"Don't worry about keeping your clothes on, I already sent out psychic suggestions to keep everyone away from this beach for a day or two. So we have it all to ourselves," he said.
Ziggy took it all in, the sun kissing his skin, the salty air brushing against him, the sand soft and warm beneath his feet. "Y'know, you're the first person I've ever brought here, not many people think of this as a destination cause it isn't some fancy resort or anything like that. It's very for the locals, they love this place, it's nature kept its most pristine, minus the graffiti tank over there, but that's just a piece of history," he giggled.
Ziggy sat down as he started setting everything up, assorted finger foods and dishes all scattered on a massive picnic blanket, anchored by psionic nails that wouldn't budge.
"I'm glad you're here with me. Camp has been a little rough for me recently, but you've been a nice change of pace, or should I say a breath of fresh air. Hmm, I don't really know how to word this, and you know I tend to babble when I get nervous but just...thank you, I just really enjoy my time with you. All of it." @keepershearth
Travelling by Pegasi was awesome. Weird, sure, but still awesome. If it hadn’t been for Ziggy’s invitation, it would’ve taken Brad much longer to grow used to those incredible creatures. He’d have been perfectly content to spend his free days getting to know London and FaceTiming his family back in Portland. But the son of Hera had insisted they go for a picnic at his favorite beach, and it took Brad a full minute to realize they’d be crossing the ocean to Puerto Rico.
“This is beautiful.” He said, grinning wildly. His experience with beaches was mostly with the West Coast kind, and they felt like home: grey skies, cold wind, coffee in hand, long walks wrapped in a hoodie, bonfires and foil dinners under blankets. Playa Flamenco was entirely different: the heat, the light, even the color of the ocean spoke to him in a way that felt completely new.
Ziggy being half-naked sure helped, though.
“I thought you liked being watched.” He teased, though he was secretly impressed by how far Ziggy’s psychic influence reached. Maybe less impressed at the idea of people being kept off the beach just because they were there, but still… “It’s really, really beautiful.” He repeated, softer this time.
What was strange was not preparing anything himself, since Ziggy had taken charge of everything. The basket was huge, and everything looked perfect. It felt… unfamiliar to be taken care of. Not a situation he was used to.
He wasn’t complaining.
Brad half-lay down on the blanket and pulled the young mage closer, one arm draped around him to make sure he stayed there. “It should be me thanking you. First, for bringing me somewhere this incredible. Second, for taking care of me today, too.” He tapped Ziggy’s nose playfully before leaning in to press a few slow kisses along his neck.
