#whenever I do eden I try to have little habits for when I collect the light children again

[miss-mossball]

Thank you for being part of my journey, once more

[imjusthereforbatfam]

Never-Ending Encore, ch 8

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter Summary: Yes, this is Gotham City but helping people isn’t a CRIME, Red Hood! Eden’s not afraid of some crazy nutzos! Er, well… Okay, maybe she’s a little afraid of some crazy nutzos, but… But that’s not gonna stop her from helping people when she can! 😤

Warnings: minor swearing, very minor mentions of suic*de and previous suic*dal behavior, very minor mentions of previous abuse, abuse forgiven/excused by victim (which I personally don't care for but this is how Eden currently handles/perceives her trauma so...)

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Eden sat down at the table with a content sigh. The heavenly aroma of homemade garlic bread was more prominent now that the rolls were right in front of her. The scent, mixed with the expectation of company and the eagerness of having some Mad Mountain Fudge chilling in her fridge, made her feel incredibly at-home. Though, to be fair, it was more of a hope for company than an expectation.

Red Hood said he’d try to come this night or the next, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would. Admittedly, Eden's shier half – which vividly recalled Aaron’s earlier, uh… praises toward Red Hood’s… physique – wouldn’t entirely mind waiting a few days to see him. The rest of her was so excited, though, that she had to keep reminding herself it was okay if he didn’t come tonight. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was a busy man, after all, saving dumbasses like herself and doing… whatever an ex-mob boss might do to make a place like Gotham better.

Not that any of that stopped her from hoping he would come, of course. Nor would it stop her from being disappointed if he didn’t. Even so, Eden knew she was just one, very small person among a million other very small people in this city. She understood that visiting a random civilian like her, even with the world's greatest fudge in her fridge, couldn't rank very high on Red Hood’s to-do list. Especially in a city like this, filled with a thousand not-so-very-small people — many of whom were quite dangerous. 

Still, taking in her surroundings, Eden couldn’t help but smile. She was excited for him to come visit. The entire one-roomed apartment – not just the kitchen space – was clean now. She was back in the habit of making her bed every morning, and— okay, fine, the chair by her closet still held her not-quite-clean clothes, but at least they were folded now! Which was an improvement from the misshapen pile of before!

The once-crowded coffee table had also been improved. Now, it only housed her laptop, headphones, and one book (and notebook) at a time. The rest of her books and notebooks – aside from the pair she kept on the kitchen table – had a new home, piled neatly along the wall dividing the kitchen from the main living/sleeping space. They still needed a proper shelf, but the current setup worked for now.

Two plants with tall, twisting stems stood guard on either side of her slow-growing book collection, while a small, mismatched assortment of baby foliage in tiny, colorful pots sat along the edge of her kitchen table near the window. It wasn’t anything compared to rows and rows of crops back on the farm, nor the nearby woods she dearly missed walking through, but it still felt good to be around some greenery again.

Biting into a roll, Eden continued penning ideas into the notebook she kept on the kitchen table; new ways to make her place even homier, things that needed her attention, different possibilities to look into. Though it was the mortifying thought of Red Hood coming back to her apartment in its previous state that had spurred her into action, Eden now found herself genuinely starting to enjoy the little space.

Now that she was putting in the effort, her apartment was actually starting to feel… pleasant. Welcoming, even. And even though her neighbors were still ridiculously loud at times, Eden was finding herself happy with her little home. Enjoying the fruits of her labor whenever she paused to take it in... It was a very nice feeling.

Eden suddenly stopped writing. Her heart leapt in excitement as she looked to the far window, the one that led to the fire escape. It could be nothing, but she could’ve sworn she’d heard— The soft tapping repeated itself.

Scrambling up from the table, Eden flew to the window – nearly slipping in her socks – and beamed at the sight of Red Hood on the other side. He greeted her with a short wave of his hand.

“Hi there, Mr. Hood!” she greeted the moment she had the window open. “It’s so nice to see you again! How are you? Your fudge is almost ready, but it needs another couple of minutes or so to finish chilling. I hope that’s alright? I remembered you said you might stop by tonight, but I didn’t think it would be until later on so I— oh! Where are my manners?” She moved out of the way, her cheeks warming. “Won’t you come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” 

Eden smiled as he deftly climbed inside, pleased to find she could still easily recognize Red Hood’s humored tone.

“Smells good in here,” he said turning toward the kitchen.

She quirked a brow, glancing at his helmet. “You can smell with that thing on?”

“It has an automatic filtration system." He lifted his chin, apparently quite proud of it. "Keeps Fear Gas out, lets good-smelling food in.”

"Really?” She hummed, making a show of looking over his helmet. “It doesn’t look all that fancy to me, Mr. Hood."

He scoffed. “It’s a lot more high-tech than it looks, Cookie Girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” She turned up her nose, grinning, as she led him toward the kitchen table. “What kind of high-tech stuff does it have, then, hotshot?”

“All kinds,” he said unabashedly, not afraid to meet her teasing head-on. “There’s the obvious, like night vision, thermal imaging, incendiary devices, and high-frequency—”

“Hold on, wait.” She turned the words over in her head. “Incendiary devices? Isn’t that just fancy talk for bombs?"

“It might be,” he said confidently.

"You have a bomb in your helmet?" She made a humored face. “That doesn’t sound very high-tech, Mr. Hood. Or obvious.”

He hummed, leaning forward slightly, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t believe me?” Eden could imagine him grinning at her.

She crossed her arms playfully. “No way. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. There’s no way you have an actual bomb that close to your head. You’re not that crazy, Mr. Hood.”

He made an amused sound, tilting his head to one side.

Eden opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked him up and down, faltering. “Are… Are you? Mr. Hood, do you really have— Are you— Please tell me you’re joking. That’s— Do you?”

“Relax, Ede.” He said it comfortably, as if he called her that all the time. Eden blinked, trying to remember if he’d ever called her that before — or anything other than Cookie Girl. “It’s just for absolutely fucked situations where I don’t have any other options.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait— You don’t mean— You don’t mean—” She jabbed at her temples frantically, trying to sputter something out.

Red Hood watched her struggle until what she was trying to say finally clicked.

He jerked forward, his hands up. “Shit, not like that! It’s an escape thing, not a kill myself thing,” he explained. “I take it off and throw it like a grenade.”

“Oh. Cool. Okay. A grenade. That’s cool.”

“Breathe, Cookie Girl," he reminded her.

“I’m breathing! Totally breathing!” She took a huge breath for good measure. Then another. “Sorry, I just—” She shook her head, plopping into her seat. She looked at him, then, in realization, jolted right back up again. “Oh, sorry! Please,” she gestured to the spare chair in front of him, “have a seat.”

“I’m alright.” Red Hood leaned onto its back, watching her sit down again. Her face was red hot. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine, thank you.” She took a few slow breaths, her brows pulled together with worry. “Do you… end up in situations like that a lot? Where you have to blow up your helmet to get away?”

Just a few nights ago, there’d been an explosion on the Westward Bridge. One of her coworkers said a friend spotted Red Hood escaping the scene afterwards. Eden, becoming more accustomed to Gotham’s shenanigans than she cared to admit, hadn’t worried about him too much when she’d heard. In fact, oddly enough, she’d felt a bit proud. But maybe she shouldn’t have.

Maybe she was wrong to have assumed he was okay. Maybe he’d been in serious trouble. Maybe he’d needed help. Maybe she should’ve done something. Maybe she should’ve—

“Not really,” Red Hood answered, breaking her dizzying thoughts with a casual shrug. “It’s the last of my last resorts, and it’s pretty rare for me to be so off my game.”

“Oh. Oh, good. That's...” She sighed in relief, then smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Hood.”

Of course. What in the world was she thinking? Red Hood wasn’t some small-time, stumbling wannabe. Unlike her pitiful attempts at playing hero, he actually knew what he was doing. If she ever showed up to one of his firefights, she’d probably just end up causing him trouble and end up staggering home with a plethora of healing bullet holes and another encore under her belt. (Maybe two, if she was particularly unlucky.)

Red Hood pulled out his chair and turned it so that its back was nearly up against the wall beside them. When he sat down, angled the way he was, he had a clear line of sight of the entire apartment.

The move was familiar to Eden, but it surprised her to see it done so precisely and naturally. The only other person she’d seen do that – and do it like that – was Mama.

Mama always had to have an eye on her surroundings, so she rarely took a seat without her back against a wall or being tucked in a corner. The habit was one of many from her life before "Louanne Smith". They were so far ingrained into her psyche that if she ever tried to go against them the struggle was obvious to even the blindest fool. Though she feigned ignorance at having ever lived such a life, it had obviously taught her all the skills she now used to keep their “cousins” safe: how to observe and analyze even the smallest detail, how to fight and defend unflinchingly, how to disappear without a trace, how to… make other people disappear.

It made Eden curious to see Red Hood with a habit like that. On the bright side, it probably meant she didn’t have to worry about him the way she had been. If he was even half as capable as Mama was, chances were he could handle just about anything thrown at him — even in a place like Gotham.

But… on the not-so-bright side, she had to wonder...

Red Hood tilted his head slowly. “What?”

“Hm?” Eden blinked and realized she been staring. “Oh, sorry! I was just remembering my, uh… um… well, it doesn’t really matter, I guess. I just got lost in thought. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Right, sor— I mean, uh, thank you. I guess.” Cheeks warm, she glanced around quickly for something else to talk about. “Um, would you like some garlic rolls, Mr. Hood?” She picked up the plate and offered it to him. “They’re stuffed with cheese.”

He leaned closer to the food, inhaling it. “So that’s what smells so good.”

She smiled. “Try some!”

He started to grab one when his head turned toward the kitchen. He looked into it a moment then lowered his hand, sat back, and said, “On second thought, I’m okay.”

Eden lowered the plate slightly, surprised. She glanced into her kitchen, wondering what he’d seen to change his mind. The space was perfectly clean and tidy, as she always kept it. The only thing “out of place” was the baking sheet cooling on her stovetop. Any other dishes were already drying in the sink wrack.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind… I’m happy to share.”

“I’m not interested in stealing your dinner. Besides,” he added in a lighter tone, “I need to save room for the fudge.”

Eden nodded slowly and set the plate down. Glancing toward the kitchen again, she wondered what had tipped him off that the rolls were her meal for the night. The empty baking sheet? The drying dishes? 

Always have more than you think you’ll need, she remembered. That was a tried-and-true rule on the farm. They never knew when they were going to have company, so there was always more of things than Eden’s family could ever go through on their own — more blankets, more clothes, more toiletries, more food. Especially food. If there were seven people in the house, they made enough food for ten, and those extra servings came in handy more often than not.

“Can I get you something to drink, then, Mr. Hood?” she asked, picked up her pen and writing the old rule into her notebook. “I have sweet tea, orange juice… uh, water…” She paused, thinking. “Milk?”

He snorted. “I’m good.”

She quirked an impish brow. “Does your fancy, high-tech helmet even have a way for you to drink things? Some built-in twisty-straw component or something?”

He shook his head, edging forward. “Nope. Sorry. No twisty-straws.”

“Your helmet can be an emergency grenade, but it has no cool twisty-straw thingy?” She tsk-tsked, trading her pen for a roll. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Hood. It’s like you’re not even trying to impress me.”

He chuckled. “I’ll get right on that, Cookie Girl,” he assured, a smirk-like quality to his voice.

Eden shook her head at him, trying to hide her grin behind the roll.

He nodded to the notebook in front of her. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, just some ideas.” She pushed it toward him, inviting him to look. “I haven’t been treating this place right,” she explained, pulling apart the roll. “Acting like it’s a prison when it’s a home in need of as much tender loving care as any other.”

Red Hood hummed, going over her lists. “Hard to make a home in a neighborhood like this,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I need to let it sit and rot like I was. It’s nice to have a place you’re at least a little proud of.”

He gave a half-shrug and nodded.

He flipped to a previous page in the notebook, glancing up to see if she minded. Eden shrugged, knowing most of the pages were haphazardly filled with everyday nonsense that likely wouldn’t mean much to him. He looked them over while she ate and she looked over him, a little embarrassed when he started reading out random thoughts.

“‘Mary: Superfluous, plain but extra, well-meaning but unaware’?”

“Uh, that’s a… That’s a thing for work.”

“What do you do for work? Evaluate assholes?”

She laughed. “No, no, I’m a…" She fixed her posture, feeling a bit proud. "I’m an actress, actually."

“A professional liar? Great.”

“Wha—? No! Lying and acting are two very different skill sets, Mr. Hood!”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Cookie Girl. Whatever you say.”

“No really! I’ll have you know I’m an awful liar but a really great— er, uh, well, okay, maybe not a really great actor— I mean, maybe not a great actor either, but, you know, I— Well, actually—”

He snickered, then moved on to the next blurb he could tease her with.

“Are all your notebooks filled like this?” he eventually asked, glancing at her collection against the wall.

She gave a half-shrug as she finished the last roll. “Some are more coherent. This one’s mostly for stuff that pops in my head while I’m eating or in the kitchen. It’s easier to have my thoughts written down where I can see them instead of fighting through them all in my head.”

“Makes sense.” He leaned forward brazenly. “Am I in any of those thoughts?”

“Not any of the written down ones,” she said with a laugh, assuming that was the real question. “I’m not that dumb, Mr. Hood.”

“Good to know,” he said with a nod. “Speaking of dumb, though…” He leaned back in his chair and fished out a cell phone from inside his leather jacket. “I was wondering if you could help me connect some dots here.”

“Me? I don’t know what you could possibly need my help sorting out, Mr. Hood," aside from an urgent, impromptu lesson on goat milking perhaps, "but I’ll certainly try.”

“Oh, you can help a lot more than you think, Edie.” Red Hood set the phone down on the table and pushed it toward her.

Eden blinked again at his sudden use of one of her everyday nicknames, suddenly nervous. She looked down at the phone, at the picture on its screen, and her brows lifted in surprise. She immediately recognized the sleek, minimalist decor of Café Très Boissons and the slightly hunched, unassuming man who’d been taking her picture earlier that day. But more than that, she recognized the angle the picture had been taken from.

Turning to Red Hood, wide-eyed, she faintly recalled the faces of the boys in the corner booth. The younger two were obviously out of the running, but between the smiling one and the one in the red hoodie… It wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make.

“Wait, were you the guy—?”

“I have contacts all over this city,” he told her. “They keep me informed.”

Eden’s brow furrowed. She worked her mouth to say something, not really sure she believed him, but he leaned over the table and swiped the screen to the right, moving the conversation forward before she could. The new picture was taken closer to the scout and clearer than the first, better showing his face and overall frame.

“So imagine my surprise,” Red Hood went on, “when I learn a small-time heiress has a look-alike who can clock up a potential threat in a heartbeat, and it turns out that look-alike—” he swiped right again, this time to a grainy, blown-up picture of Eden, Veronica, and Aaron crossing the street “—is you.”

Eden stared at the picture: she and Veronica arm-in-arm, Veronica’s purse over her shoulder, a flippant expression on her face that didn’t seem to fit quite right. The picture was from an entirely different viewpoint, somewhere up in the air looking down on them, and of a far poorer quality than the first two.

“Security camera?” she guessed glancing up at him. His permeating stare was hard to meet through the angry “eyes” of his helmet.

“Traffic cam.”

Eden sank a little lower. “You’re making me feel like I’m in trouble here, Mr. Hood,” she mumbled.

“Aren’t you?” he accused. “You’ve practically got a flashing neon sign on your forehead that says In Deep Shit.”

 “No, I—!” She huffed and moved some hair out of her face. “I do not. I meant trouble like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Funny.” He moved to rest his jaw on his fist. “I didn’t.”

Eden lowered her gaze, unable to meet the unbreakable scrutiny of his “eyes”. “I’m not in any trouble,” she muttered, rubbing her socked feet together under the table. “Not like that, anyway. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Y’know,” he half-teased, “I think I’m starting to understand what you meant about being able to lie and being able to act.”

She struggled with a response to that. “What… What even makes you think I’m in that kind of trouble anyhow?”

“You want the short list or the long?”

She stared at him. His certainty was unshakable.

There’s no way it was that obvious she was in trouble… But it wasn’t deep trouble like he seemed to think. Just… ankle-deep trouble. That she was slowly sinking in. No big deal.

Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. Her “trouble” was just between her and her parents. And her siblings, sort of. And… probably the people Frank worked with... and for… But, like, at its core, it was mostly just her and her parents.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Nothing vigilante worthy, anyway.”

Red Hood tilted his head, silently encouraging her to continue regardless.

“It’s just… family stuff.”

Just a looming fight between divorced parents; their adult child stuck in the middle and trying to put out the fire before it sparked. A totally normal thing for a totally normal "family".

Only, like… kicked up to a ten because Eden was a metahuman, her father was a superhero-obsessed farmer-turned-geneticist who basically stole samples of her DNA, and her mother was not afraid to get her hands dirty. Especially if she perceived something as a threat to her daughter’s well-being — which Frank’s recent work and actions could definitely be perceived as.

Plus, everyone in that facility seemed to know about her powers. Mama would not like that. That Eden regretted helping them – that she’d tried to rescind her consent, been denied, and her DNA taken anyway – just made the whole thing even messier.

The only way to hide any of it from her mother was to literally take the money Frank gave her for her "donation", run off, and hide away while she tried to string everything together. Because once Mama knew, Frank was a dead man. Unless Eden could figure out some way to cushion the information and keep her from digging deeper, there was no doubt in her mind that Mama would wipe every last trace of him – and his colleagues – off the face of the earth.

And Eden… Eden didn’t want that.

Despite everything he’d done and put her through, despite all the hurt and tears, part of her still thought of Frank as her father. As the man who read her stories every night and taught her to ride a bike and a horse. The one who called her “Champ” and always carried her up on his shoulders when they went into town. Who told her she was meant for great things, encouraged her compassion, always put her back on her feet… told her he loved her every morning and every night when she was young…

They were both older now, and him colder. He’d abused her trust and love in pursuit of his own goals. Again. This time with intent. But he was still the man who, above all else, wanted to help others. Eden knew that. He just… didn’t seem to mind hurting her in the process. And a part of her hated him for it, but she still loved him, too. She couldn't stand the thought of him getting hurt, or worse.

Which, you know, with her mama a hairpin trigger away from… removing him… sorta left Eden caught between a rock and a hard place. But, again, that wasn’t any of Red Hood’s business.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she stressed. “And anyway, Veronica’s the one with the scout right now, not me.” She swiped back to the picture of the man in the suit and pointed to him firmly. “He cared about getting her picture, not mine. Even if he mixed us up, it still means she’s the one in real trouble here.”

Red Hood hummed. The disharmony was hard to interpret, but she was willing to bet he was neither fooled by nor satisfied with her answer.

“What?” she shot back, crossing her arms, acting defensive to force the conversation forward. “It’s not my fault he confused me for Veronica.”

“No, but you wanted to keep him confused. In fact,” he reached over and swiped back to the traffic cam picture, “you did everything you could to make sure he thought he had the right girl.”

Eden lifted her chin, waiting for the real question. Red Hood studied her, possibly waiting to see if she’d answer it herself. Maybe blubber out something as she was wont to do. But she was determined to keep her mouth shut this time.

She tipped her head, politely prompting him to continue. When he didn’t, she huffed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood,” she said rubbing her forehead, “but I really don’t know what you’re trying to ask me here. I’m not a mind reader.”

He stayed quiet for a few more beats. His consideration shifted from her to the picture on his phone. “For now, I guess my biggest questions are why and how.”

Eden sat up a little. “Why?” she repeated, not sure she understood.

“Yeah. According to my source,” he said slowly, “you two,” he nodded toward her and Aaron in the picture, “figured out the scout was there for Veronica before she’d even entered the building and that he’d mixed the two of you up.”

“Right,” she agreed cautiously. “And?”

“And?” He gestured in front of him as though he’d clearly laid everything out on the table itself. “Didn’t it occur to you that if he saw the real Veronica, the scout would’ve pieced it all together and left you alone?”

Had that occurred to her? She couldn’t remember. Probably not.

But even if it had, Eden wouldn’t have wanted him to leave her alone if it meant throwing Veronica under the bus like that. Eden at least knew how she was supposed to act in that kind of situation, which was more than Veronica could probably say. And besides, no matter what might’ve happened, she would’ve been fine in the end. Veronica didn’t have that guarantee. Nobody did. Except Eden.

“It was better for him to bother me than her,” she said firmly. “At the very least it threw them off her scent for a bit. Hopefully, she can get some sort of security team or something before they get too wise.”

“They?”

“Whoever wanted those pictures in the first place,” she explained. “I seriously doubt that scout was taking them for his own sake, or he would’ve left the moment “Veronica” started noticing him.” She tilted her head at Red Hood and gave him a wicked smile. “Or did your source not mention that part of my theory?”

“He did,” he said simply. “All the more reason to want to stick your head in the sand, though, don’t you think? It’s what anyone else would’ve done.”

She frowned, finally realizing what he was saying. “You Gothamites are so weird. I’d have thought a vigilante would at least understand..."

“Uh, rude?”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be, but… It’s just I think I figured out what you’re really asking me, and Aaron and Veronica asked me the same thing earlier, too, and it’s just…" She shook her head, finding it hard to wrap her brain around. "Y’all…” She huffed. “Y’all’re just so weird to me.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” she said again, more genuinely. “But you’re asking me why I helped her, right? Even if it wasn’t… oh, how did Veronica say it?” She turned her head, trying to remember. “Wasn’t my problem, I think? Something like that…” She refocused on him. “Anyway, my answer to you is the same as it was for them: because it was the right thing to do.”

Red Hood made a short, unamused noise. “The right thing was pretending to be that girl? Putting yourself in danger?"

“The right thing was helping her,” she corrected. “And that scout had already taken my picture anyway, so…” She swiped between the pictures. “At least I stopped him from taking the real Veronica’s picture, too.”

“But now he’s got your picture.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Which means his employer’s going to have your picture. If they don’t already.”

“Which they probably do, since he was using a cell phone," she pointed out.

He threw his hands in the air. “Exactly! And he could be some sick, psycho fuck!"

"Well—"

"This is Gotham, Ede," he went on, imploring her to listen. "Even if they know you're not Veronica, they'll know you tried to fuck with their plans for her, whatever they are. People get themselves killed for way less here. You know that, right?”

“No, I... I guess I hadn’t really…” 

So that was why a lot of Gothamites didn’t go out of their way to help others! Of course! There was no guarantee offering their hand to one person wouldn't put a huge target on their back with another. And nobody in their right mind would want to risk gaining the attention of one of Gotham’s scarier characters. It all made perfect sense now. Gothamites kept their heads down and only focused on their own problems because they had to. If they didn't, they could very well be signing their life away. And when people asked her why she was helping others, they weren't really asking her that; they were asking her why she was so willing to put her own life in danger for someone else.

But Eden wasn't like them. No matter what happened or what anyone did to her, she would be fine. She was always fine. It didn’t mean she had to throw on a cape and go looking for trouble every day like Frank had wanted her to, but it also meant she didn’t have the same excuse as everyone else. If she could step in and help somebody, she should. She was one of the few in this town who probably could. And, most importantly, she wanted to.

“I still would’ve helped her,” she decided. “Even if someone scary thinks I’m her for a little while, or gets mad at me, at least Veronica is safe for now.”

Red Hood stared at her, unmoving. It wasn’t clear what he was thinking or feeling, but Eden could imagine he might not like what he was hearing. After all, as far as he knew, Eden was just a totally normal, would-die-and-stay-dead civilian.

“I mean, if they have any brain cells at all, they should realize pretty quickly “Veronica” doesn’t look like she should, right?” she said trying to reassure him. “And even if they don’t, all they have to do is follow me home once and they’ll realize they’ve got the wrong girl.” She pointed out the window. “Even a total rock-for-brains moron would start scratching their head if Veronica Bradford came to a neighborhood like this.”

He followed her finger, seeming to consider her words. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But they’d probably just say fuck it and stick around anyway. Especially if it was some goon following orders.”

Eden bobbed her head from side to side, agreeing with the possibility. “They’d still figure it out eventually, though. Veronica’s a socialite. And I’m definitely not. Eventually, she’d post a Snapstagram story or go somewhere fancy while I’m hanging about here and things wouldn’t add up. And if they were still convinced I’m Veronica after something like that, then I don’t think they’re smart enough to be considered much of a threat to anybody but themselves.”

“Everybody is a threat in this city,” he warned her. “And the last thing you want is some twisted mother fucker knowing where you live. Especially if they think you messed with them.”

“I’d rather someone like that know where I live and make my life difficult than let someone else get hurt or killed because I didn’t help them,” she said stubbornly.

Red Hood let out a gruff, half-groaning sound as he sat back to stare up at the ceiling. "Of course you would," he grumbled. He stayed like that for a minute, perhaps trying to gauge how serious she was. He sighed, apparently finding his answer. "I don't get you. You freak out when a stranger shows up to warn you inside, but the idea of some asshole coming here and actually trying to fuck with you? That doesn't scare you?"

"In my defense, this is the ninth floor and it was my private fire escape. I had every right to freak out when some big stranger with guns and a mean-faced helmet suddenly showed up out of nowhere."

He huffed.

"And I'm not completely helpless, Mr. Hood," she told him. "I have a little fighting know-how under my belt."

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And how's your neck, again?"

"My...?" She blinked at him, then remembered the healed cut and frowned. "Hey, I'll have you know I was doing very well for myself until I got stabbed!" she said pointing at him.

He looked up again, this time as if asking a higher power for help. “So if someone broke in here with a gun or another knife, you think you'd be able to fight them off?"

“I'd be fine."

"So you do think you could."

"Not really, no."

He stared at her. “Y'know... a little lie might be nice right about now.”

"I could 100% fight them off no problem, Mr. Hood."

He groaned, covering his eyes. "God, you are an awful liar."

Eden tried very hard to suppress her giggles. “If it makes you feel any better," she offered, "I wasn’t planning on it. Pretending to be Veronica, I mean."

Red Hood sighed, but he lowered his hand and gave her his attention anyway.

"Veronica’s not very… Well, let’s say she’s not the most observant person around. And I know my foresight’s not exactly great in the heat of the moment, and I might end up paying for it eventually, but… I couldn’t just... not do something when that scout noticed her, you know? She needed someone to help her and she didn't even know it. So I just… did.”

Red Hood let out a sharp laugh, which sounded sharper with the distortion. He looked away, subtly shaking his head. “So you just did,” he muttered to himself. He turned to her again. “Didn’t you agree not to do anything stupid before I came by again, Cookie Girl?” he teased.

Eden smiled apologetically, then turned coy. “I did try, Mr. Hood,” she said sweetly. “And I promise that that was the stupidest of the stupid things I did. Which I’m willing to bet is still a million times better than the craziest thing you’ve done since the last time I saw you.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Who me? Do something crazy? Never.”

“Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure I heard someone say something about a red vigilante being involved with that big explosion Friday night.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been Red Robin. I’m completely innocent.”

Eden nodded along, not admitting she only knew of the other vigilante because she’d thought Red Robin was just another of Red Hood’s names until somebody corrected her.

“Oh, completely innocent, I’m sure,” she goaded. “And what was it that you were doing oh-so-innocently while the bridge was blowing sky high, Mr. Hood?”

“Hey, the bridge is still standing, isn’t it? He made sure there wouldn’t be any structural damage. Just a little mess of things. He knows what he’s doing with shit like that.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. I sure hope he does. Especially if he also has a helmet full of explosives.”

“Not to worry, Ede," he assured her. "I’m the crazy Red.”

“Oh. Good. I feel so much better now. Thanks."

He laughed.

“Wait.” She pointed at him. “Do you both go by Red?”

“We do," he nodded, "but Double R’s usually Red if we’re using shorthand,” he said crossing his arms. “They call me Hood to keep it simple.”

“Oh, well, that’s not confusing at all. Though I suppose y’all can’t exactly call him Robin. That’d be even more confusing.”

Red Hood scoffed. “Demon Spawn would have an absolute fit if we did that.” He looked to the side. “Then again…” He rubbed his chin, seeming to consider it.

“Um,” Eden lifted a tentative finger to catch his attention. “I’m sorry, but this is Gotham City, so I’m gonna need you to clarify: do you mean, like… a real demon spawn or…?”

“I mean I think he is,” Red Hood joked, “but, no, not really. That’s just what I call Robin ‘cause he’s a little shit.”

She perked up. “You mean Robin like… Batman's Robin?” He nodded and Eden scoffed with certainty. “Well, he can’t be that bad, then.”

Red Hood let out a short, sharp laugh. Something about it a bit painful. “Are you an expert on Robins now, Ede?”

“Well… no,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed. “But if he’s a Robin then… I dunno. He can’t be all that bad.”

“Have you ever met the brat?”

Eden shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to scowl.

No, she hadn’t met the boy Red Hood was talking about… But she’d met one of his predecessors. And that Robin? He’d saved her life. Not just from a fight or another encore. She could handle those things on her own. Poorly, sure. But she could.

No, what he’d saved her from was a life full of fights and encores. And pain. Endless, endless cycles of pain.

Without him, who knows where she’d be today. Who she’d be. Certainly not the person she was. Not the civilian trying to make the best of an awful situation by following her theatrical dreams. If he hadn’t knocked some sense into her, she would probably be what Frank wanted her to be. A… A hero. A constantly struggling, hurting, dying, pitiful attempt of a superhero.

Robin saved her from that. From a life of wishing every day, every death, would be her last.

As far as she was concerned, she owed that boy every good goddamn thing in her life. So to hear Red Hood call her hero a brat or a demon spawn, even if it was a completely different boy, even if Red Hood obviously knew him a thousand times better than Eden knew the one she’d met… Well, it upset her. In her heart, “Robin” was still the boy from her childhood.

Though, even she could admit it was hard to remember him clearly after so many years. She could remember the way he’d spoken to her and how it had impacted her, but not most of what he’d actually said. She could remember him joking and laughing with her, but not the way it sounded. She could remember the way he’d smiled and offered his hand before lifting her up into the air, but the scene was fuzzy.

“Sorry,” Red Hood grumbled, rubbing the jawline of his helmet. “I guess you’re more of a Gothamite than we thought.”

“Huh?” She squinted at him, confused. “No, I’m not. What do you mean?”

“Well...” He leaned back, spreading out slightly. “People these days tend to be pretty protective of their Robins. Even when this one first started out and was swinging his sword everywhere—”

“This one’s got a sword?” she blurted out, shocked. 

“Yeah, a katana. He hacked up a couple of goons pretty good with it, too. Which I thought was great,” he said gesturing to himself, “but B didn’t.”

“B? As in… Batman?” she whispered.

He snorted at her. “He’s not the boogeyman, Ede. He’s not gonna jump out of your closet if you say his name too loud." Despite saying this, he was clearly doing a quick survey of her apartment.

“Wow. I feel so reassured,” she droned. “Anyway, no, I should be the one apologizing. You clearly know this Robin well, so if you think he’s a—” her mouth twitched slightly “—a brat then... you… probably have your reasons for it. I suppose. And I should... respect that,” she half-snarled.

Red Hood clapped slowly. “Wow. What a beautiful performance, Edie. How’s it feel to be such a great actor?”

“Oh—” she reached over the table and shoved him “—shut it, you!”

He just laughed her off.

“You better start being nice to me, Hood," she said standing and moving toward the fridge.

“Or what?” he asked confidently.

She grinned at him. “Or you’re not getting any Mad Mountain Fudge,” she teased right back.

---

Feedback always loved and appreciated! 🥰💕🥰

Next chapter

[feathered-serpents]

Alright I haven’t made an original post in a while (school is hard) and while I HAVE made a post on my reverse omens on my old blog I cannot find the post and I have changed some stuff so fuck it I’m gonna ramble about my reverse omens AU 

Zephaniel and Crocell

Crocell - An angel who did not fall. Somehow.  

- Biblically, he’s known as the Serpent of Eden. What? Knowing the difference between good and evil seemed like a good thing. No one told him it would lead to humanity being banished from paradise. No one tells him anything! 

- He is told by his superiors that he is the worst angel in Heaven. Which he doesn’t see as an issue because he’s hardly ever in Heaven. Making him by default the best angel on earth. 

- In all seriousness. Is very very stressed. His superiors tell him constantly that the only reason he didn’t fall is because of a freak paperwork mistake that switched his name with another. Meaning that he is in another angel’s spot. An angel that would actually deserve to be on the “right side.”

- This stress leads to some “bad habits” depending on your definition of “bad habits.” He yells at his collection of house plants and he’s a bit of a trickster. Gluing coins to sidewalks. Inventing “Googling yourself.” Seeing people be in a fraction of his misery makes him feel better about his eternal existence. What’s Heaven going to do? He’s not doing any real harm, no one will even remember those minor inconveniences in the morning! 

- He does enjoy doing the occasional good deed when called upon. Though never in the way Heaven intends. Oh, Heaven tells him to spin a miracle and get the teenage boy to forgive his hateful parents? Because forgiveness is god’s way? No. Tomorrow that boy will discover he has enough money in his shoebox to buy that train ticket and go live with his partner’s family in Oxford. Yesterday he swore he was fifty pounds short. Funny how you lose count like that. 

- He is best friends with Zephaniel, the only other ethereal being on earth. Yes, a demon, but the most angelic demon he’s ever seen. Far more angelic than any of his lot. He calls him “angel” and spends as much time as he can around him. 

- He lives in a flat in London that is absolutely the messiest place you’ve ever seen. There are plants and historical memorabilia everywhere. Zephaniel asks him regularly if he’s trying to rebuild Eden to make up for the “incident.” 

- He has a gas fireplace that is always, somehow, on. The flames are a little redder than they should be. He doesn’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a perfectly normal fireplace. Why are you even talking about the fireplace? 

Zephaniel - An angel. If you look at him in the right light. 

- While he is not quite as famous for his biblical role, he was the “dove” that lead Noah’s Arc to shore. He had done it to disrupt the divine plan obviously, they had another forty days to go and land was closer than they thought. He hadn’t known they’d be so grateful. He also hadn’t known they’d mistake his demonic white raven shape for a dove. Of all things. A dove!

- Made peace with his fall by his complete and total faith in God. He fell because She wanted him to fall. So this is role in her Plan. Which he hates. Obviously. He’s a demon. But even demons have their place in the Plan. 

- He likes to do little good deeds whenever he can. He knows he shouldn’t, but it feels good! Demons get so little opportunity to feel good, and he won’t tell Hell if you won’t. He’s gotten more bold since the creation of the Arrangement with Crocell, which he originally protested against until his Enemy pointed out that he’d now have a perfect opportunity to do good. It was hard to say no after that. 

- Runs a bookshop full of “Strange, occult, and illicit literature!” Which mostly means copious amounts of “banned” Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf, and Jane Austen novels. However he does have a vast collection of witch’s spellbooks. Each one of a kind. Some of them having spells that even work. He began collecting the spellbooks in his hunt for Agnes Nutter’s book, and still had yet to find his that crown jewel. You can try and buy a spellbook, but you should know each book has a 100% chance of spontaneously summoning demons. 

- His bookshop is also very well organized, to the point that it makes Crocell worried that if he sits on a chair wrong he’ll push something out of place with his mere, messy presence. 

- He knows of Crocell’s theory that the angel whose place he stole was him, and Zephaniel thinks everything about that is preposterous. Zephaniel fell because he was meant to, and Crocell fell because he wasn’t. It can’t be more simple! There’s good in Crocell, he knows it. Just as much good as evil in him! 

- He does have a belief, somewhere in his heart, that he will see Her face again. He’s nearly certain of it. Don’t ask him why. 

[foxghost]

鎮魂 Guardian [Zhen Hun] extra 2 full translation

Warning(s): single use of a slur, lots of Buddhism, novel ending spoilers / explanation [TN: the other extras are here, you may want to check out #4 for notes on names.] Original Chinese character count: 3068 English Translation word count: 3058 Much thanks to @lady-eden for the final once-over.

A comparatively serious demon-raising incident affecting a certain city in the southern part of the country needed the attention of Chu Shuzhi. He takes Guo Changcheng with him. They spend nearly a whole month there before the incident can be considered perfectly resolved, and the two return to 4 Bright Road.

Guo Changcheng is still as unskilled as he ever was. There are times when everyone feels that Guo Changcheng and their office’s newest member, Xiao Mi, cannot be any more alike.

Oh right, forgot to mention: Xiao Mi is a one year and some old Samoyed dog with an outsized appetite and an undersized intelligence.

It started with a lost dog delivered to the neighbourhood police station, living there for over a month. Though the owner never came back to claim him, it did manage to eat everyone poor. After a few more twists and turns, Zhao Yunlan manages to gain possession of the dog and to keep it at 4 Bright Road in an attempt to divert Daqing’s gloominess on seeing Lao Li.

The whole day through Xiao Mi eats when it should eat, drinks when it should drink, doesn’t ever take anything to heart. Before Chu Shizhi left for the assignment, he spent more than a month with much effort teaching this dog the two tricks of ‘sit’ and ‘shake,’ only to discover it had discarded the only two skills it possessed on Java Island by the time he gets back. Other than to stare blankly with two giant innocent eyes and run around humping legs, its brain seems entirely empty and devoid of dog tricks.

[TN: “Java Island” is a way to say “not even on the map anymore” or “gone”]

In the way that so many skills seem unteachable to the both of them, it does look very much like Guo Changcheng and Xiao Mi belonged to the same family eight hundred years ago.

[TN: There’s a saying that people with the same last names are “五百年前是一家” / belonged to the same family 500 years ago. The number varies.]

But none of it takes away from how he’s in possession of a holy artefact.

The catastrophic rupturing of chaos decimated Difu, and Shen Wei near single-handedly sets up the new order. The sheep skin he wears covers him quite well and he rarely makes an appearance, nor does he meddle in the new administration’s affairs, but the new Difu, given a new lease on life by the wolf that is Shen Wei, dares not treat him with less than the respect he’s due. The Zhanhun-shi that all three realms yielded to now yields more power than ever, so naturally his habit of collecting the remnants of lone souls and wild ghosts passes without the merest notice, all to the advantage of Guo Changcheng’s little stun baton.

If one takes some time and considers that Guo Chancheng tends to turn into a trembling bald chicken whenever he runs into danger, how he always manages to turn fear into sheer power feels rather miraculous.

When Chu Shizhi returns to the office, he ignores all of his paperwork in favour of watching the stock market and studying the candlestick chart while wearing a grave expression, leaving Guo Changcheng to patiently post invoices and fill in expense reports. He goes to find Zhao Yunlan so he can sign the paperwork, but unexpectedly finds the opposite office door locked — Zhao Yunlan isn’t here.

Guo Changcheng scratches his head. He asks innocently, “Zhao Chu isn’t here?”

Zhu Hong doesn’t bother looking up from her computer. “Officially, our new office lease is finalized today and he’s gone to do final inspection and put his signature on things. He thought he may as well move today too — dammit, why is everything so slow? I sincerely hope the net is faster where we’re moving.”

Poor Xiao Mi’s being chased by a little cat all over the room, but Daqing brakes to a stop from his bullying when he hears this. The black cat raises his head to speak, “What about unofficially?”

With an odd tone carrying both longing and a distant ache, Zhu Hong says, “His man fucked him so hard he can’t get out of bed obviously.”

Not about to disappoint, Guo Changcheng is so shocked by these words he ends up sitting down crookedly, and the chair rolls away from beneath him, leaving him to crash solidly onto the floor.

Zhu Hong glances dismissively at Guo Changcheng, telegraphing what a fuss about nothing, and sucks her teeth at him. “Our leader is a faggot, what are you so surprised about — ai, is everyone’s net slow? This is so infuriating."

Chu Shuzhi comments, “It’s pretty slow.”

The one taking up all the bandwidth playing an online game is Lin Jing, and he keeps quiet through all of this pretending to be invisible. He doesn’t stay invisible for long though, and as quickly as he’s discovered, Zhu Hong beats him up.

As punishment, they disconnect Lin Jing’s computer from the network and he’s left to waste his time away by playing an offline game called Plant vs. Zombies.

… and that’s why it’s Chu Shuzhi’s turn to beat him up now.

[TN. a reminder: Chu is a Chinese zombie, which I suppose is like both a zombie and a vampire, by western standards.]

Head in his arms, Lin Jing drapes himself over his desk, tearily saying, “These days are so hard to get through.”

Chu Shuzhi orders, “I see you’re so devoid of work you have dan teng. Xiao Guo, don’t bother writing that report. Give it to someone who has nothing to do.”

[TN. 蛋疼 / dan teng, literally ‘egg pain’ is something like a headache, but it’s closer to the saying, ‘that makes my testicles hurt.’ You can use it in place of the word headache about things/people/situations that gives you a headache, BUT the word differs from a headache in that it is also used for boredom. So bored your testicles hurt. I have no idea where this came from but you don’t need to have testicles to say it. It’s also used in sentences like “that has dan teng to do with me” in which case it’s just a mildly crass way of saying ‘nothing.’]

Guo Ghangcheng looks over at Lin Jing, and finds him tearfully taking a selfie to capture his ‘as rain on pear blossoms’ look, and laughs, not unkindly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll write it.”

Lin Jing, pooled on his desk, steals a glimpse of Guo Changcheng, and after a while, does it again.

Guo Changcheng is sitting there typing quietly, slow and meticulous the way he does everything, not a hair out of place. Lin Jing, watching him, finally can’t suppress his curiosity any longer, and with lightning speed he stands just to pluck a hair off Guo Changcheng’s head over his desk.

Guo Changcheng cries out in pain, looks bewilderingly up at him.

Lin Jin gives off a mischievous laugh. “It’s nothing. Just some research.”

“It’ll just give off the smell of burnt protein if you set it on fire,” Chu Shuzhi scoffs, not bothering to look up. “Hair is just a part of the mortal shell. Every reincarnation one gets a new shell. How could it have anything special to it? Your research is skin-deep.”

Lin Jing asks after a pregnant pause, “How did you know what it’d smell like if you set it on fire? Did you already try to burn it?”

Chu Shuzhi ignores him.

“What I still don’t understand,” Lin Jing says, playing with that one strand of Guo Changcheng’s hair, the humour vanishing from his face . “How could such a perfectly normal looking young man be … ai, Xiao Guo, do you think there is anything special about you? Something that’s different from other people?”

They’re not sure how, but everyone’s come to a tacit agreement to not mention anything regarding the Zhenhun Lamp in front of Guo Changcheng. Guo Changcheng stares back at Lin Jing blankly and doesn’t get what he’s saying at all. He shakes his head. “Oh, maybe I’m a bit dumber?”

Lin Jing says ,“But …” and pauses, his voice stopping suddenly.

Kunlun Jun has confirmed that Guo Changcheng is the Zhenhun Lamp’s wick. He’s lived a hundred lifetimes and underwent a hundred calamities and none of it altered his first intentions. The merit accumulated on his soul is a match to Nuwa who created humans, and yet heaven’s given him no blessings and no favours. He has no luck nor fortune; he toils in obscurity ignorant of what he is. Lin Jing’s words fade to silence as he realises he doesn’t want to tell Guo Changcheng about this at all, even if this young man, who lit the last Zhenhun Lamp, who can be said to have finally ended the war between chaos and order, is so extraordinary.

[TN. Merit = positive karma. Good, virtuous actions; every time you choose not to do harm, you gain merit.]

Without a third eye, yet he can always see the truth.

Great Merit, heaven-sent, and yet he remains a nobody.

“But what?” Guo Changcheng asks, puzzled.

“Nothing … I was just wondering how come the sceptre handed down by Kunlun Jun is called ‘Zhenhun-Ling,’” Lin Jing mutters, and he doesn’t wait for Guo Changcheng to figure out what he’s said before he asks, “Oh yeah, what do you do after work?”

[TN. 鎮魂令 zhen / subdue, hun / soul, ling / command]

Guo Changcheng lists off, “Oh, I have to make a delivery to Nana Li’s house, and the Southern Tibet Educational Support Group is working on their summer plans so I’m going there afterwards. I work on things like posters and brochures for them in the evenings.”

Lin Jing’s fingers count unconsciously through his prayer beads. “Hinayama the Lesser Vehicle said that the only person who can help you cross the great river is yourself, but after, Mahayana the Greater Vehicle spoke of ferrying all living things across to reach the shores of enlightenment — come to think of it, I’ve wondered this whole time: Xiao Guo, you’re so busy running around everyday. What do you do it all for?”

[TN. 度 / du literally means “to cross (a river)” and in Buddhism it means to “cross the river to the shores of enlightenment.” It carries the meaning of ‘saving’ or ‘salvation,’ and leads to an ‘escape’ from the Wheel of Reincarnation. What Lin Jing paraphrased is from the Lotus Sutra. 佛自住大乘，如其所得法，定慧力莊嚴，以此度眾生。]

Guo Changcheng says, “I don’t … don’t do it for anything. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

“Then how do you decide for yourself what to do, and what not to do?” Zhu Hong cuts into the conversation.

Guo Changchen swallows, stretching out his neck like a goose freshly plucked out of the water; he has no idea why everyone suddenly seems interested in him. Maybe he’s seen too many dramas: being the centre of attention always makes Guo Changcheng feel as though he’s acquired a terminal illness, giving him the misconception that he’s not long for the world.

Subconsciously he begins to stammer.

“I, I just don’t do bad things, and occasionally, if there’s something I can help with then I help out. I don’t know anything about anything.” Guo Changcheng’s voice gets smaller and smaller as he speaks, until it naturally becomes as high and quiet as a mosquito.

“I’m suddenly reminded of a saying,” Chu Shuzhi, who’s kept quiet all this time, cuts in. “I saw it on a mural of an old tomb. Impossible to say which era it’s from, now. It said, ‘Men’s hearts harbour corruption, often suffer from worry, hold grudges from anger, commit countless crimes they ought not. Only the three words ‘do no harm’ is the greatest virtue under heaven, and of those who can benefit mankind and subdue souls, there is none other.’”

[TN. priest made this part up, it’s not in any sutras, The word here for 濟 / benefit also means “ferry,” which ties into the sutra Lin Jing quoted above.]

“Of those who can benefit mankind and subdue souls, there is none other…” These words seem to float halfway across Dragon City, from the elder Zhao … no, from Shennong-bo’s mouth. “Recently, I have been harbouring doubts.”

Zhao Yunlan sits lazily reclining by the window, crossing an ankle over one knee, looking outside. Dragon City University’s head office is within view; he has no idea if it’s because exams are near, but Shen Wei is surrounded by students asking him questions as soon as he’s finished class. Zhao Yunlan follows him with eyes carrying a hint of a smile, and spares very little attention he has left to ask, “Hmm, like what?”

“The divine wood plaque Shansheng left behind — why is it called the Zhenhun-Ling?”

[TN. Shennong-bo always uses the more polite form of ‘you’ when addressing Kunlun. 您/nin instead of 你/ni. He also refers to Kunlun as 山聖/Shansheng, which in this configuration means ‘sacred mountain,’ btw, this is not a real world title, no god is referred to by it, priest made it up afaik. From Shennong-bo’s mouth, it’s just another way to say ‘you.’ I’ll use the pinyin when it’s a name/title, and a translation when it’s a common noun.]

Zhao Yunlan sweeps over a glance. “What do you think?”

Shennong-bo stops to think, then carefully choosing his words, says, “I have heard that there are only two kinds of people who are unafraid of death. One who is carrying out the true wish of his heart, blames on one, has no regrets. The other, one who knows exactly what is on the other side of death. In these five thousand years, the Zhenhun Lamp continued to burn. All of this happening now: the shattering of the Lesser Wheel of Reincarnation, the creation of the Greater Wheel of Reincarnation using the Ghost King’s soul as a medium and borrowing Great Merit from the Zhenhun Lamp to join them together — is it all just a gambit by the Old Gods?”

The corner of Zhao Yunlan’s mouth rises, revealing a dimple on his cheek. “If we’re so clever, then how come we all died off one by one? Shennong asked you to keep an eye on Zhanhun-shi. Did five thousand years of watching him turn you into a conspiracy theorist?”

Shennong-bo just looks more and more suspicious. “Then why did Shansheng leave behind the Zhenhun Lamp and the Zhenhun-Ling? Why did my founding teacher just happen to let out your memories and powers at that exact, crucial moment?”

“When Shen Wei decided to wipe my memories, he’d already fulfilled everything he agreed to in his contract,” Zhao Yunlan pours himself a cup of tea, “The contract is concluded, and the influence Shennong had on both of us dissipated entirely, and that’s why I was able to ‘wake up.’”

Shennong-bo says, “Then you’re saying … it’s a coincidence?”

“That’s not it, either,” Zhao Yunlan murmurs after a little thinking.

Shennong-Bo is even more confused.

Zhao Yunlan looks at him, but not in the way a son looks up at his father. His gaze passes through their two mortal shells, falling onto the medicine pot itself.

At this moment, he seems to have become an elder.

“Wait some more,” he says. “Maybe give it another thousand, another two thousand years, you’ll get it. Some things must be learned through your own experience; it won’t do you any good for someone else to just tell you. When you want to sacrifice your life for a just cause, you’ll be able to grasp truths that no one else could understand. Whether it’s about the Zhenhun Lamp or Shennong’s contract, when we made those decisions at the time, we were only able to grasp a shadow of the future. It could move in a good direction, or maybe …”

Shennong-bo asks, “And if it didn’t move in a good direction?”

“The world will naturally gain new gods after we die. They’ll learn from our mistakes. It’s not in vain.” Zhao Yunlan hears Shen Wei’s familiar footsteps coming upstairs, and he gets up, takes the windbreaker he’s hung on the back of his chair and throws it over an arm. He turns his head to Shennong-bo, “Aren’t you one of the ‘new’ gods?”

Shen Wei arrives as Shennong-bo is still mulling over that, and with an indifferent air gives him a courteous, perfunctory nod. When his gaze lands on Zhao Yunlan, it softens in an instant. He asks, “Are you leaving now? Have you finished with your conversation?”

Zhao Yunlan makes a sound of agreement, and says to Shennong-bo, “Drive carefully on the way back, don’t let my dad notice anything. Take good care of his body.”

Shennong-bo stands, saying deferentially, “I must thank Shansheng for the guidance. In truth, I came today to beg my leave. It can be said that I have accomplished my task and it would be unseemly to hang onto a mortal’s body any longer.”

Zhao Yunlan seems taken aback, but only for a second. “When are you leaving?”

“Today,” Shennong-bo says, “I’ll return elder Zhao home right away.”

[TN. 趙先生 could be translated to Mr. Zhao, but Shennong-bo is old and formal, so I went with what 先生 would have been translated to according to Mencius. 先生，父兄也。And older man in a family, a father or an older brother.]

“That’s good.” Zhao Yunlan thinks for a second, and without a care, waves his goodbyes. “Take care. Don’t hesitate to come to me if you need anything.”

The couple leaves for downstairs together. Shennong-bo stands silently by the window, and watches the two of them move unhurriedly toward a residential neighbourhood across from campus full of European style houses with gardens, walking at an leisurely speed like they’re taking an afternoon walk. He’s reminded of what Zhao Yunlan said, that he’s been waiting for Shen Wei so they can move house together.

Farther ahead, from the neighbourhood greenbelt to the immense balconies of the buildings, clusters of flowers of every colour blossom soundlessly where they pass. Only now does Shennong-bo realises that spring is already in the air.

[TN. 春意 means both ‘the start of spring’ and ‘thoughts of love.’]

[rebelliumhq-blog]

— TASK 001. STATISTICS

BASIC INFORMATION.

Full Name: Nicholas Afonso Ross 

Nickname(s): Cypress to Toxins, Ross to old friends, Nicky to a select few, and Fonz to two of his (purposefully) distant aunts

Age: Twenty-nine

Date of Birth: June 18th, 1989

Hometown: Everett, Washington

Current Location: Dertosa, California

Ethnicity: Caucasian, Portuguese by one set of grandparents

Nationality: American

Gender: Cisgender Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: Bi(sexual/romantic)

Religion: Atheist 

Political Affiliation: The only politics Nick pays attention to happens within county lines tbh

Occupation: The one with the least paid vacation hours in town, of course. Cypress has been a flower for more than seven years now, but Nick has worked several odd jobs around Dertosa to get extra money over that time. For now, Nightshade is keeping his pocket padded enough to kick his feet up more often than not 

Living Arrangements: Designated apartment on top of the Garden of Eden, which he refers to jokingly as the penthouse

Language(s) Spoken: English, a functional amount of Spanish

Accent: Next to none – Nicky’s got that neutral, low n’ confident mid-western radio voice when he’s speaking naturally. He’s good at accent-matching with a conversational partner as well and tends to consciously or otherwise pick up on people’s tics and modulations the longer he’s talking to them

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

Face Claim: Shiloh Fernandez 

Hair: Dark brown, cut himself and permanently mussed unless preventative measures have been taken beforehand

Eyes: Hazel, just distantly hinting at green

Height: The body says 5′10 but the attitude says 6′5

Weight: Between 145-150 lbs

Build: More uber-lean organic than classic Beef - he’s thin, but not entirely without muscle

Tattoos: Two, on the back of his left hand and his right forearm. Both are pre-Dertosa and both were gotten entirely just for the aesthetics.

Piercings: 16 y/o Nicky totally got The Hoop™️ (though it’s only in about 60% of the time nowadays)

Clothing Style: Usually keeps it simple. The go-to is a dark long sleeved v-neck t-shirt and a well-fitting pair of black jeans: easy to coordinate, but not too sloppy in case he gets suddenly called in to a job. He’s got a passion for henley’s, a few crisp white collared shirts stashed in the back of the closet for special occasions (or catering clients), a tendency to forget about the top couple of buttons, and an occasional tangle of necklaces, but always only a single silver ring ( x  x  x )

Default Expression: That type of neutral you can read just about anything into -- his eyebrows look just a little bit raised, like he’s either amused or doubting what you’re saying, but he’s definitely paying attention to it.

Distinguishing Characteristics: You can narrow him down pretty quick by either hair, the two tattoos, or the passionate hand gesturing in midst of a conversation. 

HEALTH.

Physical Ailments: N/A

Neurological Conditions: N/A

Allergies: N/A

Sleeping Habits: Erratic, well-established from when he was younger. Nicky’s never been able to go to sleep early a day of his life so while he’s far from a morning person, he’s also way too much of an overthinker-type to wallow around alone in bed and ends up inevitably kicking his own ass out before ten almost every day unless he’s absolutely exhausted. Consistently has bizarre dreams that he rarely remembers. High-functioning on his standard five to six hours, with the help of morning coffee.

Eating Habits: He’s trying to be healthy, he promises, but his best friend is still skillet-friendly breakfast food and a microwave and if it’s a portable meal, even better. 

Exercise Habits: He ran track and field in high school and after graduating promptly never formally exercised again. A little bit of typical living room fitness, has been slowly getting back into running this past year, still doesn’t break more than twice a week when he remembers to do the damn thing, but when he does he tends to go until his lungs burn and his legs wobble underneath him to make up for it.

Emotional Stability: I thought of like five different numbers and changed my mind because I honestly have no idea. Does it count as stable if you’re emotionally in flux but you’re doing it consistently? There’s no way to avoid stress or frustration or over-stimulation in this line of work, Nick at this point embraces it and lets the adrenaline call the shots and get him back to neutrality later. 

Sociability: God, listen, Nicky’s such a fucking extrovert but he doesn’t LET himself fully flourish the way he should. He digs having a wide circle of people and he likes conversation and he likes to have a good time, but he ain’t gonna Trust Like That right off the bat in Dertosa. He’ll weaponize his extroversion for his own use here.

Body Temperature: Average, on the cooler side

Addictions: Making stupid decisions for fun when he clearly knows the smarter option

Alcohol Use: Social with an edge

Drug Use: Better than it used to be...

PERSONALITY.

Label: The Performer, The Hidden Depths, The Analyzer, or The Deadpan Snarker

Positive Traits: Confident, intuitive, adaptable, clever, persistent

Negative Traits: Mercurial, suspicious, cocky, impulsive, withdrawn 

Goals/Desires: Freedom, independence, a reclamation of his social status. To be self-sustaining, whatever it takes. To leave his mark, one way or another, on the city or the world. 

Fears: Claustrophobia – specifically underground. Fatal illness. A complete loss of control, or more importantly: dignity. The complete sort of failure that makes one reliant on others for the rest of their lives. The type of failure that would prove his family, still entirely ignorant of his situation, right. 

Hobbies: Collecting old movie posters, fucking around on his ancient piano keyboard, keeping his own special little coded notes of a sort (his back-up for all information he qualifies as need-to-know, but written down in choppy word-association type bulletpoints that are nigh-incomprehensible if a stranger was handed them on the street. The people that know Nicky/TC well enough to pick apart some references just might be able to crack it).

Habits: Mussing his hair, ‘spacing’ aka retreating in the middle of a conversation, so much eyebrow raising, putting his feet up whenever he can get away with it, locking his front door behind him every time he comes home, even if it’s just for a short stop. Walking absolutely everywhere. A huffed laugh or a low chuckle instead of loud and outright cackling. Letting his silence and his gaze ask his questions for him. And one clear nervous tic: licking his lips. If he’s stressed out over a long enough time, they inevitably start getting chapped and he’ll pick at it until he makes himself bleed if the stress is pervasive enough.

FAVOURITES.

Weather: Overcast n’ a little breezy, or a classic Cali hot summer night.  

Colour: Dark blue or green

Music: Cage the Elephant, Tom Waits, The Smiths, Portishead, Joni Mitchell

Movies: Vertigo, Snowpiercer,Trainspotting, Alien, The Night of the Hunter

Sport: Will go in hard on pick-up soccer but never follows any teams

Beverage: Coffee with sugar and no cream, or a Guinness 

Food: Literally anything involving pasta. Would also sell state secrets for really good dim sum.

Animal: Man’s best friend, but he was totally one of those kids that was really into wolves.

FAMILY.

Father: Victor Ross (61), salesman

Mother: Frances Ross, née Holland (56), secretary 

Sibling(s): Carolina Ross (31) and Angela Ross (33)

Children: N/A

Pet(s): None currently, but he has great memories of his childhood family dogs

Family’s Financial Status: Comfortably middle class

EXTRA.

Zodiac Sign: Gemini

MBTI: ESTP, the Entrepreneur 

Enneagram: Type 3, the Performer

Temperament: Choleric

Moral Alignment: True neutral 

Primary Vice: Pride (followed by Envy)

Primary Virtue: Diligence (followed by Temperance) 

Element: Earth

[takingacloserlook]

The Bridge to Nowhere

When Noah first posted this video it was the central discussion point for my colleagues and I for a solid couple of weeks. We were arguing over the many different explanations and theories it had put in our heads. Now, over three years later, I’d like to re-examine it.

After getting a remarkably tame and comparably considerate explantion of Severance from an unlikely source, Noah wanders off into New Jersey, stunned and very angry about being whisked there. There was some temporal disturbance too - Noah ends up going two entire months back in time while he does it. HABIT takes credit for the transportation, which I’m having difficulty believing. At no point has he demonstrated these “talents” before, and I’m more inclined to believe it was done on the part of Firebrand. Or at least, some collaboration of the two.

See, we were very confused about the relationship between HABIT and Firebrand. Firebrand seems to have no true reverence for the...thing, but seems to be comfortable with enlisting his help however briefly. In DEUS EX MACHINA, he attributes his split from the Collective to HABIT - somehow. HABIT claims to be doing this out of the good of his heart, but I am incredibly skeptical - he was very, VERY adamant on Noah drawing the severance symbol for him.

My current theory, based on the words HABIT uses when talking Noah into drawing the symbol, is that he somehow used this symbol to retroactively free Firebrand from the collective. The point that tips me off to this is when he says “and - Noah - I want you, to think about your freedom”. Seems awfully coincidental. I’d like to know HABIT’s motive for freeing Firebrand, but it turns out it may be more simple than expected. HABIT isn’t on the best of terms with the Slender Man - thralls of the monster were set upon him in “MOVING IN”, and he certainly didn’t seem to be on the best of terms in the videos afterward. It’s possible he was just trying to get back at his former “business partner” in some way.

Well, whatever the case, he’s gracious enough to let Noah go unscathed, which is more than I can say for the man in his bathroom behind him. Someone sent me a video from 2012 of a detective named Zeke Strahm that looks almost identical - wound and all - dying on camera after an entire channel’s worth of videos detailing his struggle against these forces.

If this is Zeke Strahm, then it lends credence to HABIT’s possible time manipulation abilities - Zeke died two years before this video was posted.

Noah manages to make it to a 7/11 to presumably take a leak when he finds himself somewhere besides a public restroom. The camera does not react to this new place well - there’s a disturbing tint and noise to everything, and a constant, droning ambiance in the background. Noah seems as put off as we are - he describes the place as “not right” and “unnatural”.

He wanders around for a bit, pursued by some barely-seen tracker who, if we grab some frames, seems to be HABIT, having a nose bleed, filming some ants. He receives a few texts from Firebrand telling him to “find the bridge”. The purpose of this seems to be to get Noah out, and Firebrand knows how it happens because he’s lived it already.

Noah makes it to the bridge after some incredibly off-putting and horrific footage and meets an unexpected visitor - Jeff. Jeff, who died over a year prior, murdered by HABIT. Jeff begs him to not listen to “them” and implores him to kill himself. Before he can offer much of an explanation he runs off, seemingly scared of what’s behind Noah - HABIT.

HABIT is surprised Noah made it into his...HABITAT, and asks him how he got there. Noah doesn’t know. This seems to be a future version of HABIT - he’s wearing different clothes, which is a good indicator about these kind of things. He gets incredibly frustrated with Noah’s indecisiveness about suicide, before composing himself when realizing Noah is filming him on his camera. This just underlines everyone’s belief that everything we truly know and see about the EverymanHYBRID crew is filtered to us through HABIT. He’s the director, even when it’s not his show, and puts on a happy face for the viewer. Disgusting.

HABIT reminds him of what he told him earlier and insists that Noah’s going to do what he told him to do, probably because he’s seen it happen already. He sends Noah on his merry way, and returns to his eternal pursuit of Jeff.

So, what the hell happened? Where did Noah go? Why was Jeff there? Why is HABIT insisting this is “his house”? How did Noah get there?

Let’s get the most obvious answer out of the way - Noah ended up in the “Candleverse”, a turbulent pocket of liminal space outside of the “iterations” the EverymanHYBRID crew seem to be stuck repeating. Whenever they die in their pocket universe - which for some reason, seems to be located entirely within our plane of existence - their souls return to the Candleverse to await the next cycle. We’ve seen brief glimpses of the place before, in strange EverymanHYBRID videos posted for our viewing pleasure by HABIT, but this is the first time an outsider has managed to break in.

And it doesn’t suit him. Noah gets very, very sick while he’s in there, going delirious, obsessively filming, suffering from blood noses and coughing up blood...we’ve received loud and clear that he’s not supposed to be there. But who sent him?

HABIT claims to not be the responsible one, and I believe him. There’s no reason for him to have done so - he’d just finished telling Noah everything he needed to hear and threw him out of his house. He didn’t have anything new to say beyond some foul taunts and a couple of hat re-adjustments. It’s incredibly questionable who could have enough influence over the Candleverse to do such a thing.

The Slender Man could have done it, but it doesn’t seem like something that lines up with what he wants Noah for. He wants Noah to get the journal - it’s why he showed up to “rescue” him from The Order in 2011. Putting him in harm’s way like this isn’t his style. However, HABIT had suggested that as long as Noah was in his house, he was safe from the Administrator, and as soon as Noah leaves, he found himself in another dimension, so it’s suspicious to say the least.

Could it have been Firebrand? Possible, but again, strange. Certainly his texts would suggest that he had a hand in it, but then again he could just be trying to salvage a shitty situation the best way he could. What would he have wanted Noah to travel there for? To get some footage of the Candleverse out into the world? Some vague hope of HABIT divulging more information?

There’s one other possibility I’m open to. Dr. Corenthal himself. The man is clearly not your typical psychiatrist from what I’ve seen in the EMH video “The Property”. He possesses some kind of influence over space, as he was able to carve his own little “Eden” into the nether, and willingly transport Vinnie in and out of it at will. perhaps he wanted to let the world see the Candleverse in all its terrifying, miserable glory, to get some footage out that WASN’T filtered, cut and edited by HABIT. A small little “fuck you” to the cunt. Corenthal’s connection to Noah is very tenuous - the only link is Milo and Mary - but it does seem to line up with his character and what we’ve seen he can do. Perhaps he wanted Noah to meet Jeff, hoping Noah would follow his advice?

Jeff’s appearance here is startling. Who is he referring to when he says “them”? HABIT is a single person, so it’s got to be more complicated than that. Is he referring to HABIT and Firebrand’s unholy alliance? Is he trying to put Noah out of his misery, or hasten his demise? Certainly, killing himself didn’t seem to stop the Collective from bringing Milo into their ranks. Why would it be any different for Noah?

Perhaps Jeff just wanted Noah to stop posting videos. One of the last sightings of Jeff on EMH video he was imploring us to stop watching - seemingly believing our viewership was perpetuating the horror of the Slender Man across the world. I can’t say I’ve found much to prove him wrong, there.

In any case, the videos of Noah’s trip to New Jersey left us horrified and confused, and Noah traumatized. The next we saw him, he was an abject mess - and still is, despite seemingly having been refocused around the release of DEATHTRAPEXODUS when he returned from his trip to the boardwalk - which he still has not finished uploading to the channel. I’m not saying he has an easy life, by any means, but it’s incredibly frustrating and sad to see him cycle in and out of complete and utter misery. Every time I think he’s pulled himself together, he falls apart again. Let’s hope he can upload Milo’s Journal for us before the end of the year. God knows it’s been almost a whole one since he managed to get the damn thing open.