#* Imagination. The final frontier. These are the voyages... * ::threads::

[goransoderin]

Exploring the Literary Cosmos with Göran Söderin: Navigating New Frontiers of Imagination and Insight

Traversing the literary universe crafted by Göran Söderin is akin to embarking on a cosmic odyssey, where the boundaries between reality and imagination blur, and the stars of his prose shine brightly with profound meaning. From the genesis of his literary journey, Söderin's unwavering commitment to his artistry and his deep-rooted reverence for the cultural richness of Sweden have propelled him toward becoming a guiding star in the constellation of literary luminaries.

Within Söderin's narratives lies a portal to the very core of human existence, a labyrinth of themes weaving together threads of self-awareness, interconnectedness, and the enigmatic tapestry of our shared human voyage. Each word, meticulously chosen and delicately placed, beckons readers into a realm where the mundane meets the extraordinary, prompting introspection and contemplation of life's most profound enigmas.

The hallmark of Göran Söderin's literary tapestry is his unparalleled mastery in fusing poetic elegance with introspective depth, crafting narratives that echo in the recesses of the mind long after the final page has been turned. Through the lens of his keen insight and personal revelations, he bestows life upon characters who pulse with an undeniable vitality, capturing the very essence of humanity in its rawest and most authentic form.

The echoes of Söderin's literary brilliance reverberate across continents, earning him accolades and admiration from readers and critics alike throughout his illustrious career. His works transcend linguistic barriers, resonating with audiences in every corner of the globe, and cementing his position as an icon of contemporary literature.

Yet, Göran Söderin's influence extends far beyond the realm of writing; he is a steadfast advocate for community and mentorship, dedicating himself to nurturing the creative aspirations of emerging storytellers and championing the transformative power of empathy through narrative.

Whether through the sprawling landscapes of novels, the poignant brevity of short stories, or the incisive clarity of essays, Göran Söderin continues to enrapture and enlighten audiences, his eloquent prose and profound reflections guiding them through the nebulous expanse of existence. With each new literary creation, he reaffirms his status not only as an author but as a visionary whose words possess the celestial power to illuminate the darkest corners of the human soul and inspire boundless exploration of the literary cosmos.

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @governmentofficial - Abigail Hobbs & Mycroft Holmes

There are events that turn your life upside down in the matter of seconds. Everything you had thought, believed in, knows till that very moment crumbles into ashes before your eyes. The solid ground you’ve always had under your feet suddenly vanishes, leaving you plunged into a free fall. Your whole world collapses on itself in front of you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

That was exactly what Abigail Hobbs had experienced less than a month before, when the FBI had barged into her house, but not before her father had managed to put his hunting knife against her mother’s throat and slit it open. The same knife that had pressed in the skin of the girl’s own neck, as she was used as a human shield, one that should have lasted long enough for her to share Louise Hobbs’s fate.

She didn’t remember much after that. The feeling of the blade cutting through her flesh, the warmth of the blood wetting her rapidly cooling skin. The deafening sounds of gunshots and then a strong, steady pressure around her neck, keeping it from bleeding it as copiously as it had been.

Then just blackness.

She had woken up days later in the ICU of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, with a tube shove down her throat and machines beeping madly all around her. On the side of her neck, under a heavy bandage, a wound that would have scarred and marked her for the rest of her life.

The next week had been a blur too. She had learnt that both her parents were dead, that her father was a serial killer and that all the money and the properties of her family had been confiscated to pay the victims’ family. She had found herself at 13 years old, orphaned and penniless, with more debts to be settled. The world she had spent her childhood in was gone, just like that, and her future had looked like a dark, bottomless void.

At least until social services had tracked down some distant relatives on her mother’s side, who had accepted not just to pay for her medical expenses, but also to take her in.

A couple of days she had been put on a plane and shipped to England, with nothing but the slightly oversized, old clothes one of the nurses had generously provided her with and a passport.

And that was how Abigail had found herself standing in the hall of a mansion of the size of a small castle, surrounded by paintings that had to cost more than her old family house had. It made her feel intimidate and completely out of place, like a cheap trinket that had ended up in a refine jewelry shop by mistake.

That place was nothing like the home she had grown up in. Her house had used to be simple, decorated with the rugs and deer mounts her father had made out of the animals he hunted. The smooth wood surfaces, the many handmade pillows and pelts had always made it feel warm and welcoming, even despite the dark, disquieting shadows had been cast all over it when, several months before, she had discovered what sort of monster her father was and what other, less conventional materials were used to decorate the building and fill their plates.

The mansion was gave off a completely different vibe. It felt cold and distant with its high, finely chiselled ceilings, its large windows and pieces of furniture that looked like the belonged into a museum. The only bright side was that it was surrounded by a large garden. The thought of being able to immerse in nature even there brought her some comfort.

Blue eyes touched one of the armours before moving on the man who had come to greet her at the door after a limousine had picked her up at the airport. Mycroft Holmes. Her new adoptive father, even if, looking at him, Abigail wondered if he could have truly become a parental figure.

He too, like the mansion, was nothing like what she had known till now. However, in this sense, it was perhaps for the best.

“Do you really live here all by yourself?” She found herself asking, the hint of a frown on her face. “What do you...do with all this space?”

It made her wonder what her new room would have looked like.

“And...what should I call you?” She couldn’t see herself calling him ‘Dad’ nor using his first name. Perhaps ‘father’? Or maybe... “Mister Holmes?”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @smalltownbcy​ - Will Byers & Mike Wheeler

Will fidgeted in his spot, hands tormenting the fabric of his shorts, as he waited for Mike to join him in the bedroom they would be sharing once again. He hadn’t seen his best friend in over two months, since the day he and his family had left Hawkins together with El and things between them felt...a little weird. They had called each other a few times and he had even sent a couple of postcards, but that hadn’t seemed to help the awkwardness.

The teen sighed, running a hand in his hair, trying to ease his nerves. Perhaps it was just him. Sure, Mike had been a little uneasy when he and El had gone to pick him up at the airport, but it had most likely been more related to the fact that he and his foster sister were still dealing with the aftermath of their break-up, and not because something was off between Will himself and his best friend.

And yet, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t shake that nagging feeling off.

Hazel eyes wandered around the room, stopping on the bed they were supposed to be sharing for the whole duration of Mike’s stay. Perhaps that hadn’t been the best idea, but making his best friend sleep on the floor when the mattress was large enough to accommodate them both had seemed a little mean. Will had even tried to offer to take the sleeping bag, but the other teen had been adamant in his refusal.

So, Will had decided that he would have dealt with the restlessness, slightly sweaty palms and the bit of heat he always experienced whenever he and Mike were in close quarters. Considering everything they had faced in the past, it couldn’t be too bad, could it?

The sounds of approaching steps snapped him out of his thoughts, and he raised his head just in time to see his best friend stepping into the room.

“Hey,” he greeted, and instantly felt stupid for how uncertain his voice had sound. “So, what do you want to do? Go straight to be or...stay up a little bit longer?”

It wasn’t very late, but Mike had been up and about since very early that morning and flying across the country could be tiring. Besides, they would have plenty of time to catch up properly in the following days.

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @aubainmary - Gabriel & Mary McCall

Louisville, Kentucky. A city in the States not too different from many others, with its skyscrapers, busy roads and little shops. People walked along its pavements, the traffic flooded, and all life went on, absorbed in its routine and unaware of what dangers lurked in the shadows just outside the lines of what was considered expected and “normal”.

Even when a disturbance rippled the flow, be it a mildly annoying occurrence or a more gruesome crime, the creases tended to be smoothed out quickly, swallowed away in the mass of individuals, each and every living their existence in the role of a faceless protagonist, that populated the city, leaving behind just a few broken pieces that were forgotten just as quickly.

This considered, the fact that the recent incidents that had been happening all over the area hadn’t attracted the attention of the most prominent part of the public opinion despite their oddness. The three deaths had been ruled out as accidents, despite the fact that some details just felt off, while the victim of the other episode was spending her days in a psychiatric ward, heavily sedated, while the doctors waited for her to come down from the peak of her psychotic break.

Because, after all, monsters and ghosts weren’t real. Because, after all, a person couldn’t have humanly managed to saw themselves in two without bleeding out first. Because, after all, inanimate machines just didn’t come to life with murderous intents.

Gabriel, or Loki, as he was called these days, pondered mankind’s stubborn incredulity not without a good dose of amusement. There was something wondrous in how blind humans could make themselves, even to the most obvious facts, when they defied their logic and understanding. It made playing his pranks almost too easy at times. But then again, in times like the current, with hunters lurking around everywhere and the End of Times quietly crawling closer and closer, perhaps it was better that way. He had lived through eras where he had been feared and worshipped, enough to be allowed to almost walk in the open wearing the mask of the persona he had chosen to be, but things had changed. Not necessarily for the worst, but enough to force him to adapt his tactics.

And thus how he had ended up there, making and serving milkshakes, all delicious and some also spiced up with a curse, when the receiver deserved it, in his eyes. Why wait for the souls to fall into Hell’s gaping jaws, when he could serve a good old Earthen contrappasso with whipped cream on top?

The bell set on top of the shop door rang, snapping him out of his thoughts and warning him that a new costumer had arrived. The Trickster’s golden eyes shot up from where they were locked on the fresh fruit he had been cutting up and landed on the blond woman who had stepped inside the shop

The first thing that stuck his inhuman sense was the strong smell of dough and sugar that filled his nostrils, but the mouthwatering scent was quickly forgotten as soon as he felt the unmistakably heavenly aura that she was giving off. Tainted, impure, but still celestial in nature. A single word, one with the taste of the forbidden, echoed in his mind, loud and clear.

Nephilim.

“Hello there!” He greeted, in a politely friendly tone. His hand moved to “casually” adjust his tag, which currently spelled “Steve”. Easy to speak, even easier to forget. “Welcome to Sweet Shakes.” Ugh, what a boring name. Whoever had come up with it could have done much better. “What milky delicacy can I provide for you today, Miss?”

[collidingxworlds]

@hvbris​ gets a little starter! - Will Byers & Noah Gideon

The woods were the quietest in the middle of the afternoon. It was the hour when the heat was stronger, making even the bugs dozy. And the way the sun rays filtered through the thick foliage, casting little bright spots in the dim light of the undergrowth was a soothing invitation to let the quiet lull you into sleep.

Will Byers, however, was hardly sharing the peaceful mood of his surroundings. He was sitting on a raised root, constantly fidgeting in his spot, tormenting his hands and the hem of his shirt. His palm were a little sweaty, more due to buzzing anxiety than to the warm air.

He couldn’t believe that he was there, waiting for Noah. Or, rather, he couldn’t believe why he was there. Usually he really enjoyed hanging out with the other teen, but after their last, awfully awkward conversation and all its implications, all he could feel at the thought of his friend were tension and anticipation.

They shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t even be thinking about it. And yet what was truly haunting Will wasn’t the thought of how wrong and potentially dangerous that path was. No, he was terrified that he would have messed it up and lose not only a great friendship, but also a real, rare chance to have something more.

The sounds of steps approaching snap him out of his thoughts and he instantly shot on his feet, fingers rushing to smooth out the creases of his shirt.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice sounding just slightly unsteady. He stalled for a moment, unsure of what else he should say. “I...Do you want to, uh, go for a walk while we...in the meantime?”

[collidingxworlds]

Semi-plotted Starter for @omniishambles - Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter

The early morning was crisp, the chill of the air slowly grazing every patch of uncovered skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its way. The sun was already shining, even if dawn was barely just passed, and, while it did nothing to warm up the atmosphere, its rays painted beautiful light tricks on the rippled surface of the river and they made the dew glow like little diamonds among the grass.

Will took a long, deep breath in, allowing himself a moment to savour the rich scent of the woods and the humidity of the stream that flowed just ahead of them. If there was something he could appreciate about his new home was that the town, as most were in that region of Switzerland, was surrounded by green. Mountains, forests, rivers, lakes. Nature bloomed in spring and summer, catching fire when autumn came and then falling into a quietness made of brown and white in winter.

It made not missing Wolf Trap much easier and it also soothed the contrasting thoughts and feelings that still assaulted him. However, he would have been lying if he had said that they hadn’t been coming less and less often with the passing of the weeks.

Adapt, evolve, become.

The former profiler adjusted his baseball cap, turning to look at his companion from over his shoulder. Hannibal looked...well, not ridiculous per se, because the man managed to make even a fishing outfit somehow dignified, but it was obvious that he was very uncomfortable in it.

Will found himself hiding a smirk. Before the insane choice he had made, he would have never imagined that one day he would have seen Hannibal Lecter wearing something that was so far from his casual but still elegant clothes and three-piece suits. And it was petty, it was childish, but the psychiatrist’s subtle chagrin was filling him with delight.

“It’s a beautiful day. The temperature is just right and the water is perfectly clear,” he commented in a casual tone, but there was an almost mischievous glint in his gray-blue eyes. “I’m sure we’ll manage to catch enough fish not just for dinner, but also to freeze and stash some away for the weekend.”

Of course, in part he had the girls to thank for his current amusement. Hannibal would have probably found a well-crafted excuse to decline the invitation if it hadn’t been for Fish’s killer puppy eyes and melodious, smart reasoning. As for Abigail...Well, the little antlered devil had been the one to come to him with the idea in the first place.

“I had my doubts, at first, but now I’m starting to think that this was a wonderful idea. Don’t you agree?”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @hvbris - Gabriel & Olive Bennet

At a first, superficial Dallas wasn’t too unlike other big cities spread all across the States. There were skyscrapers stretching out towards the blue of the heavens, glass and metal shining under the hot light of the sun. The roads were busy, filled with vehicles and the sound of roaring engines. The crowds were thick during rush hours and more thin in the very middle of the day, when the heat got intense enough to bother even the locals. Some streets smelt of exhaust fumes, others were invaded by the scent of many different kinds of food mixing together.

Gabriel shot a longing glance at a nearby stand, his eyes being drawn in by the sight of different sorts of chile and fried chicken that was being sold. He had skipped breakfast and, considering that it was now well past lunch time, he was positively starving.

“Later,” he muttered to himself, forcing his legs to walk faster and chewing more aggressively on the lollipop stick he was holding between his teeth. The candy was long gone, sucked and chewed while he had been talking to the local authorities for the second day in a row, but he hadn’t thrown it away because the stinging of the plastic against his tongue kept him focused.

During the last month three extremely gruesome murders had happened in the city. The victims had no relation with each other, outside from the fact that they were all scumbags in a way or another. A street thief known to get aggressive with his victims. A man who had been trialed for assault and who had got away because of some bureaucratic issue. A drunk who had a thing for harassing the ladies whenever he swallowed one shot too many.

Personally, Gabriel would have gladly let the case slide. The way the victims had been torn apart and, even more, the stench of sulphur lingering over the crime scenes suggested that something inhuman might be behind the murders, but considering the kind of victims...He thought that they had got what they deserved. Of course, his younger brother hadn’t agreed and he had pestered him on the phone until he had agreed to get off his ass and go have a look.

The hunter rolled his eyes. Damn Cas and that stupid moral stick he had up his ass. They were supposed to keep people safe from monsters and the likes of them, but he wished that his sibling would learn to just let it go, when it was monsters killing other monsters. It was basically karma, and to hell with duty or whatever other shitty idea should have made him want to stick his nose into it. He wasn’t a saint himself, after all. Far from it.

Shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts, he double checked the next name on his list. The woman had been working at a café housed in that road the night of the last murder, so she was a potential witness. Not that he held much hope for it. All the other people he had questioned had been a dead end.

Amber eyes darted around, until he spotted someone standing in the shades nearby. Blond, slightly taller than him, a soft built. It should have been her.

“Olive Bennet?” He called out, once he was within earshot, quickening his steps to come to stand in front of her. “I’m Agent Olsen. We spoke on the phone this morning. Thank you for meeting with me, Miss Bennet. And sorry if I kept you waiting, I was held up elsewhere. May I buy you a drink or something to eat while we talk?”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @the-immortals-assistant​ 

The raindrops hitting the windshield looked like splinters of golden light as they caught the glow of the streetlights. Smeared bright flashes in the darkness of the night, so easily swatted away by the too rapid movements of the wipers.

Will’s attention kept getting captured by those quick flares, his eyes unable to keep the road that stretched before him in focus. He was vaguely aware of how hard his hands were clutching the steering wheel, knuckles white with the effort and palms slick with sweat. And yet, even that tight pressure seemed more like a ghost feeling, something taken out of a past memory, than a concrete sensation his brain was registering in the present.

If he had to be honest with himself, and he rarely was these days because the truths he was faced with were too brutal and shocking, the profiler would have admitted that, lately, a concerning amount of his time, both his waking moments and his slumber, felt exactly like that. The constant headaches, the way his sight would blur, how he would slip too deep in the maze of his imagination, the endless confusion that blended reality and fantasy, the lost time. More often than not, he had the impression of walking through the pieces of a fever dream instead of living.

Taking in a slow breath, Will blindly reached out for the bottle of aspirins, pondering whether or not he should take another. He had been swallowing far too many of them, and far too much paracetamol too, for it to be healthy, but at the same time it felt like it was never enough. The ache and the heat always returned, unrelenting, and they seemed to get worse with each passing day. Hannibal insisted that what he had was psychosomatic, a deadly trap of ill sensations orchestrated by a sickness that belonged to his mind and to it alone. Yet, when he was trembling as badly as he was now, he had a really hard time believing that there was no organic cause speeding up the process.

He probably shouldn’t be driving in such state. Hell, he probably shouldn’t have left his house at all that day, considering that he had woken up to a temperature and a sick stomach. However, he had been waiting to attend that conference for months and he had assumed that he could have managed to make it through it if he had been careful not to tire himself out.

It had turned out, as it was to be expected, that he had been sorely mistaken and now he was stuck in his car with the awareness that he was in no shape to face the hours-long drive that separated him from Wolf Trap. He could have called someone, maybe Beverly, to get a lift back home, but there was a stubborn part of him that didn’t want to. Perhaps it was the fear that word of how badly he was doing could get back to Jack, or maybe he merely didn’t feel comfortable enough to let anyone see him in such a vulnerable state.

Thankfully, there was one silver lining to the situation. The conference had taken place in Baltimore. Which meant that there was one place he could go to look for shelter.

His mind, for once, seemed to agree and Will found himself parking in front of the Lecter household before he could fully realise that he had automatically changed route and drove all the way there. He blinked, trying in vain to shake himself out of his stupor, and then stepped out of the vehicle.

The rain was still falling heavily and, by the time he had managed to stumble up to the front door, he was completely soaked, the cold of the water sipping through his clothes and leaving him shivering even harder. The thought of grabbing an umbrella or even just his coat hadn’t even touched him.

It took him a couple of attempts to properly ring the doorbell and he instinctively hugged himself as he waited, wet hair sticking to his forehead and falling over his eyes, droplets falling from his dark curls like tears.

When the door was finally cracked open, he perked up slightly, perhaps more eager to be greeted by the house’s owner than he was ready to admit.

“Ah, Doctor Lecter, I’m sorry for showing up uninvited so late and without a warning, but I was wondering if...”

The words that had started to fall from his lips, however, came to an abrupt stop as soon as he managed to properly put into focus the figure standing in front of him. A thin silhouette, much shorter than the one he had been expecting, with very telling bright blue bangs framing her face.

The person who had come to greet him was not his psychiatrist, but the man’s daughter. They were more or less familiar with each other by now, having shared a meal at Hannibal’s table more than once since their very first encounter, but the profiler still wasn’t at ease around her. And, in his current state, he definitely didn’t wish to be around her at all.

“Oh, Fish.” The name fell from Will’s lips before he could even finishing the thought that had started to cross his mind. “Sorry, I thought...Is your father home? I need to see him.”

[collidingxworlds]

Semi-Plotted Starter for @divinitatemxsanguis - Will Byers & Mike Wheeler

It felt weird to look at the streets you had known for most of your life and get hit by the unsettling feeling that you didn’t fully recognise them. The sight of them was still familiar, even despite the rubble and the trash that now occupied the usually well-kept pavements, even despite the cracks that had opened in the asphalt and in the buildings. And yet there was also something distinctively foreign in the landscape, a hint of something alien that disrupted the warmth that usually came with the view of a place that, at some point, had been “home”.

Will bit back a sigh, stuffing the umpteenth of dirt wrappers in the trash bag he was carrying with him. The easy explanation was that Hawkins didn’t feel the same anymore because of the gates that had literally torn the town apart, leaving it polluted with the touch of that living nightmare the Upside Down was. He could feel it, cold rot slithering under his skin, not strong enough to cause goosebumps to form on the back of his neck, but still there. Persistent, dark, dangerous...and alluring.

Or, perhaps, he could have tried and pushed himself to think that it was because of all the time he had spent away from Hawkins. California was a completely different world, with different rules, different shades, different vibes. And he had been getting used to it. So, it wouldn’t have been unthinkable to assume that he felt out of place because he had started to adapt to another place, would it?

His fingers clenched lightly around the bag. He wished it could be that simple. Those two options would have been easier to accept. They were normal, understandable, relatable. However, the real, deep truth lied elsewhere, whether he liked to admit it or not.

Everything around him felt foreign not because the town itself had changed or because he was no longer used to living there. No, what had changed, what had become alien was him. These days he felt even more like an outsider than he had most of life because something inside him wasn’t the same anymore. In his mind, in his cells. And, as a consequence, his perception of the world had shifted too.

A knot formed in his throat at those thoughts, but Will hurried to swallow down, not wanting to linger. They had more pressing matters at hand. And, for the moment, he would have really preferred just focusing on his currently, almost mundane task.

“Uh, hey,” he spoke, breaking the not fully comfortable silence he and Mike had lapsed into. “I was...I mean. Do you think this will really take us all afternoon? Like your Mom threatened?”

He let out an awkward chuckle. He wanted to make conversation, but things were so weirdly complicated between them too now. The danger hanging over their heads, the exhausting days they had had, Mike’s doubts about Eleven, Will’s own personal feelings. It was all beyond confusing. It made him wish they could go back to how things had used to be.

“Also...The things you said to El while she was fighting Vecna, I...You really helped out there, Mike. I told you that you could be the heart of the group. Especially for...for her.” He licked his lips, averting his eyes. “And, uh, glad to see that you listened to me. Not that I have any credit to take there, but...I’m glad that you guys could...you know. Get over your fears. It’s been awkward seeing you not getting along when you first came to visit us.”

He huffed out a small incredulous breath. “Speaking off. It already feels like a life ago, doesn’t it? It’s crazy.”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @omniishambles​​​ - Abigail Hobbs & Abel Gideon

Abigail had grown used to performing tasks for Hannibal while he was away or busy dealing with his patients. Since the very start of her half life, the doctor had made sure to keep her busy. With housework, by helping him in the kitchen, with books to read and study so that she could continue her academical education. No matter that it was uncertain whether or not she would have been allowed to continue her studies, some day.

Perhaps it was to gift her some normalcy she could cling to not to go crazy while traversing the throes of her living death. Or maybe it was to prevent her from spending too much time alone in her head and to keep her pliant in his clutches. Hard to say. Most likely, knowing the sort of monster who was sheltering her under his wing these days, a bit of both.

That night, more specifically, she was supposed to take care of the “guest” who was currently housed in the secret basement. Usually, Hannibal took upon himself the task to check on him and provide to his needs, which were, in turn, aimed at making sure that the man’s final purpose could be achieved.

The meat needed to be well preserved and properly seasoned to be later on served at the psychiatrist’s refined table in the form of bold, sophisticated dishes.

If she had to be honest, Abigail was glad that the doctor had decided to keep her out of the little game he was playing with Abel Gideon. Getting used to consume human meat every day was one thing, and perhaps for her it was easier than it would have been for others because her biological had already forced her to cultivated an palate for it, even if without her knowledge. Eating someone’s flesh while they were sitting right in front of you and sharing your meal was on a whole different level.

Collecting the trail she had prepared, she made her way down in the basement, balancing it on one arm as she unlocked the hatch. One of the lights was almost constantly on these days, because it would have been rude to keep their guest completely in the dark...and yes, there was a pun in that wording.

He steps faltered just before the man’s figure could appear in her field of view, the smallest hint of hesitation stalling her movements before she managed to shoo it away. This wasn’t the first time she saw him, because she had been there when Hannibal had brought him home, but he hadn’t been conscious. So this would have been their first meeting, in all the ways that counted.

“Good evening, Doctor Gideon. I’m...Will Graham’s dead surrogate daughter. But you can call me Abigail,” she spoke, barely shooting the man a look as she busied herself with setting the food on the small table the room had been equipped with.

She had been supposed to just bring him his dinner and then come back to take the plates away, but she hadn’t talked to anyone else outside Hannibal for so long...A small, harmless chat wouldn’t have been a problem, would it?

“I took the liberty of making you something...vegetarian.” She moved the table closer, so that he could reach it with ease. “I thought that we could both use a change in diet. I hope you like eggplants, because I made a meat-free lasagna with them.”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @the-immortals-assistant​ & @omniishambles​ || University AU

Most people hated Mondays. They usually marked the start of the week, the end of the little, regular break they got from their jobs and responsibilities. They were the day when you were forced to walk back into a crowd of faces they weren’t too happy to see. They meant no sleeping in, no partying the night before, no indulging in a glass too many of wine at dinner.

In short, Mondays were anything but fun.

Abigail Hobbs, from her part, tended to agree with those reasonings, but if someone had cared to ask, she would have answered that the day of the week she hated the most was Thursday. The reasons? Oh, too many to count and they had changed with her during the years.

She had been a lot of things in her life. Orphan. One of those kids who had got lost in the system a few times. Troubled teenager. Psychiatric patient. Not to mention, even if almost no one knew about this, daughter, one true chosen victim and unwilling accomplice of a serial killer.

The shadow that Garrett Jacob Hobbs had casted over her life when she had been far too young still tainted her present, but after her father’s death the girl had managed, even if not without a great deal of efforts, to crawl her way back to a normal life. Or, perhaps, it was more fitting to call it the semblance of a normal life. The seeds of the darkness that the man who had created her and then tried to consume her had planted had grown and bloomed around her soul, becoming an indelible part of her.

Nowadays, she was a college student and the foster daughter of one Will Graham, former cop, part-time FBI consultant and criminology professor at the very same university Abigail was attending. It was just the two of them and their pack of strays in Will’s nice but quite secluded house in Wolf Trap, surrounded by woods and wildness. It could get lonely, but the girl didn’t mind. She could roam and go hunting and the property reminded her of Hobbs’ hunting cabin, with its horrors and warm moments.

So, Thursdays. They had used to be the days where he Mom stayed away from early morning to late night for work, leaving her completely alone with her father for hours to no end. They had been the days when she was forced to attend the therapy group she hated the most. They had been social services inspection days. They had been community service nights for over three years of her life.

And now, at college, they were the no-muffins days in the cafeteria, the day when coffee had a worse burned aftertaste than the usual, the longest day in her schedule, the night of her weekly Skype sessions with Alana Bloom.

And the day when she had, all three in a row, Will’s, Professor Lecter’s and Professor Gideon’s classes. This latter part wasn’t necessary a bad thing, since psychology and criminology were her favourite courses and Abel Gideon was the most entertaining teacher she had ever had, but...her classmates’ gushing could truly get a bit too much at times.

Abigail bit down a heavy sigh, burying her face in her paper mug as she listen to her two best and only real friends talking animatedly. Or well, Fish was doing most of the talking, her cheerful voice ringing in the courtyard, while Clarice offered some commentary here and there.

“I really don’t get how you can still be so enthusiastic after having been called out in class. Both of you,” she commented, adjusting the ever-present scarfs around her neck. “Because, sorry to tell you, but that was embarrassing.”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted Starter for @hvbris​​ - Abigail & Jill

The walls of the corridors were unnaturally white. That was the first very thing she had noticed as soon as she had been led past the bars of the gate that marked the entrance of the ward. They were so white that they hurt the eye, so white that, looking at them, even after two whole weeks in that cage, she still couldn’t help wondering.

Hospitals were clean, or at least they should be. They were associated with the idea of cleanness and sterilisation. The smell of disinfectant that usually lingered in the air strongly reinforced that connection in the mind of whoever walked inside them.

Mental institutions were, at the end of the day, nothing but a special kind of hospital. One should have pictured clean, sterile environments when thinking about them too, and yet it almost never happened. There was always a certain degree of darkness associated with madness, in all its form. Crusted dirt and ugly stains and a disgusting stench. And, once upon a time, that was exactly what nuthouses had looked like, but no more.

Now they had spotless white walls, shiny floors and small tidy cells. Even the hospitals that held individuals whose pathology made them dangerous for others. Or that were considered such by society. All the inmates were granted the semblance of dignity that should be offered to every human being, but that was all it was. A facade to make it easier for the outside world to judge them for their deranged ideas and actions, while not openly violating the little dignity they had left.

Abigail Hobbs stared out of the window of her assigned psychiatrist’s office, blue eyes following the leaves that slowly fell from the trees. Autumn was raging on the land, spreading everywhere like a fire and leaving nothing but dead nature in its passing.

She wondered, briefly, if in some other world she was out there, enjoying the chill of the air on her pale skin, maybe dreaming a life away from all the blood and the tragedy that had stained her existence. In this one, however, Jack Crawford’s wish had been granted and she had been found guilty of having been not just a silent witness to her father’s murders, but also an active participant. The events had landed her away from the grave her home had become and also from the hands of the two men who had tried to pick up the pieces. She was trapped at the bottom of Alice’s rabbit hole, just a face in a colourful crowd where everyone shared one, defining trait: the peculiar brand of insanity.

Her fingers stroked the inside of her wrist, before travelling up to touch the scar on her neck. She wished they had let her keep a scarf to cover it, but it was against the rules. Someone could have hurt themselves, or another inmate, if they had got a hold of it.

“Do you seriously want to hear about my weekend? Everyone has the same kind of day in here, every day. Even the staff. You should know that better than me.”

It could have been worse. The food was edible and she was almost sure that she wasn’t eating human meat anymore. She had also been lucky enough to get a decent mattress, and the woman in the cell next to hers screamed at night only thrice a week.

“Unless we want to gossip about how Magdalene almost strangled Jeremiah with that peanut at lunch Saturday? From what I’m told, that was the most excitement everyone has got this month.”

Doctor Collins wasn’t half bad either. She reminded Abigail of Doctor Lecter, a little bit. She was just as polished, just as professionally polite. Smart and cultured. However, she was much less intimidating. And, especially, when they talked the girl didn’t have the impression of speaking through the thick grating of a confessional, struggling to see who was on the other side.

“We’d both be better off if talking about your weekend.”

[collidingxworlds]

Semi-Plotted starter for @the-immortals-assistant - Abigail & Fish

Everything around her felt hazy, unreal, almost as if she had been walking through a very thick fog. Layers and layers of humid smoke clinging to her skin, separating her from the rest of the world. It was like staring at reality through a veil, still connected to it but also somewhat separated. She was still, all the rest was still there, but they were no longer on the same plane of existence.

It was a curious sensation, too intense for comfort, but now that most of the dizziness had passed, she was finding that her fear and anxiety were slowly fading too, sucked out of her mind together with the tight coil that had been tormenting her stomach since she had woken up from her coma. A knot that had just grown tighter, more insistent, even if not necessarily unpleasant, after she had felt Nicholas Boyle’s blood on her hands.

She had thought that she would have been forced to deal with it on her own, even with the protection and the support that Hannibal had been offering her since he had elected to become her partner-in-crime, that one messy night. Not completely out of selflessness, of course, because she might feel lost and uncertain, but she was not stupid. She had lived in the same house with a monster for years, she could recognise the signs, even if his father had belonged to a different species of nightmares.

As for Will Graham, she wasn’t sure yet. He was an unfocused vision in her mind and his silhouette felt even more confusing in her mind with the drug saturating her system. He was a ghost with too many shapes, and she couldn’t help wondering if he himself still remembered what his original form was supposed to look like.

Personally, Abigail wasn’t sure that hers was the same she had used to see in the mirror. Not after everything that had happened. But that didn’t matter right now, did it? There was something else she was supposed to focus on.

Positive associations. No more bad dreams. 

Once the vertigos had subsided, Hannibal’s warm, steady hand had lead her towards the dining room, so that he could finish preparing their meal. Breakfast for dinner. How delightful. Even the resemblance with the last meal she had shared with her now dead family couldn’t shake off the giddiness that the idea gifted her.

Her unsteady steps had come to a halt just past the threshold, her eyes catching sight of a figure sitting at the table, even if her brain took longer to register the information. Another girl, about her age, looking happier and far more comfortable than anyone should have ever been in that house. What drew Abigail’s attention the most, however, was the shockingly blue shade of her hair, the unnatural colour attracting her interest like a moth to the flame. In her drugged mind, the locks seemed to be shining their own light and her fingers itched to touch.

“Hi,” she greeted, her lips curling into a dazed but cheerful smile without her permission. “Are you here for the...”

How had Hannibal called it? Psilosybin? She wasn’t sure her clumsy tongue could have spelled the word properly.

“For the magic mushroom too? I thought there was supposed to be only one Alice. That’s how it goes in the story, doesn’t it?”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @omniishambles​​ - Jim Moriarty & Joan Watson

If there was something that never ceased to amaze him, and definitely not in a good way, was how mundane that sort of events always were. The crowds that filled them resembled each other so much that, once you had attended one, you had seen them all. Not even the wide range of different reasons that were behind the gatherings helped the lack of variety.

Charities, glorified political meetings, police balls, the army, even the frigging resident monarch or president hosting the whole thing. It was all the same, always the same. The same mindless conversations, made up with the same brainless small talk and pleasantries. The same mixture of expensive clothes and cheap perfumes. The same falsely cheerful and polite expressions. The same venomous gossip spoken behind turned backs. Even the way the jewelry and the glasses caught the light of the chandeliers was the same.

Boring, boring, boring. It was driving him insane. Or well, more insane than he already was.

His fingers itched around the notepad he was holding and drummed against ironed cloth of his suit. He had been to far too many of those parties, and had blown up too few of them. It was something he would have to fix, one day.

Tonight, however, wasn’t the right night. As tempting as the idea was, he had been putting up with that mind-numbing torture for a reason and he couldn’t just ruin all his hard work on a whim. Besides, his active, even if mostly unacknowledged, presence at that particular gathering would have led to him being personally involved in the aftermath of any sort of disruption and he just couldn’t have that. Showing your cards so soon after the start of a game was never a good move.

Dark eyes scanned the crowd until they locked on a particular figure, watching as her company finally took their leave and left an opening for him. Dear Sherlock wasn’t his target that day, though. In good time, he would get to him too, but this was just the first stage of their little match. Holmes didn’t even know that he was playing yet.

His free hand ran over his good, but not too fancy, suit and then through his hair, disrupting the lines of the already slightly messy black locks. The game was on.

He slipped through the crowd unnoticed, receiving at most a distracted glance that would have soon forgotten the details of his face, and his steps stopped just a few inches closer than it was proper from his target.

“Joan Watson?” The hint of a friendly grin, holding just the tiniest trace of coyness, opened on his face. “Ah, sorry for the interruption. I was wondering if I could steal a few minutes of your time?”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @waywardfeathered​​ - Dean & Castiel

What a shit show.

Dean ran a hand in his hair for the umpteenth time, kicking the edge of the motel bed before resuming his pacing. The urge to drink until he started to feel numb was getting stronger and stronger with every passing minute, but he kept fighting it, all too aware that getting wasted wasn’t the wisest things to do. Not right now, at least. Maybe later, once he and his currently passed out companion would have had a serious, probably long overdue talk about what had happened and about how they should handle things in the future.

The hunter pressed his knuckles against his temple, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment. Who was he kidding? A real conversation was something they should have had weeks before, when he had firstly discovered that Castiel had lost his Grace, instead of kicking the former angel out of the Bunker with some lame ass excuse. And his best friend had almost died because, as it was to be expected, he didn’t have the faintest idea of how to live, of how to survive as a human. If they hadn’t gotten to April’s fast enough...

The unpleasant knot in his stomach tightened. Castiel had almost died because Dean had been a stubborn ass, trying to will things to go smoothly so that he wouldn’t be forced to deal with yet another problem. Well, tough luck. He was no back to square one, and burdened by an additional fresh load of guilt. Which was just what he deserved, if not worse, for having endangered the one person, together with his brother, that mattered the most to him in the whole world.

What was I thinking?

Sure, he had been trying to do what was best for Sam’s situation. Gadreel had been adamant on that point. He couldn’t risk being discovered and, if Castiel had stayed, he would have been the one to leave. Which would have meant condemning his younger sibling to die and Dean couldn’t have that happening. No matter the cost.

Or, at least, that was what he had thought until he had found out that said price might have been his best friend’s life.

He should have really thought things through instead of acting in a rush. He should have found a better way to keep Cas away from the Bunker, formulate a plan that didn’t include sending the former angel out in a mostly hostile world without directions and the means to deal with it. Damn, he hadn’t even thought about giving the guy a phone or a credit card.

I wasn’t thinking at all. And look at where it took us.

He was at an impasse now, the knot he had been trying to unravel having grown even tighter and messier than it had been at the very start. And he mostly had himself to blame for it.

On one hand, while his deal with Gadreel still stood, the angel would have probably been even less tolerant now that he had forced him to manifest to save Castiel’s life. And Sam was getting more and more suspicious about the situation and Dean’s out behaviour too. His brother was smart, he would have figured it out sooner or later, and the older Winchester was running out of believable excuses to explain himself.

On the other, Cas was back depending on him and he still had no idea of how he was going to handle him this time around. Sending him away, even properly, was out of question. After what he had witnessed, Dean didn’t have the heart to risk repeating the same mistake, not even for Sam’s sake. However, he couldn’t exactly invite him to stay with them either. Not to mention that his best friend probably had quite a few questions to ask him too.

The hunter was about to seriously starting to reconsider his decision not to drink when a movement coming from the other bed caught his attention, snapping him out of his troubled thought. Almost without realising it, he found himself hurrying towards it, hand already reaching out to touch Castiel’s shoulder.

“Cas. You with me, pal?” He called out, gently shaking the other man. “You...uh, passed out in the car. I sent Sam back to the Bunker ‘cause...you know. There was some shit that needed to be taken care of.” That was a blunt lie, but it didn’t matter now. “How are you feeling?”

[collidingxworlds]

Plotted starter for @paradiseturnedhell || Michael & Lucifer

The Day had finally arrived. The moment that everyone in Heaven and Hell had been waiting for, with either dread or eagerness, hoping that it would never come or praying for time to move faster. The end of an era that had lasted for millennia, the culmination of the End and also a ne Beginning.

Nothing would have been the same after that fight. No matter who would have emerged as the winner, God’s design for humanity had reached its last line, leaving space for either an eternity of Paradise on Earth, the rebirth of the long lost Eden, or for a Hell that would have devoured everything that was till nothing would have bene left.

Useless to say, in Michael’s eyes, the true path, the set-in-stone result was the victory of Light of Heaven over the Darkness of Damnation, but there were many who disagreed. Demons, as it was to be expected, but also angels. Traitors, cowards, fools. Most had been already punished accordingly, while the others would have faced their Judgement after the triumph of the celestial army.

And yet, as he stood in the middle of Stull Cemetery, in Lawrence, Kansas, his mind was unable to fully focused on the goal that stood now at arm’s reach, past the choas of the impending battle that waited ahead. Perhaps it was the awareness of having finally walked back where it all had started, or perhaps it was finding himself face to face with Lucifer after literal epochs had passed.

Of course, that latter truth was one that the Sword of Heaven refused to consider, just as he had made himself oblivious to the hole that had been left, in the Host and inside him, after his younger sibling’s Fall. A hole that could have never been filled again, because its shape had changed during the centuries of chosen solitude and cold detachment, and because the being that stood in front of him now was no longer the brother he had used to know. He wasn’t even the one he had fought once already, so long ago.

“Lucifer,” Michael spoke, breaking the brief but intense silence that had been hanging heavily over them. A few syllable that once used to be the most familiar source of warmth and closeness and that now carried too many contrasting feelings. “It’s been too long.”

He meant it, and yet, at the same time, it seemed like it hadn’t been long enough. Was he ready for what was about to happen? Was he ready for the fight he had spent the millennia following the Rebellion preparing for? The only answer he had to such question was that he had to be ready. It was his inescapable duty, the orders and the purpose God had created for him.

“Can you believe it’s finally here?”