Writing is hard.

Writing is very, very hard. Unless you’ve got a good prompt, of course. Recently, I was on Tumblr, scrolling through my dashboard. I saw a post that basically dared someone to write a fanfiction about another Tumblr user and the character of their choice and submit it to said Tumblr user. Since nearly everyone I follow likes Doctor Who, Supernatural, Sherlock, or all three, I thought this would be easy to write. I was wrong.

It took me three and a half hours, but I came up with three different versions of the same ficlet. One focuses on the Doctor Who universe, one on the Supernatural universe, and one on the Sherlock universe. I honestly don’t know which one I like best, but I thought you guys could choose for me. Warning: slight spoilers ahead for all three fandoms.

1. Doctor Who

You’re in your room, absent-mindedly scrolling through your Tumblr dashboard. You pause to reblog a fic dare post, hoping it’ll happen but doubting it will anyway. You scroll on until you see a post about Cas, Dean, and the absence of personal space between the two. You reblog that as well.

Your mind goes back to that fic dare post. You’d really love it if someone were to follow up and write a fic about you. It’d be fun to read, you think. “Ah well, it’s never going to really happen anyway,” you say to yourself.

Still, you refresh your dash, hoping for a new message to show up. There is nothing. The anons are absent today. “Bored,” you say, just to hear the sound of your voice. If only you had a gun and a spray-paint smiley face.

You scroll some more. Hmm, that Star Trek post’s good. Maybe I’ll reblog it. Wait… What’s this? All the posts on the dash have suddenly gone black. It’s as if they have been censored. W-what’s happening?

The black expands, turning the familiar blue of the dashboard background black as well. It creeps across your window, growing and growing. It consumes the address bar and the dock. Soon, it has nothing left to eat. Your entire screen has gone black. You tentatively press a key, hoping the computer has simply gone to sleep. You know it hasn’t.

Suddenly, the blackness jumps out, somehow escaping from the screen. It touches your desk, and the desk goes black. You frantically scoot your chair away, watching in horror as the terrible darkness spreads across your walls, across your possessions, turning your entire room black. You risk a glance out the window. Outside, everything has gone dark, even the sky. The stars are going out, you quote. Funny that something that was once in a show is happening in real life.

While you were distracted, the black has crept onto your chair. You jump up, but it is too late. The color spreads quickly across your skin, sharp prickles of pain following in its tracks. As you close your eyes, you vaguely wonder why your dash has color again. You black out.

——————————————————–

You wake up to the sound of something whooshing and a man’s voice saying something. You blink your eyes open. Where am I? Your room has been mysteriously replaced by an orange-y ochre-colored wall with strange dents scattered across.

Wait. This looks familiar. You look to your left. Faded red Converse stand there. You follow the brown pinstripe-clad legs up, up, up, until your eyes stop on a familiar face. “Doctor?”

The man you know as both David Tennant, Scotsman, and the Doctor, Time Lord, gapes at you.

“What? How do you know me? Do I know you?” He rushes out, clearly curious as to your sudden appearance in–Ohmygod, you’re in the TARDIS. “More importantly, how did you get here?” The question brings your attention from fangirling back to the Doctor.

“Well, Doctor,” you say as you slowly sit up. “It’s a long story. But then, we’ve got all the time in the world, don’t we?”

He grins quickly. “I like you. Now, you’ll explain everything as soon as I can get the TARDIS into the vortex. Can’t stay here right now, it’s not really a good idea.”

“Where are we?”

“… We might be on Krakatoa, and it might be a few minutes before the eruption…”

Your eyes widen, then you chuckle. “You’d better get moving then, shouldn’t you?” The Doctor rushes over to the console in response, starting a long and complicated dance around it.

“Actually, change of plans. We’re going to Earth, early 2000s. I’ve just got to pick up a friend and then we’ll be off.” he says as he shifts the wibbly lever to the right and presses several buttons. You recognize the blue stabilizers and giggle as he presses all the buttons but the blue ones.

As the TARDIS begins to emit the whooshing noise you remember, the Doctor smiles manically. “Allons-y!”

* * *

2. Supernatural

You’re in your room, absent-mindedly scrolling through your Tumblr dashboard. You pause to reblog a fic dare post, hoping it’ll happen but doubting it will anyway. You scroll on until you see a post about Avatar: The Last Airbender. You reblog that as well.

Your mind goes back to that fic dare post. You’d really love it if someone were to follow up and write a fic about you. It’d be fun to read, you think. “Ah well, it’s never going to really happen anyway,” you say to yourself.

Still, you refresh your dash, hoping for a new message to show up. There is nothing. The anons are absent today. “Bored,” you say, just to hear the sound of your voice. If only you had a gun and a spray-paint smiley face.

You scroll some more. Hmm, that Dean-is-a-Disney-princess post’s good. Maybe I’ll reblog it. Wait… What’s this? All the posts on the dash have suddenly gone black. It’s as if they have been censored. W-what’s happening?

The black expands, turning the familiar blue of the dashboard background black as well. It creeps across your window, growing and growing. It consumes the address bar and the dock. Soon, it has nothing left to eat. Your entire screen has gone black. You tentatively press a key, hoping the computer has simply gone to sleep. You know it hasn’t.

Suddenly, the blackness jumps out, somehow escaping from the screen. It touches your desk, and the desk goes black. You frantically scoot your chair away, watching in horror as the terrible darkness spreads across your walls, across your possessions, turning your entire room black. You risk a glance out the window. Outside, everything has gone dark, even the sky. Something’s wrong.

While you were distracted, the black has crept onto your chair. You jump up, but it is too late. The color spreads quickly across your skin, sharp prickles of pain following in its tracks. As you close your eyes, you vaguely wonder why your dash has color again. You black out.


——————————————————–

You wake up to the sound of a car engine’s low rumble and a man’s voice saying something. You blink your eyes open. Where am I? Your room has been mysteriously replaced by a road you lie on.

You look to your left. Faded shoes stand there. You follow the denim-clad legs up, up, up, until your eyes stop on a familiar face. “D-dean? Dean Winchester?“

The man you know as both Jensen Ackles and Dean Winchester gapes at you. The surprised expression on his face is quickly replaced by a suspicious glare.

“How do you know my name?” He says, wary but curious about your sudden appearance in–Ohmygod, you’re in Supernatural. “More importantly, how did you get here?” The question brings your attention from fangirling back to the hunter staring down at you.

“Well, Dean,” you say as you slowly sit up. “It’s a long story. But I can tell you that I’m not a demon, not an angel, and not anything else supernatural.” You can’t resist slipping the pun in, though you know he won’t understand it.

He splashes you with holy water. You smile at him. “See? Not a demon. Now, d’you know anywhere a girl can get some nice pie and a drink?”

He nods slowly. “I know a place, yeah.”

“Ok. Er… Where are we?”

“We’re somewhere in South Dakota.”

Your eyes widen, then you chuckle. “You’re going to see Bobby then?”

He nods again. “Do you still want that pie? If you do, come on.” He jumps into–Holy shit, it’s the Impala. As you climb in, you casually remark “Nice car.”

He looks sideways at you. “Thanks. Now, let’s get ourselves some pie.”

* * *

3. Sherlock

You’re in your room, absent-mindedly scrolling through your Tumblr dashboard. You pause to reblog a fic dare post, hoping it’ll happen but doubting it will anyway. You scroll on until you see a post about how Tumblr user Pizza is probably some sort of demon. You reblog that as well.

Your mind goes back to that fic dare post. You’d really love it if someone were to follow up and write a fic about you. It’d be fun to read, you think. “Ah well, it’s never going to really happen anyway,” you say to yourself.

Still, you refresh your dash, hoping for a new message to show up. There is nothing. The anons are absent today. “Bored,” you say, just to hear the sound of your voice. If only you had a gun and a spray-paint smiley face.

You scroll some more. Oh look, it’s a relic of the Mishapocalypse. Maybe I’ll reblog it. Wait… What’s this? All the posts on the dash have suddenly gone black. It’s as if they have been censored. W-what’s happening?

The black expands, turning the familiar blue of the dashboard background black as well. It creeps across your window, growing and growing. It consumes the address bar and the dock. Soon, it has nothing left to eat. Your entire screen has gone black. You tentatively press a key, hoping the computer has simply gone to sleep. You know it hasn’t.

Suddenly, the blackness jumps out, somehow escaping from the screen. It touches your desk, and the desk goes black. You frantically scoot your chair away, watching in horror as the terrible darkness spreads across your walls, across your possessions, turning your entire room black. You risk a glance out the window. Outside, everything has gone dark, even the sky. The stars are going out, you quote. Funny that something that was once in a show is happening in real life.

While you were distracted, the black has crept onto your chair. You jump up, but it is too late. The color spreads quickly across your skin, sharp prickles of pain following in its tracks. As you close your eyes, you vaguely wonder why your dash has color again. You black out.

——————————————————–

You wake up to a loud bang and a man’s voice saying something. You blink your eyes open. Where am I? Your room has been mysteriously replaced by a different room, wallpapered with black and white VIctorian-esque designs.

Wait. This looks familiar. You look to your left. Formal black leather shoes stand there. You follow the black-clad legs up, up, up, until your eyes stop on a very familiar face. “Mycroft?”

The man you know as both Mark Gattiss, murdering writer extraordinaire, and Mycroft Holmes, the British government, raises an eyebrow. He turns and says over his shoulder, “So, this is the girl that ‘magically’ appeared in your flat?”

Someone else steps into your line of sight, someone wearing a certain striped jumper, holding a certain skull in one hand and a certain harpoon in the other.

John Watson, your mind supplies as you gape. But if both Mycroft and John are here, where’s Sherlock?

Then, a low voice shouts from the kitchen, “John, my skull!”

“Just a second, Sherlock!” John shouts back.

A loud, impatient groan emits from the kitchen. You hear quick, heavy footsteps.

Then Sherlock Holmes, wearing the famous and fandom-worshipped ‘purple shirt of sex’, appears. “John, I said–Ah. She’s awake.” John mutters a “Well, yes, Sherlock, I thought that was obvious.” as Sherlock sweeps his eyes over you, deducing and thinking.

“Er… Hi.” you say.

* * *

So… What did you think? *cabbages are thrown at Koko*

I know that all the beginning bits are pretty similar, but that’s what it’s supposed to be like. The same beginning, but you can choose which universe you drop into. I was going to write a few more (like Harry Potter or LOTR) but my hands are tired and I got a new keyboard so all the keys are harder to press down. But I want to know: did you like it? Would you want to read more of the stories? Or would you want to throw cabbages at me.