Okay, I know I probably have fifty stories on the go but this idea has been bugging me for months so I thought I'd publish it. This story revolves around Donovan and his struggle against being dragged in to an adventure. Obviously, this story will have multiple fandoms within it(like the ones this is listed in) so feel free to suggest some! The ones I have planned so far have been hinted at in this first chapter/prologue. See if you can guess them all ;)
Anyway, I present: In your dreams!
(Warning: This name is subject to change! Feel free to suggest alternative titles as well as fandoms!)
Once upon a time, there were stories told to a young boy to help him dream. Each night, his parents would tuck him inside warm covers before telling him tales. They varied so often that the boy never ran out of things to dream of. The stories were so fascinating that the boy asked about small creatures and powerful rings and wizards deep in the Scottish Hills.
"Pa, how can a box be bigger on the inside?" He asked his father.
"This man's box was no ordinary box. It was a spaceship that could travel through time." His father had explained, as if it made perfect sense.
"Ma, why did the angel save the hunter?" He had inquired to his mother.
"They needed each other and considered each other family in all the ways that counted." She had said a matter-of-factly.
He wondered about all the stories told to him. They fuelled his imagination and made him eager to close his eyes in order to see them.
He dreamed.
Night after night, his fantasies were crammed with fantastic and whimsical things all living in a much larger world than where he lived (Ireland to be precise). Magic thrived and blue boxes were opened just for him. His dreams were not without their monsters too. Dragons, both kind hearted and cold hearted, soared the skies and stone angles
blended in to every dark corner, waiting for when he would blink.
Then it began to change.
Over the years, the world within his dreams dwindled. He began to forget. The little memories he had merged as one. He could no longer recall if the Doctor saved the hunter nor could he tell which of the wizards had saved a king. Magic did not exist so the fantasies died in his head.
He grew up.
The tales told to him were nothing. They no longer mattered. Their sole purpose had been to fuel a hopeful child's dreams and lull him to sleep so naturally they did not matter to adults. The stories were not worth thinking about it.
They were not real.
At least, that was until the boy-turned-man said until the stories came for him.