One Shots

Attack of The OCs!

I'm sitting at the dinning room table texting my friends when all of a sudden I get a notification.

"All your stories have been deleted due to injustice."

What the hell? Injustice to what? Who? Huh? Are the first thoughts in my head. I take a screenshot of the notification and send it to BambiBadassPJO, who I was talking to at the time.

BambiBadassPJO is typing...

<Injustice? What the fuck? How?>

Silverbulletsdon'twork is typing...

<I don't know. It doesn't make sense to me either.>

BambiBadassPJO is typing...

<Did you check to see if it's real?>

I pause. That didn't occur to me. I check real quick. Sure enough, some of my stories are gone. Not all, like the notification said, but the ones that have my OCs in them.

Silverbulletsdon'twork is typing...

<Not all of them. Just the ones with OCs. My fanfictions without OCs are fine.>

BambiBadassPJO is typing...

<That's a little weird...>

Silverbulletsdon'twork is typing...

<Indeed. Do you think it's a prank? Like, some hacker cyber bully hates my work and decided to be a majorly childish dick about it?>

BambiBadassPJO is typing...

<Probably. Although I would  message Wattpad about it just to be safe. Let them know about a potential hacker while I'm at it.>

Silverbulletsdon'twork is typing...

<That's a good idea. Thank you for your help.>

BambiBadassPJO is typing...

<No problem! I'm here when you need me!>

Silverbulletsdon'twork is typing...

<You're damn straight, even though neither of us are.>

BambiBadassPJO is typing...

<W H E E Z E>

Later that day, I take a nap. 

I wake up to a dark, empty house. I immediately know something is wrong because no one ever leaves the house without telling me. I'm expected to babysit. No matter how late it is. And there's no way the kids went with them. It's dark out. So it has to be early morning at most. If it were an emergency, they would have had even more of a reason to wake me. So me being alone is a really big red flag. So it's no wonder I felt panicky on the inside. I look out the window. Sure enough, the vehicles are still there. Just... Vandalized. I recognize the work. Kind of. See, the personalities of the vandals show through. Smashed windows could be anybody. But the graffiti is what catches my attention. The graffiti is what tells who did it. On the hood there are things associated with magic. Not witchcraft, but illusionist magic. The only thing that doesn't belong in the circus magician theme but still associated with magic is the tarot deck painted to look exactly like a certain deck I keep imagining. This was done by Genie. One of many OCs. Next is a compass next to dry land. Captain Wiko. A bloody katana was painted by Siren... And so many more paintings made by so many more OCs. I don't freak out about this. Well, I worry about the murderous characters being out and about, but the others I'm not worried about. They're all sweet, kind people. I actually want to meet them. And maybe now I can. Although, it is a bit weird that they would vandalize anything. I brush it off like a fopdoodle and go outside to seek them out. You know. Because horror movies don't teach us shit. Out of absolutely fucking nowhere, I'm ambushed by my more murderous characters. They don't kill me, but they drag me to the woods. Well, I don't know if they actually drag me on the ground, but I definitely woke up in the woods. Anyway, all of my OCs are there. Even the ones I forgot. But those ones look more hurt than angry. The ones I have used are unfortunately very pissed. They start assaulting me and yelling at me.

"ENOUGH! YOU ARE MINE!" I growl. "I CREATED YOU! YOU'RE NOT EVEN REAL! YOU CAME FROM MY IMAGINATION!" Ninka shakes her head.

"We're as real as you are. Look at yourself."

I do. To my surprise I'm staring a hand covered in fur instead of light brown skin. Shocked, I reach up and feel around on my head. Yup. Ears. On top of my head. I pat my ass. I find a lump. I run my hand along the lump and realize with horror that it's a tail. I look at my outfit. Ripped jeans are normal. But my shirt... I don't own it. Not in reality, anyway. I own something similar, but not identical. I look through my phone... Wait. It's different. More high tech... More expensive. I can't afford this. Wait. Yes I can. In this dream. In the fictional world of role play. I look through my contacts. Mom isn't there. Neither is... Anyone I know in the real world. Aside from my cousin and a few friends. My contacts have been replaced by people I've 'met' through the stories I've created with other people via role play. I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. (Three times.) Yes. They exist. I'm seeing their names in my contacts. I assume they exist. I can always call someone. 'Nick.' The name passes through my mind like a hurried traveler. Of course. My husband is the obvious option. Wait... Wich timeline is this? I look through pictures. I find one that shows Nick's left hand in clear view. His engagement ring along with a wedding band. Yes. Husband. I bought him a ring later since I proposed in the heat of the moment. I look for more evidence that can tell me how far into our story I am in this dream. I exit out of my gallery and go to text messages. I choose the ones I sent to Nick. I would have shared the most with him. Nothing. Well, there are conversations, but nothing helpful. I wonder if this dream takes place sometime around where my friend and I left off. In that case...

"See? You're your fursona. Married with three children. Two adopted, one stepchild. And one on the way."

Jericho speaks up. "We're just as real as that life you created. This dream isn't just a dream. This is... Well, cyberspace. Think of it as... Well, a realm between your stories and reality."

I bolt upright in the bed. Without paying attention to a damn thing, I quickly shoot a message to the friend I was talking to earlier. I look out the window. The neighborhood looks different. Before I can dwell on it, I hear loud noises from downstairs... I live in a one story house. I jump up and run to the door of my bedroom, feeling a wave of nausea hit almost immediately. Soon, I hear someone coming up the stairs. I decide to not investigate and choose someplace to hide. The people burst into the room.

"Wolfie?! Darling, where are you?! A bunch of people are outside rioting! They're demanding you go out! Wolfie, what's going on??!"

I crawl out from under the bed, shocked and slightly afraid. I look in the direction of the familiar voice. There, in the flesh, is my role play husband.