we at [SCHOOL NAMES] once again proclaim that we had absolutely zero involvement in the reported “plane crash” incident. We will find them as soon as we can and promise the return of Althea Atticus Wemys-Madison, Monica Thompson, Dixie Lakhani and Emerson Constantine Castleberry.
HEYYY we have a blog for all of my ocs now!!! It’s me, @ribbitingconversation. Just letting everyone know that DNI is the same as my main, and that the og blogs for Emmie and Thea will stay up but inactive for archival purposes or whatever. And I think I’ll make gacha references of them all when I can. Yippee!!
Ps: if you bug me enough, you might just learn some of my ocs secrets
(intros under cut)
Althea Atticus Wemys-Madison:
The dreamer
A girl with disobediently long curly red hair was having herself a time trying to sink into sleep under a poorly constructed roof. She sighed, rubbing tanned hands on a ratty white shirt that looked like it was begging for starching and detergent before placing them near her ears, atop a leather-bound notebook for pillows. As she finally reached sleep, a ladybug found its own bed on her nose and Althea made no attempt to move it. Who knows what she dreamed about that night?
- 🐞
Althea was a very strange girl. At least that's what her alleged best friend, Monica would tell you. She had red hair, brown eyes, and pale-ish skin, and always looked like she was thinking hard or worrying about something. And why wouldn't she? Being head of the girl's choir, trying to survive on a deserted island, and dealing with feelings for your friend Rebecca the sudden, violent tendencies overtaking the island’s inhabitants was a lot for a thirteen year old girl. (Thea is also bisexual and a mezzo.) She learned to bare her teeth for justice and was never quiet again. Althea is white British and wanted to be a poet. She sings soprano.
Emerson Constantine Castleberry:
The mourner
Emerson looked down at his palms, giving in to sobs that shook his shoulders. He was never ashamed of crying, but the overwhelming loneliness made him wish he was fishing instead. His tears made him feel exposed, and like every sensation burned his skin. He stared longingly at the tree stump before him, a small, precious shell placed on top to signify a meeting place of friends; Nobody came.
- 🐠
Emerson was a very unremarkable boy. His skills were mostly in fishing, reading, and academics as a whole. He wasn’t the best for friendships with boys his age, or hunting, or being his dad’s favorite. He was a soft and gentle boy, who spent a lot of time thinking about others, especially his brother. The island taught him how to regret, and never to be distracted again. Poor thing. Emerson is white British and Aro/Ace.
Monica Thompson: The leader
The dark-haired girl looked down at her spear and smiled. The blood on it was fresh. It was the real reward for her precision and accuracy. Authority over something and the ability to induce pain were things that couldn’t be ripped from her, ever. The sweat streaking her paint told her she was alive. She agreed.
- 🪲
Monica is 14 years old, and had a very Jekyll and Hyde personality until she shed her expectations. She was a former ballerina until her father got into a car accident and used up all of her performing money. Then she became angry (except for when she was nice). She also became the secret-keeper for her friends. Even if another lead, she would always hold the power. The island taught her how to be the crushing authority that she knew all too well. Monica is a second generation Taiwanese immigrant. (Given the way she shows it, who knows who she likes.) Alto, but sometimes can hit mezzo notes.
Dixie Lakhani Lancaster: The Knower
A girl with medium-brown skin stared at the mangled remains of her glasses with the same amount of reverence one might give to a pyre. Her low level hyperopia probably wasn’t as important as not ending up like Piggy. That was her goal, anyway, right? Learn how it all works and pretend not to know. She giggled like she was taught and her peppy gaiety perfectly concealed any kind of intelligence.
- 🪶
Dixie Lancaster (the only one to use her correct name was Monica) was a very bright girl at 13 years old, but always shied away from competing. She loved to help out in her mother’s herb garden, and knows everything there is to know about plants and science. Dixie’s personality truly sat in a comfortable medium between introvert and extrovert, but she was always bubbly around Monica, and always dumbing herself down for a laugh. Dixie was taught the real cost of being protected by the Island. She’s (bispike) straight, Pakistani & North Indian and her family is been in England for long enough that she couldn’t tell you which relative came there first. Mezzosoprano.
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dis gonna sound kinda dum... but.... I sorta miss the oc blog craze, i know it was kind of annoying, i thought it was too, but it was kinda funny and entertaining to watch, like one long never-ending lore and fanfic which i could always turn to everyday when i was bored, but now its gone
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Monica was enjoying a pleasant walk on the island, as long as your definition of pleasant involved fog and a few splinters. As she was moving, she felt someone else’s body shove against her arm. She angrily jerked her head towards the boy who had bumped into her.
“Watch it, aaa…”
She trailed off, jaw hanging in silence and heart beating in her head for a moment before collecting herself. She couldn’t hold back a wry chuckle.
“Christ, you look like the ghost of my (still living) older brother, night-shift-eyes.”
She paused for a moment in anticipation, finally lowering her spear. Nothing. She stared at him with mild disgust, continuing flatly.
“Are you going to apologize for nearly causing me to spear myself or do you want me to stand here and wait?”
- 🪲
(Monica of @ribbits-british-children )
“You have a lot of nerve talking like that after running into me.”
He moved away, taking a slightly higher position on a rock and glaring daggers at her.
“And I don’t know who your older brother is but I frankly don’t care to learn if he’s anything like you. You seem an awful lot like those little kids up in the sand but much too old to be acting it. You’ve ought to be about my age but I’m sure your behavior would get you scolded by a teacher back home.”
He broke eye contact midway through, starting to pick a scab on his arm, only half looking at her.
“Maybe that’s why you’re all excited to be here, don’t have to answer to anybody saying you let them down.”
In a few seconds he thought up something to rile her up.
“They’re still watching you. I’m not supposed to tell, it’ll ruin the results probably, but they are.”
He got to eye level with her, real close.
“You know that itch you feel in your skin all the time? That’s a chip, to track you. Military stuff. They say it’s Russian spy technology, but it’s actually for a war against the people- I should know.”
Half his blabberings were rumors from kids at school, the rest were rubbish even he didn’t understand. No matter, it’d either give her a fright or make her think he was crazy. Both would get her to piss off. He had… more important matters to attend to.
“You’ll probably go home after but I doubt they’d want you anymore. Once they realize how rotten of a child you are. Just a hunch anyways.”
Monica looked up at him, somewhat offended, while also attempting to maintain the idea that this sort of stuff grossed her out, and that she had nothing in common with this boy. “How dare you compare me to- How dare- How-”
Every time Monica Thompson attempted to finish her sentence she was instead cut off by her own uncontrollable (un-mocking) laughter, sharp yet surprisingly genuine. It honestly sounded like a shriek at first, just from how caught off guard she was. She nearly dropped her spear, and spent a good ten seconds just laughing and looking at Enoch. “I know you're trying to freak me out, but that tracker chip stuff is hilarious, seriously.”
She smiled. Technically, Enoch did get what he wanted, just not how he wanted it. Monica was frightened into being honest, but not frightened to the point of leaving. Monica's giggles subsided.
“Anyway, what does it matter if it was true? We're all watching each other, aren't we?”
I wish I knew @askboat better. I heard he fishes too, and he seems rather cool. I’ve heard he spends most of his time with the hunters, though, so maybe not.
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it’s ok if you’re scared. or tired. or unsure. or one million billion other complicated emotions at once. but i’ve decided things are going to be ok anyway. and i will hold that belief close to my heart no matter how scared or tired or lonely or depressed or one million billion other things i am. i will hold onto that. and if you’re scared, you can hold onto me. we can carry each other through
[A soft voice said through the branches near Dixie. Upon closer inspection it was a girl was with long, pale hair.]
You look familiar, were you in the choir? Yes, I'm sure you were, you were just a very shy one, weren't you?
[She smiled softly, her eye shining with mirth.]
You were... ah, I'm not as good with names as I am with faces, you're.... I want to say Dixie but I'm not quite convinced that's what your name is.
Anyhow I'm Eve, I'm not sure if you remember me, I really wasn't that social back home. Do you like to garden? I liked to sit in the church's gardens when I wasn't practicing.
-🕊 ( @heavens-harold)
Dixie turned her head towards the girl approaching her, looking slightly startled at first, but with a minutely delayed reaction. She nodded her head, eyes wide and hands slightly dirty.
"Yes, yes. I'm Dixie Lancaster, and I remember you from the choir."
Dixie looked at Eve again and swallowed back the words she was thinking: She wouldn't call it shy as much as she would think to describe it as finding Eve somewhat strange. She'd almost think to blame some of her avoidance on Monica, but her will was her own, even now. How childish of her.
"I saw you out in the garden that one day at the start of our summer holiday. My parents ended up picking me up a day late because of work. I believe you offered to sit with me.”
She immediately noticed the distinct coloration on Eve’s skirt. Brugmansia, most likely either suaveoleans or versicolor. Not that she’d say it, of course. Her skirt was plain, aside from a small bit of blood near the bottom. Her hands had moved near it to swish it side to side, giving her an antsy appearance, which wasn’t entirely true. She smiled.
