Well, I'm not exactly sure what to count as OCs. For a RP, it was a horrible self-insert with the ability to talk to animals and control plants.
For a storyline, well, that's a bit of a longer story. When I was like three, I got one of those miniature plastic animal figurines. A tiger, I think. Never did like barbies, but that tiger on the other hand... long story short, by the time I was eight I was building entire cities, taking up my entire bedroom, populated almost entirely by twenty-odd cat figurines. Sometimes their allies the horses would have a neighboring village and sometimes the evil dogs had an outpost nearby, but mostly it was the cats. When a great adventure was calling, all their houses would be arranged into a mothership. Sometimes it was a submersible, like Atlantis: The Lost Empire. Sometimes it was a spaceship out to see a thousand splendid suns. Sometimes it was an airship, to venture the misty corners of the globe. Whatever the case, the cats were ready and waiting to face whatever challenge came before them.
Their lady commander was a jaguar figurine named ever-so-creatively Jaguala. She was perhaps the equivalent of forty-five, grey around the muzzle and wise beyond her years. She was clever and brave and regal, but distant and running from a troubled past she never spoke of. Her closest friend and lover was a slightly younger bobcat, a perfect sergeant, strong and mean when she needed to be, but loyal to a fault and never afraid of anything. There were others, too: a mystic carved of marble and his wife, an elegant lady made of malachite, and their toddling daughter, an onyx kitten with a penchant for getting into trouble. There was another bobcat, an old spinster, half-mad and always drinking "tea". Three tigers had shown up by this point, one an elderly war veteran, one a young romantic, and one a middle-aged smith or craftswoman. There was a lion who was the finest warrior except for Jaguala, but a dick who wanted to sleep with her and wouldn't take no for an answer. A cheetah showed up, an ever-worried master of communications, who eventually found a husband, a scout and messenger who was carefree and open-minded. There was a star-eyed librarian and her lover, a scatterbrained scholar. An ex-gladiator, one of those leaping leopards that came with a happy meal at McDonald's when Tarzan was a thing, who was perhaps a better fighter than the lion, but shifty-eyed and fond of disappearing for days at an end with no explanation. Oh, and there were others. Eventually Jaguala had a daughter, and that daughter had a daughter, and then that daughter had a daughter, and these generations kept on expanding until I came to my current number of fifty-three.
Who came first? Probably Jaguala. But I really can't be sure. That entire storyline started so long ago that I can't really remember a time in my childhood where I didn't come home and have a city set up, populated by those precious figurines. The furniture is gone; their food and weapons long since trashed or donated. The scraps of cloth that made beds and blankets have disappeared long ago and I can't recall the last time I saw my jenga blocks that made walls and fences. But you know what I still have? Memories.
And I think I'm going to my room to get down my books and boxes and papers, and I'm going to make a spaceship.