#docs ocs

Experiencing a sustained, growing urge to change an OC’s tentative name from August to Calico.

Dare I kill the part of me that cringes?

Sascha calling Roman “boss” before she calls him “Dad” is still my best idea.

She’s probably been doing it for days before he realizes.

Sascha: Can I eat in front of the TV?

Roman: Knock yourself out. But spill anything on the couch, and it’s your ass.

Sascha: Thanks, boss!

Roman: *five minutes later* …What the fuck? How long has that been going on?

Victor: I'unno. ‘Bout a week?

Roman: And you just let it?

Victor: Kinda figured you were fine with it since you didn’t say anything. And I thought it was pretty cute.

Roman: It’s fucking adorable, Victor. That’s not the point.

Sascha’s been around mobsters and rough characters her whole life and has a very advanced vocabulary for her age. Roman thinks it’s hilarious hearing her cussing in her little kid voice, but the calls from her teachers are getting tiresome.

Sascha: Dads said I can swear, just not at school. *intense whisper* But that’s where I need to the most.

She has to save it up all day until her driver picks her up.

Angie: How was school, kiddo?

Sascha: *from the backseat* FUCK!

Angie: …That bad, huh?

Sascha: No, it was fun. We did state capitols.

Sascha watches The Godfather and the next day has to make absolutely sure that Roman doesn’t kill horses. Otherwise she might have to rethink this whole adoption situation.

For the record, his answer is “Ew, no.”

Also for the record, she’s seen Victor kill people*, and this is apparently perfectly fine and not a cause for reevaluating her parentage like potential ponycide would be.

And, yes, Roman probably could’ve tried a little harder to figure out how to put parental controls on her TV instead giving up in a snit after fifteen minutes, but seeing as she had already seen Victor kill people*, he wasn’t sure what good they would’ve done anyway.

*(Technically, they were mostly reanimated Talons, so exactly how alive they were by that point is debatable, but still.)

Trying to figure out what one of my OCs sounds like. Y’all got any examples of raspy, androgynous voices? Babygirl is an arsonist and has probably fucked up her vocal chords some.

Going through my pirate phase in my late 30s it looks like.

I’ve already made three queer little pirate OCs to have queer little pirate adventures. Their names are Sunshine, Seong-Jin, and Jericho. Their captain found them all half-starved and feral in an alley; they bit him a half-dozen times, and he adopted them on the spot. They’re all some flavor of nonbinary. They have exactly one braincell between them, and Jericho has it all the time and does not want it. They are a set and must not be separated.

They bring me immense joy.

I don’t know what this is. I do, but I don’t. Context will be provided only upon request. I tried out starting from the middle of an idea rather than the beginning, and it’s been so long since I’ve written or even read my own work that I don’t know if this even sounds like my own work, and I know I’m gonna edit this to hell and back and drive myself insane, but. Hey. WORDS. I made words. That’s a start.

–

“You want me to fuck him up?”

She snapped her head back to him but only looked curious, tilting it to the side. “What, like, kill him?”

Victor shrugged. “Eventually.” He had been itching for a mark lately. Oswald was just as particular as Roman had been about the when and where of Victor selecting his own targets (and even more so the who) and didn’t provide nearly as many himself. “But I mean, y’know, scare him, mess him up. Hurt him.”

Masami’s head tilted further, birdlike. (Fucking songbird.) “You’d do that? If I asked?”

Victor shrugged again, a little glad she hadn’t said “For me?” “Sure.”

It was what he did. Well. Not what he did on his own but what he was willing to do when directed. And he was good at it, even enjoyed it. They deserved it, after all. Death was a gift he granted the suffering masses, but some people needed to endure a little more horror before receiving that reward: especially the ones that interfered with the people Victor was responsible for.

And now by word of Penguin himself, that category included the fucking birdie–though Victor could admit he’d made peace with the idea beforehand. His little stunt in the Lounge had been proof enough of that. (But it still would have been weird if she’d said “For me?”)

“It was a dick move,” he offered as explanation, interpreting her silence as a need for one. “He’s got it comin’.”

“Mm.” She kept staring at him with her head canted, blinking slowly, one corner of her mouth tugging into the faintest smile, still curious but now also… amused. Appraising. Victor very deliberately didn’t think about how familiar that look was or on exactly whose face he’d seen it before. “That’s… sweet.”

She tipped her neck back to a human angle and took another glance down the street before spinning right back on him, smile suddenly all canines and mischief. “Could I watch?”