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cas-kingdom · 8 months

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White Flower

A/N: Definitely a long time coming. I've been so slow in my writing since starting university but I'm glad to finally have this one done. Hopefully you all enjoy the introduction of my OC!

Set in the aftermath of Glass Onion.

Title: White Flower

Summary: Fleur Blanc, art student and only daughter of the world's greatest detective, wants to steal the Mona Lisa.

Words: 2336

Despite the alarm and the impassive yelling of “this is a smokeless garden”, Benoit Blanc believed he quite deserved this cigarette, thank you very much. Trying was one word to describe the weekend he’d had. All-round tits up was another.

Besides. The island was pretty much a raging pit of alarms, fire, and general chaos by now. One more addition didn’t make much of a difference, and there certainly was no stopping the activation of the hydrogen fuel now.

“Oh, do shut up,” he said anyway, because it felt good, and because the first yell had made him jump and squish his cigarette between two fingers.

He reached for another and let his sunglasses fall over his eyes, squinting into the distance.

The horrifically neon pink of Birdie Jay’s sunhat stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of the remaining participants of the weekend’s fiasco. They were all fanned out across the beach, as far apart from each other as possible, waiting impatiently for the policeboats to arrive. Ironic, really, considering how they’d arrived, each one a suck up to the next.

Benoit lit his new cigarette and shook his head with a scoff. “Megalomaniac, Janus-faced…” He muttered the words under his breath and took a puff. The alarm and impassive yelling restarted, and the second cigarette promptly joined the one on the ground.

“For the love of...”

He was owed a proper vacation after this, at the very least.

The yelling stopped abruptly with a crackle and a robotic groan. When Benoit turned, he was met with the sight of a young woman, her feet precariously placed between the gaps of the odd white sculpture that the yelling emanated from.

No longer.

After a violent snap, she held a handful of the offending wires, a look of irritation settling on her face. A flick of long hair and a moment later she tossed the wires onto dry land and followed them down into the shallow water with a quiet splash. Benoit rose a brow and fit his third cigarette neatly between smirking lips.

“Why, thank you, my darlin’.”

Fleur Blanc, twenty-year old art student and daughter of the world’s greatest detective, offered a mock bow as she stepped out of the water. She stretched out a leg and shook her foot dry as her father turned his gaze back towards the beach.

It hadn’t been his idea to bring Fleur along on this particular adventure, and he had in fact protested against it when she and that good-for-nothing roommate of his had suggested it, remembering quite well the last time his detective business had taken him on a wild ride. Alas, lockdown had turned Fleur into a firecracker and Philip had eventually boiled Benoit’s options down to “you take her with you, or I take myself out with the shotgun in the safe.” All fun and games, of course. Of course.

He couldn’t say her presence had been unappreciated. Apart from the obvious ease in her company, and the slightest spark of feeling like they were on a proper vacation, she had helped with the investigation, too. His little detective in the making, he’d always teased, though for as much as he was sure she loved the thrill of investigation, he was certain her career path would lead her straight to the arts.

That certainty was consolidated at the unusual silence coming from Fleur. When he turned, she was standing with her back to him, her eyes fixed on what remained of the Glass Onion. The structure that had once been so…not on fire generated quite the backdrop for his obviously preoccupied daughter. Her head tilted, arms crossed, feet bare and loose hair billowing behind her in the summer breeze, one would assume she was the picture of innocence.

Benoit knew better.

The moment she glanced over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eyes and the—in this case—horrifying beginning of “Dad?” on the tip of her tongue, Benoit pulled his cigarette from his mouth and pointed it at her. His own head dipped dangerously low, and his brows raised in what Fleur knew to be warning.

“No,” he said. Firm and simple. He would not deny she often found herself wrapped around his little finger, but this was one thing he’d be ridiculous to abide by.

“But—”

“My goodness, Fleur, no!”

Fleur narrowed her eyes and whipped her head back around. Benoit saw her fingers tapping rhythmically against her forearm. He remained still, waiting, ready. Because when a thought entered Fleur’s mind, she was hard-pressed to get rid of it.

With a defining nod and not a single glance back, Fleur slipped her flip-flops on and started walking with absolute intent. Benoit rushed after her. He grasped her shoulder and stopped her before she could take another step.

Fleur was ready for him. “I’m doing it,” she stated, “I’ve decided. I have to.”

“You are insane if you truly think—it’s—you are just preposterous, child!”

“But, Dad, it can’t be a crime, right? Most of it’s already destroyed!”

Benoit spluttered. He dropped the cigarette and, with a sudden distaste for the thing, squashed it under the toe of his shoe.

“Jesus, God, Satan, give me strength,” he muttered under his breath, not for the first time concerning his daughter and certainly not for the last. He grasped her by the shoulders, ensuring she couldn’t avoid his gaze, then, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Fleur, sweetheart, you want to steal the Mona fudgin’ Lisa.”

“Rehome,” Fleur was quick to correct. “And it’ll have a better life with me! You really think Miles appreciated it as much as I will?” That was a given. “And—and only a small part, Dad, that’s all I want.” She suddenly hardened her stare, that familiar seriousness suddenly reappearing. “That’s all I need.”

The detective’s speechlessness after that closing statement could have been due to a number of things. One, because the pure gall of this girl never ceased to amaze him. Two, because something seemed to blow up behind them, a puff of smoke emanating from the top of what used to be the Onion. Three, the most likely contender, because the moment said explosion had him distracted, Fleur ducked under his hold and made her way intently towards it.

Like father, like daughter, was all he could think. And he wasn’t referencing himself.

Surprising, considering he followed after her with absolutely zero hesitation.

The Glass Onion’s majesty was long gone. The maddest of people would advise anyone and everyone to stay about a hundred feet from its flaming mess, armed with a hard-shell helmet and a fire extinguisher, just in case anything went even more wrong. Which, looking at it, was likely.

Still, as was typically—stupidly—the case, Benoit Blanc stood in the middle of it all.

One hand wrapped around his daughter’s, the other gripping the doorframe for easy escape, his wide eyes darted around the Onion. If he was any less focused on the state of his surroundings, he would have been more concerned at his daughter’s lack of concern. True, the fire had somewhat died down, and the structure itself looked less ready to cave in than it had done before, but safe was still not a word he would use to describe it.

Helen’s stunt had certainly done a number on poor Mona, but the world of aesthetes could decidedly remain relieved with the knowledge that some parts of her were untouched. Surrounded by what had once been her glass refuge, she sat still in the place she had done since Miles had obtained her. One eye was black, the other pristine. A side of her hair reflected the fire, the other had been destroyed by it. Needless to say, the majority of her was gone, and if Fleur had the time, Benoit had no doubt she’d be down on her hands and knees, collecting the ashes in a little pot and shamelessly risking her life in the process. Alas, he would sooner drag her out, kicking and screaming, than have her be here a moment longer than she apparently needed to be.

Benoit watched his daughter’s eyes as they scanned the room before landing on Mona. In less than a second, that tell-tale glint went from inquisition to pure delight. It seemed no amount of staring from outside of the case could prepare her for now. True, the painting was charred more than not, and his watchful eye did catch a spark of disappointment, but it only seemed to spur her determination in getting it safely within her grasp.

Parental instincts ablaze since the moment he’d stepped foot on the island, Benoit immediately tightened his grip on her hand and yanked her back when she made to move forward. “Hold your horses,” he said, waiting for her eyes to meet his before wildly gesturing around them. “There’s glass everywhere, Fleur, and you’re wearing flip-flops. Why would you bring flip-flops to this island and nothing else?”

“We’re on vacation!”

“You knew darn well this wasn’t a vacation!”

Fleur spluttered for a moment before pointing accusingly at his own choice of footwear. “Like you and your boat shoes can do any better.”

Benoit gasped. Audibly. “These have hard, glass-proof soles, I’ll thank you to notice.”

He wasn’t quite sure what it was that spurred him to his next decision. Perhaps it was the urgency of the situation. Or the very distant, but ever-closer, sound of sirens. Or, maybe, it was the pure eagerness of his daughter; eagerness of which had always softened his heart, no matter the circumstances.

Whichever it was, he tried not to think about the guilt that would remain on his conscience for the rest of his life as he turned and bent over slightly, motioning with his hands.

“Get on my back,” he said hurriedly. When Fleur stalled, shock settling quickly on her face, he motioned again. “Come, child, we haven’t got long.”

And, with that, Fleur hopped on her father’s back with as much excitement as a child. Benoit gripped her legs, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her chin on his shoulder, the biggest of grins adorning her lips.

“Look at you, Dad,” she said as he began walking, stepping carefully over large shards of glass.

“We are not to tell your father,” was his only response to her obvious insinuation that he was becoming rebellious in his old age.

“Might be a little difficult when we come home with the Mona Lisa. Ooh! Why don’t we take the Porsche home too? Just the steering wheel?”

Benoit uttered a silent apology to da Vinci.

“Do you see these grey hairs?” he said. “You are the cause.”

Needless to say, through no innate conformism, Fleur’s inner connoisseur had won over her desire to keep a piece of the Mona Lisa in her cardholder. The moment the police had finished detailing the basics of the weekend’s mess with her father and struck up the sensitive question of the possibility of either of them having seen the Mona Lisa’s remainders at all during the night—Benoit believed it was their imploring “the Louvre are simply desperate to get it back” that had swayed her—Fleur had produced the scraps she’d been able to save from her pocket. Handing them over with only the tiniest hint of reluctance, she’d smiled at the gratefulness from the police and watched them go with the bit of longing she could allow herself.

Chuckling softly, Benoit wrapped an arm around her and drew her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Well, darlin’,” he said, “I’m very proud of you, if it counts for something.”

Fleur breathed a deep sigh and pressed her lips in a thin smile. “It does. At least I cay say I’ve touched her, right, Dad?”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s more than most people can say, after all.”

The police were wrapping up now, gently guiding the exhausted party members onto a boat—one in particular in aptly placed handcuffs. The island itself would take mountains of work to be habitable again, he’d heard a firefighter voice in passing, and for a moment he wondered if Derol had made it onto the boat. After brief consideration, he decided Derol was probably better off here than America.

Benoit pushed his sunglasses down and steered himself and his daughter in the direction of the shore. He didn’t quite enjoy the idea of sharing a boat ride with previously-dubbed megalomaniac, Janus-faced…people, but alas, after today he would no longer experience the displeasure of seeing them again. Though, he would be glad for Helen to attend a few of his dinner parties when the pandemic allowed.

Fleur reached up to grasp her father’s hand at her shoulder as they walked slowly, stepping carefully around anything glinting in the sand. Then, quietly, “Where’re you gonna put your steering wheel?”

Ah. Benoit instinctively glanced down at the duffel bag in his free hand. True, it was heavier than it had been when he’d first arrived on the island, but he had told his daughter that he’d be much appreciated if she didn’t remind him of his rebelliousness at every given moment. Which she had.

“I’m going to lock it away in a safe, so it’s never found, and I’m never arrested for thieving,” he said, finality embedded in his tone. If anyone ever asked: no, he had not stolen the steering wheel of the Porsche 918 Spyder’s wreckage. No, he did not have it in his duffel bag, blanketed by his clothes and second pair of boat shoes. And, no, once it entered the safe he would never look at it again. Except on birthdays. And maybe Christmasses.

He couldn’t say he regretted it.

But he did regret not regretting it.

“And may I just reiterate,” he said, leaning closer towards her, “your father does not need to know a thing.”

Knives Out Masterpost

#knives out #benoit blanc #benoit blanc x OC #blanc x OC #benoit blanc x reader #blanc x reader #oc!reader #oc reader #oc daughter #oc!daughter #reader #reader fic #knives out glass onion #glass onion #mine

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dgknightblue · 7 months

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So I have this idea of fishman Grif being hired by Simmons step-father as a bodyguard.

Now at the time Simmons wasn’t able to come out as trans and he wasn’t Simmons rather Peterson.

Simmons was a wheelchair bound aristocrat that couldn’t leave their estate.

(I didn’t really want the setting to be in One Piece but I like the fishman elements)

I am torn between having Simmons secretly being a mermaid/ merman (a fishman with a tail instead of legs) or secretly having wings (functional wings) (like the people of Skypiea).

Maybe both like a he gets his wings from his father, who abandoned him and his mom and he gets his tail from his mom.

His step father didn’t particularly like these traits unless they serve to aid him. Which is why he keeps Simmons locked up in his home. Simmons is very valuable but as long as he doesn’t speak.

Simmons never met anyone like him so Grif was a surprise. He immediately fell in love with him but was just so dense about it.

Simmons isn’t happy at all. But this was their backstory.

Soon enough Grif convinced Simmons to run a way with him. They get separated for a few years and when Grif sees him again, Simmons has a daughter.

Simmons got meaner while he was gone but still very cute. The little girl looks kind of like Kai when she was younger.

Grif doesn’t think about it. (Oh he figured it out, he just won’t say anything unless Simmons does.)

#au #cute #red vs blue #rvb Simmons #rvb grif #rvb au #grimmons #oc daughter #fanfiction #poll #polls #rvb poll

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zeetrip · 2 years

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My baby girl, Hanahime, was made by BeaglePotato on Twitter.

She's Tsukasa and Senku's daughter.

#dr stone #ishigami senku #shishio tsukasa #tsukasen #oc character #oc daughter

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dragongirldg · 7 months

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Simmons ran a way with fishman Grif and then got separated. Simmons then had a kid while Grif was looking for him.

#fanart #cute #grif #Simmons #oc daughter #grimmons #red vs blue #au #rvb au

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91062854-ka · 9 months

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Alexandria Calaway (Played by: Taylor Momsen)

Real name: Alexandria Leila Calaway

Ring name(s):

Alice Angel (currently)

Raven Black (formerly)

Nickname(s):

Alex (real life)

The Princess of Darkness

The Angel of Darkness

Devil's Little Angel

The Deadman's Daughter/Little Angel

Sister Abigail (by the Wyatt Family)

Born: July 26, 1990 (age 25)

Hometown: Death Valley

Height/Weight: 5'8"/121Ibs

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Platinum blonde

Family:

Mark Calaway/The Undertaker (Father)

Jodi Lynn Calaway (Mother)

Sara Calaway (1st Stepmother)

Michelle Calaway/Michelle McCool (2nd Stepmother)

Gunner Calaway (Younger brother)

Chasey Calaway (Younger stepsister)

Gracie Calaway (Younger stepsister)

Kaia Calaway (Younger stepsister)

Kolt Calaway (Younger stepbrother)

Glenn Jacobs/Kane (Uncle figure)

Romantic interest(s): Jonathan David Good/Dean Ambrose

Face paint: (this screen shot is from iHasCupquake YouTube video of her Alice Angel Cosplay)

Theme song(s):

Take it Out on Me by Thousand Foot Krutch (TNA)

youtube

In NXT and in WWE:

It starts with Alice humming,

youtube

Then Alice begins to sing, but it only happens during her debut promo, her official debut in WWE and during WrestleMania, (without the jumpscare at the end)

youtube

Then finally this song plays.

Wicked Enchantment by CFO$

youtube

Finishing moves:

Tombstone Piledriver

Kiss of Darkness (Lifting double underhook sitout facebuster)

Submission moves:

Hell's Gate (Triangle Choke)

Angel's Hell (Kneebar)

Angel's Gate (Armbar)

Signature moves:

Chokeslam

Last Ride

European Uppercut

Belly to Back Suplex

Diving Crossbody

Roundhouse kick

Superkick

Rebounds off the ropes on the opposite end and lands a big boot

Running Corkscrew Neckbreaker

Wheelbarrow Bulldog

Snap DDT

Corner Body Splash + One Leg Monkey Flip combo

Headbutts

Rope Stunner

Leaping Clothesline

Apron Leg Drop

Old School

Over the Top Rope Suicide Dive

Front Body Slam

Enzuigiri

Running DDT

Spinebuster

Friends:

Paige (off-screen)

Becky Lynch (off-screen)

Charlotte Flair (off-screen)

Sasha Banks (off-screen)

Bayley (off-screen)

Roman Reigns

Seth Rollins

Dean Ambrose (before falling in love with him)

Randy Orton (off-screen)

Triple H (off-screen)

Stephanie McMahon (off-screen)

Shane McMahon (off-screen)

Vince McMahon (off-screen)

Shawn Michaels

Big Show (off-screen)

John Cena

Nikki Bella (off-screen)

Brie Bella (off-screen)

Alicia Fox (off-screen)

Naomi (off-screen)

Tamina Shuka (off-screen)

Finn Balor (off-screen)

Kevin Owens (off-screen)

Trained by:

The Undertaker

Michelle McCool

Kane

Lita

Edge

Trish Stratus

Stone Cold Steve Austin

Triple H

Shawn Michaels

Brock Lesner

WWE Idol(s):

Chyna

The Undertaker

Kane

Michelle McCool

Lita

Edge

Trish Stratus

Facts:

• Alexandria was inspired by her father and her uncle when she watched them wrestle when she was a little girl.

• Alexandria met her new stepmother when she was backstage while watching her father and uncle wrestle and formed a positive relationship with her.

• Alexandria met her trainers when she was in backstage waiting for her father with her new stepmother, so she knows everyone as she grew up in WWE her whole life.

• Even though Alexandria wears different black ring gears as Alice Angel, her signature piece on her every gear is a black headband with a pair of white devil horns with a semi-broken white angel halo. She also wears white angel wings, but only during WrestleMania.

• Since Bendy and the Ink Machine didn't come out until 2017, Alexandria came up with the name since her debut took place in 2015.

• Alexandria has a very good singing voice from years of practicing on how to sing when she used to take choir classes in school, her first career choice was to become a singer but later changed it to become a wrestler to follow her father's footsteps. She recorded her singing to hum a creepy song and used it as a part of her entrance in the wrestling world as Raven Black and later as Alice Angel.

• As Alice Angel, she has supernatural powers that are similar to Kane and the Undertaker's, but she still has her own powers, such as a siren song and basically has all the powers as Alexa Bliss once had. Because of this, knowing who her father and uncle are, and later knowing what she's capable of, she is just as feared as they are in both NXT and WWE.

• Alice is very good at manipulating, tricking and play mind games with her rivals to mess with them. She learns these tactics from Kane and the Undertaker.

• Alice can wrestle both men and women throughout her wrestling career.

• She actually appears in WWE twice before her official debut in 2015:

○ Her first appearance was in 2013 after her father defeat Dean Ambrose and before the Shield can causes any more damage to him, she attacks the Shield and saves her father from getting anymore injured. This means Alice Angel will come to WWE from NXT soon.

○ Her second appearance was in 2014 during The Undertaker vs Brock Lesner match in WrestleMania 30, to distracted Lesner so her father can take the win, this implies that Alice Angel will soon later becomes Brock's new rival in their future storyline.

• Because of her supernatural powers and what she's capable of, the Wyatt Family believes that she is Sister Abigail who came to life before them. Alice uses this to her advantage and use them as her bodyguards, playing mind games with them as she unofficially becomes a member of the Wyatt Family. However, it is unknown if they're playing mind games with her, or if it's the other way around, due to how unpredictable Alice Angel and the Wyatt Family are.

• She sat up the same way as her father and uncle did during her matches in both NXT and WWE to frighten her opponents, as well as appearing from under the ring to drag them to hell, doing the throat slit and crossing her opponent's arms the same way after delivering the Tombstone Piledriver, but she doesn't roll her eyes back like her father, instead she smiles sinisterly.

• Alice's Twitter account is @WWEAliceAngel. (It's not real, so don't bother trying to find it)

#Youtube #oc character #wwe #wwe oc #the undertaker #wwe undertaker #oc daughter

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bioplast-hero · 1 year

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Piece of You

41k • 10/10 (complete) • mature • sheith

Ten years.

How has it been ten years? The last thing Shiro remembered was the fight with Zarkon. That was a decade ago.

"Pidge thinks you’re in the right reality. Something about quantum signatures and,” Keith makes a vague science stuff gesture, “and you know, I’ve learned to take her at her word. Her guess is time travel.”

Instead of catching Shiro in her consciousness to save him, the black lion sends him into the future. Reuniting with Keith, Shiro is unprepared for the sight of him— everything about him, his life, his daughter, and the onslaught of all that has changed.

Featuring post-canon single dad Keith, OC adopted daughter, and Shiro-from-the-past finding out he’s somehow exactly where he needed to be.

[Read the fic on AO3]

banner art comm’d from @kaa-05n2, thank you ❤️

#sheith #my fic #fic promo #sheith fic #sheithfam #time travel #age swap au #kidfic #oc daughter

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a-good-weird · 2 years

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You can't just doodle on my portraits Naheeda!"

"But yesterday you said I can do whatever I want".

Uh- that- I…", Lucio trailed off, racking his brain for something to say while his daughter smirked triumphantly. "Noddy! Tell Naeeda to stop doodling on my portraits!

"Your doodles look gorgeous darling".

"Noddy!"

"Thank you Mama".

"How about you go draw something in your drawing book and show it to me later".

"Alright Mama", Naheeda skipped off obediently.

"Why does she never listen to me?!", Lucio grumbled watching her leave.

"Perhaps because you don't listen to anyone".

"That's a lie! I won't listen to any more of this!"

#the arcana #the arcana count lucio #lucio montag #nadia satrivana #nadia x lucio #oc daughter #oc dialogue #drabble

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dgblueknight20 · 3 months

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Lulani: My name is Lulani Katherine Simmons Grif

Kiya: My name is Kiya Rosaline Simmons…. Grif.

Lulani: Kiya, I told you not to say that! If he hasn’t adopted you, you can’t just add papas last name to yours.

Kiya: That’s not fair, he’s technically my papa too! You’re my sister and that makes him my papa!

Kiya: I just want to be just like you….

Lulani: …. UGH fine! But don’t say that in front of papa! He doesn’t know about either of us yet.

Kiya: How did daddy and papa make you?

Lulani: Uh

Kiya: As a matter of fact, how did my mommy and dad make me?

Lulani: hm….

Kiya: Daddy adopted me and that means he didn’t birth me. Wait, what does birth mean? Birth is where babies come from, but how are babies born???

Kiya: Lulani, where did you go?

Lulani: *pushes dad in front of Kiya and running*

Kiya: Daddy! Where exactly do babies come from? What’s birth? How are they born? How did you and papa make my sister?

Kiya: Daddy?

Simmons: *Pushes Grif in front of Kiya and running*

Simmons: Grif! Tell her about the stork!

Grif: Simmons get the fudge back here!?

Kiya: Hi p- uh Mr. Grif! Do you know how mommy and daddy had a baby? My mommy had me and then Lulani’s daddy had her, how?

Grif, calmly: The stork takes babies from the clouds and puts them in a cabbage patch for their parents to find.

Grif: Your daddy found your sister in his vegetable garden one day.

Kiya: But his vegetables are tiny and my sister is big!

Grif, laughing: Yeah, but that’s because she stole the height from the vegetables and that’s why they never grow in size ever again.

Grif: Be careful or she’ll steal the height from you too, and it looks like she already has!

Kiya: Oh no! I have to get it back! *She runs to find Lulani*

Grif, after she’s gone: Oh thank god that was easier than I thought! Simmons owes me!

Grif: Wait, Simmons didn’t adopt Lulani? Just Kiya? But I thought both were adopted….

#red vs blue #rvb simmons #rvb grif #grimmons #oc #rvb oc #oc daughter #oc child #simmons daughter #grif daughter

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velinxi · 3 months

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Mourning yourself again?

[Characters from DOTF]

#ocs #webcomic #vel draws #daughter of a thousand faces #dotf

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eurodynamic · 8 months

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BALDUR'S GATE 3 (2023) dev. Larian Studios

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joyjoy-ahoy · 8 months

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Angel papa..

#artists on tumblr #original art #original character #character design #oc #angel #art #mine #alto loves his daughter very much :))#he also had a bit of a glowup since his last reference done in 2021! how far he's come :D

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cas-kingdom · 1 year

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Instinct

A/N: My exams finished and what did I do first as a free woman? Write.

My first 9-1-1: Lonestar fic, a small one (with questionable quality), but a subject that hits pretty deep right now. It’s for that reason that this fic isn’t reader-centric. Hopefully “ya’ll” love Connie Strand anyway. Enjoy, and bear with me as I return to writing now that summer’s here!

(Connie’s about 19).

Title: Instinct

Summary: Owen and his daughter discuss the possible return of his cancer.

Words: 2108

The nerves came when the coughing did.

It was instinct at this point. The moment the familiar, guttural sounds reached her, they immediately broke down doors in her mind and wrenched free the memories she’d locked away.

It was instinct also that had her putting her laptop to the side and staring at her bedroom wall for a moment. Heart revving into that familiar gear, hands growing familiarly clammy, breath stopping in that familiar place just at the top of her throat. A sick sort of feeling climbed from her stomach and crawled its way up to her chest, settling there when the coughing stopped and broke down into small croaky things. Barely-audible things. Nothing-to-worry-about things.

She stepped out of bed and hugged her arms to her chest, walking quietly on bare feet towards the halfway-open door. Her room was closest to the kitchen, so she saw him when she stepped out, hunched over the island, head bowed, hands in fists on the marble. For a scene that had moments ago been overwhelmed by a coughing fit, it was scarily silent now.

A time when something like this would not dare cross her mind had passed the window of impossible with her father’s initial cancer diagnosis. Almost a year ago now, he’d been in remission for most of that year, but every cough, every hoarse throat…hell, every stubbed toe had Connie Strand’s nerves skyrocketing. That was normal, she’d been told. That was instinct.

Instinct was a bitch.

Owen saw Connie before he could automatically situate himself into a position that looked the picture of health. Still, he tried, straightening the moment his eyes caught sight of her padding down the hallway. He cleared his throat and picked up a knife, pointing it at the half-cut banana in front of him.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he said, throwing a smile in her direction for good measure. His voice was crackly. “I’m making a protein smoothie. Want some?”

It was in the fire captain’s nature to act oblivious, but Connie didn’t think there was much point in it now. He’d had cancer, he’d had chemo, he’d beaten cancer, he’d beaten chemo. He hadn’t told his kids, then he’d told his kids. It wasn’t as though Connie could no longer tell when he was feeling off. She’d known the difference before the tumours, and she would continue to know it long after. T.K. called that a superpower. Owen called it a pain in his ass.

“I’m allergic to protein powder.” Her answer every time, it was the second reason she wished T.K. still lived with them. When he did, the two were able to sneak a packet of potato chips in through the front door, or even a chocolate bar if they were lucky. But Owen controlled the grocery shopping now, and when Owen controlled the grocery shopping, not a morsel of candy made it in the cart. The first reason lay in the possibility of these exact moments. When she needed her big brother, it wasn’t often he was around.

Still. Connie was and always had been more like her father than her mother, and smoothies, minus the protein, were still a favourite. Owen was extremely proud of that small achievement.

“In that case, My Sunshine Lady Princess—” He turned to grab another glass as she sat in a swivel chair— “One protein smoothie, minus the protein, coming up.” Connie breathed a laugh and he sighed exaggeratedly. “Let me believe it, Con, please.”

He returned to chopping the banana, but Connie could see his face fall. He wasn’t stupid, and neither was she. He knew she hadn’t come into the kitchen at seven am to escape her homework or procure one of his morning smoothies.

“Dad?” She glanced down at the table, following the lines of marble with her finger.

Owen stuck a handful of bananas in the blender and reached for an apple. “Yep.”

“You’re alright, right?”

There weren’t many people who could answer that question truthfully, and once upon a time, Owen Strand would have been at the top of that list. Recently, though, he’d learnt to be a bit more open. He’d had to be. After T.K. had figured out what he’d been keeping from his kids, scepticism followed them both around like the plague.

So, it was with this that the fire captain put down his knife and placed the palms of his hands on the counter, bracing himself against it. He looked up at Connie, her upper lip unknowingly caught between her teeth. He sucked in a breath and cleared his throat. “Banana went down the wrong tube,” he tried.

Connie dropped her head and rose her brows in a very Owen Strand way that had her dad cringing and pulling back.

“Okay, okay. I might have a little tickle in the back of my throat that’s been there a few weeks. And that’s a might, so you take a chill pill right now, Miss, ‘cause I won’t have you worrying about nothing ‘til it’s something.” He had one hand aimed at her, a finger pointing forwards. The Owen Strand look settled quickly on his own face and Connie had a difficult time keeping the smile from her lips. Her dad was her dad, after all. Her hero and entertainer.

At her smile, Owen let one of his own slip onto his face, knowing he’d got her. Just to make sure, he lifted his eyebrows higher and sent a teasing: “You hear me?” to which she just about refrained from rolling her eyes at. Swivelling in her chair, she mumbled an answer, averting her gaze.

“Hey, don’t make me come over there and fix up a smile.” Owen had a habit of turning negative situations on their heads when it concerned Connie and T.K.. Even before the cancer, they hadn’t had the most perfect of lives, switching between mom and dad’s house and suffering the odd babysitter when representing clients and fighting fires overlapped a bit too much. He guessed T.K. had had it worse—he was older and remembered the choppy months after the divorce. Connie had been born in choppy month eight, the most surprising of surprises, but their new way of living had always been her norm. Still, life had had its downs, and a Connie frown broke his damn heart every time.

“Alright—” He dusted his hands together and threw his arms up, resigned— “I’m coming.”

Connie jumped to attention immediately, not quite having expected the change in mood. Though it was certainly like him. “I didn’t say anything!”

Owen clicked his fingers as he made his way intently around the counter. “That’s exactly why I’m coming.”

He wasn’t even hiding the mischievous intonation of his voice. That teasing lilt made its familiar way in, dutifully pushing all negative thoughts from Connie’s mind as she spun in her chair and stretched her arms out. “Hey, hey, okay!” Owen stopped a foot from her chair, eyes narrowed, hands poised suspiciously like they were seconds from launching a tickle attack Connie had told her dad a hundred times she was way too old for. He’d never taken that to heart, nor had T.K., and somewhere deep, deep down she appreciated that. Still, she could pretend not to enjoy it, and probably would until the day Owen himself deemed her too old, if that day ever came.

“Okay,” she said, “not worried. I’m not worried! See?” She pointed at her face, forcing the widest of toothy grins possible. “Look at my smile.”

Owen couldn’t help but snort, amusement at the situation overriding his brief venture to remain serious. “I see it,” he said, letting his arms hang limp by his sides and walking towards her. Connie spun around again to face the counter and he stopped behind her, lifting his arms to drape over her shoulders. Quiet, Connie let her dad pull her back against his chest, feeling his chin come to rest on her shoulder. The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound for a moment, father and daughter acting completely on instinct in their need to hold each other for a moment. Worrying about nothing ‘til it was something was Connie’s forte, after all.

“It was just a cough, Sunshine,” Owen reassured her.

“And a tickle in your throat.”

“Mm, I’m pretty sure that was the banana.” Connie smiled and he hailed that a silent victory with a kiss to her cheek, hugging her closer. “My next check-up’s not for another month but I’ll book in with the doc tomorrow. Just to be sure.”

Connie nodded and placed her hand over his. “Just to be sure.”

She could hear him hesitate beside him. “Con, kiddo…I know you’ve got reason enough to be worried, and I’m not gonna take that right away from you. It’s okay to be worried, reminds us all we’re human. But…”

“I worry too much?”

He hummed. “Not that. Sometimes—you just don’t need to worry. And I know you can’t help it, neither can I, I guess we just gotta batten down the hatches a bit, huh? If we worry about anything and everything that could be tumour-related, there’ll never be a time we’re not shaking in our boots.”

He was right, of course, always was, but Connie didn’t know how to answer him. The mood might have continued to plummet, probably would have continued to plummet, if her phone hadn’t pinged at that moment. Connie couldn’t have reached for it quicker, feeling her dad press another kiss to her head before moving back to his side of the island. In the blink of an eye, the dismal air of the kitchen seemed to shatter as Owen opened the blinds and called for Alexa to quietly play his breakfast playlist. They’d talked about what they’d needed to talk about, defeated the elephant in the room. The C word was buried for now.

“T.K. wants to meet for breakfast,” Connie said, her brother’s u me & pancakes b4 shift? shining at her from her bright screen and waking up any residual exhaustion her eyes had been harbouring.

Owen sighed dramatically and visibly deflated. “After I slaved away at the counter cutting fruit for your smoothie?” Connie smiled as she typed a response. “Does he want me to drop you off?”

“He’ll pick me up. You wanna come?”

Another dramatic sigh and the knife clattered to the marble top. Connie rose an eyebrow at his spectacle, knowing deep down he was attempting to shake off any gloominess floating around the kitchen but letting herself enjoy his puckishness all the same. When a theatrical: “After I slaved away at the counter cutting fruit for my smoothie?” came from him, she finally laughed and shook her head.

“Come on, Dad. Pancakes over smoothies every time.”

Hand on his heart, Owen frowned. “Don’t, Connie. Just don’t.” And with that, the Captain of Firehouse 126 promptly turned on the blender. When Connie made half-hearted attempts to shout something over the noise, he put a hand to his ear and leant forward, yelling back: “What’s that? I can’t hear you over this blender! Can you say that again?” Perfectly dad like, perfectly Owen, perfectly instinctual. Still, Connie rolled her eyes and jumped from her chair, marching around to his side and holding up her phone as proof she was ringing T.K. and needed him to turn it off.

Owen peered at the screen but shook his head. “I’m making a smoothie!”

Connie put her phone to her ear and blocked her other ear with a finger. “T.K.? Huh?” Barely audible over the sound of the screaming blender, it apparently did not occur to Connie that she could leave the room. “T.K.!” A chuckling Owen heard her all but yell down the line. “Dad’s not coming! He’s gonna stay at home and sulk over a glass of protein smoothie!”

Owen stopped the blender and made a grab at Connie’s phone. “Uh, that is so not what I said!”

“It so is—” Connie just about leapt away from him— “Yeah, he’s not feeling so hot. Says he has a tickle in his throat.”

Not many could best Owen in a battle of wits, but he was damn glad that the one who could was his kid.

With a deep, insanely proud chuckle, he clapped his hands together before wiggling his fingers towards her. “I’ll show you a tickle in the throat.”

Instinct. Total instinct.

And, even as her shrieking resounded throughout the kitchen that Sunday morning before the clock had even struck seven am, Connie Strand loved every bit of it.

Lone Star Masterpost

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