Royai among other things

Day 12: Gold

@kingdonmicrofic

Frank rocks on his heels as his eyes scan his surroundings. The downtown area bustles around him. Twenty-somethings walking dogs, parents pushing strollers, couples sharing ice cream—all the telltale signs of a thriving summer evening. Meanwhile, here he is, standing awkwardly outside of this artisan pizza place Mel saw in an Instagram reel more than once.

He’s early for their date (well, not really a date, but he’s calling it that anyway) because he had a hunch that Mel would also be early. She’s overly punctual like that. Whenever they carpool, no matter the weather, she’s always waiting outside for him. Ready to go with her lunchbox sling over her shoulder. He wants to prove to her he can be just as punctual too for…reasons. It’s important to him that she knows Frank Langdon is dependable—that he’ll be there for her.

Even if it’s just to get fancy, thin-crust pizza.

God, I shouldn’t be this nervous, he thinks to himself as he wipes sweat from his brow.

“Oh, Frank!” He hears her voice calling from behind him. Of course, she’s already in the restaurant. Before he can even turn around, she’s by his side.

“I’m so glad you’re here! Did you find parking nearby?”

Now, Frank should be able to answer this question. It’s simple enough, and he did find some pretty choice parking.

But he simply cannot.

Mel’s hair, which is usually tied into a neat braid, is undone, cascading over her shoulders and framing her round face perfectly. The sunset before them illuminates its naturally golden hues, creating a halo of light around her. She looks so beautiful, so soft, and Frank wants to run his fingers through the strands. Would she even let him touch her so intimately? What kind of sounds would she make if she did?

He imagines her eyes slipping shut and lips parting as he gently rakes her scalp. Leaning into his touch and humming with blissful satisfaction in that low tone he’s come to know so well.

“Frank? Are you alright?” Mel asks with a raised eyebrow.

Frank shakes his head and blinks himself back to reality.

“Uh, yeah. You hungry for pizza?” He says lamely and clears his throat to reset his voice’s pitch.

Mel beams. She’s so beautiful and golden, and Frank needs to get a hold of himself.

“I already got us a table,” she says and takes his clammy hand.

But brienne doesn’t want that. And the narrative doesn’t want us to just accept that for brienne either. Because she doesn’t just deserve someone who begrudgingly accepts her, who closes his eyes when he fucks her, who openly admits he only wants her for her titles and land. Brienne deserves love. She deserves someone who sees her for all she is (almost a beauty and almost a knight!!!), who loves and accepts all parts of her, who challenges her, who respects her, who wants her; not for land, not for a bet, not to abuse her, but to love and cherish her because it’s what she deserves!!!!!

Compare this with Jaime. In theory, Jaime could have pretty much any woman (and probably most men tbh) that he wants. He’s handsome, he’s rich, he’s a legendary sword fighter. As evidenced by his encounters with Pia and Hildy, many women don’t even seem all that bothered by the missing hand (except for cersei) but brienne is maybe the only one who knows him, really knows him. She has seen him at his ugliest, his weakest. She knows his deepest secrets. And she still wants him!!

Like it’s crazy you have two people who are presented with options for love and romance that society says they should settle for, but they don’t want it. And they have someone they aren’t supposed to love but they do anyway because of how deeply they know each other.

It happens in a split second, an action borne out of intuition, performed without a second thought. When Frank walks into the trauma bay, ready to relieve Robby so he can go talk to the patient’s family, he immediately notices that Mel is frustrated.

He doesn’t think anybody else notices – she’s the senior resident in charge and she has everything completely under control –, but he does. He can see the scrunch of her nose, the angry pink on her cheeks, the slight squint of her eyes.

He also immediately notices what the cause is, and he knows the solution. So, without thinking it through, he walks over in quick, solid strides and pushes the errant strand of hair out of her face, tucking it safely behind her ear.

It’s a quick movement, and he’s grateful that nobody notices in the chaos of attempting to save the patient that’s nearly bleeding out, but to him, it happens in slow motion. Immediately, he knows that the image is going to be burned into his memory for a long time.

Her hair, soft under his fingers, below the hard metal of his wedding band. It’s happened once before, him touching her hair, on his first day back as he treated her head injury, but he was too caught up in his self-loathing and insecurities then to notice the significance of it, to notice the contrast.

Gold against gold. Light against heavy. His deepest, most secret desire against the reason why he can’t act on it.

When he retracts his hand, she looks up at him for a second and smiles gratefully. When she looks at him like that, it feels like a ray of golden sunshine is beaming down on him, and something tightens at the centre of his chest as he offers her a smile of his own in return and tries not to crumble to the floor.

The rest of the day, he can’t stop thinking about it, or finding her in his peripheral vision, the golden braid moving through the emergency department and drawing him to it like a moth to a flame.

He thinks about it while on the drive home, while eating the dinner his wife has prepared for him, while in the shower with the cold water beating down on him as he pushes his forehead against the tiles in frustration. He thinks about it while lying in bed as Abby sleeps soundlessly beside him.

There are so many reasons why he shouldn’t, why he can’t, but all he wants is to do it again, to watch the strands of honey wrap around his fingers, to watch a single stray hair slip under his ring.

[posted first here]

When the newly retired football legend Frank Langdon joins the coaching staff of the Pittsburgh FC Women’s Team, Angels, headlines went abuzz, specially when the team is heading into their possible last season. Mel King, the Angel's captain and Forward hates him and his arrival.

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The team was warming up on the field when the coaching staff arrived, Mel thanks whoever it was that decided to make the practice today a close one. It was already pandemonium outside, their parking area was brimming with people: media vans, Pittsburgh FC regulars, his fans, and several onlookers were waiting for a sign of him. She cannot stomach the idea of those people watching like vultures at them in their sacred green field. The anger already simmering in Mel flamed anew. They didn’t need him, Coach Sandler was perfectly fine as their Performance Coach (so what if he retired, Coach Williams was ready to take the position anyway), they didn’t need all the fanfare and bullshit he’s bringing with him.

The team is already tense with all the background stuff happening with Pittsburgh FC, the rumors of disbandment of the women’s team and that upcoming season might possibly their last is already heavy in their heads, then this coaching shake-up adding to their stress. Not to mention, their General Manager, Gloria Underwood, only said this to them three days ago.

“Who?” Mel exclaimed when Gloria said his name. She cannot believe what she was saying.

“Frank Langdon.” She repeated.

“That Frank Langdon?” Trinity Santos, their defender, asked.

“Yes. That Frank Langdon.” Gloria patiently repeated. “Frank Langdon is going to be part of your coaching staff.”

“But, why?” Mel cuts in, incredulous at the development, “I thought Coach Williams will be taking over?”

“Robby brought him in.” She replies factually, shrugging and neutral at their heightened questioning.

All of the twenty four players in the room sharply looked at the bearded man standing off the side, quietly watching them. He put both of his hands up in surrender, “This is a good thing, Angels. We need him.”

“He retired last year, Robby. What business does he have with us? And coaching us? What the fuck?” Mel continues her barrage of questions, because it just doesn’t make sense.

“He’s good, Mel. He can help you.” He shakes his head at her, “And Mel, as their captain, I expect you to be cordial to him. Set the tone for the team.” He puts his hand out when she was about to butt in, “Give him a chance. Please, make it as a favor to me.” His face imploring to all of them.

Being the head coach and corralling twenty four hot headed women is not for the weak and Michael Robinavich does his job in stride. And all of the team sees that. So, Mel sighed in reluctant agreement. “Fine. But I’m not making any promises to be easy.”

Robby chuckled at that, “I don’t expect anything less, Angels.”

So, here they are, watching as the tall, dark haired man, with striking blue eyes, enter their field. He’s wearing the coaching staff’s uniform, their colors of sapphire blue and golden ochre emblazoned on his torso. So far from his former team’s blue and garnet.

Frank Langdon stands there as if he wasn’t named as the World’s Greatest Player ten times by the Football Federation, as if he wasn’t the highest paid football player, and as if his sudden retirement last year didn’t shook the football world.

Frank Langdon, Los Angeles FC’s greatest midfielder is now Pittsburgh FC’s Angels Performance Coach.

And you are telling Melissa King, Angels #4, Captain and Forward of Pittsburgh FC Angels just to accept it? No. Not in her world.

Professional Women’s Football is not that gracious and kind. Mel learned this in the past decade she has been playing professionally. She has been in two, now defunct, teams before landing in Pittsburgh, and now she’s probably about to have three defunct teams under her belt. It doesn’t matter if your team wins a whole cup, if they say we’re folding, there is nobody that can stop them. So for them to employ this man, instead of explaining what will happen to them after their season, it makes Mel’s blood boil.

The twenty four Angels scattered in the field congregated when Robby blew his whistle. Mel stood in the front, leading the pack.

“Good morning, Angels. As you know we have our new coach, Coach Langdon.” Robby says and points his clipboard to his left where the man stands. “He will be observing today first, so just practice as what’s on the plan.” He looks at Mel pointedly as he ended, expecting her to “set the tone” or whatever.

Mel rolls her eyes and dusts her hands off as she approached the new addition to their team. When she stood in front of him, her five foot five frame dwarfed by his tall body, looking straight into his blue eyes, she smiled. That smile that Robby knows she’s up to no good, and offers her hand. As expected he grabs it and Mel squeezes his hand hard, ignoring that zap of electricity that went through her arm as they touched, “I hope you are useful.” She says brightly, then she drops his hand and all of her pleasantries, leaving him with a flat, “Coach.”

Not waiting for his reaction, Mel turned and shouted at the team. “Let’s go girls! Running drills then kicks.” Running to where it’s already set up trying to forget the elephant in the field.

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Mel King missed the scoff and smirk that bloomed on Frank Langdon’s face at her antics. “Sorry for that, man.” Robby claps his shoulder as he turned to him. “It’s fine. Didn’t expect them to be all that welcoming, anyway.” Frank flexes his hand, the woman has mad grip, he thinks as he ignores that buzz in his skin when she grabbed his hand. As he chuckles softly, he looked at his mentor, Frank still cannot believe he managed to convince him to join them this season.

“My Angels need you, Frank.” Robby told him two weeks ago when he visited him in LA. He played that game where Pittsburgh FC Angels lost the championship last season on the TV, how that one point passed by them badly. Mel King, their captain and the league’s best forward, was distraught, Cassie McKay face down on her knees on the grass, guilt ridden because she didn’t catch the ball as their goalkeeper, their defenders, Trinity Santos and Yolanda Garcia looking angrily at the sky. It was their worst loss.

“What can I even do for them, Robby?” He questions when he managed to peel his eyes off the screen. “I’ll just bring chaos with all these fucking stupid people following me.”

“Gavin Sandler is moving to New Jersey FC, so we need a new Technical Coach—“

“Wait, isn’t Sandler your Performance Coach? So why do you need me as your Technical Coach?” He cuts him off.

“Jamie Williams will be taking over as Performance Coach, and you will be entering as a new coach. Our Technical Coach. We’re bringing you in specifically for Mel King.” Robby rushed in explanation.

“Mel King? She’s already outstanding.” Frank thinks of the game he just watched. #4 attacks with precision, her passes timed amazingly, and her assists played to perfection. He doesn’t understand what is needed for her as it pertains to coaching. “And she would be excellent after going under your care. She struggles with her confidence and she second guesses her plays, it doesn’t show at all when she’s playing but that’s what we have been working on.”

Frank remembers when Robby helped him with that exact problems ten years ago. “So your student becomes the teacher, huh?” Frank laughs as he gets up from the couch and takes a water bottle from the fridge. He hears him follow him to the kitchen, sitting in front of the kitchen island.

“Frank. She plays the most similar to you. When I watch her, it’s like I’m seeing you again. Hell, she even makes the same errors as you did ten years ago.” Robby looks at him, pleading. “I’m not asking for a long time, just for the next season. Already have Gloria’s permission to bring you in, name your price.”

“I’m not even going to touch that.” Frank shakes his head. He looks away and his eyes stray back to the TV. It already looped back to the start of the match. That blonde braid whipping behind her as she runs across the field. She roams the center, moving through the midfield and drawing both #14 and #23, their defenders, with her, effectively making spaces for their strikers and other midfielders to make their passes. Then as the passes back to her, he saw that quick hesitation pass her body, you won’t see it if you haven’t been there but it happened. That hesitation cost them one play, now their right-wing is not available for a play. Thank god #7, their other striker is open, and #4 passes to her.

He turned back and he sees that Robby is watching him watch her. One of his eyebrows raised, “See?”

Frank rolls his eyes at him, “Shut up, old man.”

“Langdon, I know you can help her. That’s why I’m here.” His mentor looks at him as Frank thinks of the nineteen years of football career he had flashed back in his eyes.

Looking back at the TV, he sees the team celebrating their first point. “A beautiful play by Pittsburgh FC Angels Captain, Mel King!” The commentators shouts coming out of the speakers in his living room. They have hunger and that fire in them, Frank thinks. That spirit that would bring them the championship.

One season. Eleven months at most. Why not?

So now, two weeks later, he moved to Pittsburgh and watches twenty four women do their practice drills. Noting their strengths and weaknesses.

All of them steal glances at him as they flutter across the field. Even their captain looks at him from time to time from her spot on the field, her eyes blazing with anger every time. The message was clear, she does not like him there encroaching upon her territory.

As they go back to the locker room, nobody of the players look back at him as they walk. They definitely know he’s back there but that didn’t stop them from talking smack about him. “What is he even doing here?”

“Maybe he’s here to sit and look pretty.” That one came from Mel King, and everyone laughed.

As Frank follows them, he grins to himself at the trouble he got himself in. It’s going to be a long eleven months.

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Notes:

This is a concept chapter from the premise above. I was just checking with my brain if there is something I can pull from it.

rated G, no archive warnings apply!

AO3 link

It’s rare for Frank to see Mel’s hair down.

@kingdonmicrofic day 12: gold ✴︎ 340/340 words ✴︎ warning: some sideline mention of suicide! this is a happy one though bare w/ me

This is inspired by my fav poem 'Hammond B3 Organ Cistern' by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Coming back to work was Frank's final straw. It was one last try to reach a lifeline before drowning. He doesn't believe in miracles, not after life came crashing down like an avalanche. He unearthed himself, came back wrong and weird. All rebuild like a little Frankenstein.

He doesn't expect to be his old self again or to feel any different.

He doesn't expect Mel.

After the almost-hug and her forgiveness, her encouragement and the fireworks, life hits him like Amor's arrow. He wakes up alone, but for the first time, he doesn't think about ending it all. No pills, no bridge, nope, not today!

Without warning, the brightness is back up: All sunshine and vibrancy and gold optimism pulsating through his veins. How come he spend the last months sulking on the couch when he could've had… this?

It's Monday, and he feels like flying. Don't Stop Believin' on the car radio, volume up, windows down. On his way to work, he passes a smoothie store. He's late, but fuck it. Pulls over, orders two iced teas and some donuts, and tips a ten dollar bill.

He comes into work, not like a beat dog crawling back, but like a tail-wagging Golden Retriever finally returned to its owner.

"Morning, Mel!" He calls out, and everyone around the Hub turns. He's only got eyes for her, and goes in for the hug before he can overthink it. "Got you an iced tea."

"Oh. Wow. Thanks!" She laughs, cheeks flushed pink. "You look happy."

"I am. Cheers!" He bumps his drink against hers. "We should do something tonight. Cinema? Ah, I don't know if I can sit still that long."

Eyes big, the most beautiful shades of brown and green, she drops the straw from her pink lips and points at herself.

He nods eagerly. "Yeah, you!" Who else? She's like the sun, brightening up every room she steps in, and he can't look away.

A grin. "Okay. Yeah. Yay!"

day twelve: gold, 499 words @kingdonmicrofic

It’s not unusual for him to wait by her locker after shift so they can leave together.

He’s antsy, though, and he startles when she says his name, but he smiles when he sees her and she calms.

Then, he gives her a velvet pouch without a word, and she opens it, not expecting a gold heart-shaped locket.

“I saw it and thought of you,” he explains. “You can keep photos of your parents and your sister in it, or uh, a photo of me because we’re — uh, yeah.”

He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, then says, “Oh, and I got M.K. engraved on the back.”

It’s too much, the sounds of the hospital going tinny in her ears as her mind races, thinking about Frank thinking of her, noticing her, knowing her.

That’s all it takes for tears to well in her eyes, then fall down her cheeks.

She thinks he apologizes, says he didn’t mean to overstep and upset her, that she doesn’t have to keep it.

And she tries to ground herself by focusing on him, the blue of his eyes, the stubble on his jaw, his chin dimple, the little scar near his lip that nobody but her, or his wife, notices.

“Why are you like this?”

It’s not what she means to say, the tone harsh, and she watches as his eyes widen, so she asks, “Why are you so nice to me?”

“I — uh, I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “Because you deserve it? I don’t know, Mel, it’s just easy to be nice to you.”

She swallows, looks down at the necklace, then lifts her gaze to him.

“Can you?”

Frank nods, and their hands brush as he takes it from her, stepping closer to put it around her neck.

He moves his hands down, the chain between his fingers, and she drops her gaze, sees the gold band on his left hand.

She has to tilt her head up to look at him when he’s this close, and she wonders what it’s like to kiss him, the thought making her breath hitch.

“Let me drive you home?”

All she can do is nod, words escaping her because she’s thinking about his lips on hers, his hands gripping her waist to pull her closer.

It’s quiet in the car until he parks in front of her place.

“Mel, I —”

“Thank you,” she says, interrupting him, thinking he can tell now and is going to let her down easy. “I didn’t say that earlier.”

“You like it?”

“I love it.”

Later, she goes to bed with the necklace on, wearing the shirt he gave her last month when she had nothing to change into after a messy shift.

💜 this so much

Black looked good on her. The color of their scrubs, their every day, what he was used to seeing. Purple was the color that reminded him of when they met. It felt comfortable, he liked it on her. Green complimented her hair, it made her look like a fairy. Very pretty.  

He didn’t like gold. With her blond hair and fair skin, she looked like a price, something to win over. He tried to divert his eyes, to focus on something else. The food, his coworkers that were making conversation, but his eyes would end falling on her. The dress dripped on her body, falling gallantly through her waist, marking the curves of her hip, a tasty slip allowing the view of slender legs. It was mocking him; come over, drug addict, divorced father of two, here’s the trophy you don’t deserve.

✨ Please reblog the polls to make them reach out to as many people as possible, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people listen to the music with an open mind 💖

✨ Artists and titles will be revealed with the full song after the poll's conclusion, check the original post for an update!