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It had been a hard day. One of those days where they lost more than they saved, when the ribs broken during CPR were for naught, how Mel could hear the echoes of the sobbing families ringing in her ears as she moved from room to room, trying to throw herself into her other patients because she had to keep going, had to be a good doctor, couldn’t cry, couldn’t throw up no matter how nauseous she was, couldn’t—
“We’re here.”
Mel tried to pull herself out of the haze. She squinted in the dark. She knew she was out of it, allowed herself to slip back into her head as Frank offered to drive her home but, “this isn’t my house.”
Frank’s face was washed in his apartment’s warm parking lot lighting. An unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes but Mel was too tired to decipher it.
“I’m not letting you go home alone after that shift.” She stared at him, buffering as she processed his words. His face softened, voice pleading, “Let me take care of you. Let me make sure you’re okay.”
She nodded wordlessly. In a daze, Mel allowed Frank to gently lead her to his third-floor apartment, let him untie her shoes with minimal protests, and guide her to his couch. She stared blankly ahead as he fussed with something on his TV stand.
The sharp snick of a lighter drew her attention. With great effort, Mel focused on the lighter in Frank’s hand, the waver of the spark of fire as he moved, the way it took a second before catching on the wick. As he tucked the lighter back in his pocket, Mel recognized the vessel.
By the time Frank turned back, tears were streaming down her face. The nostalgic scent of lavender and cedar filled the living room, the candle one that Mel pointed out once to Frank as reminding her of her childhood. She let herself sob, let Frank wrap her in his arms, and knew that he would take care of her.
It had been a hard day. One of those days where they lost more than they saved, when the ribs broken during CPR were for naught, how Mel could hear the echoes of the sobbing families ringing in her ears as she moved from room to room, trying to throw herself into her other patients because she had to keep going, had to be a good doctor, couldn’t cry, couldn’t throw up no matter how nauseous she was, couldn’t—
“We’re here.”
Mel tried to pull herself out of the haze. She squinted in the dark. She knew she was out of it, allowed herself to slip back into her head as Frank offered to drive her home but, “this isn’t my house.”
Frank’s face was washed in his apartment’s warm parking lot lighting. An unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes but Mel was too tired to decipher it.
“I’m not letting you go home alone after that shift.” She stared at him, buffering as she processed his words. His face softened, voice pleading, “Let me take care of you. Let me make sure you’re okay.”
She nodded wordlessly. In a daze, Mel allowed Frank to gently lead her to his third-floor apartment, let him untie her shoes with minimal protests, and guide her to his couch. She stared blankly ahead as he fussed with something on his TV stand.
The sharp snick of a lighter drew her attention. With great effort, Mel focused on the lighter in Frank’s hand, the waver of the spark of fire as he moved, the way it took a second before catching on the wick. As he tucked the lighter back in his pocket, Mel recognized the vessel.
By the time Frank turned back, tears were streaming down her face. The nostalgic scent of lavender and cedar filled the living room, the candle one that Mel pointed out once to Frank as reminding her of her childhood. She let herself sob, let Frank wrap her in his arms, and knew that he would take care of her.
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day 3: gala // wc: 467 // for: @kingdonmicrofic // ao3
“Jealousy is not a good look on you.”
Frank scowled at Yolanda over top of his glass, wishing that there was something stronger than Diet Coke in the tumbler. Yolanda laughed at him, leaning against the wall next to him. Frank let his eyes wander back to the dance floor, where they had been stuck for the past 15 minutes.
Across the ballroom, Mel King was being twirled by Dr. Henry Fremmer, a pediatric surgeon from Presby that she’d met at the conference in Baltimore several months ago. (Upon introductions, Frank immediately kicked himself for not going because what the fuck? Where did this guy come from?)
He’d been working up the nerve to ask Mel to dance. Frank had spent the whole night in her bubble (because where else would he want to be?), selfishly letting his fingers graze her bare arms and getting refills of her champagne and water.
But then came Dr. Henry Fremmer, with his big dark eyes and his stupidly dark eyelashes and the half inch he had over Frank.
Before he knew it, Fremmer was leading Mel onto the dance floor, his hand on her lower back. Mel gave Frank an apologetic smile over her shoulder but it didn’t soothe the sting.
“Jesus, did getting sober take away all your balls? Ask her to dance.”
Frank rolled his eyes, “It’s not that simple, Yo.”
“It is,” Yolanda snatched his glass from his hands. “You go over there. You said ‘excuse me, mind if I cut in?’ You waltz with Mel and you can wipe the hangdog look off your face finally.”
She continued, a smirk on her lips, “If you pulled your head out of your ass, you would notice Mel keeps glancing at you.”
Hope ballooned in his chest. When he glanced back to the dance floor, Mel was already looking at him.
With a clap to Yolanda’s shoulder, Frank let his feet take him across the dance floor, weaving through bodies until he was right where he was meant to be.
“Excuse me,” He said, trying to keep an easy smile on his face (but when Mel was beaming up at him like that, it was hard to keep the smile from growing into something giddier). “Do you mind if I cut in?”
Fremmer said something to Mel, she said something back, but all that mattered to Frank is that Mel was in his arms. This close, he could count every freckle on her cheeks, could feel the warmth radiating off her..
She shivered slightly when Frank bent down to murmur, “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“You did,” Her cheeks were flushed as she added, “But I’ll let you say it again.”
“Melissa King. You look absolutely beautiful. I’m sorry for not getting here sooner.”
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day 3: gala // wc: 467 // for: @kingdonmicrofic // ao3
“Jealousy is not a good look on you.”
Frank scowled at Yolanda over top of his glass, wishing that there was something stronger than Diet Coke in the tumbler. Yolanda laughed at him, leaning against the wall next to him. Frank let his eyes wander back to the dance floor, where they had been stuck for the past 15 minutes.
Across the ballroom, Mel King was being twirled by Dr. Henry Fremmer, a pediatric surgeon from Presby that she’d met at the conference in Baltimore several months ago. (Upon introductions, Frank immediately kicked himself for not going because what the fuck? Where did this guy come from?)
He’d been working up the nerve to ask Mel to dance. Frank had spent the whole night in her bubble (because where else would he want to be?), selfishly letting his fingers graze her bare arms and getting refills of her champagne and water.
But then came Dr. Henry Fremmer, with his big dark eyes and his stupidly dark eyelashes and the half inch he had over Frank.
Before he knew it, Fremmer was leading Mel onto the dance floor, his hand on her lower back. Mel gave Frank an apologetic smile over her shoulder but it didn’t soothe the sting.
“Jesus, did getting sober take away all your balls? Ask her to dance.”
Frank rolled his eyes, “It’s not that simple, Yo.”
“It is,” Yolanda snatched his glass from his hands. “You go over there. You said ‘excuse me, mind if I cut in?’ You waltz with Mel and you can wipe the hangdog look off your face finally.”
She continued, a smirk on her lips, “If you pulled your head out of your ass, you would notice Mel keeps glancing at you.”
Hope ballooned in his chest. When he glanced back to the dance floor, Mel was already looking at him.
With a clap to Yolanda’s shoulder, Frank let his feet take him across the dance floor, weaving through bodies until he was right where he was meant to be.
“Excuse me,” He said, trying to keep an easy smile on his face (but when Mel was beaming up at him like that, it was hard to keep the smile from growing into something giddier). “Do you mind if I cut in?”
Fremmer said something to Mel, she said something back, but all that mattered to Frank is that Mel was in his arms. This close, he could count every freckle on her cheeks, could feel the warmth radiating off her..
She shivered slightly when Frank bent down to murmur, “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“You did,” Her cheeks were flushed as she added, “But I’ll let you say it again.”
“Melissa King. You look absolutely beautiful. I’m sorry for not getting here sooner.”
in my opinion, the question isn't "Is RPF ethical?" but rather "Are you engaging with RPF ethically?" and even more importantly, "Are you being stupid about it?"
I personally hate any kind morality thought policing. I'm not Catholic or religious and I do not feel guilty over my thoughts. You are not an inherently evil person because you saw two athletes in an interview and went "Hmmm...... what if...." The Feds are not going to come banging down your door because you wrote about one band member dicking down the other and sent it to your friend.
Wondering about other people's lives is very human. Being nosy about their personal lives is very normal. People have been writing fiction about other people's lives since the dawn of time. Some people even manage to write New York Times Bestselling Books that are "historical fiction" or "alternate reality." It does not make you inherently bad to be curious about the details of someone's personal life. That's being human. Being nosy is kind of fun.
The problem, however, comes with the ways in which people engage with it, and involve the real people in this. Harassing an musician's real girlfriend because it doesn't fit into the RPF ship. Showing up at real sporting events holding signs about how certain teammates should kiss. Trying to get actors to sign art of them fucking their coworker. Flooding social media with comments using the celebrity's full name and speculation. There's a line, there's a fourth wall, and there's fandom etiquette.
I hate the question of "Is RPF ethical" because it feels like morality thought policing. Post your fics on locked accounts, censor someone's name when you tweet about it, blow up your groupchat with hundreds of "DID YOU SEE THE WAY THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER??" texts. It's not inherently evil to wonder what other people are doing when they're out of the spotlight. Kill the cop in your mind.
But just have some basic decency and do not involve the real people. Don't cross the line without caring how it affects them. This is basic fandom 101 and lately we have been flying too close to the damn sun! Everyone get more normal about RPF so major news outlets and magazines stop posting articles about "Is RPF ethical?" and blowing up our spot!
day 2: champagne // word count: 158 // for: @kingdonmicrofic // ao3
She noticed it immediately.
Of course she did. Even when she promised herself that today would be different, she would be normal and remember that Frank—Dr. Langdon—was married, with two kids, and her best friend, and she shouldn’t be cataloging every detail about him.
It didn’t help anyone that Mel could tell, within 30 seconds of seeing him, what kind of mood he was in. If he had pinched his back the night before. If he had time to get his cold brew before work.
She’d look in the mirror before work and remind herself to be normal.
Then again, if she was more normal about him, she wouldn’t have immediately noticed the glaring lack of a gold band on his left ring finger or the lightness in his steps or even the way his smile seemed easier.
And she wouldn’t have the all-encompassing, fizzy feeling in her body—a champagne bottle popped at the beginning of a celebration
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