#melangdon

It was an innocent conversation, girl talk really, that caused the whole ordeal. Of course, he could’ve minded his own business and tuned them out, but Mel was part of the conversation, so could he really?

“Easy for you to say,” said Javadi, twirling the end of Mel’s braid, “your hair is so healthy.”

“Probably because I have silk sheets. You should really invest in some. There’s, um, a lot of benefits for your hair, your skin, and-“

“Invest? Yeah, maybe when I start getting paid.”

She choked out a laugh as she took the last sip of her Alani, chucking it in the trash on her way out, entirely oblivious to Mel’s dejected pout, which Frank had zeroed in on like a hawk. Along with the news that would steal his attention for the next several hours.

“You have silk sheets?” he asked.

In an effort to adjust his inflection to sound innocent, he instead sounded pained.

“Pink ones! They really are great. You should try some out,” she said.

He knew she hadn’t meant it to sound suggestive, but he wanted so badly to flirt in response, to step closer and say ‘Yeah, sweetheart? How about I come over and try yours?’ But he was a coward, so he smiled and got back to work.

Only, he wasn’t really working all that efficiently, because all he could think about were the damn sheets. Every time he blinked he saw her long, golden hair fanned out on her pillow, the rosy blush of her cheek pressed into the bed, her pretty, desperate hands clutching at pink silk.

A cigarette was the only thing that was going to pull him through the rest of this shift, so he lit one up and took a drag, the sun setting on Pittsburgh. He heard the little sound of her clearing her throat that always signaled she was coming up behind him.

“Dr. Langdon?” she asked, gently.

“Hey, Mel,” he said, “how’s it going?”

“Me? Good, just checking on you! Oh, and I was gonna say that, if you wanted to give me your phone number, I could send you the link to my sheets,” she said.

He could feel his face go red, the veins bulging in his head as he felt like he may lose consciousness. Have I died and gone to heaven? That’s the only reasonable explanation for this.

Prompt: Cake @kingdonmicrofic | 500 words | Rated G | 14/31 | Pushing Daisies AU

“Why not cake?” 

“Cause I like pies,” Mel answers, taking the baked pie crust off of the cooling rack and setting it on the counter. “And I can get the fruit on sale.” Mel pulls the bowl of dead fruit across the island and reaches in to grab a moldy strawberry. The fruit blooms in her hand, becoming ripe and full and pink as she places it delicately. 

Frank hums from his place across the kitchen island from her, a healthy distance away. It’s still new, him being alive again, and she’s being extra careful about keeping her distance. They can’t ever touch or he’ll die—again—and she only just got him back. 

“Why is it only a minute?” Frank asks eventually. “That feels awfully arbitrary.” 

Mel shrugs. “I really don’t know.” 

“Haven’t you ever been curious?” he continues, shuffling restlessly. “You bring the dead back to life—you brought me back to life—but there’s a time limit? Haven’t you ever wanted to figure out why?” 

“I’ve been mainly focusing on trying not to get caught,” she answers, placing more strawberries into the pie. 

“Until me,” Frank says, looking so beautiful and so stunningly alive that Mel’s breath catches in her chest. 

“Until you,” she agrees.

“What was it about me?” he asks, leaning on the counter. “That made you keep me?” 

She shouldn’t have, that’s for sure. Whenever she keeps a previously dead thing alive for more than a minute, something else dies, and keeping Frank alive had meant that a corrupt funeral director suddenly passed away. 

(She’s tried to feel guilty about it, but the man stole things off dead people, fleeced grieving families for thousands upon thousands of dollars, and Mel got her first love out of it, so she doesn’t feel all that guilty.) 

“It was you,” she says lightly. “I wanna say it was entirely unselfish, bringing you back to life, but I know that I was being unselfish for very selfish reasons.” 

“Don’t you ever worry about the butterfly effect?” 

Mel places the last strawberry and reaches for the glaze to drizzle over it. “Like what?” 

“Like letting me stay will…upend the course of history or something.” 

“Upend the course of history?” she laughs, setting the pie on the cooling rack and turning back to him. 

“What’s the saying?” he says, smiling adorably. “The flap of a butterfly’s wing can cause a hurricane?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’m kind of a hurricane in your life, if you think about it,” Frank teases as he stands, stepping closer to her and reaching for something on the island. 

“Yeah, but I like the weather—” 

Mel turns and finds herself kissing Frank through a sheet of plastic wrap. She can’t feel his lips, can’t feel how soft they are, but she can feel the heat of his mouth, the insistence of his kiss. 

“You really shouldn’t do that,” she murmurs against his mouth. 

Frank hums. “I’m gonna do it anyway.” 

so i know ive already spoken at length about the symbolism and visual story telling choice to have kingdon ambulance bay conversations slowly get further from the ED as their conversations stray farther from work, but i wanted to point out something else because im insane.

not only do they just occur further away, but each time they speak in the ambulance bay, frank intentionally seeks her out, and each time he is willing to travel a further distance and cause more disruption to his daily routine for her.

now everything is a kingdon cathedral if you’re insane, but is this not progressive storytelling letting us know visually that as he continues to get to know her, he is becoming more and more willing to go out of his way for her and do things that don’t make sense for him to be doing unless his intention is to center her in his life?

Mel getting her favorite people together is the funniest thing ever.

(Frank and Trinity definitely have sibling energy).

New Year’s Eve was by far the best holiday, in Mel’s world anyway. Thanksgiving was far too much work, Christmas carried too much pain, Halloween brought all of the creatures of the night into the ED, and the rest were too religious for her. Plus, When Harry Met Sally was the best movie of all time. In Mel’s world anyway.

She didn’t know until a few days earlier that it was also Frank’s one year sobriety date. They were friends now, real friends, ones that gave each other rides home from work and visited museums together and send each other music even though their tastes were not similar.

“Frank, why haven’t you said anything? That’s a huge accomplishment,” she’d said.

“Doesn’t really feel like it all the time. But thanks, Mel.”

Becca had been going through a huge baking phase, anyway, so it was really no trouble. It only took them one entire day and the destruction of Mel’s kitchen to finish the cake (Cheerwine pound cake, his North Carolinian childhood favorite. He’d mentioned it once, months ago, and she spent an hour and a half trying to find a recipe).

Any holiday was busy in The Pitt, her favorite unfortunately not an exception to the rule. But there were always little moments, where you could slip away with someone, if you knew where to look for them.

So just before midnight, when he snuck out to the ambulance bay for a smoke, she retrieved the cake and followed him. He heard her approaching and turned toward her instinctively, eyes flitting rapidly between the cake and her tentative smile.

Melangdon this

Langdonmel this

Melfrank that

She was always setting up the queen to strike while teasing him with the pawns. Everything was innocent enough with her; asking for a ride home, offering coffee for the road, leaning into the kitchen counter with a smirk. But she knew him, better than anyone. She knew that all logic went out the window when he saw her, that she could easily put him in check. When he gave in she was never surprised. So he opened his car door for her, agreed to a latte even if the last thing he needed was caffeine, and lifted her up so she sat on the kitchen island, pressing himself between her legs.

“Frank,” she said, breathless. “We can’t. What about-?”

“I don’t give a fuck about Abby.”

She moaned into his mouth as he kissed her, hands tangling in his hair.

“I only want you.”

Prompt: Smoke @kingdonmicrofic | 500 words | Rated G | 13/31 | Good Omens (Angel/Demon AU), this takes place in the Good Omens universe (Sparks, Gift) no need to read beforehand but it does help!

“You’re sure it was the Antichrist?” Mel asks, deliberately not looking at Frank and instead at the ducks swimming in the pond. 

“I should know, I delivered the baby,” Frank answers from beside her on the bench. “Well, not delivered delivered.” 

“It’s happening so soon,” Mel admits. She’s gotten used to living on Earth, to humans, to food, to minding her bookshop, to…well, Frank. 

“I know,” he says. “And when it all goes down, when Armageddon starts, you know what happens to this place?” 

Mel shakes her head. 

“No matter who wins, Earth is gone. No more Mozart, no more charming little diners where everyone knows your name, no more old bookshops with first edition Jane Austen’s.” 

Mel winces. She’d gotten those in last week. “What do you want me to do then, Frank? The Powers That Be have decided that Armageddon is going to happen.” 

“I’m suggesting we work together.” 

“No.” 

“C’mon, angel,” Frank whines. “I don’t want the world to end up in a pile of smoke and ash, and I know you don’t want the world to end—”

“No! I’m an angel, you’re a demon, we’re hereditary enemies—”

“That’s never stopped us before—” 

“Well, it’s never been against Heaven’s express wishes before!” Mel exclaims. Her relationship with Frank is the most selfish part of her existence. If Heaven (or Hell) were ever to find out, she’s not sure what they’d do to her. To him. And this, trying to thwart Armageddon, feels like a step too far. No matter the result—success or failure—they’d surely be found out, and their…friendship wouldn’t be tolerated. She’d never be able to see him again. 

And she can’t risk that. 

“Angel,” Frank says softly, and Mel finally turns to him. He’s giving her this look she’s seen before—in the Land of Uz, when she lied to God for the first time, crying and thinking she was about to be dragged to Hell for saving Job’s children even though they were meant to die. His eyes are patient, tender, and it feels like he’s waiting for her to realize something important. 

“All I’m suggesting is we try,” he pleads patiently. “We can be around the boy growing up, teach him the goodness of the world. And when the time comes, when he comes of age, maybe we won’t even have to stop Armageddon, maybe he will. The world is worth at least trying to save.” 

Huh. That might work. She can’t risk going against Heaven’s orders, but she also doesn’t want the world, the life that Armageddon would bring. She wants to keep listening to Debussy, wants to keep having pumpkin pie at her favorite diner, wants to diligently take care of those first edition Jane Austen’s. Wants to keep Frank. 

“Maybe,” she hedges, but the smile that blooms on Frank’s face tells her that she’s going to say yes anyways, and he knows it. “But Heaven can never find out. Or Hell.”