my name is hannah (she/her). this blog is nsfw and not spoiler-free. i’m also griffenly on ao3. url is from a syml song, where’s my love.
if you are interested in making any sort of fan work related to my writing, please just ask first! (and then send me the link, so i can sing your praises.) this goes for fic-binding, fan art, podfics, etc.
please do not share my work to goodreads or another site. please do not share my work with the cast/crew of any of the shows for which i write. please do not put my work through any AI bot. please credit in some capacity if you post snippets to any social media site. please do not use my work for articles without my consent.
all works from now on are locked for ao3 users so the cops (“journalists”) don’t get me.
always happy to take fic requests, though i don’t promise to get to all of them!
if you are interested in providing support, you can find my ko-fi here (no pressure, no expectation, reading/commenting/leaving kudos is more than enough!)
i love you all. thank you for being here. please never stop sending me insane messages on anon, they make my day. 🫶
2. when and where do your best ideas tend to strike?
literally at random, lol. my notes app is where i keep any snippets of dialogue that come to mind or random ideas i have — i wish there was a rhyme or reason, but it truly is by the grace of god go i vibes
14. what are your top 3 most used additional tags?
hurt melissa “mel” king, appalachian frank langdon, divorced frank langdon 🤩
either my desk at work or my kitchen table, usually with headphones in to really #lockin
11. which fic did you do the most research for?
everywhere, everything probably because there's a lot of zooming in on google maps to make sure i'm describing places as accurately as possible, lol (plus harassing @fellowshipincynicism and @thatkingdon for specificities about certain locations). but any fic with abundant medical references (including city baby!) has the most research for sure
16. do you make playlists for your fics?
yes!!!! i love a fic playlist!!! i also find it helps me get into the headspace for a fic, and i love having an audio background
rivers and roads is the obvious one, i think, because it was so much work and i feel very emotionally attached to those versions of mel & frank. but writing city baby was some of the most fun i've had in this fandom, and i feel especially proud of that one since it's soooo divergent from canon
4. how long do you spend editing?
i do not spend very long editing by myself (i get so bored reading my own writing lol) but there are several people that i hold hostage in my google docs beta read for me!!
10. do you outline?
i don't do a traditional outline, but i like talking through my ideas with people first and i'll make haphazard notes in my notes app and then use that to connect the dots along the way. i prefer to have more of a freeform approach because sometimes the fic takes on a life of its own, and that's more fun!
just tell me what you like (and i'll make it good)
“You wanna sext me at work?” He leans back, raising his eyebrows. “That’s part of your plan to help me deal with keeping my hands to myself there?”
“I-I guess you’re right. I just thought it’s one of the only times we’re not— well, we’re not like this. Maybe that isn’t— I mean, if it’s a problem we can just—”
“It’s not a problem,” he cuts her off with his mouth.
Or: Practicing dirty talk via text messages at work might not help keep a secret relationship all that secret.
Currently obsessed with cute domestic Kingdon fluff, and I’d love to read a one-off of them finding out Mel’s pregnant with some scenes including their first ultrasound/gender reveal/Mel having anxiety and Frank promising he’ll always be there for her :)
(Love your writing btw!)
so this is not in-universe, but there’s a lot of tooth-rotting fluff in city baby that’s similar to this! you can skip around if you don’t want to read all 60k hahah
I think I saw you say you have wips, but a prompt, if you fancy: abby storms into the ed one day hell’s ablazing yelling like “which one of you is fucking my husband?” or “which one of you is mel king?” and that’s how the rest of the pitt find out about mel and langdon
happy holidays, love ✨
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Abby hated hospitals. Even the nice ones made her feel vaguely nauseous, and that was including the glossy, expensive facility she'd found for her father's cancer treatment. Frank had plenty to say about that place, vague statements that had the air of criticism, even though Abby couldn't understand the problem. It's all pay to play, he'd sniped in the car, knuckles white on the steering wheel, and she'd kept her mouth shut even as she wanted to snap, Good thing it's my money, then.
She remembered this as she slipped through the throngs of coughing, ill-smelling people gathered in the PTMC ED's waiting room. She had plenty of thoughts she could share, now, but she knew Frank wasn't even here today. She'd made sure of it.
There was a long line to approach a glass window, and Abby joined the back of it dutifully, keeping her arms crossed tight across her chest as if she might protect herself from the general sickness of the room. When she reached the front, she plastered on her best, most unassuming smile, slipping her ID through the slot at the bottom.
"Dana's expecting me," she said cheerily.
The woman at the desk glanced at the ID and then back up to Abby's face. "Langdon," she read, raising an eyebrow as if she had asked a question.
"My husband," Abby confirmed, the word only sticking in her throat a little bit. "I told Dana that - "
"Yeah, she mentioned you might be swinging by." Abby didn't think she was imagining the thread of suspicion in the woman's tone, but then she nodded, clicking a button until a side door buzzed. "Come on in, Mrs. Langdon."
Abby managed a smile and said, "Thank you. Abby is fine," but the woman - her badge was too small for Abby to read from here - had already looked over Abby's shoulder, beckoning the next patient forward.
There was a security guard standing at the door, and he gave Abby a once-over as she entered.
She'd never been to PTMC before. Not inside, at least. She'd swung through the ambulance bay to bring Frank an extra pair of shoes after his usual ones had been in the crosshairs of fluids Abby didn't want names to, but she hadn't even parked the car, just passed the sneakers through the window like it was a drive-thru.
While the waiting room was dark and humid, the ED floor itself was almost comically bright and frigid, the fluorescents and A/C seemingly battling each other. People were walking at clipped paces while patients lounged in beds pushed up against the walls in varying stages of discomfort. One man was watching the proceedings with wide-eyed amusement as he chomped down on a sandwich, while a girl that couldn't have been older than twenty was writhing in pain as a nurse tried to pry her mouth open to administer medication.
Her eyes scanned the space until they snagged on the person she was looking for, and she made her way toward the desk, lifting her chin the way her mother taught her. It conveys confidence.
When she was less than a foot away, she said, in the most measured tone she could manage, "Dr. King."
The woman in question snapped her head up, eyes wide, and Abby was infuriated by how precious the whole thing was. Like a Disney character, a baby deer, something helpless and hapless and begging for someone to save it.
It shouldn't have surprised her. Frank loved to play the hero.
"Oh," Dr. King said. She was holding a tablet, and she pressed it to her chest, her lips tilting into a confused smile. "Can I help you?"
"I sure hope so." Abby smiled. "You're the one fucking my husband, right?"
Dr. King - Mel, Abby remembered, from the text messages and Frank's stories and that awful, red-faced fight - dropped the tablet.
"Oh. Oh, gosh. Um, let me just - Princess!" she called, her words tripping over themselves in her haste to spit them out. "Can you, uh, South 15, I need to - "
A nurse - Princess, Abby guessed - took the tablet from Mel's hands. Her expression was one close to glee, flitting her eyes between Mel and Abby with obvious curiosity, though she at least tamped down on the smile threatening to pull at her features.
Mel didn't look at Abby as she said, "Let's, uh - this room is free, we can - "
They made their way across the hall, whispers and stares collecting in their wake, and Abby forced herself to maintain a measured pace even as Mel damn near sprinted to the glass doored room. As soon as they were both inside, she tugged the curtain around them, effectively barring the crowd evidently intrigued by this new circus.
The women were silent for a moment. Mel chewed her lip and nervously fidgeted with her glasses, taking an obvious breath before finally meeting Abby's gaze.
"So, this is awkward," her husband's mistress said astutely.
Abby crossed her arms and leaned heavily on one hip as she scoffed. "That's a word for it."
"Abby, I'm so - I'm really sorry about this, Frank mentioned that the conversation went, um... poorly," this with a wince, like she knew it was an understatement, "but we really... it's important to him that everything stays above board, with the kids, and - "
"Above board?" Abby echoed. "Maybe he shouldn't be fucking another woman if he was so concerned with keeping things above board."
Mel went still for the first time since Abby had approached. "But... you're, um..."
Anger flared, hot and blinding. "We're what?"
Mel King blinked at her, both hands held tightly by her chest, her eyes darting all over the room like she was hoping if she bought enough time, someone might swoop in and save her. That Abby's husband might swoop in and save her.
He would, too, Abby realized horribly. Thank fucking God she'd planned it like this.
"You said that," Mel rebutted, all the stress dropping out of her body at once. "You... you served him papers, he's been living alone for the last six months, I don't..."
"Oh, please." Abby waved a hand as if she could clear the air of that accusation. "It's part of our process. I threaten divorce, he makes changes, we get back together."
Mel frowned and tilted her head to the side, her expression creasing in a way that made Abby suddenly feel like a patient. Unease wormed its way through her body, clenching around her heart.
"Did you... did you think he was just going to keep coming back if you did that?" Mel asked, her tone almost gentle, and Abby really would've rather she screamed. "I mean this with all the respect in the world, truly, I'd never... I would never come between someone and their family, but he's..." She bit her lip again like she wasn't sure she should continue. "He has a lawyer, Abby. We - he - "
Abby became dizzy, the words swimming in one ear and out the other, triggering a terrible case of vertigo. They'd been playing this game for almost a year, she and Frank, and she knew she'd been skating on thin ice - you can only push a man so far, her mother had said, which really should've been a warning sign; Nina had been the one most adamantly against Abby trying to make it work at the beginning - but there wasn't a world in which she actually thought she and Frank would get divorced. It was just part of his repentance, this back-and-forth. She wasn't serious.
But he was, apparently. In the months he'd been out of the house, he'd drifted so far from her that she hadn't even realized he'd washed ashore on another island altogether.
"Abby?" Mel asked, taking a step forward with an outstretched hand, like she was worried.
Fucking Christ.
Without a word, Abby stormed out of the room. She wished the hospital doors weren't designed to be so fucking quiet, because she wanted something to bang, glass to crack beneath her feet, Mel King's stupid empathetic eyes to disintegrate back into fear.
When she got back outside, she barreled to her car. The leather seats stung her skin when she sat down. She stared at the bright red EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT sign as she waited for her heart rate to steady, her wedding ring glinting in the mid-summer sun.
Yes, Abby decided. She really fucking hated hospitals.
“I love used books,” she proffers, eager to be a normal person. “I love when books have a story.”
“Well, I’d say if a book doesn’t have a story, it’s a pretty sad excuse for a book.”
Mel can’t help herself—she snorts. “I didn’t realize you owned the shop,” Mel says quickly, embarrassed. “That must be nice—”
“Yeah, it is,” Frank answers distractedly. “I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure I just saw two time Emmy award winning actress Mel King snort at a joke I made.”
So he really did know her, then, wow.
“Well I’m not sure anyone will believe you,” she jokes lightly.
“Yeah,” Frank breathes, his eyes roving over her face in a stunned sort of awe. “I don’t think anyone will.”
Or, the Kingdon Notting Hill AU :)
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collage by my beloved @kmsk8r who held my hand the entire time and read every typo and threatened me with all sorts of violence <3 i couldn't do this without you my love <3
everyone needs to read tay's frat boy frank/professor mel fic NOW because it lives in my head rent-free
read on ao3
There are other arrangements he's tried, of course. The very tiptop of the lecture hall in the last seat on the right. The first row, slightly askew toward her left. A hundred other configurations, the inconsistency of which clearly irked his peers who'd become accustomed to their seat being taken by Frank's lanky body, his limbs strewn about with practiced carelessness.
But he's found the most success with this spot. Dead center of the room. Her eyes have a tendency to hover there in such a way that he wonders if she trained herself to do it, a learned behavior to ensure she's at least feigning eye contact with her students. It only endears her to him further. He feels a little patronizing for even thinking it, but she's so obviously soft that it raises his protective hackles. He can't help it.
Dr. King treads a small circle, her hands clasped together. She's a fast talker, though he'd known that before enrolling in this class. (Her Rate My Professor had a 4.1 out of 5. He could still remember some of the worst reviews, clearly from her first year in the job: they called her meek, boring, weird. He wishes they weren't anonymous. He has some choice words to share right back at them.) All around him, his peers are scribbling or typing furious notes, their eyes bouncing to the screen and down and up again as they try to take down every last morsel of information.
Frank prefers to do this: sit back, arms crossed, and watch. It gives him a little thrill every time she meets his eyes, her brows furrowing in confusion or consternation, the expression making her look like a disgruntled bunny. He likes letting her know that he's paying attention. That even though his classmates might be frantically taking down each word she says, he's actually listening to her.
And he thinks she knows that, based on the way her cheeks flush and she stammers over her sentences whenever she catches his gaze.
"The review guide is up on Canvas for you now," she says, pausing her pacing. "I've extended office hours this week for anyone who would prefer to meet one-on-one." She glances up at Frank again, and he can see her swallow from here. He grins, despite himself. "I'll see you all on Thursday for the exam."
Everyone around him seems to rise at once, laptops smacking shut as backpacks are tossed over shoulders. Frank stays still, watching Dr. King as she tucks her hair behind her ears, lets out a tense breath, gathers her notes, logs out of the university computer, looks back up -
He smiles at her again.
Dr. King bites her lower lip, glancing toward the door and back again. Frank hasn't moved, a solid rock amidst the waves of other university students filtering out of the lecture hall, and he tries to keep himself still as she makes her way toward him, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder even as his never wavers.
Two seats away, she says, "Mr. Langdon," her voice quiet.
"Dr. King."
She flushes, like he knew she would. "I noticed you weren't taking notes."
His grin widens. "Good."
She sighs. "Frank."
"What?" He keeps his tone light, eyebrows raised innocently. She tilts her head in exasperation. "I learn best by watching," he offers with a shrug, pausing before adding, "but you knew that."
Mel stammers, flustered, and he finally stands up to close the distance between them. She has to crane her neck to see him, though she keeps her eyes trained on his throat. Her hands rest on either side of her neck, the way they always do when she gets nervous.
"You can't say things like that in my classroom," she scolds half-heartedly.
He shrugs. "Okay. Then let's go somewhere else."
She hesitates, just like the six times before this, and he watches the emotions cycle across her face like slides in a projector. Desire and embarrassment and worry and pleasure and guilt, one after the other, until her gaze finally meets his own.
