Hellooo! I thought I'd put all my headcanons, writing, and just general GG musings onto one master post to make them easier to find. I always lose them on my own profile, and Tumblr's search feature sucks, so they're all here! Happy reading :) I also write for Super Powereds (by Drew Hayes) and the Pitt TV
Gallagher Girls
Catherine's Backtory - Thread Theory (I’ll come back to this eventually, I promise but grad school is kicking my ass)
The First Stitch: Catherine Goode wasn't born a villain. That would have been easy in comparison to being born the eldest daughter of two CIA agents in the dead heat of the Cold War.
One Shots
A Green Duffel Bag: Zach's first few hours at the Blackthorne Institute for Boys. Set three years before LYKY.
An Empty Desk Drawer: Townsend faces his demons in Catherine's home. Set after UWS.
Vending Machine: Bex visits Liz at MIT the fall after their graduation from the Gallagher Academy.
A Pair of Muddy Shoes: Morgan Goode goes on a run. Zachary Goode follows her. Set one year before book 1 of the Listen series.
Voicemail: Cammie at Georgetown the spring of her freshman year. Set a year after UWS.
Second Cousins: Zach meets Townsend's painfully normal British family. Set after UWS.
An Old Bruise: Edward Townsend royally fucked up with Abigail Cameron. Set after UWS.
A Tourist Attraction: There have always been two exceptions to the Chameleon. Set ten years after LYKY.
Crumpled Cinema Tickets: Cammie takes Zach to Nebraska to spend the early part of their summer together. Set between UWS and A Gallagher Wedding.
Brown Eyeliner: Bex and Macey stuck in a room with zero witnesses and approximately 750 notecards written in Swahili, and are forced to actually talk. Set during LYKY.
Boardwalk: Catherine visits the house on Edisto Island, South Carolina for the first time with Zach. One Wise Guy sneaks up on her. Set eleven years before LYKY.
Passenger Seat: Joe and Cammie take a drive to Matthew Morgan's grave the evening before Christmas Eve. Set two years after UWS.
Pink Flip-Flops: Cammie's bargain-bin flip flops make a return during her mother's ceremony. Plus, the lessons learned in the P&E barn. Set immediately after A Gallagher Wedding. Implied smut.
Loose Batteries: When Joe Solomon goes radio silent, Zach turns to one of the only other people he can trust, Beverly Hills mansion glory and all. Set between DJC and OGSY.
Eleven: Cammie does a lot of thinking about the future. Set between killing Max Edwards and the school burning down in UWS.
Sock Puppets: Abby Cameron may be one of the CIA's freshest and brightest, but even she is barely a match for her five-year-old niece. Set ten years before the events of LYKY.
Three Broken Fingers: Lieutenant Matthew Morgan of the United States Army arrives at Fort Huachuca for AIT training, and meets his eccentric, knife-wielding roommate. Set 20ish years before the events of LYKY.
Tiger Balm: A fresh-faced recruit, Catherine gets shot while on a joint mission with MI6's very own Edward Townsend. She really has to do something about the flutters in her chest whenever he touches her. Set 17 years before the events of LYKY.
A Hula-Hoop: Macey visits Liz in Alabama the summer Cammie goes missing. Set between OGSY and OSOT.
Finches: Zach and Bex take a walk in Istanbul, and get just a little too close. Set the summer between OGSY and OSOT.
Old Westerns: Cammie moves into her dorm at Georgetown University, and comes across an old box of movies that her dad and Joe Solomon had once enjoyed. Set the summer after UWS.
finally see what it means to be living: Six weeks into Cammie Morgan's disappearance, desperation is hitting Rachel as more dead ends begin to appear. Abby comes in with some sisterly love and words of wisdom. Set between OGSY and OSOT.
still alive, killing time at the cemetery: On August 10, 2007, Agent Rachel Ann Morgan received the news that her husband, Agent Matthew Morgan, had been declared missing in action, and the first thing she does is pay a visit to Joe Solomon. Set three years before the events of LYKY.
all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing: Zach and Cammie share a tender moment at Langley as they await their debriefs after the fire at the Gallagher Academy. Set during UWS.
no place like home: Cammie has a panic attack and runs to the first place--no, person--she thinks of. Set three years after UWS.
Headcanons & Character Analysis
Gallagher Girls x Taylor Swift spreadsheet (+ other songs). This was originally @incorrectgallaghergirlsquotes spreadsheet, but I had different opinions and wanted to add a tab for other songs, so credit to her for the og doc!!!
Glee x Gallagher Girls
Zach & Macey love punk rock
Random Zach headcanons
Zammie likes the band Bleachers. Sue me.
I hate the canonical twins names in the declassified epilogue. (pt 2)
More Zach analysis
Speak Now is THE Zammie album
Cammie Morgan is a Swiftie™️
Rachel and Zach at the ball
Spotify Playlists
Cameron Morgan
Zachary Goode
I’d Tell You I Love You But Then I’d Have To Kill You
Cross My Heart and Hope To Spy
Don’t Judge A Girl By Her Cover
Only the Good Spy Young
Out of Sight, Out of Time
United We Spy
Super Powereds
Never Bet Against The House
Spotify Playlists
Here There Be Monsters (Alice Adair/Nick Campbell)
The Pitt (TV)
Service Hours : Melissa King / Frank Langdon. Mel King is the VP of Community Service for the pre-med fraternity at the University of Michigan. Frank Langdon is a cocky fraternity boy who decides to rush with his girlfriend, Abby Tanner. The two seemingly have nothing in common, but when they're paired to do their service hours together at a memory care facility over the course of a year, they learn there's more than meets the eye to both of them.
hi!! i have recently read some of ur stuff on ao3 and then i looked up gallagher girls on here and ur acc showed up and i was so happy!!!!!! also! i wanted to request zammie fluff pls!! i am a sucker for something happy
your comments on my ao3 made my WEEK so i dug my laptop out in the midst of backpacking across europe to write this. it's short and sweet and a little more hurt/comfort than is probably good, but you can find it here on AO3 :)
thank you for reading! it truly does mean a lot to me that people still read my work haha
Cammie has a panic attack and runs to the first place--no, person -- she thinks of. Fluffy one-shot set three years after UWS, canon-compliant, mentions of torture.
Notes:
Was asked to write a fluffy one-shot for Zach and Cammie, but I'm incapable of not adding some hurt/comfort to it, so here's this :) set about 2-3 years after the events of UWS. Wrote this entirely in one go on a train from Vienna (shout out Austria) to Bratislava, and it's not beta read so some gramamtical errors are likely!
Despite being a highly skilled operative, Cameron Morgan wasn’t keeping an eye on her perimeter, or even employing the Mazreku countersurveillance technique as she ran down P street.
All she could hear was the ringing in her ears as her feet pounded on the pavement, one repetitive motion after the other, left foot, then right. Although it wasn’t technically possible (even if Liz was working on the technology), she swore she could feel her blood rushing through her body, coursing through her arms and into her wildly beating heart.
She passed businesses closing down for the night, the cute little kitschy shops she rarely went into, other than to grab a snack before rushing off to class or Langley. She turned right onto 34th Street, remembering the overgrown tree that had broken through the pavement and easily hopping over it as she continued her quick pace.
All she had to do was make it to his place, pray that he was home (because he had been a little upset that she’d stripped the wood in his door after she broke in the last time he was out of town). She had a key, but it was redundant when they both changed their locks twice a week, and, well, she hadn’t been given a lockpicking kit for her 14th birthday for nothing.
Turning left, she finally looked up at the mirror that hung on the corner ice-cream shop, checking her reflection for a tail as she breezed through the tall townhomes that littered the block, skidding to a stop in front of one that had about a quarter of a million dollars of security measures that were invisible to the average eye.
Cammie bounded up the steps, popped the sensor she knew was under the ledge of the window to her left, then slid her sweaty palm over the scanner. She looked at the peephole (that was embedded with a retina scanner), allowing her eyes to be scanned before the door flew open and her boyfriend looked her up and down, clad in PJ pants and a loose gray t-shirt.
“Cam?” he asked. It was a testament to how well they worked together, and how much he trusted her that he chose not to hide the surprise on his face at seeing her at his door on a night they hadn’t planned on seeing each other.
Cammie was still stuck in the dorms (cover and all), but his father had scored him an apartment about two miles away, still on the edge of the neighborhood, but just far enough away she couldn’t justify sleeping over every single night. His cover didn’t involve him attending Georgetown, so he got to have his own bathroom and kitchen while she was stuck with the twin XL bed and the student meal plan.
“Hi,” she said simply through ragged breath. “Can I come in?”
He held the door open a little wider, gesturing for her to come inside. When she was in the small entryway, she kicked her shoes off and stripped her shirt, revealing the sports bra underneath that stuck to her sweaty skin.
“Gee, Gallagher Girl, not that I’m opposed to this, but is everything good?” His voice didn’t betray any of the concern she knew he was feeling in that moment.
“I needed to get out of there,” she blurted, finally turning to face him. His features morphed from puzzling to slightly panicked, reaching for her and running his hands up and down her arms, checking for any new bruises or injury.
“Get out of where? What’s wrong?” he asked, this time not making an effort to hide the panic in his voice. “Did something happen? Are you okay? Is someone—”
“Circus,” she spat, trying to calm her racing heart rate, even if logic was failing to prevail in this situation. The hair on her arms was still on end and the back of her neck was slick with sweat. All she could see in her mind was a woman dropping a piece of paper, circus music, and a haunting melody sung by a woman with dark red hair and the same eyes as the man in front of her.
Zach’s voice rose another octave. “Circus? Cammie, what’s wrong? Did you see someone? Is it the Circle? Is someone on your tail?”
She shook her head quickly, pushing him away from her and bounding towards his kitchen, desperate for a glass of water or anything that could help her get out of her own head.
His footsteps followed hers, matching her pace, and stopping her and turning her around just before she reached the entryway of his tiny kitchen.
“Cam,” he said, not unkindly, taking both of her hands in his and squeezing. “Talk to me, please. What’s wrong?”
She felt sheepish, embarrassed like she had those first few months after she’d returned from Austria. People had stared as she’d had panic attacks and nervous breakdowns and sleepwalking nights like something was wrong with her. He had seen her through all of it, the nights in the P&E barn when she’d cry herself to sleep or when she’d woken up to him chasing her as she sleepwalked in Italy.
Suffice to say, they were long, long past the embarrassment stage with each other, which is why she forced her breathing to slow down and said, “My roommates kept talking about going to see the circus that’s in town, and I don’t know why, but I…panicked. And ran here.”
His shoulders dropped, and he let out an exhale. He pulled her in, his arms going around her and holding her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe again. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed into her hair, kissing the top of her head.
“I just had to…run. I couldn’t be there anymore, and I guess I ran here,” she said, averting his gaze and looking down at the floor. “I’m sorry if I crashed your evening plans. Can I stay here for the night?”
His eyes softened, and he cupped her cheek with one hand. “Cam, you can derail my nonexistent plans whenever you want. Do you need me to call them? Or tell your mom or anything?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be okay. It’s so stupid, Zach. It’s been years. I can’t…I can’t afford to freak out like this at every mention of a circus. What if that had been on an op? Or—or while in deep cover or in class or—”
“But it didn’t,” he said gently. “Cam, it’s not your fault that happened.”
“But I’m an operative! A spy! I need to be better.”
“You’re also still human,” he shot back. “And someone who went through an insane amount of trauma not even three years ago. Come on, Gallagher Girl, give yourself some grace. Highly trained operatives who have been in the field for three decades wouldn’t survive what you went through. Do you want to talk about it?”
How could it be that this boy was so emotionally intuitive, so understanding and sweet when he came from the woman who had done all this to her? He always, infuriatingly at times, knew the right thing to say, how to make her stop feeling like a stranger inside her own skin. It wasn’t fair sometimes.
Cammie shook her head. “No. I just want to move past it,” she said decidedly, sinking even further into his embrace, burying her face in his neck and breathing him in.
“Okay,” he said simply, pulling back to look at her. It used to unnerve her, how much he saw her, but now it was a comfort that brought her peace on the worst of days, knowing that someone she loved so fiercely could see through to every part of her.
Then a mischievous smile graced his lips. “So does that mean you’ll finally watch Big Brother with me? I’ll even cook dinner.”
That got an unexpected laugh out of her, and she laughed so long that he eventually joined in, the two of them settling into the domestic comfort of laughing with the person you loved the most in the world.
Cammie laced her fingers with his, leading them to his kitchen, where she’d inevitably sit on the counter (despite his protests) as he made them dinner. He was an excellent cook, and she had inherited her mother’s skills, so she often sat by while he made them food, distracting him with kisses as he sautéed meat or cut up vegetables.
Zach would never tell her, but he always kept a second set of plates and cutlery just in case she did decide to come over when he wasn’t expecting her. She’d never tell him, but she knew how he stacked his dishes and had figured that out long ago.
He’d make some variation of marry me chicken (and she’d joke that if he kept that up, she’d have to ask him to marry her) and they’d end up cuddling on his couch and watching a show the other pretended to hate but secretly loved watching.
And maybe, under the cover of darkness and curled up in a bed, she’d tell him how she was feeling after earlier, or maybe tell him another story of her childhood, one that she knew wouldn’t be used against her like so many others had been, because it was Zach and he loved her and she loved him, and things would be okay.
do you have any prompts for established relationships with fluffy but smutty prompts
Oh it's little Alex Horne!
I actually have quite a few prompt lists that can fit into this, some are more fluffy, some more smutty but they can all definitely apply to established relationships.
Here are some for you:
Romantic One-Liners Part I
Smutty One-Liners Part I + Part II + Part III
Physical One-Liners Part I + Part II
Jealousy + Things said during sex prompts
Moving in together
Fluff Prompts
You can also find more romance prompts in my Romance Masterpost.
Mel starts the spring semester drowning in her crush and trying to Be Normal about it. Frank and Abby are reeling from the aftermath of their breakup, and a few too many stars align for Frank and Mel as they continue to be drawn together in new ways.
I listened to a lot of Sue Me by Audrey Hobert and stupid song by Olivia Rodrigo while I wrote this, so imagine that's infused into the feelings of this chapter <3 Our girl Mel is down horrendously bad for the (very) newly single Frank!!
okay so i wrote like 3/4 of it in first person because i literally don’t know how else to write cammie but it gave me the ick so now im rewriting it in third person so…soon….
Frank navigates Thanksgiving with Abby's family, spends Thanksgiving and the Christmas holidays thinking of one girl in particular more than his own girlfriend, and has some hard and painful conversations.
Yeah, this chapter is 10,000+ words long, but think of it as 1) a character study on Frank, 2) a more intimate view of his interpersonal relationships and a bit of a behind-the-scenes on what's going on in his life, and 3) I just kind of needed to pass some time in the school year. This is one of two chapters in Frank's (third-person limited) POV in this story.
Mel finally spills how she's been feeling about Frank to Cassie, and spends the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving break overanalyzing every. single. thing. Frank. Langdon. does.
or
OUR GIRL HAS A CRUSH!!!!!!
I absolutely loooove writing crushes--they're so fun to have and it's always such a mortifyingly giddy experience so I hope I conveyed that well through here!!!
Everyone off the SS Frabby because she's about to SINK!!!! The next chapter will be written in Frank's POV (third person, don't worry) and will cover Thanksgiving, the two weeks before Christmas break, and then some of Christmas break before we're back to Mel. A lot's about to happen so BUCKLE UP!!!!
but you should know that i died slow (running through the halls of your haunted home) (2,183 words)
Read here on AO3 :)
Three and a half years after his mother's death, Zach visits her grave in an anonymous CIA cemetery the week before Christmas and doesn't tell a soul.
Set after the events of United We Spy, canon-compliant, inspired by "Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call" by Bleachers.
I went to see the band Bleachers this weekend, and I've always very strongly associated the songs Isimo and Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call with Zach (& Catherine & Joe) so after hearing it live, I was inspired to write this.
Definitely heavily influenced by the sound and general mourning tone of both of these songs (mostly MC,PDC) so I definitely encourage you to listen to that song with this fic in mind! This is also directly before my other one-shot "Passenger Seat" in my 31 days of Tumblr prompts, and serves as a bit of a parallel :)
If this place did have a name, Zach didn’t know it. All he had to go on were coordinates for a small, unmarked cemetery just outside of D.C., miles from Arlington (it’s not like terrorists got to be buried near the patriots, after all).
He’d opted to keep his visit a secret, an almost shameful bubble popping up in his gut when he had told Cammie he was going to run errands while she finished up end-of-semester papers and studied for finals in their apartment.
There was no sign or grandiose wrought-iron gate welcoming you to a person’s forever resting place. Zach was honestly surprised there was even a guard this time of day, one who scanned his ID and looked him up and down as if wondering why a young man with such a high clearance was here, this close to Christmas.
Killing the engine, he just sat in the stillness of December, his gloved fingers still tightly clutching the steering wheel, a voice inside his head whispering You don’t have to do this.
But he was already here, and he had already lied to his girlfriend, his father, his father-figure, and himself, so damn it, he may as well see it through.
Slipping out of the driver’s seat, the bitter December cold hit him, seeping through his jacket and the beanie he had become fond of. It was the kind of bitter cold that made your lungs burn, and it was one he remembered from his childhood, huddling against his mother for warmth as they hopped on trains in foreign cities, always on the move from some unknown force.
It wasn’t the type of cemetery that saw flowers from guilty relatives sitting on headstones, or little American flags on every plot. There wasn’t even a bench, just the darkening sky of 4 p.m. in December in D.C. This was the final stop for people the CIA had no interest in honoring in any way, kept solely to see that their bodies truly were six feet under and no longer a threat to national security, a small plot in between an access road and a tree line.
But she was his mother.
Or, she had been his mother.
Catherine Goode had been dead for three and a half years, and it still felt like she was burning through his insides, even in the afterlife. As he descended upon the thirteenth row (a funny twist of fate, since she had always said her favorite number was 13), his steps slowed, and his breathing grew more labored amidst the cold and the sight he knew was waiting for him.
Her gravestone was simple, just a first and last name, and her dates of birth and death. They had even foregone her middle name, and Zach wondered if it was done on purpose, or if that information would die with him and a piece of paper deep in some higher-up’s files. Just like her favorite number or the way she had taken her tea, there were so many things that had made up the woman who lay below the snow and stone that would die out with him. Not everything, he knew, since the many things that had made her up lived on in his girlfriend and her family—in the faded slashes on her arms and down her torso that he always kissed his way past. In the empty grave in the Swiss Alps that held her father. In the way her mother and her best friends, and even he tensed up whenever they couldn’t see her.
No, a lot of things about Catherine Goode (namely, him) hadn’t died with her, but so many of the small things that had made her human had died in a fire in Roseville, Virginia. Maybe they had died beforehand, but he wasn’t sure, and no one besides him would ever care to know. Zach wondered if anyone would ever know that his mother had been afraid of spiders, despite being a psychopathic terrorist, or that she had taken her tea with milk and no sugar. It was hard to see Catherine as human when the CIA and her own actions had stripped her of the humanity so many people were afforded, but she had still been his mother.
She was his mother. Whatever that had meant, for better or worse, she had been his mother. Catherine Goode may have been a monster in almost every way that mattered, but the strings in his heart tugged when he remembered the woman who would always let him have the chocolate side of a swirl cone. He remembered the woman who would drape her jackets over him when he was little and cold, even if that meant she hadn’t had anything to protect her from the elements in every house they were in.
Catherine rarely cooked, but when she did, she used to hum as she stirred sauce, and sometimes, when he was really little, he’d dance with her in whatever kitchen they were using that night. He caught himself doing it with Cammie in their tiny Georgetown studio, before he realized and stopped himself so fast he’d burned his hand on the rim of the pot.
She had been his mother, and if things were fair and just, maybe she and his father would have stayed together, been as normal a spy couple as a spy couple could be. Holidays—maybe in a safe house instead of in the suburbs—but maybe he could have had a childhood like Cammie’s, trips to the fair with his dad and sticky fingers in cotton candy with mom, even if the two of them had to jet off to Budapest or Vienna or Buenos Aires afterwards for some top-secret mission.
But things weren’t fair or just, and Zach had stopped believing they were supposed to be around the same time he’d stopped believing his mother was a good person, which was earlier than anyone would probably guess.
He crouched down, brushing the thin layer of snow off the top of the stone, and his chest felt heavy, his throat feeling like it was closing up with smoke, or maybe tears. He hadn’t even cried when she’d died, the numbness of the fire and knowing everything was over taking away a lot of the feelings as he and Cammie had sat in Langley, waiting to be interrogated.
He’d cried once since, after a long chat with Joe where his father figure had pulled out a 6-pack of beer on the back porch of his and Rachel’s safe house of the summer, the two of them talking and talking like they hadn’t since he was a younger teenager, when some of his bigger problems had involved whether or not Cammie Morgan liked him back.
“Hi,” he said. His voice sounded strange out here, all alone and absorbed immediately by the snow and emptiness and nothing of winter. “Merry Christmas, I guess.”
Christmas had always been her favorite holiday, but Catherine Goode was silent.
What did someone say to a grave? In the movies, there were always tearful confessions from lovers, weeping parents over a child’s grave, but Zach doubted there was a movie starring a broken son at his terrorist mother’s grave. If there was, he’d have to check it out. His fingers brushed along the smooth limestone, the years of harsh D.C. weather already starting to cause chips and flakes in the grey.
“I just got promoted,” he blurted. He wasn’t sure where that had come from. He didn’t think his mother would care—nor was she listening, because neither of them had ever been the religious type to believe in an afterlife. Besides, he thought, if there was an afterlife, she certainly wasn’t going to the good one. “And Cam’s doing good. She has a semester left of school—not that you ever cared, I guess.”
He felt stupid. It was stupid to talk to his mother, to tell her about Cammie, the person he loved more than anyone else in the world, the woman his mother had tried to kill on multiple occasions. Updating her on Cammie’s well-being felt like some sick joke.
But the little boy inside him, the one with the six birthday candles and the G.I. Joe doll, remembered his mother asking him about a girl in one of his kindergarten classes, whom he had said was pretty. That version of his mother would have wanted to know what his girlfriend was up to, how she was doing. But that version of him, and that version of her, were both dead.
Zach wondered if things had turned out differently, whether he’d be sleeping under the snow with her, another stone in an unmarked cemetery, another person whose hopes, dreams, and loves would die out, never remembered.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw spots, dizzying whites swimming in his vision as he tried to stop the tears trying to come out, and swallowed the lump in his throat that was threatening to burst, to make the only sound in an empty, unmarked cemetery right before Christmas.
Grief was a complex thing. He’d dealt with it a lot in his life. Grief about the father he’d never known (and then grief when he had known him). The gutwrenching, stabbing, deep grief he had felt the summer that the love of his life had run away, spurred by his words and his actions. The devastating grief of dragging his father figure out of the tombs at Blackthorne, the exasperation of his six-month coma, and grieving one of the only people who had cared for him the moment they met him.
The grief he felt with his mother, though, was different. He was grieving someone he was glad was gone. The world was certainly better off without her, and he (and Cammie and Joe, and even his father) were certainly better off without her. It was hard for the two feelings to coexist in him, both feeling glad that she couldn’t hurt anyone, but missing her in a shameful, hidden way.
He missed his mom. The real one, or maybe the one that he’d invented in his mind throughout the years, maybe as if to cope with the reality of what being her son had been like. He missed the version of the woman who had loved him so much, she’d done everything in her power to protect him, even when he’d made it clear he would stand against her every single time.
“I don’t forgive you,” he said, quietly, the words dissipating into the puff of breath he let out into the cold night. “But I do miss you. I just wanted you to know that, I guess.”
The wind rattled the branches of the nearby trees like bones, shaking the chain link fence along the perimeter of the cemetery, shrouded in secrecy and mystery.
“But I’m here, I guess. If I were a betting man, I’d say I’m the only person who’s come here and not spit on your grave or cursed you out. But believe me, I want to. So bad.”
He paused, waiting, as if Catherine Goode would magically rise from her plot of Earth, tossing her long, dark red hair behind her shoulder as she pressed her hand to his cheek and told him that she had raised him with better manners than that. But she didn’t, and he waited in silence, already forgetting what his mother’s voice had sounded like.
Zach stood, his knees aching from the cold. He felt stupid as he wiped his face with the back of his glove, rough and graceless, the kind of gesture that Madame Dabney would have chided him for. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he wondered if it was Cammie, innocently texting him about their dinner plans, and another flash of guilt coursed through him.
They were due to fly to Nebraska tomorrow morning to visit her grandparents for the Christmas holidays. He hadn’t seen Joe and Rachel in over a month and was excited to relax (as much as a spy could) and eat all the delicious food Grandma Morgan always made. And yet, in an almost traitorous fashion, there he was crying at the grave of the woman who had killed her only son.
He slipped his right glove off, his bare fingers finding the top of the gravestone one more time. He let the tips of his fingers glide along it, feeling the rough stone under them. It reminded him of the tombs of Blackthorne, the haunted halls of that mountain, the smoke in the air as the tunnels burned, burning yet another version of his mother down with them.
“Goodbye, Mom.”
With one last burning hot tear, he turned and walked away, his boots crunching all the way to his car as the streetlamps started flickering, leaving the ghosts of Langley to another snowy night. He’d take the dreary cold over the burning smoke of tunnels any day, though.
the wonderful thing about meeting friends through this community is getting to meet in person and do a complete run through on the number of flights cammie takes just in the last three semesters of school <3
Mel spends Halloween dressed as a Schuyler sister, tries her first drunk cigarette with one Frank Langdon, and has a sobering discussion about love with a boy she's realizing she's falling for.
The sinking of the SS Frabby is soon, trust. Mel talking about love with Frank Langdon, how can that possibly go? Also, yeah, I'm headcanoning she's gone as a Schuyler sister for Halloween, sue me!
Reeling over her kiss with her good friend, Mel navigates homecoming weekend, Frank ignoring her, and her dad and Becca meeting some of her new friends.
Chapter 6 is up! I have my outline for each chapter DONE (!!!) and it ended up being 28 chapters including an epilogue, so know we're getting somewhere! I know I say that every chapter but we're so close to the holidays (in mid-late October right now :) )
im just so happy that the writers wrote langdon as a sarcastic funny dude who never makes fun of mel. she misses social cues and he never makes her feel awkward about it, he leans into it and makes her comfortable in the conversation. my roman kingdon or whatever.
