Cordelia Noir

He’s sore from hours on the bike. Achy and grumpy. Not sleeping well. Not eating well to the point that he’s craving a salad like crazy, but he keeps getting alerts about cyclosporasis and he’s not about to take that risk when he’s not reliably near indoor plumbing.

He did his damnedest to push everyone away before leaving, so that means he’s not getting many calls or texts and the loneliness starts to eat at him.

Except for one person (two people if you count Whitaker’s plant updates, but Robby hasn’t been able to bring himself to answer those texts). One Jack Abbot.

Robby had said he didn’t have a best friend on more than one occasion. And he stood by that assertion, maintained that it was true, even to Jack’s face. Because Jack was so much more than a best friend, best friend didn’t even begin to describe what Jack was to Robby.

And every day, Jack sent at least one text. Sometimes it was early in the morning after a sleepless night that Robby’s phone would ping. Sometimes in the middle of the night when Robby was muffling snotty, sobbing gasps in a pillow that smelled either too clean or not clean enough. Sometimes in the middle of the day when he was riding or stopped off to get food or gas.

And Robby read each text over and over. Read them until he could see the words on his closed eyelids. He didn’t answer, not yet, but the texts were there. They were a tether for his spiraling thoughts.

Something he could rely on as he went further northwest. Chasing something he couldn’t see.

He crossed the border with little fanfare and found a campground to spend the night. As he got settled in a rented tent, he was hit with a thought that made him ache. He wanted to go home.

Not home to the apartment that had been more and more devoid of life with each bag of trash he dragged to the curb. Home to Jack. To Jack’s apartment that was stocked with his favorite beard oil and beers. That had the book he’d been reading last on the coffee table. Had the mug he’d been using for the better part of a decade after a medical student gifted it to him, tucked in the cabinet next to Jack’s.

To Jack.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his hand and he squinted at the message.

‘Hope the trip is everything you’d dreamed of.’

‘It sucks. Think anyone would notice if I bailed early and came home?’

‘A certain R1 would notice. I’d notice. Everyone else? Depends on how good you are at hiding.’

Robby tried to bite back a smile and rolled onto his side, trying in vain to get comfortable.

‘I know somewhere I could hide that they wouldn’t look. Unless someone were to tell everyone…’

‘I think he could keep his mouth shut if you come home in one piece. Wouldn’t even tease you that much, probably.’

‘Do you mean it?’

‘Come home, Mike. Please?’

Blinking back tears, Robby typed with shaking thumbs.

‘I don’t want to be on the road anymore. I’m turning around in the morning.’

‘Atta boy. When can I expect you?’

Robby blew out a slow breath and changed the location on his phone maps app.

‘It’ll be a few days. Think you can wait that long?’

‘Brother, I’m on the edge of my seat already. But I’ll hold out a little longer. Come home.’

So to the dad, anon just challenged his authority and his manhood. Dad is already threatened by his daughter having a boyfriend (and potentially eventually moving out due to that boyfriend/marriage), now anon is saying "I don't give a shit about you or your threat" as far as the dad is concerned. So anon saying he didn't mean it that way is what's triggering the "liar" comment.

It's a very patriarchal woman as property thing that crops up especially among white Southern Christians. I would lay money based on this story and my own experiences that anon is the girl's first boyfriend and that she's in the kind of family environment where she will live with her parents until marriage, a very literal dad giving daughter away at the altar situation.

Anon probably does not have sisters and didn't have all of this subtext made text constantly throughout his life, even though him carrying on a daily basis suggests some level of immersion in gun culture

Dad shows gun = "If you hurt her, I will kill you."

Boyfriend shows gun as well = "I also suspect you of being capable of hurting her and anticipate having to defend her."

And "hurt" in a dating context (or at least this specific gun related one) usually just means heartbreak, but "hurt" in a father/daughter context would more often be abuse.

So there's an implicit accusation he could read into it that turns the conversation into:

Dad: I think this relationship might not work out, and you will hurt my daughter's feelings.

Boyfriend: Well, I think you are physically harming your daughter, and brought this gun to show you I mean to rescue her.

Dad: How dare you! At least accuse me outright, for such a strong claim as this.

Boyfriend: I shall never say it outright, and therefore you have no evidence against me to use to kick me out right now.

The moment Erksine tells Steve that the serum will cure him of all his ailments, his heart stalls and his stomach sinks. He tries desperately to not give himself away when he meets the doctor’s eyes.

“All of them?” He asks. If his voice comes out small and trembling, he can pass it off as being in total awe of the concept of being healthy. And he is. But…

Erskine doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he smiles kindly and places a warm hand on Steve’s shoulder. “All of them.”

Steve lays awake that night, praying to a god he hadn’t spoken to since he lost his mother. Please, he begs. Don’t take this from me. Let me keep this one thing. It isn’t long, though, before his thoughts devolve into apology after apology to Bucky. Despite how much he loathed the thought of it, if he must lose his love for Bucky in order to be there for him—to protect him—, then so be it. It’s horrible, and painful, and bitterly unfair, but Steve Rogers will sacrifice anything to save Bucky Barnes.

The moment he steps out of the machine that transforms him, Steve notices most of the changes immediately. He’s big and tall. The world is bright and his heart feels strong. He can actually breathe. When he chases after the man that murdered Erksine, his thoughts and legs move fast—faster than Steve ever thought possible.

It’s only at night when Steve finally realizes.

He still loves Bucky.

He still wants to hold him in his arms, run his fingers through his hair, and kiss him breathless. He still loves him. He still loves him. Amidst his relief, Steve feels confusion. Erskine said the serum would cure him of all his illnesses. And it has, all except for this one thing. It’s then when one thought hits him with all the weight of the world;

They’re not sick. They were never sick.

“Grace, I need your signature.”

Grace looked up from his work in his closet of an office. Stratt closed the door behind her.

“An autograph? I’m flattered.”

She pushed the work off his already disheveled desk and set a single paper on top. It kind of looked like his degree, it kind of looked like-

“A marriage license? Well, now I’m really flattered.”

“For legal reasons. Just sign.” Stratt muttered.

“Are you serious?”

Of course she was serious. She only was serious. But she seemed…uncomfortable? The feeling looked strange on her. Eyes dart between the paper and him. Arms crossed over her chest as if hugging herself. It was definitely a new look. They were in new territory.

“I’m not the marrying type.” said Grace. “And I think I forgot to propose.”

Stratt breathed in deeply. Steeling herself.

“Grace,” Her hands were fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve. “What I’m doing here is illegal. I’ve broken alot of rules to give the crew a chance to save us. But once the mission begins…the world order will need to go back to how it was.”

Grace listened intently trying to make eye contact with her glassy gaze. He hadn’t thought to much about the legality of it all. After all, that was her job.

“I will be put on trial. I will be found guilty. I will serve the rest of my life behind bars. That is my cost.” Stratt continued, “You, the team, will all be fine. But-”

She pushed the license closer to Grace.

“Spouses don’t testify in court.”

Finally she looked at him. She wasn’t telling him to sign. If that was the case she probably would’ve just forged his signature. Hell, she probably has a whole team just for that purpose. She was asking him.

His choice. Just between the two of them.

“We don’t have to sleep together, right?”

Her eyes went big. “God Grace! No! Just sign the damn paper!” she huffed.

He smiled. And put his name under hers.

Husband and wife.

Well, more like “Most powerful person in the world” and “Some guy she kept around.” But still. Till death do they part.

bc in no way can be read that she was always gonna send grace on the hail mary, or that she suspected or knew she was going to have to send him.

when she sings, it is absolutely to him, but it's to reassure him that she knows she's going away but that she's coming back. she's telling him to hang in there, that it's going to be hard but that she believes in him and that she will come back when the time is right and they'll meet again somewhere far away from here.

that's the captain of the ship telling her first mate "youre gonna have to run things when im gone but its okay bc i believe in you and youre gonna do fine. I'll be back soon."

she KNOWS she's a scapegoat. she's been planning for her arrest and eventual escape the whole time on the backburner.

and then the disaster happens and she has to send her second in command, her friend, to his death or they all die.

and suddenly there is no more "we'll meet again someday" bc she's never gonna see him again. even if everything goes to plan and she escapes and the beetles arrive with a solution-- she loses grace forever.

A fic written 2 years ago is NOT OLD. Two years is nothing. Two years ago was yesterday.

I was trained in the dark arts of the cover letter by my mother, who is a hiring manager. And her training has paid off: I've been consistently told my cover letters are excellent. Let me pass on the wisdom.

The job of a cover letter is to give a prospective employer strictly more information than is on the resume. This is where you take the resume contents and put them into context. You look at the job requirements (you are looking at the job requirements before applying, right?) and look at your resume and ask the question (in your head) "why would a person think this candidate would be good for this job?" and your cover letter is the answer to that question. If you don't answer that question, the hiring manager is going to have to do it themselves, and you have way more information to work with than they do.

This is especially important if you're moving from one industry to another, because then the relevant connections aren't obvious. It's also very important if you're overqualified, because then you can use the letter to say "I know it looks like this job would be too entry-level for me, but I'm interested to pursue it for reasons x, y, and z". You can also use this space to explain away something that might otherwise be disqualifying, like job-hopping or a long break in employment. The tone to strike here is always matter-of-fact and constrained to topic - don't go into detail about health stuff or personal tragedy, just tell them what they need to hear: that this period of your resume was affected by [bad thing] but that it's now in the past and you're looking forward to the next chapter. Remember, one of the things they're trying to learn is whether you'd be content in this role, or whether you'd be miserable and leave after 2 months, which would force them to do all the work of hiring again. You're trying to establish that you will fit right in and not cause problems. Knowing what drew you to this job in particular (and don't just say 'money', that's true for everyone) helps with that.