#CAG jobs

[sarkari-resultss]

CAG Recruitment 2024 Apply 210 Accountant, Clerk, DEO Vacancies | cag.gov.in

🌟 Exciting Opportunity Alert! 🌟 The Indian Audit and Accounts Department (IA&AD) is on the lookout for dynamic individuals to join as Auditor, Accountant, Clerk, and Data Entry Operator Grade A under the Sports Quota in the Comptroller and Auditor General of India, New Delhi. Vacancies: Auditor / Accountant: 98 positions Clerk / DEO Grade ‘A’: 112 positions Sports Quota Breakdown: Football:…

[clowndensation]

why is it only 7pm. it should be 11.

[usafphantom2]

#TomcatTuesday

#TomcatTails

First Night Launch Off the Boat

It was 1993 and I’d just graduated from the VF-124 Gunfighters at NAS Miramar. VF-124 was the RAG or Readiness Air Group back then, more recently called the FRS or Fleet Replacement Squadron now and was the F-14 training squadron. It had been an eventful January as I’d been assigned to the VF-24 Renegades, part of Carrier Air Group (CAG) 9 onboard USS NIMITZ (CVN-68) but still had some RAG Tactics hops to finish. Flying with VF-124 during the day doing a few 2 versus or 4 versus unknown syllabus hops (some good stories there!) and doing Field Carrier Landing Practice (FCLP) hops at night with VF=24. We were heading out on cruise on the 1st February so we had to get worked up and ready.

After a quick Carrier Qualification in VF-24, we were off on my first Western Pacific (WESTPAC) cruise, destined for places like Hong Kong, Singapore, Dubai, and more. The picture in this post is me on this first cruise. I was never much of a shutterbug so photos of me on the job are rare! Note here I’m standing by the trusty AIM-54C Phoenix missile mounted on the belly of the Tomcat. At this stage in the F-14’s life, she was just getting into the air-to-mud mission so was very much still a primary air-to-air platform so we’d be doing most of the fighter stuff for this cruise. Standard combat load at that time was “2/2/2” which translated to 2 x AIM-9 Sidewinder 2 x AIM-7 Sparrow, and 2 x AIM-54 Phoenix (I think I got that order right….been a while!)

As we start our trek west, cruise begins. My first. I’d gotten carrier landings in the T-2 Buckeye and A-4 Skyhawk (both day only), had done CQ in VF-124 in the Tomcat (day and night), and had just recently re-qualified in VF-24 (day and night) so it’s not like I was TOTALLY unfamiliar with night landings. But mentally you have to factor in that this is the first REAL night flight from the boat on cruise. Up until that time, every CQ evolution was a training environment. All the movement, people, ships, deck crews, fuel, etc. were all focused on YOU to get you up to speed. Now was different. We were headed west. We’re not near a divert field. This was real. I liken it to the difference between banging golf balls with your driver at the range and teeing off on the #1 at Augusta during the Masters. Same movement, same club, same ball…..but VERY different.

Also, this was a bit ago and the focus on the Nuggets (new guys) was intense. They flew the sh*t out of you off the boat. Every day, every night. The worse the conditions, the more Nuggets they’d launch. Trial by fire, m’fer. Every flight was an opportunity to learn something, and since Nuggets didn’t know sh*t, launch ‘em!! It might still be like that......dunno.

My first scheduled cruise night flight is with the Maintenance Officer (an O4, Lieutenant Commander, senior RIO) “Butch”. I can’t recall the mission but likely just a night AIC (Air Intercept Control) flight against another fighter, with probably 12 or 14 other airplanes scheduled to launch. The brief went pretty well, but I’m just focused on getting back the ship without (a) shining my ass or (b) killing myself and Butch. True Fighter Guys will know that of those two, (a) is WAY worse than (b). “I’d rather die than look bad” was an oft repeated phrase. I did note during the brief that the metro guys (meteorological dudes or “weather guessers”) said that the weather would include “some clouds and rain”. Of note, the ship can actually avoid weather, we just didn’t that night. Thanks, ship.

So Butch and I suit up and head for the roof. Our ready room on NIMITZ was “Ready 8” all the way at the back of the ship so that’s where the jets were always parked (Tomcats on the back of the boat because there’s more room). He pops the hatch and HOLY SH*T that wind is blowing hard……and DAMN that’s a lot of rain…..blowing sideways. Gulp.

We crouch down against the wind and rain, climb up to the flight deck, spot our plane and start the preflight. Once done (and soaking wet) we both climb in and I notice that in addition to the high winds and driving sideways rain, we have a LOT of movement of the flight deck through the heavy seas. Great. Dark, rainy, windy, and pitching deck. Sidebar – during a carrier landing, if everything is perfectly steady and you’re perfectly on glide slop and on speed, your tailhook misses the back of the ship by 11 feet 7 inches. Well, tonight the deck is moving probably 10-15 deck up and down. You do the math.

So the canopy finally closes out the wind and rain and we get power on the jet. Butch is in full “encouragement mode” at this point because he knows I’m his ride home (back where the food is, as we say) and he’s GOT to keep me pumped up. “THIS IS F**KING AWESOME MAN!!!”, he shouts. I ask him if he really thinks we’re going and he’s like “Oh yean, man! This is gonna be GREAT!!”

I’m skeptical. There’s no WAY they’d launch us in these conditions.

THESE are the thoughts that we stupid Nuggets think. Silly Nugget.

Jet is started, final checks are done, and we signal to the yellow shirt (aircraft directors wear yellow shirts, more colors for different jobs….purple for fuel, brown for Plane Captain, white for medical/final checker, etc.). I’m still skeptical they’re going to send us. “Butch, you really think they’re gonna send us?”

“Oh yeah, man! We goin’ FLYIN! You can’t BUY training like this!”. That’s because know one is dumb enough to try and sell it, to be honest.

I look over and sure enough the director gives the signal to remove chocks and chains and signals for us to pull forward. Gulp again. While the rain is still hitting the cockpit from the side and the deck is doing its little dance, we make our way to Cat 3 (3 of 4 catapults on the boat). The director then passes me to the director on the CAT who stands in front of the jet, guiding me into the shuttle (hunk of steel connected to the catapult system below decks that will fling us off the boat, accelerating from 0 to 150 in 1.4 seconds).

He calls for wings out, flaps down and then we're turned over to the launch officer. He calls for full power, then full afterburner. I do my control wipe out, finally convinced that yes, we’re probably doing this. Everything looks good, so I turn on the external lights (off until that point) indicating I’m ready for launch and………BOOM, off we go into the blackness.

Throttle out of afterburner, gear up, flaps up and start the climb out going into the clouds at about 500 feet. Butch is doing his RIO thing and we keep climbing through the goo (clouds). We eventually break out of the clouds at around 26,000 feet and gosh it’s a beautiful night up here. Big, shiny moon, pretty stars. Down stairs? Not so much, but really nice way up here. Butch calls back to the ship and tells them that we broke out at 26K and the boat comes back with “Roger that, launch is canceled. Turn left 180 and we’ll start vectors for recovery”.

What? Launch canceled? Butch now teaches me about the idea of “the sacrificial Tomcat”. If the weather is not so good, shoot a Tomcat off the boat to go investigate the weather. It’s dual crewed and has LOTS of gas, so what could possibly go wrong, right? F**k.

So now we gotta get home back to the boat. That’s where the food is, and that’s where your stuff is, and there’s really no place else to go. We get vectors to final while dumping gas to get down to max trap weight. The maximum landing weight for the Tomcat was 54,000 pounds and a landing is called a “trap”, hence “max trap”. Empty weight is about 45,000 pounds and you carried 20,000 pounds of gas so we had to dump quite a bit.

Vectors complete, we wind up behind the boat at about 2 miles and are on glide slope coming down the chute. Another tidbit; everyone on the boat knows they launched the sacrificial Tomcat AND they know who’s in the jet….a Nugget. So all eyes are going to be on the ships TV that broadcasts every landing from a camera that’s recessed into the flight deck and looks right up the glide slope at the approaching aircraft. To say The Nugget Night Trap in Shitty Weather Show is popular is an understatement. It’s Must See TV.

Great.

Things actually went pretty well. I was always a good instrument flyer (looking only at the cockpit instruments), and for landing you lined up crosshairs on your screen so that they formed a perfect plus sign +. Drift left and the vertical needle moves to the right to tell you to come back right. Go low, and the horizontal needle goes up to tell you to add power to get back up on glide slope. Pretty straight forward, right?

By about a mile out, Butch is doing the soothing voice “loooookin good, bud……little high……there ya go…..loooooking gooood.” For me, that’s actually kind of helpful and it validates that I’m not completely out to lunch. The problem is that eventually you have to come off instruments and actually look at the ship to land. At about mile out and 500 feet, the ship is finally visible. At three-quarter mile, Butch calls the ball: “Two-oh-two, Tomcat ball, five-oh”, which translates to “I’m Jet # 202, we’re in a Tomcat and can see the visual landing aide/ball, and we have 5,000 pounds of gas). This is when I start my “transition scan” where you gently look up to make sure the boat is actually there, come back in one more time to verify the needles are centered and everything looks good, then come back out for the last time to start flying glide slope (“meatball”), centerline (“lineup”) speed (“angle of attack”) all the way to touch down.

This is NOT a picture I’d seen much and I had DEFINITELY never landed on a pitching deck.

“Gee, what do you know, you can actually SEE the deck moving waaaay down and then waaaay back up and HOLY SH*T WHY AM I LOOKING AT THE DECK GET BACK TO MEATBALL, LINEUP, ANGLE OF ATTACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”.

If you look at the deck while landing (“deck spotters”), there’s a better than average chance you’ll hit the back of the ship because it’s moving away from you at 20mph. That's not good.

Some lineup corrections, a couple “little power” calls from the LSO (Landing Signal Officer) and a couple more “looooking goods” from Butch and we cross the ramp (didn’t hit it, thank you), land in the wires and trap, going to full power in the wires in case we’d missed them all (“boltered”). Whew!!! Wings back, flaps up, and follow the director to parking. We shut down and Butch is again back to “That was AWESOME, MAN!!” He was likely just happy to be alive. And so was I after my first night launch on cruise.

And for the Naval Aviators out there, Paddles gave me a Fair Deuce.

DISCLAIMER - any inaccuracies in technical details are due soley to poor memory and being old.

@RSE_VB via X

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Yo too, saw your requests open, and I really want to request this since no one have written for clotted cream cookie!

Might I ask for La signora!reader x (preferably yandere) clotted cream?

Here a little idea if you still confuse!

-reader cookie works for DE, and been handed the task of ruining the cream republic. Being the fairest lady, she was able to charm everyone on an opera which clotted cream was at watching their act, and falling in-love.-

The Lady Of The Opera

There were many things running through Clotted Cream Cookie's mind when he entered the opera. He was glad to have some peace and alone time to himself, for one. Running the Republic was a tiring job, even if he didn't show it. He was glad to find some entertainment as well, with Cookies who wouldn't speak of the fact that the Consul was present.

But the most prevalent thought was upon seeing the Cookie upon the stage, singing her song, was that she was beautiful. She captivated his mind and soul the instant he saw her walk out on stage, and her beautiful yet powerful voice didn't help how he felt at all.

As he watched her walk around the stage, methodically and serenely, her song was clearly one of sorrow yet hope. She sung of how times had been dark so long ago, but a new age was upon all Cookies. One where they'd be free of strife and anguish, free to fly like the birds in the sky.

Clotted Cream Cookie, as he listened to you sing, was captivated more and more. It was as if he was in a trance, and he wanted nothing more than to be down on that stage with you, taking you into his arms and dancing with you.

He didn't care if he looked like a fool. He wanted to make your future come true. By his side, ruling over the Republic with him.

You didn't think it'd be.. this easy, in all honesty. You thought you'd have to work to earn the trust of the Cookies of the Republic, but so easily they came flocking to you. Your first performance, and it was filled. Listening to your enchanting voice, as you sang of the better future Dark Enchantress Cookie could provide.

They all seemed captivated, but it was no doubt thanks to your little crystal butterflies, enchanting them to stay.

As you walked back behind the stage, letting the next Cookie take their place for their performance, a knock sounded on your door.

You turned your head, surprised. "Hm? Come in."

You weren't too worried. You could take on nearly anyone.

In walked a Cookie who would very important, especially by the guard by his side, eyeing you warily.

He smiled as you approached and dipped into a bow. "Greetings, I am Clotted Cream Cookie, the Consul of the Crème Republic."

Your eyes widen before you smile, hiding your smirk. "Oh, Consul, it's so nice to meet you. I'm sure you already know my name.."

"And a beautiful name it is." Clotted Cream Cookie smiled. "I hope you have some time to talk. Your performance was just so.. enchanting."

You gleefully nod. How easy this would be.

You had him trapped cagged like a bird! Completely unaware, however, of how soon that could be flipped on you..

[areyougonnabe]

could you explain marie nelson to me... i know that he's tragic and also a misogynist and that's kind of all

well you've got the basics but let's get into the details [cracks knuckles]

edward william nelson was the shore party's biologist, counterpart of lillie who stayed on the ship. like lillie he had been educated at cambridge, however unlike lillie who barely scraped a degree in the end, nelson dropped out lol. he went to work at the plymouth marine biological association, which is where he was when he was hired by wilson (presumably via cambridge connections) for the expedition.

he wasn't as rich as cherry or oates but he came from a landed gentry background, his maternal grandfather was a major landowner in the shetlands in scotland and was, if you believe this random page on the internet, descended directly from King James V of scotland... and his dad was a big deal microscope guy.

anyway by the time nelson was on the expedition his initial nickname was "The Immaculate One" because he was (at first) always wearing a clean collar, and then at some point he became almost universally known as "Marie," short for "Marie Ducas" or "du Car" which nobody ever bothers to explain.

sometimes he was also known as "Antonio" or "Brontë" (that last being a reference to Lord Nelson) and griff often called him "Marie du Car Bronte Antonio Nelson" or another combination of multiple names.

silas wrote in his diary that he "had a taste for gin and bridge" and lots of people remarked on how he wouldn't get out of bed in a timely fashion and was always late to breakfast.

he was kind of seen as dissolute in general or a bit of a slacker. kathleen scott remarked at one point that he "spends all his time on shore being a man about town, which makes him look exceedingly tired" but really i think that was just how his face naturally looked.....

his job at Cape Evans was overseeing his Biological Hole (that's what he's doing in the pic up top) and identifying new antarctic species, taking temperatures, and measuring currents. he had a telephone wire run out to the little igloo he built on the sea ice, and often had company in the form of griff or cherry or whoever wanted to help him keep the ice open and unfrozen at the hole.

he did plenty of science, but that kind of fades into the background in the diaries because most people if they're talking about him at all are mainly giving a running commentary on how much he liked to argue.

his main axe to grind was women's rights... griff seemed to take great joy in calling him a "miserable, cynical reactionary" and goading him into arguments which sometimes descended into pitched physical battle.

from griff's diary, may 30 1911:

Marie Deb & I had a frightful cag in our boudoir about Women’s Suffrage. He is engaged & declares if his wife wanted to exercise her vote (even if she gets one) he will lock her up!

november 3 1911:

We have great cags at meals now. Simpson Deb & I are progressives & Liberals. Nelson is a thorough Reactionary Conservative especially re women & vote & education. However as he said he wished he were a woman (with £500 a year income) we guessed he was abnormal!

nelson probably did the least sledging out of anyone during the first year, not going on a single long-haul trip (even simpson went out on a short spring journey). he mostly just hung out at his igloo i guess? and got really into calculating navigation for fun. also apparently he was the best at chess in the whole hut.

he stayed on for the second year, and did go out sledging on the Search Journey:

there is some great stuff about his midnight poetry and weird moon obsession during the second winter in @worstjourney's very good post here.

i'll also add that it was pretty harsh on everyone else to have Maximum Marie Exposure with no tempering force of griff to allay it.

nelson did contribute heavily to the much-reduced and mildly pathetic Volume IV of the South Polar Times, which featured griff's offcuts from the prior year, deb's illustrations, and poems from nelson including a parody of walt whitman about billiards:

This is the song of billiards:- The tight stretched cloth of green, the serried arches, The cue - faking the cue, the protests from the players, The pyramid, the British Pluck, the Chinese fluke, The click of striking balls, the rattle in the ditch, the grin of joy.

most of the expedition scientists went home on steamers from NZ, but both nelson and lillie stayed on the terra nova as she took the long way round cape horn, in order to do more trawls and marine science.

nelson also took a job as second mate—it was definitely unusual for a scientists with zero navy/sailing experience (except the voyage down) to suddenly become an officer of the watch, but pennell trusted him, and seemingly that trust was not misplaced, as pennell wrote in his diary about how well he took to the job, and to atkinson about how he was by "far & away the most brainy person in the ship."

he got married to the woman he had been engaged to, violet thomas, after returning from the expedition. their only child, a daughter, was born in 1915, but by then he was serving in the royal naval division at gallipoli and then france. his war story is straight up wild and i recommend reading from ice floes to battlefields by anne strathie if you want aaalll the deets. but basically he saw a lot of action, served alongside rupert brooke (among other notables) and came out the other side relatively unharmed... physically.........

after the war he went back to the plymouth marine lab, and was supposed to be working on expedition results, but didn't do much of that.

in 1921 he left his family in plymouth to take a job in scotland working in a lab for the fishing industry, and in 1923 his wife successfully sued for "restitution of conjugal rights" which basically means the court ordered him to return to her....

but that did not end the way she wanted 🙃

shit was sad... he was found with poison injected directly into his leg.

i think there must have been a specific legal reason why the death was declared an accident—maybe something to do with receipt of military pension for the widow? but it obviously was very much on purpose. for whatever reason the thought of having to live with his wife again was so intolerable to him that death was preferable.

so thus ends the Ballad Of Marie Nelson.... here is what deb had to say about him and lillie in 1927, writing to JJ Kinsey:

You heard of Marie Nelson's tragic end no doubt, but I'm inclined to think it was as well. Poor old Lillie is in less happy circumstances, the last I heard of him was that he was never likely to get out of Bedlam, a rather ghastly end up to poor old "Ooze's" brilliant promise.

but much like lillie, nelson's end can't be blamed on his experience in the antarctic as it seems he was relatively content there. occam's razor dictates that A) he clearly had Problems before and B) wartime trauma made those problems worse.

the tragic sequel to this tragic story is the fact that his daughter, barbara, was 93 when she went on a cruise to antarctica to visit Cape Evans and see her father's laboratory... but she died of a fall while on the ship during a storm before they had even gotten there :(

[xshimaeraxx]

casino cups au: pre-game, back when Cups n Mugs were still just a pair of normal kids, they had a lil sister. however, she died not long, maybe a few months over half a year after the game happened (but before Elder died in any case) — so, being the totally mentally stable teenagers they weren’t, Cuphead & Mugman seaked out an old “family friend” (cough cough Chalice, it’s Chalice, Chalice is the old family friend) and made a deal: one half of their soul each, to keep their sister’s soul alive, even if not exactly the same as it/she was before.

but of course, by then, their sister’s body has already been buried, and they’re about to give the whole thing up as a lost cause when they hear about how one of Cagney’s daislings has died recently — and, well, it’s not like Cagney would really ever need or want the body once it’s been buried, right? Right?

(Cags catches them digging up the daisling’s body two nights later, and, surprisingly, doesn’t immediately resort to trying to kill them. Instead, he asks: “What the Hell’re you two doin’?” and they can’t help but explain, about their sister’s death, the deal with Chalice, the need for a new body to house their sister’s soul — and Cagney… he proposes a deal. Cuphead & Mugman get to use his daisling’s body to house their lil sibling’s soul, but in return, he’ll be allowed to take care of the lil thing something like 50-60% of the time.

They both agree; it’s no bigger a price to pay then the one they’re already paying to have their only blood family be returned to them, after all, and when thought of like that, it’s really not hard to agree to Cags’s demands at all.

Cagney helps them dig up the rest of the daisling’s body.)

and so, Chalice revives their lil sister’s soul & shoves it into the daisling’s body; but then Elder dies not even two weeks later, before Daisy (not their sister’s name, but this — it wasn’t their sister, not truly, not really. a version of her, perhaps. but it wasn’t her, it was just — a mix of her-theirs’ souls all shoved into one little living-daisy’s body) has even woken up (because apparently having the halves of two different souls + a single shard of ANOTHER soul all shoved into one body really takes something outta a flower), and then Cagney just up and fucking disappears, taking their sibling, their family with him, and then —

they move to the city, purely to search for Cagney, but it turns out city life is expensive and all their other jobs keep on falling through bc they keep on ditching their shifts to search for Cagney or Daisy or anything that’d even vaguely point them towards where their last living blood relative other then each other is at, and then a good six months into Cuphead & Mugman livin’ in the city Daisy falls through Mugman’s fucking bedroom window, and it’s obvious they’ve been hurt and it’s ALSO equally obvious that they don’t entirely remember the both of them, but they already anticipated that, hell, had expected that to be the case back before it’d all gone to absolute fucking shit and, and, and —

they tone down their searches for Cagney, because apparently it’s not his fault their lil sibling got taken from them both and they DO still kinda owe him for letting them use his daisling’s body — fuck, had it really been an entire year ago, now? — but don’t stop them entirely. start looking for a stable, at least semi-over the counter/legal job because they don’t want Daisy to be taken from them both now that they finally, finally have them back, and then Cuphead hears talk that the Devil’s Casino is looking for a pair of at least semi-experienced waiters to hire because their old ones had quit within a month of the damned job, and, well.

“We’ve already worked for ‘em once,” Cuphead says to Mugman when they initially protest at the idea of working there, at the place where they died a good hundred or so times, take or give ten or so deaths. “Why not do it again? Not like it can get any worse’n the first time we worked for ‘em, at least.” It takes a few weeks and a damn lot more debates and a shitload’s worth of hesitancy from Mugman, but eventually, they agree with the idea enough that they call the Casino, ask if the waitering positions’re still opens.

Bettigan (because Mugman, after the fights, had obsessively tracked down each and every one of the people they’d fought’s names because of fuckin’ course they had) apparently doesn’t recognise their voice over the phone which is — fair, actually. They’d still been having voice cracks pretty regularly the last time they’d met in person, so Mugman isn’t surprised he doesn’t recognise their voice. Didn’t help that neither of ‘em had exactly done much talking while getting their asses both beat and beating ass.

The positions are, as it turns out, still open — and we all know how the story goes, by then. Cuphead & Mugman’re hired by the Devil and King Dice, the Cupsiblings slowly adjust to working at a place where they’d both died and fought for their literal souls at before, and life continues on in semi-normalcy. Cups & Mugs still search for Cagney; turn up a few clues about a “flower gang.”

And then Dice meets Daisy one day, after a night where the daisling’d had a particularly bad nightmare and the dish siblings, too wrapped around the kid’s pinkie finger not to say yes when they nonverbally asked to go to work with ‘em, have to take them to work, and then Dice, Dice with his eyes, his Eyes, his soul-seeing Eyes —

then Dice asks, “Why the fuck does y’all’s kid’s soul have pieces of your souls mixed in with their’s?” and pretty much everything goes to complete and utter shit, after that.

[authortobenamedlater]

😎🦋🎨🎁

From these fanfic asks.

😎 What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

Depends on the canon 😂 and how we define “wildly original.” I tend to get off the wildly original train when we get to coffee shop/college or university/modern AUs because the characters are usually not even themselves anymore by then.

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

I’ve been in this game way too long to have only one LOL.

The TV versions of Chief and Cortana are the BEST to write. I love their game selves too, but I met them through the show so that iteration of them will always be special for me.

Though I haven’t for ages, I loved writing AOS Captain Pike and my versions of Robert and Sarah April. I can never get past the starting friction to get this one rolling again.

Rex and Cody. I lost so many WIPs with them in my computer crash.

Last but most definitely not least, since they currently have my muse in a chokehold. Tom and Chyler. For some reason I find both of their voices very natural.

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I will keyboard smash and cry for joy if anyone ever does fanart for ANY of my stuff.

Top of my list would be something for MWAS. I would love to have a visual of Tom and Chyler together as adults. If I had the requisite photo manipulating abilities and software I’d do it myself. There’s one scene I have in mind but I haven’t written it yet.

For Such a Time As This would be a runner-up because I’d like to see the characters from B5 and Halo interacting.

I’ll throw The Toddler Invasion in there, too, just because it’s one of my best fics.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

The last two fics I posted have taken up most of my time for the past several weeks but *goes on archaeological dig through WIP folder*

Ah! Here’s a good one! This is from the story of how Tom and Chyler nearly split. Working title is Neither Can The Floods Drown It. Excerpt is a little long so it’s going under a cut.

—

“I heard there was an incident with Lieutenant Lasky earlier,” Murray started.

“That’s correct, sir,” the squad leader said. “I had words with him.”

Murray nodded. “Has he ever given you problems before?” The CAG didn’t know Lasky well, but the name was one that always seemed to float to the top of the pile in a good, or at least neutral, way.

Larsen seemed to think. “He…well, let’s just say self-expression’s not one of his struggles, sir.”

Murray chuckled. 

“He also likes to play a little closer to the edge than he should, if you know what I mean,” Larsen continued.

“I do.”

“But no. Lasky’s never been a problem.” The troubled look hadn’t left Larsen’s face. “He a good guy. A good officer, a damn good pilot.” He glanced up at Murray. “Keep an eye out, sir, he might have your job in twenty years.”

Murray grunted. “I’ll put him at the top of my prayer list.” He eyed Larsen. “What aren’t you telling me, Larsen?”

Larsen bit his lip. “Lasky’s wife filed for divorce, sir.”

Murray closed his eyes. “Sonofabitch,” he breathed. Divorce wasn’t uncommon in the service, but that didn’t make it any less painful. Many of the younger generation had chosen to simply forget the idea of marriage altogether.

Lasky had bucked that trend, and now he was paying for it.

[mssleepy876b]

TGM Fic Possible Chapter 2

summary: An reunion with between Bradley and a childhood peer makes waves during the prep for the Uranium Mission.

requested? No, just a possible start to a story.

word count: 1578

warnings: No

a/n: Please give feedback as might be the start of a new story. @seresinhangmanjake @tongue-like-a-razor @bratshaws @bradshawsbaby @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @townmoondaltwistle

Chapter 2

Ellie smiled as her memories of growing up with Maverick filled her mind.  A buzz of her cell phone caught her attention from the crowd as the Hard Deck filled up for the night.  A text message awaited her from her dad.  “Warlock shared the results.  Good job, Mini-Me.  Mom and I are proud.” Her ears filled with music as the piano began to ring out filling the air.  A familiar head of hair sat at the piano bench; Ellie’s heart jumped into her chest.  “Oh, God, No.  Please let him be here for something else.  Please.” She thought as she moved to face the piano player with tears at the edges of her eyes.

                His voice and a familiar tune filled the room.  His focus on the keys and his song made her smile with memories of how important that song was to her Uncle Maverick and his dad Goose.  His callsign and cheers filled the air around them when their eyes met.  She gave a small smile as he moved through the crowd to greet her.  “Ellie?” he said quietly.  Her nod was enough to encourage him to pull her close into a hug as a laugh caused his chest to vibrate against hers.  Her nose was filled with his familiar cologne and the scents of the skies.  He looked her over as he stepped back.  “God, Ellie, you look good.  Different but good.  How are you doing?  Last I heard you were in DC with Slider.”  She chuckled slightly as he led her to a nearby pool table with other navy members surrounding it.

                She stepped to the other side of a small table as she began to answer him.  “I was in DC until about a month ago.  Mom asked and Uncle Slider helped me transfer near home.  Been here at North Island for a month now.  Working directly with Admiral Bates. “

                “Explains the promotion, Lt. Commander.  Congratulations, Ellie.  You deserve it.  But not in the skies?”

                “Rotator cup surgery about a year ago.  Completed the paper assessments and re-quals were today.  Cleared to return as soon as Warlock decides.”

                “Tommy?  Sasha and Chris?  How are they doing?”

                “Tommy’s a CAG now on a carrier.  In the Med somewhere.  Loves every minute of it.  Sasha and Chris are good.  The kids are growing so quick these days.  3rd and 4th graders now.  Sasha’s running the New York to Atlanta trek lately.  Got a lot of challenges and respect built up for herself.”

                “What about your mom and dad?  I know you said Aunt Sarah asked you to come closer to home but any news?  Your dad is brief in his emails.”

                “Mom’s good.  Dad works at home a lot these days.  Keeps her busy as well as keeping up with us.  Dad’s health hasn’t been great, Brad.  Last thing they told me it was in remission, but I am concerned.  He barely talks on the phone anymore.  It is always by text or email.  I know it took a lot out of him, but I am scared there is more they are hiding from me.”

                He pulled her into another quick hug, “Ellie, I am sorry.  I need to go out there if I have time.  I need to see them and catch up in person.  Still in the big house?”

                “Of course, Mom will never let that place go.  She loves it.”  Ellie said with a smile returning to her face.

                A male voice interrupted before Brad could speak again.  “Bradshaw, who’s the lovely lady?” one of the officers in uniform said as he approached them.

                “Hangman, bug off.” Brad said moving to stand toe to toe with the new man.

                “Rooster, be honest.  You know she is out of your league.” Hangman responded.

                Ellie reached out to Brad touching his arm before he responded as she moved to stand.  Her eyes met with a female officer who flashed a look of recognition on her face as Ellie moved to stand at her full height in front of Brad.  Another officer, Fritz, recognized Ellie as well.  “So, you must think you are Lieutenant Serein?” she asked with chill entering her voice looking him over.

                “Of course.  Only the best of the best for you, Darling.” He said with a smirk.

                Ellie took off her baseball cap, shaking out her blonde hair, and moved to stand toe to toe with Hangman.  “If I wanted to be with the best of the best, Lieutenant.  I would go to visit my father the Admiral, or to the Med to visit my brother, the CAG on his carrier, or just hang out alone as I am one of the Best of the Best.  Top Gun Class of 2012.  Don’t think that just because I am in civilian attire that I can’t handle a cocky lieutenant.  Thanks to my father, brothers, and my Uncles of the Top Gun class of 1986, I will always be better in the skies than you.”  She took a deep breath and turned to face Brad.  “Brad, I will see you later.  Phoenix, nice to see you again.  Fritz, don’t think I forgot about that drink you owe me for saving your skin with the CAG that last flight.” Ellie tapped Fritz on the shoulder as she walked past him.

                She was almost to the door when she hear Phoenix’s voice echo out.  “God, you are so stupid, Bagman.  How successful of a career do you think you will have by pissing off Iceman’s baby girl?  First day back at North Island and you start it by pissing off Ice Queen.  While Ice Queen will handle you in the air, her father as an Admiral has a lot more reach, Bagman.”  Everyone, other than Brad and Fritz, looked at Phoenix in surprise making Ellie smile again as she exited the door and headed off to her car for the night. 

                The next morning, she met Admiral Bates in her office.  She was shocked as she entered and spoke to him right away, “Admiral Bates, sir.  Did I miss a meeting?  Did you need something?”

                “Calm down, Lt. Commander.  I was checking that you were in uniform.  Do you have your flight suit with you?”

                “Yes, sir.  Here in my duffle.”

                “Good.  You might need it later.  Be down at the training hangar by 9.  See you then, Lt. Commander.” He said moving out the door.

                Her uniform and hair was pristine as she greeted Admiral Simpson as he entered the hangar where she was standing.  “Lieutenant Commander, I heard about your re-quals.  Good to have you back in the skies.” He told her.  “Bet your father was proud.”

                “Thank you, sir.  It feels good to be back in the air.  Yes, sir.  He texted to congratulate me last night.” She said quickly.  She then watched as Cyclone motioned for Warlock to start the meeting.  She stood at Cyclone’s side as Warlock addressed the group.  She recognized Hangman, Fritz, and Phoenix along with Brad.  She felt her heart drop as she saw the recent Top Gun graduates from each squadron including Fritz from her old squadron.  She immediately knew the mission they faced.  She paled as she saw Maverick walk from the back of the hangar to face the group.  Her family was right in the middle of this mission and her heart sank.

                Ellie analyzed the information and helped Maverick break down the flights with the group as the 2nd day progressed.  She could see each mistake as the teams made them.  She could tell that the pilots seemed too cocky to understand or listen to what Maverick was telling them.  She shook her head as each team failed.  It was at the end of training day 2 as tensions flared.  Hangman and Brad began to bristle against each other, and Hangman brought up Goose.  Ellie’s face paled.  As the group settled keeping Rooster and Hangman apart, her heart felt full of ice against Hangman.  After Maverick dismissed them, Rooster left quickly but Ellie went nose to nose with Jake.

                “You really enjoy being an ass, don’t you, Serein?” she snapped out.

                “What does it matter to you, Elsa?” he said smirking.

                “Do you realize that you not only purposely hurt Rooster but Maverick too?  One of the hardest things Bradley had to watch was his mom raise him alone because she never could replace Goose.  Plus, my Dad and his class had to step in to be father figures in Brad’s life.  Maverick has never lost the guilt over Goose’s death.  He told me so many times how as the pilot you are so responsible for the lives of your WSO or your wingmen.  He warned me how hard it was to have to face the consequences of mistakes in the air even if they are not your fault.  You always feel responsible for those on your team.  Your cocky attitude will get someone on your team killed, Serein, which is why no one can trust you in the air.”  Ellie took a breath as she felt both Phoenix and Fritz at her back.  She stared down Jake with the cold look inherited from her father and the ice in her voice.  “If you ever bring up my Uncle Goose like that again, it will be more than Rooster that they will have to keep off your back.  I’ll personally kick your ass, Serein.  And that is a promise. “she said as she stormed out of the room to find Bradley.

[griim]

Some random headcanons!

Gemma's favorite fruit is mangos. She first had them after she went on deployment and when she realized that you could make them into ice cream she now makes ice cream with it often.

Gemma never has celebrated Christmas but is fascinated with it, she loves the lights. And how you can use it to escape the world for a short time, how families (besides her own) become one and they are happy.

She loves crime shows, all types. Sometimes Gemma would stay up all night, to binge them.

Gemma wants to be the daughter her father wanted.. But she can not come to terms with the fact that she wont.

When referring to her military time, Gemma will use CAG (Combat Applications Group) as what her job was/is. Because DELTA force is not really talked about.

[rudegirl402]

Never a dull moment (pt 1.)

Happy Friday, my fellow degenerates! It's the weekend, time to ~~party hard~~ get blasted and not have to worry about losing your job.

This was supposed to be a 'mini' - mini for me anyway - post that I intended to put up *well* over a week ago, but with CAG coming around so frequently and spending all day here, me getting wasted almost immediately after she leaves, and something or other taking up my time, it was pushed further and further back with ever more shit heaped onto the flaming dumpster fire that is my life. Gather round, as I serve you up yet another rambling tale of misadventure and woe.

Picking up where I left off on my last post, I passed out relatively early on the Friday night, waking up with just enough time to make it down to the liquor store before closing. Some missed calls and messages from CAG on my phone. Didn't bother replying as I knew she'd already be asleep by then. I figured I'd just slam a few more drinks and hoped I passed out relatively soon. Got maybe a quarter of the way through the wine - with a little help from some mouthwash shooters - before I felt sleep finally beckon, and I shuffled off to the bedroom to hopefully get some shuteye.

Ended up waking up, though, what felt like only an hour or two later. Decided to finish off my last post and get it up before I (maybe) passed out again. But merciful oblivion never came. I hit my second wind. I think my tolerance level has reached the point where my normal, maintenance-level, drinking just isn't having the same soporific effect anymore, but paradoxically energizes me instead. My body is exhausted from a streak of sleepless nights, but Mistress Alcohol wants me to stay up and drink with her.

0700 rolls around and I'm still awake. CAG messages not long after. She's an early riser, and I normally don't see her morning messages until hours after she sends them, when I wake up. Perhaps I wasn't clear enough the day before; maybe I didn't want to come off as rude or mean, but I dropped some not-so-subtle hints I needed alone time, and I didn't want this - whatever *this* is - to be an everyday thing. I knew lack of sleep would eventually catch up with me and I was going to crash hard. Last thing I wanted was groggily waking up to her hammering at the door, or demolishing the anti-Jonesy barricade to climb through the window. I tell her straight up she can't come around that day, that I haven't gone to sleep yet, I'm fading, and I'm still drunk and don't want to trigger her with my drunkenness. Incoming call: CAG. I'm really not in the mood. She asks if she *really* can't come over, I confirm, yes, she *really* can't.

0-narcissistic temper tantrum in 60 microseconds. She moans we were supposed to be making vegan shepherd's pie together that day. I tell her we can do it the next day, that I'm really not in a fit state to entertain her. She immediately demands I gather up all the ingredients for the pie and leave them on the porch, so she can come and collect them and she'll do it herself at her halfway house. Gimme a break. She can't afford a Lyft here and back and she isn't coming *just* to get that stuff. "No, I can't do that," I not entirely fake-yawn, "I'm fading fast. Please just come around tomorrow instead." Her voice takes on a sinister tone. "Ya know, most of the pots and pans in there I bought. When I come around again I'm going to collect the things that are mine and I'm putting them into storage." Classic narcissistic carrot and stick: *do what I say or suffer the consequences*. I'm not having it though. "Ok," yawn again, "feel free to grab whatever you want *tomorrow*." She abruptly hangs up on me after demanding I call her a Lyft to get to her AA meeting.

Sleep continues to elude me and I'm left with an ongoing feeling of brain-fog. As the sun rises on a new day, I'm left with a few drinks' worth of mouthwash. I slam them in the hopes it does something, *anything*, to get me into bed and passed out. I'm just at the stage where I think I might be able to sleep, if even only for a little while when CAG chimes in again. She's back from AA and meekly apologizes for the way she spoke to me earlier, that she could have come around and wouldn't be triggered by me being drunk, but she's triggered because of what I told her the doctor said about my elevated white blood cell and liver enzyme count and still drinking. I try to reassure her that having elevated liver enzymes/white blood cells is standard for CAs but she's not having it, says she's upset her dad and I are drinking ourselves to death. I don't take the bait and tell her I'm feeling much better than I did when I went for that doctor's appointment. I can't help thinking how it's less about me (and her dad), and more about how it affects *her*. Never mind, not getting sucked into the same old games.

Still no word from Gun Girl. Last message sent from me Thursday evening/Friday morn, unread.

CAG messages again, when I thought she'd be doing...whatever...for a few hours and leaving me alone to get merry. Says she left a bag in the Lyft to her AA meeting and she desperately needs it back. Groan. Even sober she's so fucking scatterbrained. She can't call the driver or use the Lyft app because her broken phone is still only a Wi-Fi platform, so it's up to me to do the leg work for her, so to speak. I manage to contact the driver, who seemingly doesn't speak a word of English, and ask if he can drop off the bag CAG left in his car. He says he has it - via Google translate - and asks for an address. I tell CAG there's a $15 lost item fee and she points out she can't afford it. For a moment I consider paying it for her - the 'right' thing to do, no? - but I hold off while I ask her what's in the bag. Turns out it's just a couple of make up items, cheap and disposable. Awesome, just tossed away 2 hours communicating with Lyft and a driver who doesn't speak English, only to find it's not even worth $15 to get it returned. Well played, CAG. Another brilliant fucking waste of my time.

I contemplate heading to the store for more booze then. It's a Saturday, so busses are hourly. I can't be assed going to the local Walmart for 2 or 3 items and literally doing laps around the store, buying nothing else, until the return bus comes, so settle on trudging to the local gas station/liquor store for their more expensive - albeit conveniently available - wines. Not going just yet though, as it's still over 100°F and even just sitting on the shaded porch, wearing only shorts, for a cigarette, I'm dripping with sweat.

Gimpy leg has returned with furious vengeance. The last couple of weeks before CAG happened on back, I was feeling fine, good even. The pain, the limp, it had completely dissipated; I could walk normally again. But now I was back to shrieking electrical pain and shuffling with a pronounced limp. Under perfect conditions it should only take me literally 12 minutes to walk there and back, but with gimpy leg it's 20-25 minutes, and I don't fancy that trek under the burning Arizona sun, so nurse my mouthwash until it gets cooler. I wind up picking up two bottles of wine. I'm getting through one and a half to two bottles a night now. Seems like not long ago just one bottle would last me a night.

I woke up a little later than I intended on the Sunday, probably making up for the lack of sleep from the day before. As usual, bevy of messages from CAG. Still nothing from GG. Raging hangover. Good sign, I guess, in that I don't feel still drunk. CAG wants to come around again. I had assumed the ballache of getting two buses here on a weekend schedule would dissuade her from coming, but the inconvenience didn't seem to bother her. A new sensation flared up then: annoyance. I wanted to chill, I wanted to get drunk, I wanted to sponge out in front of the laptop, I wanted to get this posted, but instead I have to sit and watch tv with her for x hours of the day while WDs crept in and she rabbited on about people I didn't know and didn't care to know about. I considered telling her not to bother, that today wasn't a good day for me either, but I knew she'd have another meltdown. I wasn't in the mood for, nor was it any longer my responsibility to deal with, one of her temper tantrums so all I could do was grit my teeth and text "cool, see you in a bit."

She didn't stay very long. There seemed to be a mood in the air; she was acting different. Quiet, pensive, contemplative maybe. She suggested we watch the *Obi-Wan Kenobi* show, I suspect more to try and please me - or at least wanting to have the appearance of that - than any real desire on her part. I'd already seen it like thrice over, but I'm a Star Wars nut, so I didn't mind. Of the prequel trilogy she's only seen *The Phantom Menace* and while OWK does a fairly good job of summarizing *Attack of The Clones* and *Revenge of The Sith*, I have to pause quite frequently in the early episodes to explain some things she doesn't get. "Ugh, what's this 'Episode II', 'Episode III' stuff!? *Star Wars* was episode I, *The Empire Strikes Back* was episode II, *Return of The Jedi* was episode III, and then these stupid prequels came out and they changed the numbers for no reason! They're prequels, they shouldn't be I, II, III!" This isn't the first time we've had this discussion and I can only laugh, "CAG, the original trilogy - which you saw in the cinema when they originally came out - was already subtitled IV, V, VI *before I was even born*". Sober or drunk, she picks some weird fucking hills to die on.

We go out for a cigarette during a lull between episodes and I decide to set her straight. I tell her, as sensitively as I can, I need more time off from her, that I need to step up my job-search game because I can't afford rent & bills for the coming month. Because of CA time displacement I felt like it was still the first week of July, but it's not; I'd drunkenly pissed away almost two weeks fretting over her and GG. She doesn't get angry or upset, as I imagined she would, but nods in agreement, saying she'll just come around on Tuesday or Wednesday instead. She leaves after what feels like 2 or 3 hours, when she normally stays for 6 or 8. At least I can drink earlier.

She texts later in the night to say she got home safe, and she had fun at mine. Despite myself, I can't help but ask if she's ok, because she normally doesn't leave that early. She replied she was just tired and everything's fine, but "it's good to know you're not sick of me." Hmmm.

Monday. I really had intended to light a fire under my ass in terms of getting a job. There was only two weeks left until the next month and I thought maybe, maybe, *maybe* if the universe aligned just right and I got a decent-paying job sharpish, my first paycheck would hit before rent was due. But I put off contacting the agency who got me lined up with my last job. I've been lowkey worried that with the easing of Covid lockdowns - when they got me the job last year all communication was through webcam or phone - they would ask me to actually go into their office for a face to face chat or interview. Never mind the ballache of having to get multiple busses to their office, or the anxiety of interacting with people when I've got WDs, when I worked with them last time I had to do all these performance tests with various Microsoft Office programs, to ensure I was the "right fit for the job." Data entry proficiency I had absolutely no trouble with, as I've got a type speed and accuracy above that required for secretarial jobs, but I'm sure plenty here can relate with the fact that in all my office jobs over the years I've never had to use more than the most basic functions of Word or Excel. When I did their little tests at home last year, I just opened a new window and Googled "how to do x, y, z on Word/Excel" and passed with flying colors. I mean, if it's vital to whatever job I could get I'm sure they'd give me training on it anyway, so I didn't see the point of their daft tests, but I was worried if the agency wanted me to come in and do those tests again in-person, which I'd naturally fail.

I was stuck in something of a can't/must quandary then. I knew I needed to call the agency, with the slim hope they retained my personal details and I wouldn't have to do their stupid tests again, but I fucking hate phone calls and knew it would give me anxiety, which meant I'd have to drink just to talk on the phone. So I did what I always do and dithered instead. CAG popped up then, last fuckin' thing I need. "Hey, I think I might go to the Walmart near you. We could meet up if you want?" No, no I don't want. I thought I made it perfectly clear I need Monday 'off' from her. I gently deflect her by saying I don't plan on leaving the house because of the heat and because I need to contact the agency. "I could come around after I'm done at Walmart? I won't stay long." No! She knows from our time together I hate making phone calls and asks if I need a drink to steady my nerves. I'm wary of discussing boozing with her because I don't want to trigger her and go right back to dealing with an alcoholic psychopath, so I answer honestly: "I don't know." I'd been trying to put off drinking until later into the day, and with her coming around that meant I wasn't drinking until 6, 7, 8 at night for the most part, but here I was, early afternoon, eyeing the bottle and knowing I needed it just to make a fucking phone call. Fuck it. I caved a few hours before the agency closed. *Just a few for Dutch courage* became *this is fun* and I watched the clock steadily wind down to closing time as I slammed more drinks.

Sunset. CAG says she's going to bed early because she's tired. Cool. I'm out of sauce and throw my kicks on for a booze run. I see my big toe poking out of a hole in my shoe, I can't help but laugh. Despite CAG having done the laundry for me, I'm still not wearing socks. I guess maybe because I don't know when I'll be able to do, or afford, laundry again and I don't want to 'waste' them on something as trivial as trips to the liquor store. I make it halfway there before I absentmindedly pat my ass and realize I've left my wallet at home. FFS. I try not to sit on it when I can help it, on the off-chance it has something to do with my gimpy leg, so take it out whenever I can, but there have been a few occasions where I've been tipsy or blasted and not realized I've left the house without it.

When I finally shuffle to the liquor store I go to pick up my usual: two bottles of cab sav. Except they're out. Fuck. Their wine section (such as it is), is right next to the register, so I have to awkwardly tell a number of people doing their shopping, "you go ahead," and motion them past because they think I'm in line, while I'm examining the red wines they do have for alcohol content. It's all weak ass 8-9% shit, fuck if that's going to tide me over for the night. I settle for a couple of pinot grigios. 11%. Weaker than my 12.5% cab sav and I fucking hate the taste of white wine, but it will have to do.

Except it doesn't. Card declined. Shit. The bills must have hit already and I'm out of money. Shit, shit, shit, fuck. My drunk/lazy ass been hitting up the local liquor store far too often when Walmart is cheaper, but I haven't been functional (or mindful) enough to get the bus there and back. There's a line growing behind me and I suddenly feel *very* self-conscious as I try my card again. I've been wearing the same clothes for what feels like six weeks now, and I don't think I've showered in that time either. I must look - and smell - like a disheveled hobo, and here I am with two bottles of wine on a Monday night nervously, and desperately, swiping my card multiple times. *Eh eh eh eh*, the card reader squawks every time. The teller mumbles something about maybe it's just my card and I almost blurt out *but it worked last night*; the store only has 3 employees and the dude serving me then served me the night before. Instead I croak a nervous laugh, "uhh, think I need to go and get my other card haha," and bolt it out of the store with my tail between my legs, trying not to make eye-contact with anyone in the line behind me.

I am fuming on the ~~walk~~ shuffle back home. I'm completely and utterly broke. I still have mouthwash at home that I can drink, but I was nominally supposed to be tapering down with wine mixers, the whole "getting your life back on track" thing. I consider catching a late bus to the local Walmart to pick up some almond extract, or what have you, with my food stamps, but decide against it because I'm too fucking lazy. Fuck knows how much I even have left since I've been paying for CAG's food and drink. Weird, since she gets free food at her halfway house, vegetarian/vegan as well. Minty, antiseptic, breath and screaming shits are a small price to pay for getting wasted that night.

I get home and angrily crack open a new bottle of that sweet Equate mouthwash. I take my phone out of my pocket and place it, face-up, within my field of view, just in case GG messages and I don't want to miss that. It's been like 4 days since I've heard from her. I don't know what I've said to upset her; I thought we ended things on a good note when we last spoke, and we were headed towards full reconciliation. But how can you tell someone it makes you cry to admit you love them and if they're in danger of homelessness you have a spare room they can live in... and then just ghost them? Whatever. I don't care. I constantly feel like I'm begging for scraps of attention and affection anyway. As with 95% of my relationships I'm far more invested in them than they ar-

Tuesday. I wake up with a start. No recollection of going to bed. There's a bottle of mouthwash on the pillow next to me. My head is fucking pounding. It's that awful wire wool brain sensation of a hangover. I stagger out of the bedroom, fill up a cup of ice water and make to go out on to the porch for a breakfast cigarette. All the lights still on in the house paint a picture of me staggering straight from my computer chair to bed to pass out. My laptop is open and unlocked. I usually shut it down or at least put it on sleep mode. Messenger is open. Conversation: GG. *Fuuuuuckkkk*. My eyes focus on the last thing I sent. "Why are you doing this?" - 0328AM. I have absolutely no recollection of sending that, and I'm angry at myself for doing so. *We were trying to be brave and stoic, and you fucking cave like this?* Message unread, as are the previous ones I sent her, the last time we spoke. She'd normally be up now so she should have read my drunken mishap. Instead, silence. Again.

CAG messages, says she's on the way to mine and will be there in a couple of hours. I groan in frustration; her visits are coming earlier and earlier. I'm feeling far too ropey to deal with her. Maybe if I'd had more time to sober up and feel better I might have had more patience for her, but I knew I couldn't ask her to delay coming over or postpone it for the next day because she'd have another narcissistic meltdown. The way I felt then, I contemplated going for some hair of the dog. I'd considered it before, when she came to visit, but I put it off both because I was legit trying to push drinking as far back into the day as I could, and because she would instantly know I'd had some booze. But temptation gets the better of me and an hour or so before she comes I fold and start chugging the mouthwash. Even if she can smell it on my breath she can't say with complete certainty I wasn't using it for its intended purpose.

She arrives just as I shut off the oven, from cooking the vegan shepherd's pie. She'd insisted I cook it when she's not there because using the oven raises the ambient temperature of the apartment, and with only a couple of box fans for climate control we're usually sheened in sweat from just quietly watching tv. I can't help but think of how much a kick she gets out of the control factor though. I try to put GG, and drunk-messaging her the night before, from my mind and have a pretend-fun day with CAG. The pie turned out pretty good. It's only vegan because she is and I prefer the real deal, but I give myself a pat on the back for the quality of the finished product. It's the first meal I've made for CAG since she's been back that she's completely scoffed. Normally she always leaves bits and pieces which is a strange concept for me, having been raised in a "clean your plate" household.

I wind up staying up late, like stupid late, into the AM glugging the mouthwash. I can't sleep, for some reason, probably because of the tolerance again. I'm having my seventh or eighth "I'll go to bed after this" cigarette when something weird happens. A pair of lights flash on the wall across the street, from what looks like someone in the adjacent AirBnB unlocking their car. It's like 4 in the morning, what are you doing up at this time? I rarely see the guests who stay in the AirBnB and my interaction with them is limited to the odd smile, wave, or "hi". But the current occupants seem a little sketch. On more than a few occasions probably a dozen or so different vehicles came and went from the unit all day. "It's probably drugs," CAG had scoffed. I initially dismissed it as more of her conspiracy thinking, but that morning I considered she might have had a point. I'm not really paying attention to whatever the AirBnB guest is doing until, out of the side of my eye, I see two girls titter out onto the driveway. They're barefoot and the driveway is graveled. One of them - and I can't tell because of her dark skin tone and the sun not having quite risen - seems to be wearing only a bra. Just. A. Bra. The other appears to be in some fancy-looking lingerie with rather fuck-me fishnet stockings. They must be bloody prostitutes as I can't imagine anyone else sauntering around their home so scantily clad, especially since I thought the AirBnB guests were a dad and his to 'daughters'. They open the doors on a car in the driveway and appear to be taking things into the house from it. I know it's early hours but the property isn't walled and they're right on the street; anyone driving past is getting an eye-full of T & A. I exaggeratedly clear my throat, both because I'm choking on phlegm and I figure they could do with a warning the whole world isn't asleep. They both glance up from whatever they're doing in the car before getting back to it, seemingly without any concern of how exposed they are.

Wednesday, CAG returns to form when she says she wants to clean the bathroom. The whole rationale for her being here was supposed to be that she wanted to clean the apartment, to help me, before the annual inspection happened. After a week of doing so she seemed to lose interest in the idea though and I figured she got bored with her cover. She does a good of job of scrubbing the place out while I rustle us up some vegan chicken burgers. Should have taken a picture for scale, but these things are ridiculously oversized, like bigger than our hands. If there's one good thing about her coming around, it's that I'm eating somewhat regularly again, I guess. When I walk her to the bus stop later, so we can go food shopping and then she can go home, she expresses the sudden concern she's going to shit herself. I can't help but laugh and tell her while it might be an occupational hazard for CAs I'm surprised she's still got a leaky bum after having been sober for so long. "I never had a problem with diarrhea because of drinking," she tuts, as if I said something ridiculous. "That was because of food poisoning or I took too many laxatives." For fucks sake. I've written before about how terrible she is at acknowledging the realities of being a CA and here we had a shining example. I'm not in the mood to 'debate' her though and just nod an "mmmhmm".

When we get to the store she immediately rushes for the bathroom while I go around picking out things she asked me to buy, to take home or enjoy when she comes around mine. I head to the booze aisle and contemplate picking up a bottle of $2.50 wine with the spare change I have in my pocket. CAG finds me there, looking hagard from her power shit. To my surprise, she offers to give me the last of her remaining cash to buy more than one, and some more mouthwash. I half expect her to ask if we can go back to mine and drink together, but she looks away instead and says, "one isn't going to do you, and I don't want you going through withdrawals if you won't go to the hospital." Huh. I almost miss my bus home because she has the runs twice again while we're there, but we both make it to our own busses and back home in good time.

As I get deeper into the wine, GG's silence starts to gnaw at me. I can't think of any reason why she'd be deliberately ignoring me like this. We've gone a day or two without talking, maybe, but we've been pretty regular in our level of communication. I look at the message I sent her a couple of days earlier, when I drunk-messaged her, still unread. I try not to get angry but I can't help but feel like she's playing games. She's 9 years older than me, I would have expected her to be more mature. If she doesn't want to talk anymore she could have said so; if she's with someone else she could have said so. Would it really have cost her anything to say, "let's just be frien-"

Thursday. I awake, again, with no recollection of having put myself to bed. Looks like I demolished a bottle and a half of wine and more than a few glugs of mouthwash. I gingerly check Messenger to see if I messaged GG again, like the last time I blacked out. Thankfully, that's a no. Then a thought occurs to me. I remember her telling me, for some reason, there were times when I would message her and she could see what I said via notifications, without the message having a 'read' tag to it on my end. I check my text messages. I sent her one last night. Balls. "Are you ok? What's going on?" It's not bad in the grand scheme of drunk-texts but fuck I gotta stop doing that shit. No response from her. Surprise surprise.

I have a couple of quick wine mixers, to get rid of the hangover, before CAG comes around and we have a fairly uneventful day. I tell her about watching a video on Bhutanese cuisine the night before, neither of us really know much about the country but I randomly drop that from what I remember smoking is largely banned there. "Well we can cross that off the list of places we're going to visit." I don't say anything. *We*. At various times since she's been back she's made noises about wanting to leave the country and heavily implied I'd be going with her. She has her eyes set on Panama, and has been saying things like "you should look into it," but never has a retort when I tell her I don't really have the desire - or funds - to leave the country *alone*.

Saturday. Once more bolt up in bed from a blackout. I barely remember Friday. CAG was here, I felt annoyed at her being a drag on my time, we spent all day watching tv, I cracked open the mouthwash and then...nothing. CAG messages to announce her imminent arrival. Then my phone buzzes again. I expect it to be some demand I do something for her, maybe meet her at Walmart. But my heart jumps as I see *1 new message: GG*. I hesitantly open it up and see I'd drunkenly angry-messaged her the night before. Oh. Fuck. The last couple of times I had some vague sense of familiarity on reading the words I wrote the night before, but this time I'm struck dumb. I have absolutely zero memory of messaging her. Worse - a million times worse - while I'd tried to maintain a civil, neutral, tone in my prior messages I went fucking ballistic with this one. I asked her why she was being so cruel and sadistic, I asked her why she couldn't just say she didn't want to talk to me anymore or just be friends; I asked her why, if she was with someone else, she couldn't have just said so.

She says she's been silent because she didn't have phone or Internet service, that she's so broke she got cut off. A million thoughts run through my mind. I don't even have time to process a response as she immediately goes on the attack, telling me she's not with anyone else, and that I 'obviously' must love and care for her if I'm coming at her so. That "things" have happened to her since we last spoke that she doesn't want to get into, but I'm making it all about me because I wasn't concerned something might be going on with her. She calls me a "controlling, manipulative, self-righteous, narcissist." I might be a deadbeat CA, but I try to own my flaws, and this isn't the first time she's thrown this scripted shit at me, which really sounds like it's aimed at her ex-husband or some other guy she dated before or after. We get into a heated back and forth then. I'm taken aback by the ferocity of her attacks on me when I'd only expressed hurt and sorrow in my last message. I'm not a fucking mind-reader, so for her to get bent out of shape over me not intuiting her phone/Internet service (allegedly) being out or sussing out the other 'stuff' that happened to her makes me want to fight back. What was I supposed to fucking do, take a $100 Lyft I can't afford out to her place on the off-chance a plane had crashed into her house or something? I'd (semi-)joked about her explosive anger before and I'm getting a prime example of it now. She could have just said "hey, sorry, my Internet/phone got cut off! I'm not and haven't been with anyone else, dumbass," and things would have gone back to being good and normal. But instead she starts throwing out all these off-the-mark insults and accusations about how I made this all about me, and I don't care what's going on in her life. I'm instantly put in mind of the spat we had after the funeral she went to, how she dialed up the notch on righteous indignation and vindictiveness when I was constantly offering to bury the hatchet with her.

I am seething. Fuck, the timing is cosmically infuriating. I can't get sucked into an all-day battle with GG as CAG is due imminently and she'll flip if I'm spending time constantly on the phone. Grrr. I step out on to the porch for a breakfast cigarette. There's a large tree limb in the yard. I vaguely recall a storm from the night before. I don't know if it was a lightning strike or gale-force winds, but one of the larger branches from the tree in the front yard has been ripped off and is lying there on the ground. CAG comes through the gate and steps around it as I finish rolling my cigarette. She offers a tired "hey" as I light up. I'm already not in the mood and would rather be talking to GG. Restless leg all day as I drop some not-so-subtle hints CAG should go home sooner rather than later. I swallow my pride and message GG she could have told me her services were about to be cut off - if that's even really the issue - and maybe I could have helped her. Left on (un)read for the day.

Sunday I wake up to the sound of knocking at my door. I don't need to check the porch camera to know who it is. I can only groan "you gotta be fucking kidding me!?" before I roll out of bed and shuffle to the door. CAG's sat at the porch table, smoking a cigarette. "You weren't responding to my messages so I thought I'd just come over before it got too hot." She's a terrible communicator, in more ways than one, but I especially hate, then, how she never waits for confirmation through textual conversations. I'm the kind of mate who'll give you constant real-time updates if we're meeting up; "just getting in the shower now," "setting off in a bit," "10 minutes away," etc. because I'd expect someone to do the same for me. CAG will text "can we meet up at 12?" and if she doesn't hear anything back she'll just be there anyway.

I know most of my crankiness is centered around GG from the day before, and I try not to misdirect myself into taking it out on CAG, but I can't help feeling irritated she's woken me up. Going to bed later and later and poor-quality CA sleep is really kicking the shit out of me. Another wasted day of sponging out in front of the tv with her, watching stuff I've either seen before or I'm not interested in. I'm constantly checking my phone for word from GG but nothing. I tell CAG, with a little more of a growl than I'd intended, she is not to just show up again like that uninvited, that she should get confirmation from me in future so our plans line up. I get a message from her after she gets back to her halfway house later, saying she feels hurt that I open myself up to "Internet strangers" (as in, you lot) but I was a "closed book" with her. Never mind the fact she has no one but herself to blame for ignoring, talking over, and disregarding me during the years we were together, one of the hallmarks of pathological narcissism is to isolate the victim; I know she's jealous of the fact I have friends from/on here and she knows I won't use my laptop while she's here nor do I really use my phone either. I've lowkey suspected one of her motives for coming here all the time - when I seemingly have nothing to offer, even attention - is to prevent me from writing. Lol I remember back in 2020 when I could have Reddit up on my laptop and be writing about us while she was in the same room, oblivious and uninterested. Perhaps I should never have mentioned what I write about and how frequently. Hindsight is 20/20 etc. etc.

[authortobenamedlater]

Irrelevant factoid to start off: I learned what a CAG is from Battlestar Galactica.

Partially relevant fact at the request of @generallemarc: For an MWAS fic scene. At-the-time Lieutenant Lasky pulls a dumb@$$ maneuver on a training op because his head’s not on straight after he found out his wife is ready to divorce him. Question I had that led me down this rabbit hole, would chewing Lasky out for his dumb@$$ maneuver be the CAG’s job?

I’m gonna try to make this as short and digestible as possible in an effort to avoid just quoting Wikipedia and other assorted sources:

Even though air groups are now called air wings, CAGs are still CAGs. It’s better than CAW which would probably end up with CAGs being referred to as “crows.” Because there is no iffy acronym the military can’t make worse.

The CAG is not directly under the carrier CO’s chain of command. The air group is sort of its own operation. Useful for this fic and possibly others.

I guess we keep “air groups” even when there’s no air involved.

CAG and DCAG (deputy CAG) are captain’s billets. This might be useful?

Stop me before I buy this book.

This site might be dated but it’s an excellent resource for anyone needing a simple outline of carrier organization in general. Cause that’s a really common thing to need, right? I’m saving it for future MWAS and other Halo/Infinity fics.

I am pretty sure I’ve now done more research into protocol and structure than the people who actually wrote Halo. But that’s not hard.

Grammatical note, plural of CAG is Commanders, Air Group. The commanders are the plural. Not the groups. Found this one somewhere and grrrrrr. I don’t think I’ll need this, probably no one will ever need this, but there it is.

Bringing us back to the question of “Would the CAG be the one to chew Lasky out for his dumb@$$ maneuver?” Nothing I found answered this 😂 but based on what I did find, yes. This could be the CAG’s job. So it probably will be his job, because after doing this amount of Googling I don’t want to make it anyone else’s 🤣

[icharchivist]

Looking forward to getting to build the Heart of the Sun dream team in Relink

Consisting of Danchou, Cagliostro, Siete and Sandalphon

It's canonically a good choice

Especially since Danchou, Cags and Sandy from the looks of it can learn healing skills, so the non-healer can focus on doing his job of doing big numbers

oh hell yeah, canonically the best of choices.

That's a cool set up. can't wait to see it in motion then!

[thinktankwithhan]

cags diep

The importance of being multi-skilled

Founded in Charlottesville in 1991, Red Light Management has since developed into the largest independent music management company in the world(Red Light Management 2024). Cags explained that music management is essentially project management and that there are a lot of separate roles to this. I could tell straight away that one of Cags’ strong points was her flexibility to do different jobs. Her background reflected this, and her experience ranged from managing orchestras to an internship as Brighton Fringe Festival to private teaching. Music was always at the forefront of Cags’ mind, studying a classical Music BA at Bristol University. However, she admits she didn’t do much research into the course - but felt Bristol University was appealing. Cags herself mainly deals with travel, logistics and sourcing the people required to make up a team that could manage an artist. Her main roles are finance and budgeting,   Cags’ emphasised the importance of having the people you work with trust you - as you will be living closely with everyone.

 To me, Cags’ role as a music manager seems extremely diverse in how she has to go about things. To Manage finance and budgeting is a huge responsibility and one could argue is a one of those jobs where you must remain highly organised and professional as money is such a powerful device. However, on the other hand, she must remain trusted amongst her colleagues and is expected to make friends as part of her job. During the Think Tank talk she was asked ‘where’s the line between being a friend and being a manager?’. Cags describes how she often has to put aside her emotions and be ‘straight to the point’ when it comes to business decisions. This really shows how diverse Cags’ role is and, if I was a music manager, I would have trouble drawing that line. After finishing uni, Cags had multiple jobs, including bar work - which she said well equipped her for a career in music management - as you are faced with lots of different types of personalties and are expected to work with that. Cags also said that bar work helped her learn to cope with stress and unpredictability whilst working. Cags’ talk seemed to focus around one thing - getting to know the industry and combating her own disadvantages by gaining multiple skills to back up her right to a role.

One article from The Musician’s Union in which R&B singer songwriter Rebecca Garton writes ‘having a female black manager, I have seen the constant struggle/she has had to go through to be heard or viewed as an equal in the room’.(Garton, 2022) It’s both interesting and disheartening to realise that women and women of colour specifically have to put so much more effort to be respected in their careers - and this is no different for the music industry. Cag’s commitment to her job is impressive, but perhaps if she was granted different privileges by what is still a racist and patriarchal society - she would not have to graft so hard to feel confident in her management skills. However, I think her adversities have made her extremely strong professionally and, listening to experience and successes, it was clear to see that her dedication to her job has paid off.  

[mathewharris7703]

They've finally reunited! Woo hoo! Really happy to see you finally complete the reunion of Cuphead and Hilda, Cam. I really enjoy seeing them two interacting with each other here, talking about their events with Hilda trying to find Cags and Cups half lying about his job, probably just to not worry his old friend. The last panel with them sitting on the sidewalk just speaking is very wholesome indeed. Lovely comic here. I really enjoy the lighting and shading here. Pretty good stuff as always!

(look who cups ran into!)

[ayushsinghedu368]

How Good is the MBA program at University Canada West?

MBA program is good at University Canada West, if you want to evaluating any MBA program. Here are some factors you should consider:

Accreditation: Ensure that the MBA program is accredited by a recognized accreditation body. Accreditation indicates that the program meets certain quality standards. In Canada, the Association of MBAs (AMBA) and the Canadian Association for Graduate Studies (CAGS) are among the accrediting bodies for MBA programs.

Faculty: Research the qualifications and experience of the faculty members. High-quality faculty can greatly impact the learning experience.

Curriculum: Examine the curriculum and course offerings. Does it align with your career goals and interests? Look for opportunities for specialization if you have a specific field in mind.

Class Size: Smaller class sizes often lead to more personalized attention and better interaction with professors.

Career Services: Investigate the career services and job placement support provided by the university. A strong career services department can be invaluable in helping you find job opportunities after graduation. University Canada West Scholarship - Check now

Reputation and Rankings: Check for any rankings or reviews of UCW's MBA program, but keep in mind that rankings can vary and may not always reflect the program's quality accurately.

Alumni Network: A robust alumni network can provide valuable connections and support in your career.

Location: Consider the location of the university. Does it offer opportunities for internships, networking, or job placements in your field of interest?

Tuition and Financial Aid: Evaluate the cost of the program and whether financial aid or scholarships are available.

Internship/Co-op Opportunities: If gaining practical experience is important to you, look for programs that offer internship or co-op opportunities.

To assess the current status and quality of UCW's MBA program, I recommend visiting their official website, reading recent student reviews and testimonials, contacting the admissions office, and reaching out to current students or alumni if possible. Additionally, you may want to compare UCW's program with other MBA programs in Canada to make an informed decision based on your specific needs and goals.

[scarm]

Barb, examining everyone's chipped nail varnish a week in: sometimes I think I'm the only one who cares about shiny and elegant nails! X(

The guys are apologizing profusely of course. Unfortunately their jobs are dirty. Scarm digs in dirt a lot, Cag is... Well himself and rubi... His nails are very well taken care of. He'd love a new coat actually. Red and blue this time maybe? Gold next time? Surely there's a time and place for white too!

Cag could shapeshift his nails obviously. But he kinda likes taking the time to get his nails done. They spend their time gossiping and I mean... A lot of shit happens behind the scenes in baron castle.

Scarm just gets dirty a lot. It's in his element, he can't help it. He's very handsy in the sense that he digs etc etc. While he likes doing things manually he also knows barb isnt the biggest fan of it. Still, he takes the "your nails!!!" And the "am I the only one who cares :(??" And sits through the polishing etc etc. He's just happy to spend time with people :)