Hello! My name is Olie (She/Her) and I am the aviation-obsessed person running this blog.
main blog/ao3: @waitingforsols
band of brothers: @magnoliasforyourmedic
BACKGROUND: I have a mechanical engineering degree with an aerospace minor and I work in the aviation industry.
WHAT DO I LIKE?
Masters of the Air (esp Harry Crosby)
Top Gun (esp Tom “Iceman” Kazansky)
EAA AirVenture
Research & History
Everything Aviation
QUICK MOTA REFERENCE POST LINKS
Base Hospital / Intercom & Radio System / Bomber Crew Clothing / Group Headquarters / Mess Halls & Clubs / Flight Bags / First Aid Kits / PX Shop / Pathfinders / Radio Callsigns / 8th AF Casualty Stats/ 100th BG Crew Stats /
MY FANFICTION (MORE ON AO3)
let it wash over me
masters of the air, crosie explicit one-shot
main themes: the great ‘gator coup w/ leafy hill, croz feels insecure because of leafy hill and Rosie reassures him
if I said you were all that I had to live for
masters of the air crosie one shot
main themes: the getting together fic
got my heart in your hands
masters of the air pre-crosie one-shot
main themes: all fluff and pining
in your arms i hide away
masters of the air, crosie whump one-shot
main theme: croz has a minor crash out after finding out he was promoted on what was supposed to be his last mission, minor protective rosie
something to hold on to
masters of the air, crosie hurt/comfort, one-shot
main theme: rosie is in the hospital after crashing on September 10, 1944 and receives some visitors (and bad news), established crosie, they’re so soft for each other, rosie & everyone
out of the fog, you’re calling my name
masters of the air, crosie whump, one-shot
main theme: crosby gets a mysterious phone call, set one month after Rosie was shot down (March 1, 1945 to be exact), they’re in love your honor
a lesson in international relations
masters of the air, Croz whump, one-shot
main themes: croz and bubbles get jumped by the Riff RAF, hurt croz, croz & everyone, smart croz!!!
the war is over and we are beginning
masters of the air, Croz/Rosie, one-shot
main themes: buck’s rosebush, croz/rosie, rosie with a rose, fluff, they’re both so soft for each other
and maybe if i hold you now
masters of the air, croz x bubbles one-shot (like 4k words)
main themes: Crosby x Bubbles, post-reunion in episode 5, misunderstandings, mutual pining, fluff and angst and smut (in that order), Harry Crosby is insecure AF, explicit sexual content (see Ao3 for specific tags), sharing a bed, Harry Crosby definitely experimented in college, Harry Crosby is the dumbest smart person, these boys deserve to be happy
we rest amidst the tumult of war
completed masters of the air croz x rosie multi-chapter fic (8k words)
main themes: crosby/rosie but can be read as platonic, part 6 rewrite, flak house, horseback riding (like actually), fluff and hurt/comfort but mostly comfort, basically 10k words of flirting, these boys deserve to be happy, ft. Rosie’s Riveters, lots of good-natured teasing and jokes, short jokes, insecurities, everyone needs a hug
QUICK F-14 REFERENCE LINKS
F-14 Tomcat Accidents & Issues
F-14 Tomcat Variants
Flight of the Tomcat
What Did F-14 Tomcat Pilots Wear?
FREQUENT UNIQUE TAGS
# mota musings
same as #justalittlethingiwrote but for Masters of the Air and Harry Crosby
# just a little thing I wrote
where you’ll find my Top Gun h/c’s, writings, musings, rants, prompts, analysis, etc.
#FFFOTD or #F-14 Fun Fact of the Day
want to learn something new about the F-14 tomcat?
#research or #information or # reference
basically what it says
#top gun or #masters of the air
makes sense
#f-14 tomcat
kind of a given, but will likely include primarily technical posts
#f14 tomcat has ✨issues✨
if you’re looking for ways to hurt your favorite top gun characters without it being pilot error, check out this tag
With so many people in the United States and Canada being affected by the wildfires and wildfire smoke over the course of the last couple of days, I thought it would be topical to bring up how a handful of B-17s were converted into aerial tankers to fight wildfires after WWII.
“Between 1960 and 1980, twenty-three B-17s were converted into air tankers by four different companies. Unfortunately, flying an air tanker is risky business. During that period, 35% of the B-17 air tankers were lost fighting fires.” (Source: article linked below)
Highly recommend checking out this article on the topic by John Yount, an aerial firefighter who during his almost 50 year long career had flown the B-17 firebomber in the late 1970s and early 1980s.
There’s a bunch of pictures and a handful of videos you can find online of B-17s fighting fires during this era. They’re all super interesting and very cool to see.
And you might not recognize her, but the aircraft in the image above is Sentimental Journey, one of the last remaining flightworthy B-17 Flying Fortresses. She had been employed by the Aero Union Corp of Chico California as what they called a “firebomber” during 1960's. She was later restored back to her original form and is now a staple aircraft of the Commemorative Air Force.
Blakey getting overly possessive of Crosby during the first few weeks of Crosby switching crews, and he gets upset when he sees hickeys on Crosby’s neck, immediately jumping to the conclusion that they’re from Brady. And Crosby can’t help but roll his eyes and tell him “you can thank your bombardier for those actually”
In the process of procrastinating writing, I made this collage for a fic I want to write set in an AU where Croz is secretly an OSS intelligence officer :)
In my AU, Crosby is one of many agents that were embedded into bomb groups tasked with gathering intelligence on their flights and missions over occupied territory and delivering the information usually via letter, or occasionally via courier. They are not much different from the average flyboy, aside from some (much) additional training. Crosby very much considers himself to be a part of the 100th with the OSS being more of a side gig. Most of the info he's passing on is the stuff the USAAF wants him to pass along in their debriefs anyway, so 95% of his job is passing info back to the OSS via coded letters or phone calls or couriers). They were additionally tasked with reporting men who returned to their group through underground means, investigate suspicious behavior possibly attributed to undercover German operatives within their group, etc. On occasion they are asked to perform other duties.
Blakely finding out what Crosby got on the Aviation Cadet Qualification Exam and immediately starts humble bragging about bagging one of the smartest navigators in the entire Eighth Air Force without so much as a fight. Like I’m picturing Croz having done stupid well because it’s just an exam on paper to him, so maybe of the 150 points he got 140 or something equally ridiculous. And considering the average was somewhere around 107, he did phenomenally.
(added context about the exam below)
Context: The Aviation Cadet Qualifying Exam, also known as the AC-10-A, is an exam that was used to determine if a man was well suited for a role on an air crew. It consisted sections on vocabulary, reading comprehension, practical judgement, mathematics, “alertness to recent developments”, and mechanical comprehension. And though it usually took two hours to complete, the length of time it took for the men to complete did not affect scores in any way. You can read more about the test in the source document I linked below, which is an official report prepared by the Psychological Division of the Office of the Air Surgeon within the Headquarters of the Army Air Forces, published in October 1942.
In terms of scores, navigators outperformed both the pilots and bombardiers according to the data collected from individuals tested at Maxwell Field in January 1942. Navigators averaged the highest mean score with 112.34, followed by pilots with a mean score of 105.72 points, and then bombardiers with a mean score of 103.34 points.
A Report on the Purpose, Development and Validation of Test AC-10-A
Ngl I was working on the Jack Kidd fic for my deep in a delphinium daze fic series aka my boytoy Croz series and got distracted with an idea for another Blakley fic… Basically, the entire Just-a-Snappin’ crew has been practicing non-stop for days in the lead up to the Regensburg mission and everyone is getting frustrated and on each other’s nerves. And after a particularly rough practice mission, Douglass and Blakely get into an argument outside. Douglass storms off and Charlie goes to check on him, leaving Crosby to check on Blakely, who obviously needs help relaxing and letting go of control and someone to take out his control on
My favorite line from it so far has to be
"And maybe it’s also because I’m a bit selfish. Switching crews has scared off most of the guys I’d usually go for on base for the time being, and I think if I don't get laid soon, I'm going to actually lose my mind.”
Kind of crazy that when Crosby lost Bubbles, Harding’s reaction was ‘oh man he’s probably in a lot of pain; we should send him off base for some R&R’ and when Bucky lost Buck his reaction was ‘lol put him behind the controls of a fucking airplane to Germany and let him command a squadron’
To be fair, Harding was lowkey just as insane as Bucky was like the man literally refused Jimmy Doolittle’s suggestion that the 100th BG be taken off of flying ops after taking heavy losses to Bremen. Even though the 100th didn’t have enough planes and crews for a full formation, he sent them to Munster anyway. And then again after losing so many crews to Munster, he still refused to let the 100th take a break
"Chick, I say again that the 100th should go off until you can get some training. Your replacement pilots will have very few hours on the 17 and almost no formation flying."
Colonel Harding responded as he had before: "The 100th go off ops? Never!"
Harding was well-liked and known for being loved by all the old flyers, but he still had that hot-shot flyboy mindset that made him an absolute wild card
First of all, it is not enough merely to thank the two pilots with whom I flew when I was on a crew. Were it not for John Brady and Ev Blakely I would not be here, and there would be no story.
Secondly, I must thank the men and women of the 100th—not only the flyers, but those who kept us flying. They all made this narrative the grand story to which I hope I have done adequate service.
I must thank, especially, the three great leaders of the 100th, Jack Kidd, John Bennett, and Tom Jeffrey, who did so much to make us proud to be members of the group whom history now knows as "The Bloody 100th."
— Acknowledgements from Harry Crosby’s memoir, A Wing and a Prayer
Honoring the 100th Bomb Group at EAA Wright Brothers Banquet ft. special guests
With a focus on the 100th Bomb Group and its depiction in the Apple TV miniseries Masters of the Air, EAA's annual Wright Brothers Memorial Banquet in December featured a presentation from Rebecca Crosby Hutchinson, daughter of 100th Bomb Group navigator Harry Crosby, and Michael Faley, executive vice president of the 100th Bomb Group Foundation and technical advisor on the production.
You can find a recording of this presentation at EAA’s website using the link here.
Looks like I have another one to add to my ultimate dream wishlist of books that are no longer being published. That being said, if anyone knows where I can find a copy I will be forever in your debt!!
Louis Quijada was a gunner on the Terrible Termite crew. He also just so happened to be flying with Rosie when he was first shot down on September 10, 1944.
main theme(s): Benny is an absolute gentleman who may or may not have slight leather kink ;)
summary:
The navigator froze, mouth falling open and eyes wide in disbelief. “You asked Blakely?”
DeMarco blinked, brows raised in surprise at Crosby’s reaction.
“Bernard,” Crosby rasped, taking the pilot’s face in his hands. “What do you mean you asked Ev?”
“He’s your pilot, isn’t he?” DeMarco huffed, still very much confused.
“So?”
“So… Some guys get weirdly territorial of their crews, especially us pilots,” DeMarco continued. “I know better than to make a move on another guy’s navigator without clearing it with him first.”
Crosby recoiled, sitting back on his knees and covering his mouth with his hands. “Oh my god.”
One day I would love to write a fic where while Crosby and Bubbles are in London on a three-day pass, Thorpe Abbotts is alerted that some of their men were killed in an air raid in London when the hotel they were staying at was destroyed.
In reality, Bubbles lost his and Crosby’s room key, so they had to stay the night somewhere else. The city was still working on digging people out of the rubble, but the reason they were believed dead was because Bubbles’ dog tags were found in the wreckage. In reality, Bubbles had left his dog tags and other identifying information in the hotel room before they’d left to go to some bars or something. They also missed their truck back to base because of Bubbles, though for the record, Bubbles has never made it back to base on time. He always misses the truck back, even with the ever punctual Crosby by his side.
The navigators (and Blakely’s and lowkey even Brady’s crews) especially mourn them. They tell funny stories about them from navigation school and such, and it’s like a very bittersweet moment (emphasis on bitter).
But then Crosby and Bubbles show up the next day, a day late, and entirely oblivious to the fact that everyone thought they were dead.
The Crosby-focused Shifter AU fic I’ve been working on has absolutely consumed me so as an apology, please have this snippet. It’s not refined but it’s got good bones I think.
And for anything wondering, this is part of the same Shifter AU fic that I debuted on Whumptober Day 11. The overarching general concept of the fanfic that Crosby kept the fact that he was a shifter a secret because he was brought up thinking he was dangerous. But after being wounded on a mission, he’s forced to stay shifted while he heals both physically from the wound and also mentally from his childhood trauma :)
— - 🐾 - — - 🐾 - — - 🐾 - —
The box was far too small for him now. It wasn't long enough for him to lay down, and even now, curled up as tight as could, the wire mesh pressed uncomfortably into his fur and skin. Though it's been that way for years, Harry would never dare to make the mistake of complaining. It hadn't been built with his comfort in mind.
His father had put it together using whatever scraps of lumber and metal he could get his hands on from the scrap yard, the rough wooden frame held together by whatever nails he had lying around the garage. The floor and the ceiling were made of plywood that had likely been discarded due to the warping from water damage, whereas the walls were a patchwork of rusty chicken wire mesh of varying sizes leftover from some farmer's old chicken coop. The door was held shut by a big metal latch and a heavy padlock.
(snippet continues below)
The muzzle on the other hand had never quite fit right. Leather straps squeezed his mouth shut, tightened farther than the buckle had originally been designed for with the hand-poked holes his mother had added. The stiff edges dug painfully into the top of his nose and underside of his jaw, rubbing the skin raw.
The smell of mildew and dust assaulted his nostrils in a way only a damp basement could manage. He couldn't see much. Only faint traces of light reached him, attributed to the occasional flash of lightning from the world outside the two little storm windows on the far wall. Rain pelted siding of the house. Thunder shook the house so violently that the windows rattled, the roar of it causing him to jump out of his skin every time.
His father didn't need to be in one of his drunken stupors to feel the need to shove him down here. And it didn't matter that Harry couldn't control it. He needed no excuse when Harry shifted. Confinement in a small crate in the dark, damp basement was considered the kinder option when the alternative was to chain him up in the backyard overnight. It had only happened to him only once before, on a night where a similar storm raged overhead, but that one night had left him all but traumatized.
Another flash followed quickly by an even louder clap of thunder came, and Harry couldn't stop the whine slipped out of his muffled mouth.
A few seconds passed and just when he thought he might be in the clear, the wood flooring above him creaked under heavy footsteps. Harry immediately froze, muscles locking up tight with the intensity of his shivering as he listened to the footsteps cross the living room into the kitchen.
No, please. No.
With eyes squeezed shut, Harry pleaded with whatever higher power that be that his father was getting another drink. But he knew better than to dismiss the inevitable.
In time with another, ground-shaking roar of thunder, the basement door slammed open—
Crosby's eyes flew open and he jerked awake. His lungs worked hard to bring in air with each uneven breath as the panic seized him like barbed wire, digging its claws in deeper the more his mind struggled.
He was disoriented and didn't know where he was. He was struck by the smell of leather and sweat, at first so unfamiliar that it curbed his panic. Narrowing in on the scent, Harry found himself being put at ease. Even if slightly off-putting, he recognized it as something familiar with warmth the basement could never have. Slowly, the ringing in his ears faded away into the familiar patter of rain against the metal roof of a Nissen hut. Underneath that was the sound of snoring, and the creak bed frames as men shifted in their sleep. All of the evidence pointed toward a space that was very distinctly not the basement of his childhood home.
A flash of lightning lit up the room just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the Nissen hut. He was curled up on the floor underneath his bed, tucked between a wooden footlocker and the outer wall of the hut like he had been from the moment he’d stepped foot in the room the evening before. Though there was also something soft brushing against his fur; a blanket that hadn’t been there before he’d fallen into his restless slumber had been tucked around him.
The ground beneath him shook, and Harry was very nearly thrown right back into the throws of his panic.
Jim Mack, a replacement waist gunner recalls, "Rosie would talk to us before every mission. He would brief us on what to expect. Where the flak was going to be. How many fighters to anticipate." But the crew pre-flight briefings were not always without incident. Rosenthal recalls, "I remember that Mike Boccuzzi, our radio operator and a wonderful warm human being, would get very nervous before each mission and throw up. I would end up putting my arm around him and we would chat. He was a wonderful, intelligent person.”
— excerpt from an article titled The Story of Robert “Rosie" Rosenthal and the Crew Of "Rosie's Riveter'" by Mark S. Copeland
Highly recommend watching Pressure, the D-Day movie that just came out if you can! I absolutely adore seeing the sort of work that went on behind the scenes for military operations and this movie absolutely delivered. I found it incredibly compelling to watch how things went down, and even though we all know the result of D-Day, I was still on the edge of my seat! It was so beautifully shot too, like I was stunned. And the bits of real footage sprinkled in was absolutely perfect.
Jim Blakely, the son of Everett Blakely, wrote an article for the March 2023 edition of the 8th AF Newsletter titled “Thirteen Empty Bunks.” Attached with the article are several pictures, but one in particular stands out—a diagram of a Nissen hut with harrowing annotations.
“Those small huts could get crowded; yet by mid-October 1943, there was plenty of room in one. Thirteen of the sixteen cots were empty. Three of four B-17s had been lost in a short span of time. The other plane was damaged beyond repair. Each bed had a tale to tell. And the tale told by the empty beds was especially nerve-wracking.”
And though there were many huts at Thorpe Abbotts like it, with empty beds aplenty and similar stories to tell, this one was just a little bit more special because Blakely, Crosby, and Douglass were the last three members of the “Original” 100th flight officers left on base.
The article goes on to share the stories of the men who once slept in the empty bunks of his father’s Nissen hut, and I highly recommend reading it for the amazing insight into the lives of these men.
Harry Crosby: It was just terribly exhausting, and I'd come home—or back to base—and I'd be absolutely and completely dehydrated. I was one of the people who didn't take his ration of whiskey, and always gave it to somebody or traded it to somebody for something. But I would just absolutely drink every liquid that I could—water and milk and so on—just because I was so dehydrated from just this tension of this sometimes ten hour flight.
