#female aviators

[ladypilotuniform]

Red headed first officer ready to roll!

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Frances Marsalis and Louise Thaden broke the women’s endurance flight record on August 19, 1932, when they passed the 123-hour time set by Edna May Cooper and Bobbie Trout the previous year. Here, they reconnoiter above Long Island with a plane bringing them additional fuel.

Photo: Associated Press

[darkstoryspinner]

After Amelia

Unsplash photo by Jeb Johnson At Medium’s Pub Crawl this week, I met a wonderful editor and decided to submit this historical flash fiction about Amelia Earhart and her husband George Putnam. I’m glad to have found a way to revive my involvement with the platform and I’m really excited to have found the publication Morning Musings Magazine. I hope for more such opportunities. This historical…

[roosterforme]

Math for Aviators | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: It's your fault that Bradley finds math so sexy now. When he surprises you by sneaking into one of your lectures, he gets rewarded with a little time alone with the professor after class.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2400 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! Check out my masterlist

"See you two at the Hard Deck later?" Nat asked as Bradley climbed into the Bronco after work.

"Nah, it's my wife's late night on campus," he replied with a smirk. Calling you his wife had such a nice ring to it, he had all but stopped using your first name around his friends. "I'm gonna drop by. Maybe take a peek at her calculus lecture." 

She rolled her eyes in response. "Tell your wife I said not to forget about brunch on Saturday."

"I'll let my wife know."

He zipped out of the parking lot, still in his khaki uniform, and headed across town to San Diego State University. If there was one thing Bradley never thought would get him going, it was math. But you made it outrageously sexy with your PhD and your slutty little math tattoo. 

The fact that Bradley never got to attend one of your lectures during your first semester teaching in California felt like a crime. He'd wanted to, in the worst way, but your classes ended by six o'clock every day last term. But this time, you taught level four calculus on Thursday evenings. 

He parked and headed toward your building, smiling as some of the college aged girls looked at him as he strolled past. If they thought he looked good in his uniform, that was nothing compared to the fuss you usually made over him. 

Bradley followed a kid holding a skateboard into the mathematics and computer science building and turned left. He was only four minutes late for your class as he followed skateboard kid inside the lecture hall and let the door close softly behind him. The room was quite cavernous, but there were only about forty students in attendance. You always claimed you preferred the smaller classes so you could spend more time getting everyone where they needed to be individually. 

When his eyes met your body, Bradley almost moaned. You were leaning over the long table at the front of the room taking attendance, and you were wearing a white blouse tucked into that wool skirt he liked. Even your loafers looked cute. One of his favorite pastimes was picking on you for your east coast wardrobe, but holy shit, the professor look did things to him. Or maybe it was just you.

As you called out names, Bradley realized he was just standing in the back like an idiot, so he walked up a few rows and took an aisle seat.

"Francis?" you asked, and a girl who looked extremely disinterested raised her hand. "Luca? Alex? Did I miss anyone?"

When you looked up, your eyes found Bradley's almost instantly. The softest smile graced your lips, and Bradley desperately wanted to run down to where you were standing and kiss you. Instead he just winked, and then you were opening two additional notebooks on your table. 

"Before we get started, just a reminder about my office hours," you said, your voice projecting beautifully. Bradley had to adjust himself in his seat, because you were speaking right to him. "I'm always available to spend a little extra time with you should you need it." 

He was well acquainted with your office and the way your voice echoed off the walls when he made you scream his name. He would make it a point to join you for some office hours again soon. But right now, he was going to sit back and enjoy how much smarter you were than him.

"If you recall last week, we talked about the theorems of Green and Stokes. Let's focus a little more on the Green theorem. This is simply the relationship between the macroscopic circulation around the curve C and the sum of all the microscopic circulation that is inside C."

Bradley was already breathing a little heavy. Holy shit. Was he actually married to the smartest person in the world? It fucking sounded like it. And then you ran your fingertips gently along the side of your neck, and he sat up a little taller in his seat. But so did skateboard kid who was sitting in front of him. Bradley glanced around the room, and it looked like all the twenty something guys were hypnotized by you. The looks of open adoration on their faces as you turned toward the white board to work out a problem reminded him of the way he used to stare at you when he was twenty one. If he was being honest, he probably still did.

As you worked out the problem and bent at the waist, Bradley needed to adjust himself again. And when you turned to see if anyone had a question, you looked directly at him as you touched your neck again. 

"She's so hot," skateboard kid whispered to the guy next to him.

"Yeah," he grunted in response. "She's like extra hot today."

Bradley leaned forward, grinning and softly said, "That's my wife."

They both turned around to look at him briefly. Skateboard kid nodded in appreciation, and the other guy said, "Well done."

And then Bradley settled back in his seat and watched every move that you made. When you wrote out another equation in your tidy handwriting, you made the variables spell out B-E-E-R-B-O-Y. Every time you glanced at him, your fingers were touching your body somewhere that he was familiar with. He was itching to get his hands on you. 

It was an hour and a half of pure sexual tension, and Bradley knew you were enjoying yourself. Knowing he was sitting in the lecture hall seemed to be making your voice a little breathy. You were throwing out terms like "gradient, divergence curl, line and surface integrals, and differential equations" that were making him hard. This was foreplay at its finest. 

When you ended your lecture with some reminders about your class schedule, you had your hands on your hips, and your diamond ring was glittering on your hand. Bradley smirked as a line of students, mostly male, formed in front of you once you dismissed everyone. And now he understood why you got home so late on Thursdays. Because all these guys had a crush on you. On his wife.

Bradley was semi hard, and you kept glancing up to make sure he was still there. He wasn't going to go anywhere, you must know that. When you were finally helping skateboard kid with whatever question he fabricated just to have a chance to stand next to you, Bradley glanced down at his lap. Maybe you'd let him have some private office hours right now.

When the lecture hall was finally empty, save for the two of you, Bradley watched as you continued to tease him. You didn't glance to where he was sitting at all as you packed up your bag. And when you erased the board, he could tell you were standing on your tiptoes to make your ass look extra enticing just for him. 

"Professor Sugar," he groaned, rubbing himself through his khaki pants. 

You glanced at him over your shoulder with a devilish look on your face. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to my lecture?" you asked quietly, but he could still hear you perfectly. 

Bradley grunted. "Got dismissed a little early. Just thought I'd surprise you."

"Did you learn anything new?" you asked, grabbing your bag from the table and heading his way.

"Nothing new," he replied. "Just a refresher course on how smart and hot my wife is."

You smiled as you set your bag down next to his seat. "I love it when you call me that." Then you came to stand between his spread thighs and leaned down to kiss him gently. Bradley let you tease him with feather soft kisses for a minute before he was aching inside his pants. 

He ran his rough hand along your pretty neck and asked, "Can I join you for some office hours? I really need them, Professor Sugar." When you giggled against his lips, Bradley wrapped his muscular arms around you and palmed your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a squeal. 

"Beer Boy!"

"Please? I'll be your top student, Baby. Better than that loser with his skateboard."

"You know, I'm starting to suspect that Luca might have ulterior motives for taking my class again this semester."

Bradley chuckled as he pushed your skirt up your thighs a few inches. "Yeah. His ulterior motive is your ass." Then he lightly slapped said ass as you raked your fingers through his hair and straddled him in the auditorium seat. "I know you can feel me, Sugar," he whispered. "Office hours? Or are you gonna make me wait until we get home?"

But instead of responding, you just rubbed yourself against him. If you weren't wearing panties, he would have a pretty, little wet spot to show off as he walked back to the Bronco. You tugged harder on his hair so his head was tipped back, and you kissed him a little rougher.

"I'm in charge in the lecture hall, not you. And I say no visit to my office."

Bradley groaned as you sucked on his neck, and he muttered, "Making me walk back to the Bronco hard?"

"No," you whispered, and his cock throbbed. "I'm going to suck your cock right here." Your smug smile as you pulled away from his neck left him blushing, he could tell. 

"Right here?" he asked, but your hands were already working on his belt buckle and zipper, and he lifted his hips in the seat so you could yank his pants down a little bit. 

"Mmhmm," you hummed against his lips before you walked to the back of the auditorium, leaving him sitting there with his hard cock out. 

"Sugar?" he whispered, covering himself with both hands as he craned his neck to see where you went. You flipped the lightswitch next to the door and peered out the small window into the hallway, and then you strolled back to where he was sitting. Bradley let you take his hands in yours and set them on his thighs as you knelt on the floor in front of him.

You looked so pretty, your skin illuminated by the soft lighting shining around the perimeter of the room. Your eyes were bright and mischievous as you looked up at him and kissed the precum away from his tip. Your pink tongue darted out to clean your lips before gently swiping the underside of his cock, and Bradley had to grip his thighs to keep from thrusting. Because it was clear you were going to take your time right now. 

"You are so hard, Beer Boy, you're absolutely throbbing."

When you took an inch or two between your pouty lips, Bradley's head tipped back. "I love math," he groaned. "It really gets me going. And I love your smart mouth."

You hummed around his length as you took another inch and swirled your tongue. Then you pulled him out with a soft pop, his head snapping back up to look at you. "You're such a good student," you whispered. "Top grades. Teacher's pet. Big cock."

"Fuck," Bradley grunted. "I'm coming to your lecture every week, Professor."

You smiled as you gripped him in one hand and licked up and down along the underside of his cock until he could feel your saliva dripping down his balls. He ran his thumb along your cheek, and then you took him deep so he could feel himself there. He groaned your name as he tapped the back of your throat, and you gagged for him. It was so fucking pretty the way he made your eyes water. 

If you weren't concerned about getting caught, then he certainly wasn't going to bring it up. He'd be lying if he said the idea of a public blowjob wasn't adding to his arousal. Hell, he thought the way you and he went at it in the college library study room was hot, and that door had a damn lock. So this was next level.

Bradley grunted in the quiet room, and the acoustics made the sound carry. You were bobbing along his length, making obscene little noises, and he just couldn't take it anymore. His hands found the back of your head, and after one thrust, your moans echoed around the room. 

"I love that sound," he growled, slowly fucking your face as you sucked on him. You kept eye contact with him as he started to come undone, his hips leaving the seat as he wanted more of you. Now you were gripping his thighs, ready to take his cum like a champ. He was there. He was right there. One more tap against the back of your throat. All your saliva dripping onto your blouse. It was everything. 

He knew you already knew it, but he grunted, "I'm cumming," as he spurted into your mouth and down your throat. Gripping the back of your head, he fucked your mouth with shallow thrusts until he slumped back akwardly into the seat with a long groan that filled the room. 

When you withdrew him, his cock was messy and you were grinning as you stuck out your tongue, showing off his load. "Gorgeous," he whispered with a smirk, watching you swallow him down before licking his softening length clean. "I love being the teacher's pet." 

You giggled as you helped him get tucked back into his khakis. "I only suck the dicks of my students with the highest grades."

"Hey now. You're my wife. You better only be sucking my dick," he rasped as you stood up in front of him and shrugged.

"Then you better keep getting top grades, Beer Boy." 

Bradley was obsessed with you. He quickly wrestled his belt into place as he followed the sway of your ass up to the auditorium doors. "I can't wait to see that skirt on the bedroom floor when we get home," he said as you pushed the door open. And there stood the janitor, about to enter the room to clean it. "Shit," Bradley grunted, still fiddling with his belt. 

But you just waved and said, "Goodnight, Herman," as the janitor smirked at Bradley. 

He didn't even bother with his belt after that. He just took your hand in his and walked with you to the Bronco, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to you once your skirt was on the bedroom floor. 

----------------------

This was written to celebrate the birthday of the lovely @mak-32 ! Beer Boy and Sugar wouldn't even exist without you, Mak! I hope you have the most wonderful day! Thanks for your help and the banner @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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[nocternalrandomness]

USAF Thunderbird #5 Lead Solo Pilot Major Michelle "Mace" Curran, 2019 - 2021 show season

[its-the-pilot]

If December Never Ends | One-Shot

An early Christmas gift for y'all! Here's my entry for "Midnight Mass" in @sailor-aviator's Christmas Writing Challenge! Kinda fell in love with these two, so let me know if you want to see more of them!

Summary: Bradley joins you and your family for midnight Mass.

Warnings: religious inaccuracies

Length: 2.3k words

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Female Reader

Masterlist

Christmas with your family was always a big event. Everyone came from all over to your parents’ house in Norfolk and spent the holiday together. Nearly forty-eight hours of uninterrupted family time. There was little sleep involved as there were people playing music and games all night long, so if you could find a quiet place to take a nap, you were lucky. 

That’s why you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face when you saw your boyfriend of eleven months, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, dozing in one of the plush chairs in your father’s study. Your three year old niece was tucked into his side while she drew in the princess coloring book you had gotten her, his arm wrapped protectively around her and a purple crayon dangling from his fingers. Pulling out your phone, you snapped a quick picture, the sight melting your heart. 

You knew the day had to have been overwhelming for Bradley. Hell, it was your family and it was overwhelming for you. Your two older brothers, their wives and children, your aunts and uncles from both sides and some of your cousins… twenty people, even in a house as large as your parents’, was nothing short of chaotic. You were shocked he even agreed to come, since he was used to spending the holidays alone on base.

Stepping into the room, the click of your heels on the wooden floor drew the attention of your niece Lyla, despite your attempts to be as quiet as possible. She waved with a smile, then put her chubby finger to her lips, a signal for you to be quiet. “Unka Roo sleepin’,” she whispered, before going back to coloring. 

“I see that,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to her unruly curls. “You like cuddling with your Uncle Roo?”

The little girl nodded, her tongue poking out of her mouth a bit as she focused on coloring. “He a warm blankie.”

She shifted, snuggling closer to him, and the slight movement was enough to rouse him, his muscled arm tightening around her as though she was going to fall. “You okay, doll?” He asked, his voice thick with sleep and his eyes barely open. 

You chose to remain silent, watching the heartwarming interaction. Seeing him with your niece lit a fire in your belly unlike anything you had ever felt, the thought of him with children of his own and what that would be like was impossible to ignore. 

“Mmhm!” Lyla nodded, holding up her picture for him to see. “All done!”

Bradley ran his free hand over his face and forced his eyes open further, looking at the presented coloring page. “Wow, it's beautiful,” he grinned, kissing her hair before looking up, finally noticing that you were in the room. “Hey, Tink.”

“Hey yourself, handsome. Have a good nap?” You asked, watching as he helped Lyla out of the chair when she started trying to get up, saying something about going to show her parents the picture she colored. 

Once she was out of the room, Bradley stretched his arms above his head, hoping to rid himself of the last vestiges of sleep. “Must have,” he said, sitting back and patting his knee for you to come join him. “How long was I out?”

You moved closer and sat on his lap, careful not to wrinkle his dark gray slacks too much. His matching jacket had been discarded on a chair across the room earlier in the night, leaving him wearing a white dress shirt that had the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his well muscled forearms. His arm wrapped around your waist effortlessly, his thumb brushing over the skin exposed by the open back of your green party dress. 

“An hour, at least,” you replied, moving your hand to the back of his neck, your nails running through the short hair there. You had been helping your mother and sister in laws clean up after dinner, so you didn't know for sure. 

Bradley nodded, leaning forward just enough to kiss your shoulder. “Lyla was getting a little cranky, I think there was too much going on with all the kids running around after dinner, so I brought her in here to relax. I hope that's okay.”

“More than okay,” you reassured him. “I'm sure Tim was thrilled for the break, Uncle Roo.”

His cheeks turned pink at the term of endearment. “I think she's used to calling everyone ‘uncle’,” he explained. It made sense, aside from her father and grandfather, every other adult man in her life was an uncle. “And she was having a hard time with Bradley, so I figured she could call me Rooster.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him tenderly before pulling back to meet his hazel eyes. “So long as you're okay with it. I don't want you to feel pressured.”

“I like it, actually. I've always wanted to be an uncle. Hard with no siblings though,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of sadness. 

Your left hand lifted to rest on his jaw, stroking over his stubble with your thumb. “My brothers might give you shit, but they love you, and you know my parents adore you. Lyla clearly prefers you to anyone else, and the other kids love when you roughhouse with them. I'd say you're pretty welcome in this family, Bradley.”

He nodded, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. You’d always had a large family, so you couldn't imagine what it was like for him to be an orphan. He had told you the story before, his father died when he was a toddler, and his mother passed from cancer as a teen. He went to live with Maverick, his godfather, who betrayed his trust and prevented him from going to the Naval Academy. They hadn't spoken in years, leaving him with nothing but the Navy. 

Until he met you. 

To hear him tell it, your blind date set up on New Year’s Eve the previous year was a miracle in and of itself. You remembered it more based on the hangover you had the next day, so you took his word for it. 

Since then, though, despite a deployment and a couple missions, you were happy together. Nothing was perfect, of course, but you never expected it to be. 

You studied him carefully for a moment, and when he didn't reply, you rested your head against his shoulder, letting your hand slip from his jaw to rest against his chest, his heartbeat strong under your fingertips. “Bradley, I--”

The sound of your father’s booming voice interrupted you as he called for everyone to get ready for Mass. You knew Bradley wasn't religious, and you had told him he didn't have to participate, but it was a family tradition of yours to go to midnight Mass at the local church every Christmas.

“You should come with us, you might enjoy yourself,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder to kiss him gently.

“I don't know anything about religion,” he pointed out, his arms holding you close as you perched on his lap. 

Shaking your head, you smiled and continued to run your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck, soothing him. “That's the beauty of it, you don't have to.”

With a pat to his chest, you stood, holding your hand out to him. His eyes locked with yours for a moment, unsure, before he finally accepted your hand and stood himself. You took the liberty of buttoning his open button while he unrolled his sleeves, helping him into his suit jacket after he had done so. 

“You do clean up nicely, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” you grinned, kissing him once more. 

“So do you, Tinkerbell,” he said, twirling you in a circle, making your skirt flare around your legs. He caught you in his arms before dipping you backward, drawing a giggle from you. “Should we go?”

You nodded as he stood you back on your own two feet, leading him out to the front hall where there was a bustle of energy as everyone put their coats on to brave the cold. Bradley helped you into your parka, making sure it was buttoned up before slipping his own heavy coat on. 

Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, he pressed a kiss to your temple and smiled. “Ready to go?” he asked, motioning toward the door with a tip of his head. 

“I am.” You snuggled into his side and allowed him to lead you out to his Bronco that you had driven from Virginia Beach. Once you were both inside, he started the engine and followed the caravan of vehicles leaving your house for the church. 

Sacred Heart was the church you had attended with your family for as long as you could remember. You and your brothers had been confirmed there, and while none of you were particularly religious anymore, you still attended midnight Mass with your devout parents every year for Christmas. 

You usually sat in the back, since you were such a large group, and with small children it was easier to duck out if they got too loud and interrupted the service. This year was no different, with you and Bradley taking a seat in the last row with your brothers and their families. 

Almost as if on cue, as soon as the service started, Lyla started making a fuss. She hadn’t napped earlier in the day like your brother Tim had hoped she would, and now that it was midnight, she was beyond tired. Her older brother Brenden tried to calm her down, but it only caused her to get louder, trying to squirm out of her mother’s arms. Her efforts doubled when she saw you and Bradley sitting at the end of the pew, reaching out for him. 

“Unka Roo! Unka Rooooo!” she cried, tears falling down her pink cheeks as she got more frustrated. 

Bradley peeked around you to see Lyla distressed and frowned. Without hesitation, he stood and moved around the back of the pew, crouching down behind Tim and his wife, Sarah. “I can take her, maybe she’ll stop?” he whispered, smiling when he saw the three year old already calming some since he came over. 

They shared a look between each other and then looked back to Bradley. “Baby whisperer, huh?” Tim smirked, watching as his wife handed their daughter over to the aviator. “Good luck.”

Lyla quieted almost instantly once she was in Bradley’s arms, resting her head against his shoulder. You turned in your seat to smile at him, feeling like your heart was going to explode in your chest as you watched him pace the rear of the church with your niece in his arms. The only thing that pulled you from your reverie was your eldest brother, Tony, nudging your shoulder. 

“Oooh, you’re in trouble with that one, aren’t you?” he teased, taking the elbow to the ribs you delivered with a quiet grunt. “What? You’re looking at him like you want him to put a baby in you right here.”

“Tony!” you hissed, your cheeks warming with embarrassment. 

Before you could say anything else, Bradley returned to his seat beside you, a soundly sleeping Lyla on his shoulder. “Everything okay?” he whispered, noticing the flush in your cheeks.

Tony leaned over you. “She just --” 

You covered his mouth and shoved him back toward his wife before shaking your head at Bradley. “Everything’s fine, my brother is just being a pig,” you explained quietly, turning your attention back to the service when your father shot you and your brother a look over his shoulder. 

The remainder of midnight Mass went without incident, and when the service was over, you waited for everyone to leave before heading outside yourself with Bradley by your side. Your family was gathered on the steps of the church, making conversation amongst themselves when Tim stepped in front of you. 

“Thanks for holding her, Bradley,” he smiled, managing to lift his daughter into his own arms without waking her. “She really likes you.”

He shrugged, his hands sliding into his coat pockets. “She’s a cutie, that’s for sure. Thanks for trusting me with her.”

You snuggled against his side, smiling up at him. “Did you have a good night?” 

“I had a great night,” he promised, wrapping his arm around you. “I do have one thing that would make it better though.”

There was a curious look on your face when he pulled away, just enough to drop to one knee in front of you, his hand pulling a small box out of his pocket. You gasped, covering your mouth, unable to take your eyes off Bradley despite feeling your whole family staring at you.

“I love you so much,” he swallowed hard, opening the ring box to show a simple diamond ring that had belonged to his mother. “I want you to be my Tinkerbell forever. Will you marry me?”

A tear slid down your cheek as you nodded, offering him your hand. “Yes. God, yes, Bradley!”

Your family and a few other bystanders from the church all clapped as he slid the ring on your finger and pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply. As you parted, a light snow began to fall, dusting your cheeks with cool snowflakes. 

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Look at you with the perfect timing.”

“I try,” he smirked, kissing you once again as your family headed off to their cars to go back home. “Let’s get back, we have Christmas and an engagement to celebrate.”

“It’s the best Christmas ever.”

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Jules-Charles Aviat (1844-1931) "Élégantes sur la plage" ("Elegant on the Beach")

[statelibraryqueensland]

*clears throat* so we hear y’all like cats and cool women in history?

Meet Jean Batten: record setting New Zealand aviatrix, international pilot extraordinaire... 

... And Buddy, her kitten and newfound mascot. 

Buddy was a gift received in 1934 courtesy of the Diggers (aka Australian soldiers) at the Prince of Wales military hospital in Sydney. 

Described as being “as much a centre of attraction as the wonder girl herself”, Buddy the cat flew with Jean many times throughout the years, though he reportedly didn’t enjoy the experience very much. 

Jean broke the record for fastest solo flight from England to Australia in 1934, unseating the previous women’s record held by esteemed pilot Amy Johnson by a little over four days. The success of her long-distance journey catapulted her to celebrity status, and she enjoyed a four week tour of Australia where she was greeted by large crowds of well-wishers.    

She continued to fly for many years after setting her record, continuing on to become the first person to hold both records for fastest solo flights between England and Australia simultaneously. 

Image 1: LINK

Image 2: LINK

[theloveoftoms]

Loosing Control - maverick x reader (top gun)

Summary: After loosing control of your f-14, and feeling like you don't belong at top gun, your husband maverick is there to turn your night around!

This fic came from the request I received from @tinfoilhat2719. Their request had said, "Hi! Can I request a fic for maverick from top gun? So reader and maverick are married and the only person who knows is goose. Reader is a very good pilot who’s also participating in the top gun program and is the only female there. One day she almost loses control of the plane and things almost take a horrible turn. She takes it really badly and starts to doubt herself saying that she doesn’t belong there and doesn’t deserve to be part of the program, so maverick reassures her that she is a good pilot and that she deserves to be there just as much as the rest of them, something cute that shows how much he loves her."

A/N: HELLO everyone, I saw this request that I got this morning, and I had such a fun time writing it! Keep the requests coming, I love writing in response to a prompt, and I'll try and work at them soon! I ran (but mostly walked lol) 3k this morning and then made a salad for lunch and had tons of fun writing today! I'm getting back into the groove of things :) I couldn't think of a name for this at first so I was just going to call it 'husband.' I hope you have a great day/night/whatever time of day it is for you. And thank you so much for reading my stories, it means the world to me! xoxo - Mac :)

*also, the readers callsign in glacier, their rio is rogue, their plane is called bravo, and the instructor/bogey is callsign bandit. cheers!

Word Count: 3.5k

"I can't believe you're married mav," goose said, pinching his nose, "Out of all people, you! You're married!"

Maverick laughed, sliding his arm around your waist, "When you meet the one," he begun, pausing to look at you, "You just know."

You smiled, brushing a piece of maverick's brown hair behind his ear, gazing lovingly into his oceanic green eyes.

"When did you guys get married anyways? God, don't tell me you went to Vegas and got Elvis to do it?"

"No!" you exclaimed laughing, "It wasn't Elvis!"

Maverick smirked, "we went up to Los Angeles for the weekend and got married at city hall, it was short and sweet."

Your wedding was quick, the service lasting no longer than 20 minutes, maverick in his pristine white navy uniform, his jacket bearing his name, and as for you, you were in a silk maxi dress that you had bot at a boutique downtown with a pair of nude heels. A woman in a pant suit helped the two of you sign the papers, and even took your photo with the bouquet of pink tulips that maverick had surprised you with on the morning of.

Maverick and you had met many years ago, back at base camp where you both were learning how to fly f-14's for the first time. Maverick and you had met in the class room, the two of you working together on a project that helped show the instructor each of you we're ready to get into the cockpit. You fell in love with maverick's rebellious ways and flattery. The two of you would sneak out together after curfew and hit up all of the rest pubs in the area, drinking and dancing, and getting to know one another.

After graduating, the two of you got shipped off to different sides of the world. Maverick was working aboard an aircraft carrier in the Indian Ocean and you were off working at NAS north island, flying and performing work both on the ground and in the sky. Long distance was tough, but the two of you tried to keep in contact as best you could, but most of the time, both you and maverick were drawn away from the telephone with such busy schedules.

Only fate would allow you and maverick to reconnect a few years later at top gun. Now that the two of you were back together again and seeing each other on a regular basis, you decided maverick was it for you, he was the only person you ever wanted to be with. So, when one night, the two of you were out during the sunset, walking along the shore, and maverick asked, with an antique ring that used to belong to his mother, kneeling on the sand, telling you how beautiful you were and how lucky he was to have you back in his life again. "All I want in life is to be with you," he had said, "Will you marry me?" And of course you said yes.

Goose shook his head, patting maverick on the shoulder, "Congrats mav. And you too Glacier. You guys are both so cocky and bold I'm surprised mav didn't pop the question the second he saw you back here."

Maverick shook his head, rolling his eyes at goose.

"So is there going to be a party or anything? I better let Carole know, she's not going to believe it."

Silence cast over the room, "Goose," maverick said dryly, "You can't tell anyone about me and y/n just yet."

"Yeah," you said, taking over the conversation, "You know how the commanders felt about the two of us dating, could you imagine what they would say if they found out we were married?"

Goose nodded, "Alright. But man mav, you missed what could have been one hell of a bachelor party."

Maverick laughed, "I could only imagine!"

...

"Bravo is ready for takeoff," you said proudly through my headset to the tower, taking a quick glance back to my RIO, with callsign Rogue, who's given you the thumbs up.

"Permission to taxi Bravo," replied the man from the tower, his voice loud and scratchy on the radio, playing sternly through the ears of your helmet.

Under your command, your aircraft was beginning its trip to the runway, when out of the corner of your eye you noticed maverick ascending the steps into his aircraft, goose following from behind.

"Have a good flight Glacier," maverick said, giving you the thumbs up from his spot in his aircraft.

"Thanks Maverick," you said, the wheels of your aircraft just rolling onto the runway, "See you in the skies."

"God, you two are insufferable," Rogue has said to you with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, "We try to be, Rogue."

With you in command, your plane began to jet forward, sending you swiftly into the air. The sudden acceleration made for in increase of g's, sending you flat back into your seat. You've been flying for abut five years now, and the gravitational-force of the plane taking off into the sky still sent you gasping for breath, although now, you knew how to handle it. You had built up an immunity to the g's, but that first one during each flight, drawing you straight back into your seat, still surprised you from time to time.

A rush of adrenaline was sent flying through your body as your plane made a rapid climb into the clouds, pulsing through into the clear skies ahead. You loved the way that flying made you feel, ever since you were a kid and you took your first ride in an airplane. You loved being able to look down on the world from your place high in the sky and soar above it all. It had been a tough journey to become a naval aviator, but it was all worth it when you could spend your days flying freely in the sky.

You were one of the few females on the base, but the only one enrolled in the top gun program. While other women worked as sailors, and instructors, and nurses, you were the only female top gun pilot. You had to work twice as hard to be taken seriously in your industry, and three times as hard to even receive an invitation to top gun.

The first day you drove on base, listening to uplifting rock songs on the radio, you felt that you were where you had always belonged. Finally, you could be up against other skilled pilots and you would also be improving your own flight tactics, strengthening your skills to become even better than you had been before.

You coasted the jet above the ocean, and with the help of Rogue's navigating, slowed your speed until the others met up with you over the hills along the sea.

Maverick and goose were performing a different exercise, so today it would be iceman and slider working with you and rogue to take down the bogey.

Iceman pulled up beside you and greeted you with a hand signal, a common one, signalling his readiness for the exercise.

"Lets work as a team and take this guy down," you said.

"Copy Bravo," he replied.

The two of you carried on ahead at a suitable speed, one fast enough to get out of dodge when the bogey would reveal himself, but slow enough to be able to look around for said competitor.

All of a sudden, the rush of a jet flew overhead, making your aircraft go unsteady, "Rogue," you called out, "Where's he headed?"

"Bogey is heading northeast at 480 knots, bring it up to 480 Glacier," Rogue said, clipping his breathing device on to better engage.

"Bringing her up. Iceman do you copy?"

"Affirmative Bravo. Taking the lead."

Fuck. There he goes again, trying to take over.

Men can be a nuisance sometimes, especially when they try to tell you that you're not good at what you do, or that you're un-suited for the role of a pilot strictly because you're a female. Iceman is a great guy, cocky as hell, but sometimes, I can tell that he would rather be in the lead instead of let a woman be in command.

"Copy ice," you replied, slightly defeated.

"Hey ice," rogue spoke up from the back, "Remember this is a joint mission. Both you and Glacier are in command. Work as a team."

A smile ran across your face as you quickly popped your mask off, "Thanks Rogue."

At the end of the day, its good to know your RIO has your back. At first, you were actually sort of nervous to be assigned a new RIO. You never know how the person flying with you will tolerate you or your flying techniques, but after some collaboration and understanding, Rogue and you turned out to make quite the team.

"Copy Rogue. En route to the bogey," iceman said clearly through the radio.

So, you let iceman take the lead, and you followed from behind, assisting the best you could.

"Increasing speed to 485, "Iceman said, realizing the bogey was increasing speed at a pace that was quicker than usual.

You followed suit, increasing your speed, keeping your eye on the instructors plane, keeping a safe distance between iceman, who has finally began to speed up and close in.

"What are you waiting for iceman?" You said over the radio, "Time is not our friend here."

"Cornering up," Iceman said, "I've got missile lock on him."

In front, you watched as Bandit took a steep dive towards the earth, the nose of his plane nearly vertical, avoiding the missile lock from your partner.

"Shit!" Iceman called out, rapidly changing the course of his flight pattern to chase after bandit.

"I've got you from the back ice, you are clear to close in," you spoke, catching your breath as your aircraft took a dive below.

"Too close for missiles, switching to guns," ice said, when all of a sudden, bandit made a straight climb at a gradual level, bringing his plane back up, higher than before.

"Fuck, not again!" Iceman said.

He had missed yet another shot. It was your turn to lead.

"Permission to lead iceman?" you asked, already preparing yourself to feel the rush of gravity sending you flat into your seat.

"Granted Bravo. Take the lead."

So, in an instant, you sent your jet flying vertical after bandit, how badly you wanted to catch up to him and be able to take the shot that would win you the exercise.

"Permission to increase speed if needed Glacier," Rogue said from the back seat, "he's going nearly vertical now."

Following the advice of your RIO, you increased the speed to 492 knots, which made you feel the power of your jet even more, the g's sending you back into your seat, your eyes struggling to keep open, your lungs struggling to breathe. But you needed to take a shot, so you used all concentration you had left and did your best to put missile lock on bandit.

Just as your eyes sloped shut, you saw the green box turn red, you had got missile lock on bandit, and then, as the sound in your ears started to ring and sound foreign, the colour running from your eyes, everything going spotty and white then black, you fell back into your seat, unaware of anything.

"Glacier!" Rogue called from the back seat, "GLACIER," he called agin loudly, "Shit, guys," he said into the microphone, "Glacier's out!"

Panic filled Rogue's voice and Iceman who was screaming your name through the radio, "Glacier is in trouble!" he said to bandit.

As you lay there, fully blacked out, your aircraft began to plummet towards the earth. Falling fast, the altitude decreasing rapidly without any pity.

"Glacier," Rogue called you again, "Altitude 9000, 8000. Wake up!"

"Do something bandit! They're going to crash!" Slider said over the radio.

"Ice, slider, stay back, I'm going to put missile lock on, we'll see if that can wake her up," bandit said over the radio, maneuvering his aircraft near yours, putting missile lock on your plane.

An earsplitting buzz filled the plane, and Rogue continued shouting your name, eager to wake you up. "Altitude 7000. 6000," he shouted, "5000, 4000!"

As he called out 3000, your eyes began to flit open, slowly and groggily. At first you couldn't hear a thing, but the screams of your RIO and the buzz of missile lock filled the air around you. Your eyes fully opened to see the ground approaching quicker than expected. "Holy Shit!"

Your plane was spilling out of control, it was up to you to regain it.

"She's re-engaging sir," Rogue called out.

Thinking quick, you fought the g's and brought your hands to the controls, pulling up into a flat flight pattern, gaining control of the aircraft. "Oh my god," you gasped, out of breath, scared shitless of what just happened.

"That's enough for today, let's head back to the base. All good to fly Bravo?" asked bandit.

You wiped the sweat on your forehead with the back of your palm, what the hell just happened?, "Affirmative bandit."

...

Once you had landed on the base, and parked your jet with precision, completing the uniformly straight row, you hopped out of our plane and scrambled down the flight of stairs quicker than you ever had before. You were upset, god how embarrassing was it to black out and nearly crash the jet.

"Lieutenant y/l/n!" Bandit called out, noticing you were already half way to the main building, "Wait up."

You waited for a couple seconds, nervously pacing back and forth, clutching your navy helmet in your hand, your face red and blotchy. "Sir," you greeted him "What is it?" you asked, when he finally caught up to you.

"I just wanted to say that wasn't your fault," he said stiffly, taking of his own helmet, "these things happen sometimes."

You nodded, god how you didn't want to be lectured by your instructor, not to mention the one who had been the most rigid about your flying and your personal choices involving maverick.

"Go take a shower and then just relax in your unit for a while. There is no need for you to finish the lesson today," the older man said firmly, "Take it easy."

Is he telling me to go home? God, no, I worked so hard to get here, I can't go back!

"Then we'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, you shook your head laxly and replied with a very faint, very dry, "yes, sir."

On the walk back home, your thoughts filled your head with undesirable scenarios. Your a shit pilot. If you belonged here, you wouldn't have blacked out like that. the second you got to your apartment, a quaint condo just on the edge of the row of base housing that was overlooking the ocean, you threw off your flight suit, throwing your helmet to the floor and crawled into the shower, where you let the misty water run cooly over your head, filling your ears until all you could hear was the silence of the water, drowning out your unwanted thoughts.

You turned off the creaky faucet, and wrapped yourself in one of your white fluffy towels. Your hair was still very wet, and the water droplets trapped in your damp waves were slowly running down your back, trickling down your spine. You dried yourself the best you could with your bath towel, the fan on the ceiling in your bedroom helping you speed up the process, but making you chilled in the effort.

Still in a towel, you slumped down on your bed, staring endlessly on the ceiling, the same troubled thoughts filling your head like radio static. You were filled with regret and were left feeling like you didn't belong because of your mistake. how could I have been so stupid, you thought as you got dressed in a pair of black workout shirts and your top gun tee, which as soon as you had put it on, you wished you had grabbed something else.

why am I even here? its not like I deserve it after that mistake.

god all of the guys must think im an idiot. Rogue will probably never want to fly with me again.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. You didn't really want to see anyone right about now, but you thought you would at least go see who it was. You looked through the lookhole to find your husband, maverick standing there with a bouquet of tulips in his hand.

He knocked again, "I know you're in there y/n."

You collected your damp hair in your hand and brushed it behind your shoulder and then opened the door to find maverick there with a somber smile. "Hey," he said, "Can I come in?"

"Were married Pete," you said, "Of course you can come in."

He followed you into the kitchen and stood across from you as you relaxed into one of the two bar stools, setting his rose-tined flowers down on the counter. "I heard about what happened."

You looked away and didn't say anything, a common trait of yours was silence when you were upset, and not speaking for too long left you feeling numb.

"It can be scary when you loose sense of things up there," he said gently, taking your hand in his, caressing your thumb gently between his fingers. "Its happened to me before, and when I heard you black out on the radio, it was scary for me."

You looked at maverick sorrily, "mav. I don't want to talk about it right now. I don't want to think about such a bad pilot I am."

maverick signed, sitting down beside you, "Glacier," he begun, "Whatever you're thinking, whatever crap you're telling yourself, its not true."

You put your head in your hands, slumping over the counter, "Maybe I don't belong here?" you asked, "Maybe im not cut out to be at top gun. Maybe I should work a 9-5? be a secretary or something?"

Maverick shook his head, putting a hand on your back, rubbing in circular motions, "What do you say we go for a walk?" he asked, switching the path of the conversation.

You sat straighter, looking up at your husband, his green eyes, like stars in the night, gazing into yours lovingly. "Sure," you began, "But I'm going to need your jacket."

Maverick smirked, shrugging off his aviation jacket, one nearly identical to yours, but bigger and more comfortable. His bicep and pectoral muscles flexing in the act.

Maverick's jacket was warm and fresh up against your skin, and it had the pleasant woodsy sandalwood scent that belonged to your husband. It was a bit big on you, but that's what made it the most comfortable jacket you had access to.

You grabbed your aviators and keys and locked up, your hand intertwined with mavericks as you begun your walk.

You waked through the neighbourhood of houses, past the grocery outlet and the park until you reached the ocean. The sun was beginning its descent for the night, and the base was written in shades of tangerine and marigold.

"Want to sit down?" you asked maverick, "we could watch the sunset?"

Maverick looked around, down the beach to where Antonio's, the local bar was, "actually," he said, "I have something better in mind."

You followed maverick down the sand into Antonio's to find your classmates all standing around the main table which had some fries and other restaurant snacks on it. Each one of your classmates with a beer in their hands and a lax grin written across their faces, the same grin, each in a different font.

"Surprise!" they said, loud enough to excite you, but soft enough not to disturb the ambience of the bar.

You looked to maverick, who had a big grin written across his face.

"Maverick!" you said, "What is all of this?"

Goose stepped forward, "We all heard about what happened, and we thought that a recovery that quick from a blackout deserved a celebration!"

"And since I know that you mind tends to wander to the worst," maverick said, giving you a nudge with his elbow, "I suggested that the guys get something set up for you."

You pulled maverick into a hug, pressing your face against his, "thanks mav."

"You mean a lot to all of us," goose begun, "and your always there to help us out, both in the classroom and the air."

"You are a pretty great wingman," iceman said, "or would it be, wingwoman?" he laughed.

You rolled your eyes, "thanks guys." And you looked to your husband, who somehow had the time to set all of this up, "Thank you mav."

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Ούτοι γυναικός εστιν ιμείρειν μάχης.**

- Aeschylus

Surely it is not for a woman to long for battle.**

Maureen Dunlop flew far faster planes than any of her peers, including Amelia Earhart. She flew Spitfires, Lancasters, Hurricanes and Mosquitos, and proved the dream of Picture Post's photographer when, on emerging from the cockpit of a Fairey Barracuda, the sun on her hair, she made the cover shot of the popular Picture Post that sold thousands of copies in autumn 1944.

Dunlop mastered the controls of 28 different single-engine and 10 multi-engine aircraft types, which also included the Hawker Typhoon, Hawker Tempest, Avro Anson, Mustang, Bristol Blenheim and Vickers Wellington. The ATA did a gruelling day-to-day job, plying the skies under constant threat from inclement weather the length and breadth of Great Britain, at a time when the nature of flying was changing in popular consciousness from having been a pre-war novelty and the subject of record attempts and joyrides, to being a vital part of the war effort.

The women among its members also had to put up with opposition from men who had little faith in their ability – or perhaps misplaced chivalry – such as Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory, who would not let women pilots cross the Channel, or who were merely rude, such as the RAF men who joked of the first all-women aircraft ferrying pool at Hamble in Hampshire as "the lesbians' pool".

Dunlop, like many of her female colleagues, said she wished she could have flown in combat: "I thought it was the only fair thing. Why should only men be killed?"

The ATA service had been founded on the initiative of Gerard "Pop" d'Erlanger, a director of British Airways and banker, who bent the ear of Sir Francis Shelmerdine, Britain's director-general of Civil Aviation, against opposition from the RAF, which preferred to use its own pilots until shortages forced it to relent. ATA pilots had to make the most of training that was, some avowed after the war, inadequate. Instrument flying was not taught, but the service would have ground to a halt if pilots had not broken rules forbidding them to fly in bad weather. Women had to have a minimum of 500 hours' solo flying before joining the ATA, twice as much as the 250 hours originally laid down in September 1939 for the first members, all men. She was one of the 164 female members of the wartime Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA), of which one in ten pilots died while transporting aeroplanes between factories and military airfields

Maureen Dunlop, the second of three children of Eric Chase Dunlop, an Australian farm manager employed by a British company in Argentina, and his English wife, Jessimin May Williams, began flying at the age of 15, when she joined the Aeroclub Argentino. Two years later she had obtained her pilot's licence. Living with her parents, older sister Joan and younger brother Eric on estancias in Patagonia, she was educated by a governess and briefly attended St Hilda's College, an English school at Hurlingham in Buenos Aires. The example of her father's British military experience as a volunteer with the Royal Field Artillery in the First World War, together with an article in Flight magazine, inspired her to sail to England and offer her flying skills to the ATA.

She came through the war uninjured, but once had to make a forced landing when a faulty engine developed heavy vibration (an incident for which she was absolved of responsibility), and once was flying a Spitfire when a badly fitted cockpit cover blew off. After the war she qualified in England as an instructor and, returning to Argentina, flew for the Argentine Air Force and taught its pilots, as well as flying commercially. In 1973 she and her husband, Serban, a retired Romanian diplomat she met at a British Embassy function in Buenos Aires, returned to England, where for the rest of her life, on a farm in Norfolk, she followed her second love - breeding Arab horses. Dunlop built up an outstanding knowledge of bloodlines. She died in 2012.

[ladypilotuniform]

Saluting hot blond bombshell first officer

[newyorkthegoldenage]

June 15, 1933: The other three skating contestants help Betty H. Gillies to her feet, after she had "crashed" during a practice roller skating race at Roosevelt Field, The other skaters, all famous flyers, are Amelia Earhart, Frances H. Marsalis, and Elvy Kalep. They were rehearsing for a roller skating party to be held in an airplane hangar the following day under the auspices of the Ninety-Niners, a club composed of female aviators.

Photo: Bettmann/Getty via Fine Art America

[thatsrightice]

F-14 FUN FACT OF THE DAY #64

F-14 Tomcat pilot Dave “Hey Joe” Parsons stated once that Carrine “Sweaty” Cassidy (née Palm), one of the few female Naval aviators at the time, flew close to NINE HOURS without taking a leak. This is because the piddle packs used by the men didn’t work for the girls and she refused the alternative solution. “There was quite a knock-kneed jog from the jet's ladder to the lady's head,” Parsons described.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

[postcard-from-the-past]

Belgian cyclist, aviator, driver and racer Hélène Dutrieu, the 4th licensed female pilot

French vintage postcard, mailed in 1910