#tilt rotor

[humanoidhistory]

Bell XV-15 Tiltrotor aircraft at NASA's Ames Research Center, 1978.

[spockvarietyhour]

Vertibird in Fallout episodes 1 & 2

[supplyside]

tilt rotor

[zoidsfan77]

ZEDCON-built heavy lift VTOL, the Container Dragon. These were built to facilitate airborne transport of heavy intermodal containers. They are frequently used to deliver materials and supplies to zedconian ships while at sea.

They are powered by a single large ZIEC two-stroke diesel engine. The rotors are hydraulically driven by this single powerplant. Positioning of the rotors is extremely flexible. They at the end of long booms and can articulate to suit maneuvering and flight needs.

The aircraft is capable of reasonable rapid horizontal travel, but lacks sufficient wing area for any sort of glide. It does have some control surfaces on each of its pylons, as well as on its tail-boom.

The cockpit is out on a long "neck-boom" which can pan-tilt also. Mostly to allow the pilot a flexible view of the cargo during hookup and dropoff.

The Container Dragons support a crew of 2, but 1 is very common.

Maximum underbody payload weight is around 90,000lbs.

[researchgroupreports]

The global tilt rotor aircraft market size reached US$ 1.6 Billion in 2023. Looking forward, IMARC Group expects the market to reach US$ 6.7 Billion by 2032, exhibiting a growth rate (CAGR) of 17.4% during 2024-2032. 

[ebodebo]

Ghost Garage

—mechanic!simon riley fucking you in his car garage because you couldn’t afford to pay for his services:(( MDNI ofc

“You’re lookin’ at six thousand for a new engine,” Simon says thoughtfully, scribbling a collection of messy additions in his notebook. “And if you’re lookin’ to do just one set of brake pads and rotors,” he says, scribbling some more, “lookin’ at six hundred even for those.”

Your eyes widen at his words because how the fuck were you ever going to be able to afford this? You swallow hard, pondering your following words. “Do you do discounts or something?” You’re sure you sound like an idiot, but you’re desperate.

The corner of his lip quirks at your question as his eyes stay glued to the notebook paper, still scribbling. “No. Still no discounts ere’,” he says, capping his pen, finally looking at you.

You fidget with your hands, eyes on his. “I—um…there’s no way I can…” you begin, turning your gaze away from him, feeling bashful, “…afford that.” Even though you had come to Simon’s garage before, this was just the first time you outwardly told him you couldn’t afford his services.

He leans back in his chair, the base squeaking a little. “Do ya’know how dangerous it is to drive with worn-out brake pads?” he states, placing the pen in his mouth, awaiting your response.

“Yes. I’m aware, but—” you begin, only for him to interrupt.

“But nothin’,” he calmly says, shifty in the chair, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body. You pretend not to notice even though it invokes an immeasurable amount of wetness to gather in your panties.

He can tell you’re nervous—your body language says it all. Clammy hands you wipe off on your jeans every so often, you’re avoiding direct eye contact with him, and the fact he can hear your heartbeat from where he sits.

He shouldn’t even have unholy thoughts of you come across his mind. But, shocker, he did. Every night from the time you first went to the shop all of those four months ago, he would fist himself in the shower thinking about you.

You, who always had that doe-eyed, glossed-over expression. You, who always had to bring Simon a sweet treat when you came, whether it be candy or some fresh-baked cookies you prepared. Oh, and you, who would hug him after he did your car inspections. Ya, he thought about that one a lot.

He considers your predicament. He has a solution, but it’s risky—perhaps too risky?

Eh, Fuck it. What’s he got to lose?

“Tell ya what,” he starts, standing up from his chair and grabbing the notebook paper with the numbers. “I’ll throw this ere’ piece of paper in the trash—hell, I’ll burn it,” he cocks a brow, “If you do somethin’ for me.” He hovers the small, intimidating piece of paper over a small trash can.

“Anything,” you say, desperation coating your voice. He hums, ducking his head to stare at the trashcan.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, followed by a gravelly laugh. You gulp, waiting for him to explain.

“I want somethin’ from ya,” he finally looks up at you, wiping his mask-less jaw with his hand. “Somethin’ that isn’t…money.”

You slightly confound your head. “Like I said…anything,” you amend.

He sticks his tongue in his cheek, drops the tainted paper into the trash, and then takes slow, deliberate steps towards you.

You inhale as he stands before you, unsure of his intentions. Exhaling sharply only when he brings his thumb up, dragging it delicately across your jaw, tilting it up so you are looking at him.

“I think we could figure out a way for you to get that work paid in full,” he rumbles, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “And a way I could feel that pretty pussy around me.”

Your eyes widen at his words, dumbfounded by his sheer bluntness and vulgarity. Though you admit, you feel a knot start to form in your lower stomach and more wetness pool between your thighs.

“Unless you don’t want to?” His tone his monotone, no signs of resentment as he drops his hand from your face.

“No—I do,” you affirm, even grabbing his hand and then dropping it from embarrassment. “I just didn’t think…you, uh, liked me like that,” you mutter, shifting on your feet and shifting your gaze to the concrete floor you both stand on.

“Oh, trust me. I like you like that,” he laughs lowly, stepping closer to you, bringing his hand back to the same spot to brush his finger against your pouty lip. “Can I?” He questions his gaze on your lips. You nod, standing on your tiptoes, gripping his neck, and bringing his lips to yours. You could taste remnants of cigarette smoke and the icy tang of Nicorette mint gum.

The kiss quickly became full of fervent urgency. Sloppy lips sucking your own, hands aimlessly gripping any piece of flesh it could, and teeth frantically clashing with your own.

“You do this with all your clientele?” you tease as Simon grips the bottom of your shirt and quickly pulls it off your head.

“Nah,” he coolly says, hands palming your breasts over your bra. “Just the ones I jerk off to.” You gasp at not only his hands on such a sensitive part of you but also his confession.

“You jerk off to me?” you tentatively ask, bringing your hands to grip the hem of his shirt, slipping it off his head. His lips instantly connect with your neck.

“What about it?” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his tongue from the side of your neck to your lips.

“I just…I finger myself thinking about you,” you admit in between his feverish kisses, which are apparently taking away your sense of shame. He pulls back only a little.

“You’re tellin’ me…” he reaches down to bring your hand up, grazing your fingers with his own. “You plunge these in your pussy, thinkin’ about me?” he stares at your fingers, unable to comprehend what he’s hearing. He darts his eyes to yours. “I get you off?”

“Of course you do,” you attest, dragging your hand so it rests on his cock that is tucked away in his greased stained jeans. He groans at your touch.

“Now let me see what I’ve been imagining.”

He wastes no time stripping you bare, throwing your bra and panties off to the side, before he unlatches his belt, roughly yanking his jeans and boxers down just below his thighs.

He grips the back of your thighs before hauling you over to a wood table that currently holds some pens and a toolbox. His lips connect with your collarbone, then to the fat of your breast, as you lazily stroke his cock.

“Little smaller than I imagined,” you cheekily say before Simon lightly nips at your nipple with his teeth, making you moan. He laughs against your skin, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

“And yet it still makes you fuckin’ wet,” he cockily says as his hand slips to graze your glistening cunt. You don’t even talk; you have no breath left to speak. So, you let out a pathetic noise instead—somewhere between a moan and whine.

“Let me play with ya for a minute,” he murmurs into your ribs, pointer finger brushing against your labia. You squirm at his touch.

“Simon. I just…I need you in me,” you beg, pulling him by the hair so his ear is by your mouth, rocking your hips against his finger in you.

“I’m gonna come as soon as I’m in you, Sweetheart,” he says honestly, pointer plunging into your cunt, gently touching your clit.

“I don’t care…just…just,” you rasp, unable to speak with his hand plunging into you.

“Fine, fine,” he says. He gives his cock a tug before he pokes your entrance with the head, gripping your hips before he pushes inside you a little. He grits his teeth at the sensation, and you whine at the slight pain.

“Open up for me. Come on,” he hisses, throwing his head back as he sinks deeper into you. “There she goes,” he praises, gripping one of your legs and positioning it so it lies straight up against his body. You both groan at the deeper contact.

“Shit,” you curse as Simon starts up a good pace. His cock managed to graze you in all of the right spots—reaching places you didn’t even know was possible.

You knew you both wouldn’t last long at this pace—you’re honestly not so sure he would have lasted at any pace. He was painfully hard when you hadn’t even whipped your tits out.

Though you thought the jokes were on him, as soon as he brought his thumb to stimulate your clit, you were skewing curses, tightening around his cock.

“Fuck. That’s it…that’s—” he panted out as he felt you clamp around him, hearing you yell, ‘Coming,” before he followed with his orgasm.

Once both of your orgasms have subsided, he helps you off the table to grab your clothing. You gently tug on your lip before you speak.

“Also…about the payment?” You shyly question as he pulls his jeans up.

“Consider it handled,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his jeans.

a/n: bye once again i abused the italicized button

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[futuretonext]

The Global Tilt Rotor Aircraft Market is projected to grow at a CAGR of around 5% during the forecast period, i.e., 2021-26. The growth of the market is driven primarily by swiftly escalating geopolitical tensions & trade wars entwined with massive investment by the governments of different countries worldwide in the development & adoption of Tilt Rotor Aircraft. 

[lovetommyactually]

fic prompt! Since I just landed on a flight home, how about Buck and Tommy fly somewhere and this is the time that Buck gets to really see Tommy being a nerd about flying, even if he's not flying the plane himself. If it sparks joy. 😊

Sarah i know i'm so late, but I've been thinking about this since you sent it.. finally, an idea came by lol (hope you like it 🥰)

Buck was mid-ramble about the aerodynamics of commercial planes—something he'd picked up during a late-night internet deep dive before their trip—when he paused, noticing Tommy sitting rigidly beside him.

Tommy’s hand gripped the armrest tightly, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm as though he couldn’t quite keep them still. His jaw was set, lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze flickered back and forth between the window and the seat in front of him.

“You okay?” Buck asked, tilting his head toward him.

“Yeah, fine,” Tommy replied quickly, his voice clipped. His eyes didn’t meet Buck’s, and his grip on the armrest tightened slightly as the plane jolted, turning onto the main runway.

Buck didn’t press him. Instead, he shifted in his seat, leaning just a little closer.

As the plane accelerated for takeoff, Tommy exhaled sharply, his foot bouncing lightly against the floor. His fingers tapped the armrest before curling tightly, knuckles pale. His breathing was shallow—measured, as if keeping himself in check. Buck noticed without a word, his gaze flicking briefly to Tommy’s hand before sliding his own over it. His thumb brushed lightly against Tommy’s wrist, a quiet reassurance.

Tommy didn’t react at first, but then Buck shifted his hand, gently coaxing Tommy’s fingers to relax. Tommy hesitated, glancing at Buck out of the corner of his eye, but the tension in his grip eased. Slowly, almost shyly, his fingers relaxing enough for Buck to intertwine them with his own.

Buck didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at him, just kept talking about the mechanics of lift-off as though nothing was out of the ordinary. His voice was steady and warm, grounding in a way that pulled Tommy’s focus from the roaring engines and the tilt of the plane as it left the ground.

Tommy’s grip tightened briefly around Buck’s hand, but this time it wasn’t out of nervousness—it was something quieter, steadier. Buck’s faint smile grew as he felt the shift, his thumb brushing lightly along the side of Tommy’s hand.

By the time the plane leveled out, Tommy had regained his composure. His usual confidence returned, and Buck could see it in the way he subtly shifted in his seat, reclaiming his space.

And their fingers stayed intertwined, neither of them letting go.

“Sorry about that,” Tommy muttered, finally looking at Buck. “Guess I do not like flying unless I’m the one in control.”

Buck shrugged, giving him an easy grin. “Makes sense. You’re used to being the guy behind the stick. Kind of weird to trust someone else to do the job.”

Tommy let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Exactly.”

Buck leaned closer, his eyes lighting up. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s kind of amazing to just sit back and think about how all this works. I mean, did you know that commercial planes—”

“—can fly even if one engine goes out?” Tommy interrupted; his tone slightly smug. He gave Buck a sidelong glance, his lips twitching into a grin. “Come on, Evan. I’ve been flying helicopters long enough to know a thing or two about rotors and wings—definitely more than you.”

Buck feigned offense, his hand still resting lightly in Tommy’s. “First of all, rude. Second of all, helicopters are completely different from planes. And third, this is my thing. You don’t get to outdo me in rambling about cool stuff.”

Tommy chuckled, leaning his head back against the seat. “Fine. You get this one. But only because I already know all the facts.”

“Oh, do you?” Buck shot back, leaning forward in challenge.

Tommy’s face lit up in a way Buck rarely saw. “Okay, look, I’ll give you this,” Tommy began, his tone shifting into the cadence of someone who truly loved what they were talking about. “Planes are efficient and all, but helicopters? They’re the real magic. Think about it—rotor blades generate lift, but they’re also responsible for propulsion. You’re balancing pitch, yaw, and roll all at the same time. It’s like juggling while standing on a tightrope during a windstorm.”

Tommy kept going, now diving into the mechanics of different flight systems and the nuances between military and civilian helicopters. “And then there’s autorotation recovery—people think it’s impossible, but if you’ve got the skill and focus—”

He suddenly trailed off, catching Buck’s gaze. Buck was staring at him, eyes twinkling and a soft smile curling his lips.

Tommy froze, blinking. “What?”

“What what?” Buck asked, his smile widening innocently.

Tommy’s cheeks turned pink. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Buck chuckled. “Nothing, I’m just listening.”

“Oh…” Tommy hesitated, his blush deepening. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Sorry? No, I like it. Come on, tell me more!” Buck urged, grinning. “But also, don’t be so biased about helicopters. I also need to know more about planes in general!”

Tommy’s lips twitched into a bashful smile before he nodded, launching back into his explanation with renewed enthusiasm. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, describing the differences in flight dynamics between fixed-wing and rotary-wing aircraft, his voice growing more animated with each passing second.

Buck watched him, mesmerized by the way Tommy’s eyes lit up, the way his hands moved as though he could hardly contain his excitement. Finally, Buck raised a hand, halting Tommy mid-sentence.

“Wait a minute,” Buck said, leaning in. Before Tommy could ask why, Buck kissed him—a brief, warm press of lips that left Tommy blinking in surprise.

Buck pulled back just enough to grin at him. “I might be starting to understand why you never stop me when I ramble.”

Tommy’s smile grew, wide and unrestrained, and before Buck could say another word, Tommy leaned in and kissed him again—a quick, joyful press of lips that made Buck’s heart flip.

When Tommy pulled back, his voice was soft and full of warmth. “I love you.”

Buck blinked, his grin spreading even wider. And he said in a mock-surprise “You do?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself.

“Just making sure,” Buck teased, his tone light, as if he wasn’t already beaming. “Because I love you too.”

Tommy let out a laugh and without thinking, he brought their intertwined hands up, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Buck’s hand. The small gesture made Buck’s heart skip, but before he could say anything, Tommy leaned back, his grin turning playful. “Okay, so… does this mean I get to win the argument about helicopters being better?”

“Absolutely not,” Buck said, laughing as he bumped his shoulder against Tommy’s. “But I’ll let you try and convince me.”

He glanced at Buck, hesitant for a beat, then took a breath and continued where he left off. “Okay, fine. But since you’re so determined to make this a debate, let me explain why helicopters still have the edge—”

Buck interrupted with a mock groan, throwing his head back. “Oh, here we go again.”

Tommy just laughed, a bright, happy sound that filled the small space between them, and Buck couldn’t help but think that this—this—was his favorite sound in the world.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1968 AMC AMX

408-Powered 1968 AMC AMX 4-Speed

1968 AMC AMX

This 1968 AMC AMX was modified under previous ownership during a refurbishment that is said to have been conducted over the course of 10 years and was completed in 2013. Refinished in black over red vinyl upholstery, the car is powered by a 408ci V8 paired with a four-speed manual transmission. Refurbishment work reportedly involved resurfacing the cylinder heads as well as installing an Edelbrock intake manifold, a performance camshaft, Hooker long-tube exhaust headers, billet pulleys, an aluminum radiator, cross-drilled front brake rotors, and lowering springs. Additional equipment includes 15″ Vision wheels, aftermarket headlights, chrome bumpers, a Hurst shifter, tilt steering, and a push-button AM radio. The seller acquired the vehicle in 2015. This modified AMX is now offered with a service manual, books, a model kit, unused Go Package–style stripe decals, spare and removed parts, and a Nevada title in the seller’s name.

1968 AMC AMX

The car was refinished in black as part of the aforementioned refurbishment. Additional work is said to have included repainting the wheel wells and the floors along with replacing the bumpers, door handles, grille, mirrors, headlights, weatherstripping, and bright trim on the window and headlight surrounds. The “AMX” badging on the exterior features red letter Xs.

1968 AMC AMX

Aftermarket 15″ Vision wheels are mounted with 215/60 front and 265/50 rear Cooper Cobra Radial G/T tires. A space-saver spare is located in the trunk. The car is equipped with lowering springs, and braking is provided by cross-drilled front discs and rear drums.

1968 AMC AMX

The split front bench seat is trimmed in red vinyl upholstery complemented by a color-coordinated dashboard, door panels, and carpeting. Other features include crank windows, a fold-down armrest, a Hurst shifter, tilt steering, and an American Motors–branded push-button AM radio. The headliner, carpets, and sill plates were replaced under previous ownership.

1968 AMC AMX

The three-spoke steering wheel fronts a 120-mph speedometer, a tachometer, and a combination gauge for fuel level and coolant temperature. An AutoMeter tachometer is mounted to the steering column, and a trio of smaller AutoMeter gauges affixed beneath the dashboard monitors oil temperature, coolant temperature, and oil pressure. The five-digit odometer shows 13k miles, less than 500 of which have been added by the seller; true mileage is unknown. The seller notes that the clock and the factory tachometer do not work.

1968 AMC AMX

The engine is said to be an AMC 390ci V8 that was bored and stroked to displace 408ci. Additional work during the refurbishment included resurfacing the cylinder heads as well as installing forged engine internals, an Edelbrock intake manifold, a performance camshaft, ceramic-coated Hooker long-tube exhaust headers, billet pulleys, an aluminum radiator with electric fans, and an aftermarket exhaust system. An oil change and coolant flush were performed in preparation for the sale. The car’s chassis number indicates that it was originally equipped with a 360ci V8 topped by a two-barrel carburetor.

1968 AMC AMX

Power is sent to the rear wheels through a four-speed manual transmission and a Twin-Grip rear axle with 3.55:1 gearing. An Ace Racing Powerforce clutch was fitted during the refurbishment.

1968 AMC AMX

A 1968 AMC service manual, books and magazines, an AMT model kit, unused Go Package–style red stripe decals, and spare and removed parts will accompany the vehicle.

The Nevada title notes the odometer brand “Exempt.”

[hatsbuckets]

Wood Chopping | NikPrice

Totally self-indulgent... Muhahaha this got longer than I meant for it to over the week :)

Pairings: Nik x Price WC: ~2800 Warnings: None? Short Vers: Literally just based on the scene (this and this at :45) from Avengers Age of Ultron where they go to Clint's house. Ao3 Link

Nik's Black Hawk thunders low over the Highlands, kicking up loose dirt, shaking the tall grass. The sky is overcast, deep grey with streaks of dying light, the sharp chill of the evening settling in.

The MacTavish property rolls into view—old, stone-built, sturdy, unmoved by time or war. Surrounded by green, plenty of room for landing, a woodpile stacked near the house, a chimney spilling thin trails of smoke into the crisp air. The house itself is warm and lived-in, golden light flickering in the windows, the outline of figures shifting behind the curtains.

By the time Nikolai sets them down, the engine’s roar consumes everything, shaking the bones of the house itself. The door bursts open and out comes two tiny figures—bundled up in knit jumpers, shrieking in delight.

Soap’s niece and nephew, Eva and James.

They sprint across the yard, unbothered by the wind whipping at their clothes. Their mother stands in the doorway, arms crossed, bracing against the cold.

The rotors slow. The engine winds down. The Black Hawk settles, the weight of it sinking into the earth.

The team inside doesn’t move at first.

Exhaustion sits heavy.

It had been a long mission. A bloody one.

But the second Soap hears the unmistakable sound of his niece yelling his name, he peels off his headset and hauls himself up.

The doors swing open and the cold rushes in.

Soap’s boots hit solid ground. He’s tired, aching, still feeling the phantom sting of bruises under his gear. But when Eva hurls herself at him, arms spread wide, hair a mess from the wind he catches her with fervor.

"There’s my lass!" Soap lifts her effortlessly, despite the burn in his ribs, spinning her in an arch. She giggles, clinging to his shoulders. James crashes into his leg, gripping him in a fierce hug.

"Uncle John! You brought your mates!"

Behind him, the others climb out.

Gaz first, looking half-dead but smiling, his gear hanging off him in a little too haphazardly. Ghost moves slower, stiff, posture wound tight. Price steps down last, rolling his shoulders, pressing his hat onto his head. The kids eye the group like they’re seeing legends step out of a storybook.

Eva, still in her uncle's arms, peers over at Ghost. "You still don’t talk much?"

Ghost tilts his head, eyebrow arched just for her to see, voice dry. "Still don’t."

Jamie nudges Gaz’s knee. "Did you bring me anything?"

Gaz, half a breath from collapsing, smirks. "Only a Black Hawk in your front yard, mate. That enough?"

James beams.

But the second Nikolai steps out of the bird, a hush falls. He’s the only unfamiliar face. He looks it too.

Tall, broad-shouldered, built almost more bear than man. His coat whips in the wind, sleeves rolled up just enough. His hair is a mess from the headset, streaks of silver catching in the dim light. He pulls off his gloves slow.

Soap’s sister, still standing at the doorway, finally steps forward.

Her eyes rake over them—taking in the injuries, the exhaustion, the bruises they won’t talk about.

She exhales, mutters, "Christ, John."

Soap grins, still holding Eva. "Missed me?"

"Not when you land a military aircraft in my yard, I don’t."

Price huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his face, then the back of his neck. "Soap—John, thought you might be able to spare some space, if you'll have us."

"I'm supposed to deny my brother and the lost band of pups he brings to my porch? Of course you're welcome to stay for a bit, Captain."

She looks past him, eyes landing on Nikolai.

"And you are?"

Nikolai, shoving his gloves into his cargo pockets, simply inclines his head. "Nikolai."

There’s a long pause. She crosses her arms, glancing at Price again. "That supposed to mean something to me?"

Soap snorts. "He’s the reason we’re here in one piece."

That earns Nikolai a once-over, slow and thorough.

Then, with a reluctant sigh and half compliant jerk of her head toward the door, "Aye, well. You lot look like hell. Get inside before you freeze to death."

Gaz is the only one immediately polite enough to thank her.

Soap sets Eva down as his sister leads them towards the door.

Gaz hums, patting Soap's shoulder. "You're sister's an angel, Tav."

Soap shoves him toward the door. "Don’t be weird."

Nik lingers for a moment before following. But Price doesn’t move. Not right away.

Instead, he stands there, looking at the house, the hills behind it, the warmth spilling from the open door in the haze of a cloudy midafternoon.

A place untouched by war. A place that shouldn't have a giant craft with rotor blades making crude indents in the soil.

Nikolai, watching him, exhales slow. "Coming, John?"

Price finally looks over, his breath curling in the cold. He holds Nikolai’s gaze for just a second too long.

Then he steps forward, muttering, "Yeah. Let’s go."

And with that, they make their way up the porch, into the house, and the door swings shut behind them.

...

Inside, the house is warm, the air thick with the scent of stew on the stove, and the faintest trace of burning wood. The fire crackles in the hearth, its golden glow stretching into the cozy, well-worn kitchen and beyond.

The team filters in, shedding gear, loosening jackets, rolling sore shoulders.

Soap’s sister moves through the space with ease, knowing exactly how to handle them—not coddling, not hovering, but keeping things moving. She's practiced enough, mostly just with Ghost and Soap, sometimes with all four of them, sometimes it's like dealing with her kids... A hand on Soap's shoulder here, a sharp look at Gaz when he tries to sneak a bite of bread before dinner, a gentle nod when Ghost silently requests her permission, just a look from him, to go upstairs to a spare bedroom he knows well now.

The kids still orbit Nikolai, barely containing their excitement. He entertains them with just enough patience to keep them from running wild, letting James hold his gloves, allowing Eva to inspect his patch with curious fingers.

Soap, leaning against the counter, just watches with a bemused smirk.

"You’re in deep now, mate."

Nikolai lifts a brow. "Mhm."

James tugs his sleeve. "You can fly anything, yeah?"

Nik nods, solemn. "Anything."

Jamie gasps, looking up at his sister. "I bet he could even fly a spaceship!"

Eva narrows her eyes, calculating. "You ever flown a spaceship?"

Nik strokes his beard, thoughtful. "Not yet."

They gasp again.

Soap’s sister snorts, shaking her head. "Jesus, he’s worse than John."

Soap laughs and gives his sister a squeeze and a kiss on her temple, then heads upstairs.

Gaz—the charming bastard—finds himself helping Soap’s sister in the kitchen, easily slipping into conversation, trading stories like they’ve known each other forever.

Price watches all of it, still lingering near the front door, comfortably leaning on the wall, a fresh mug of tea cradled between battered hands. He’s listening—half to the chatter, half to the way the fire crackles, the way his own muscles ache beneath his clothes.

He could stay here for a while, but his body doesn’t know how to rest.

Soap’s sister, moving past, sighs as she glances out the window.

"Still got some wood to chop." It’s not directed at anyone in particular, but Price glances up.

Nik, seated nearby, meets his gaze. Blue eyes shifting from those browns back to the mug. Something unspoken passes between them.

They both need to move and work off whatever tension still lingers in their bones.

Price sets his mug down with a quiet thud, rolling his shoulders. "We’ll handle it."

She hums pleasantly, convincing Eva and James to come along and help her and Kyle in the kitchen.

Nikolai stands, stretching slightly, rolling his sleeves back up. His movements are easy, fluid, but there’s an edge of something restless beneath them.

Price smiles, lips pressed together, as he and Nik head out the door. And just like that, Price and Nikolai step out into the cold. The door clicks shut behind them, sealing them out into the quiet, biting air of the Highland evening.

The firewood is stacked neatly, waiting.

The wind stirs through the trees, the distant baa of a sheep carrying across the land.

The afternoon is crisp and cold, the wind rolling down from the hills, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. Their breath curls in the air, mingling with the faint wisp of steam rising from their bodies—the warmth of exhaustion meeting the bite of the Highland chill.

The woodpile sits a few meters from the house, stacked neatly beside a worn chopping block. The setting sun casts long shadows over them. The distant murmur of conversation leaks from the house, muffled by thick stone walls, but out here, it’s just them.

The quiet should be easy. But it isn’t.

Price rolls his shoulders, testing the stiffness in his back, then plants his boots, grabs a log, and sets it onto the block.

He doesn’t say anything at first—just lifts the axe, grips it tight, and swings.

THWACK.

The log splits clean, toppling in two.

Nikolai watches. Silent. Measured.

He follows suit, stepping forward, rolling his sleeves higher, exposing thick, scarred forearms. He picks up another log, sets it down with quiet precision, grips the axe with unhurried ease, and—

THWACK.

Price exhales slow, grabs another log. They fall into a rhythm.

Axe. Wood. The cold. The quiet.

But it doesn’t last, because it couldn't.

"You shouldn’t have gone in." Nikolai’s voice cuts through the night. Low. Even.

Price scoffs under his breath. He sets another log. "I wasn’t waiting on more intel, Nik."

THWACK.

The axe bites into wood, splitting it clean.

Nikolai doesn’t argue. Just picks up another log. Waits.

Price exhales, wiping a hand down his face. "The window was closing. If I’d waited, we’d have lost them."

Nikolai sets the log down, grips the axe, but doesn’t swing yet.

Price tightens his jaw. Grabs another log. "I made a call."

THWACK.

The words come sharper now, spilling out between strikes. "Somebody had to go in. We were out of time."

THWACK.

Nik lifts another log.

Price keeps going. Longer winded now, breath coming heavier, voice raw. "I was the only one up there with Gaz. I wasn’t waiting on more; wasn’t sending the Sergeant alone. That’s my job—that’s why—"

CRACK.

A sharp, splintering sound shatters the night.

"You think I don't know why you went in there?"

Price stops, watching the way the two halves thud on the ground next to Nik. Nikolai stands there, breathing steady.

The air between them stills. The wind drags through the trees. Somewhere, far away, a sheep bleats.

Price’s heartbeat is thick in his throat. His fingers flex against the axe handle, muscles tight, breath heaving.

Nikolai exhales slow, gaze never leaving Price.

There’s something in his gaze. Something heavy, deep-seated. Not just frustration. Not just anger. Dark, knowing.

Price swallows, dragging a hand over his mouth. "Jesus Christ, Nik."

Nikolai tilts his head slightly, expression unreadable. "You are not the only person who has lost soldiers and brothers in battle."

Price holds his gaze. "I know."

"Then stop acting like that wasn't a dumb decision."

"It was the only decision, Nik."

Nik scoffs.

Price steps forward dropping his axe and grabs Nik's hand. He makes Nik's palm press flat against his chest, stepping close, hardly a breath between them.

"I'm alive, Nik. I'm fine. And we got out because of you."

Nikolai doesn’t move at first. His palm is broad, rough, still warm from the heat of exertion. It rests firm against Price’s chest, over the steady, heavy thrum of his heartbeat.

But his fingers twitch. Not a full flinch. Just a fraction of hesitation. The moment is too much, too close, too raw.

And then, he yanks his hand away.

Not harshly, not violently, but enough to make the space between them cold. His jaw tightens as he steps back, shaking his head, a scoff just barely escaping under his breath.

"You’re fine?" Nikolai echoes, voice lower now, rougher. He scrubs a hand through his hair, exhales sharp. "You nearly got yourself killed in there, Jonathan. There were—" He cuts himself off, jaw working, teeth clenched tight.

Price’s breath is slow. Jonathan. He takes a breath, exhales. He steps forward again, refusing to let that distance stay, his voice quieter now. "And I made it out."

"This time."

The wind stirs, cutting sharp between them. The firewood sits, forgotten.

Nik’s breath is unsteady. His arms are tense at his sides, fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His lips part like he wants to say something else, something worse, something he can’t take back—but he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales, tilting his head slightly, gaze cutting down—landing where his own hand had been, pressed against Price’s chest, as if he can still feel it.

And when he looks up again, there’s something darker in his eyes.

Something Price recognizes.

The space between them thins again, but this time, Nik doesn’t step away.

"I know you’re alive, John," Nik murmurs, voice quieter now, rough like the edge of a blade. "But you do not act like you want to be."

That one lands. Price exhales sharply through his nose, jaw clenching so tight his teeth ache. His fists curl at his sides, fingers pressing against calloused palms. He doesn’t say anything at first. But his breath comes deeper now, chest rising and falling slow and heavy.

Nik watches him, unreadable. His own breath a little too even, a little too measured—like he’s waiting for something. Like waiting for Price to do something reckless.

Price steps forward again, closing the last bit of space, the scent of damp earth and firewood between them. Their shoulders almost brush, the tension thick enough to drown in.

And then Nik does it.

He reaches. Not hesitant. Not soft. Deliberate.

He fists his hand in the front of Price’s shirt, tugging just enough to make him feel it.

"Do you even know how to stop?" Nik murmurs, voice lower now, just a fraction above a whisper.

Price shrugs, but it’s a slow thing. His lips twitch like he wants to smirk, to play it off, but the air between them is too charged, too thick, too damn heavy.

Nik still has his fist clenched in Price’s shirt, holding him there—not pulling, not pushing, just holding. Like he’s testing how far this will go, how much Price will take before he pulls away.

But he doesn’t pull away. Not even when Nik tugs, just slightly, like he wants an answer to the question still hanging between them.

"Do you?" Price asks, voice quieter now. Not taunting. Not amused. Just… there.

Nik exhales sharply, shaking his head, lips pressing into a thin line. "You are deflecting," he mutters, but his voice is different now. Lower. Rougher.

Price tilts his head, that same unreadable look in his eyes. "Maybe."

He moves. It’s not slow. It’s not careful.

Price steps in—not a hesitant thing, but something certain, something decisive. He fists Nik’s shirt in return, mirroring the grip that’s still tight against his own chest, and drags him in.

Nik lets him.

Their mouths meet in a clash of breath and heat and something that's been waiting to happen since the moment they stepped out here, since the first argument in the field, since Price nearly got himself killed and Nik had to watch it unfold.

It’s rough, frustrated, laced with the kind of exhaustion that only comes from caring too much.

Nik exhales into it, his hand finally unfurling from Price’s shirt so he can cup the back of his neck instead, fingers pressing firm against his skin. Price shudders, not enough to be obvious, just enough that Nik feels it.

The grip between them tightens. The space between them disappears.

Price kisses like he fights—unyielding, with a kind of quiet, focused intensity. Nik matches it. Challenges it. Teeth scrape, fingers dig in, and the cold doesn’t seem to matter anymore, not when there’s warmth coiling between. Something neither of them really know how to stop.

Eventually, they have to breathe. Price is the one to break away first, forehead barely resting against Nik’s, their breath mixing in the frigid air.

Nik swallows, eyes flicking over Price’s face, still close enough that their noses almost brush. His voice is quieter now, steadier. "You are impossible."

Price huffs a soft laugh, the tension not quite gone, but something in his shoulders easing. "Yeah."

Nik’s thumb brushes absently over the side of his neck. It's barely a touch, hardly noticeable, but Price feels it everywhere.

"Inside," Nik mutters, voice raw. "Before they come looking for us."

Price lingers for half a second longer, like he wants to push his luck, like he could kiss him again, but he steps back.

Nikolai lets him go.

For now.

Thanks for Reading

[diazsdimples]

James! Some coastguard au sounds like it would go down a treat! 🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁

Coming right up!!

His voice is strong, the steadiness in his tone a complete juxtaposition to the energy coursing through him. His whole body is on edge, pumped with adrenaline as he grips the cyclic and collective, adjusting his speed and pitch to keep them hovering steadily. He glances across to Higgs who gives him a thumbs up, and he gently tilts the nose of the chopper downwards. Cloud swirls around the rotors, sending off spirals into the heavens as they push through. The visibility slowly eases as they descend, landmarks shifting from greyish blurs to defined objects, until suddenly they pop through the bottom layer. “There’s the flare!” Higgs yells, tapping the glass of the cockpit. Tommy follows his finger and spots the bright red plume of smoke erupting from the middle of the beach. His hands are already at work, the Jayhawk dipping its nose and descending into a hover over the beach. He can see the two medics on the shore, frantically waving at the chopper. Michaels and Barton have the stretcher ready to load and they wait for Tommy to get into position so they’ll be lowered onto the beach, and not into the freezing waters of Port Alexander. McKinley secures a rope to each man with a carabiner clipped to their harnesses, giving their gear a thorough check before signalling to Tommy. With a quick nod, Tommy brings the bird to a stable hover and speaks into his radio. "Ready when you are." "Roger, we're good to go," comes McKinley's gruff voice. "Sending the boys down."

tagging @hippolotamus @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @tommysdaddykink @midsummersmorn @bigfootsmom

@tommykinard who also asked for this wip!

[theengineerspost]

8 Different Types of Helicopters and Their Uses

1. Single Rotor Helicopter:

A single-rotor helicopter has one main rotor for lift and thrust and a smaller tail rotor for counteracting torque. It is the most common design, known for simplicity and efficiency in most flight conditions. Examples include the Bell 206 and Robinson R44.

2. Tandem Rotor Helicopter:

Tandem rotor helicopters have two main rotors mounted at opposite fuselage ends, rotating in opposite directions to counteract torque. This design allows for a higher payload capacity. Examples include the CH-47 Chinook.

3. Coaxial Helicopter:

Coaxial helicopters have two main rotors mounted on the same axis but rotating in opposite directions. This eliminates the need for a tail rotor and improves stability, efficiency, and maneuverability. The Kamov Ka-52 is a well-known example.

4. Compound Helicopter:

Compound helicopters combine rotor systems with other propulsion methods, such as fixed wings or auxiliary propellers, to improve speed and efficiency. Examples include the Sikorsky X2 and Eurocopter X3.

5. Tilt Rotor Helicopter:

Tiltrotor aircraft can transition between vertical lift (like a helicopter) and forward flight (like an airplane) by tilting their rotors. They are faster and more versatile. The V-22 Osprey is a prominent example.

6. Intermeshing Rotor Helicopter:

These helicopters have two rotors that intermesh at an angle, eliminating the need for a tail rotor and providing excellent lift. The Kaman K-MAX is a key example.

7. Electric Helicopter:

Electric helicopters use electric motors powered by batteries, offering quieter operation and zero emissions. They are typically used for training or short-distance transport.

8. Military Attack Helicopter:

Designed for combat, these helicopters are heavily armed with missiles, rockets, and guns. They excel in ground attack and support roles. The AH-64 Apache is a leading example.

[cynicalrosebud]

Rumor Has It (7)

CW: Discussions of adult clubs, implied sexual activities

Eastern Europe, Feb 15, 2023

1800

As the team moved through the safehouse, prepping for the next leg of their mission, a low hum of an aircraft engine reverberated through the air. Soap looked up with a smirk as he heard the unmistakable sound of an incoming helicopter.

“Sounds like our ride’s here.”

Ghost nodded, “Nikolai’s bringin’ us in. He’ll be our transport t’get us closer to the target.”

At the mention of Nikolai’s name, Rumor—who had been checking the rounds on his M4A1—suddenly froze. His heart rate spiked, fingers stiffening around the weapon as his mind was thrown back to a different time. A different place.

A different Nikolai.

The dimly lit, exclusive club. The sound of leather snapping and muffled moans. Nikolai, sharp-eyed and demanding, towering over him as Rumor knelt in submission, adrenaline and excitement coursing through him. The stern but gentle control, the way Nikolai’s voice had cut through the low hum of the club, giving commands Rumor had eagerly obeyed…

He hadn’t known who Nikolai was at the time—just a man with an air of authority and presence that had drawn him in.

Rumor blinked, trying to focus, but the sharp panic in his chest was unmistakable.

“Rumor?” Soap’s voice broke through, and Rumor glanced over, blinking rapidly.

“Y-Yeah,” Rumor coughed, shifting awkwardly, “Jus’ thinkin’.”

Ghost, always observant, narrowed his eyes slightly but said nothing. Meanwhile, Soap, oblivious, slung his rifle over his shoulder and cracked a grin. “Nikolai’s a solid guy. Yer gonna like him.”

Rumor swallowed hard, nodding despite the rapid hammering of his heart. Oh, he liked him alright—just not in the way Soap probably meant.

The helicopter descended, and as the rotors kicked up dust and debris, Rumor felt his stomach churn with a mix of anticipation and sheer dread. The door slid open, and there he was. Nikolai, aviators on, as stoic and commanding as ever.

“Let’s go,” Nikolai’s gruff voice cut through the roar of the blades as he waved them aboard.

Rumor’s pulse spiked again, and he could feel heat creeping up his neck. Please don’t remember… he thought desperately as he climbed aboard.

As they buckled in, Rumor could feel Nikolai’s gaze slide over him, lingering just a second too long. He dared a glance up, and for just a fleeting moment, their eyes met. A flash of recognition passed through Nikolai’s eyes, followed by the faintest smirk.

Rumor’s throat went dry. Oh fuck. He remembers.

Ghost, seated across from him, seemed to notice Rumor’s sudden discomfort. “You alright, Rumor?”

“Y-Yeah,” Rumor stammered, shifting uncomfortably. He could feel Nikolai’s gaze on him again, and this time he was certain there was a knowing glint in the Russian’s eyes.

Ghost tilted his head slightly, but before he could press further, Nikolai called out over the din of the rotors.

“Everyone strapped in? We’re leaving in two.”

Soap gave a thumbs-up, completely unaware of the tension sitting heavily on Rumor’s shoulders. As the helicopter lifted off, Rumor kept his eyes firmly ahead, focusing on anything but the man at the controls.

Focus. Just focus on the mission, he told himself, trying to push down the memories of that night. But it was going to be a long flight, and with every second that passed, Rumor couldn’t shake the feeling that Nikolai was enjoying this far too much.

As the helicopter rumbled through the skies, the team sat in relative silence, the thrum of the rotors filling the air. Rumor had done his best to calm his nerves, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that Nikolai was piloting the aircraft, cool and collected as ever.

Soap glanced over at Rumor, noticing his unusually stiff posture and restless shifting. He furrowed his brow. “Rumor, mate, ye look like yer sittin’ on a nail. What’s goin’ on wi’ ye?”

Rumor snapped his head to the side, feigning nonchalance. “Nothin’,” he said, too quickly. “Jus’—I dunno, not a fan o’ flyin’, I guess.”

Soap shot him a skeptical look. “Bullshit. Ye were perfectly fine on the last two choppers we took.”

Ghost, leaning against the wall of the chopper with his arms crossed, grunted. “He’s right. You’ve been actin’ weird since Nikolai showed up.”

Rumor stiffened at the mention of the name, unable to stop himself from glancing at the cockpit. Nikolai’s back was to them, but Rumor swore he could feel the Russian’s smirk burning into him.

Gaz, seated across from them, raised a brow. “Something I should know about?” he asked, eyes darting between Rumor and the others.

Rumor cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Nah, nothin’. Jus’ a bit of… unfinished business, that’s all.”

“Unfinished business, eh?” Soap’s tone was teasing, but there was curiosity in his eyes now. “Didn’t know ye an’ ol’ Nik go back. What kind of ‘business’ are we talkin’ aboot?”

Rumor could feel the flush creeping up his neck again, and he cursed internally. “Nothing important, just… uh, a misunderstanding.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Yer lyin’.” His voice was calm but edged with suspicion. “Spit it out, Rumor.”

Rumor’s heart raced as all eyes turned on him. There was no getting out of this, was there? He opened his mouth, but before he could come up with a suitable excuse, Nikolai’s voice crackled through the headset.

“You are not going to tell them, Rumor?” Nikolai’s voice was smooth, casual, but there was an unmistakable amusement in his tone. “I thought you were the honest type.”

Soap’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait a minute. What’s he on about?”

Ghost tilted his head, his gaze now locked on Rumor. “Out with it.”

Rumor exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck in defeat. “Alright, fine. I, uh… I may have had a bit of a… thing with Nikolai a while back.”

Gaz frowned in confusion. “A ‘thing’? Whats that mean?”

Soap’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him, and a slow grin spread across his face. “No way! Ye hooked up with Nikolai?” He leaned in closer, barely containing his laughter. “I knew there was somethin’ goin’ on! How was it?”

Rumor buried his face in his hands, groaning. “For fuck’s sake…”

Ghost’s head snapped between Soap and Rumor, the smallest hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. “With Nikolai? The same Nikolai flyin’ this bird?”

Nikolai’s chuckle crackled through the headset again. “He was quite… enthusiastic, I must say.”

Rumor wanted the earth to swallow him whole. “I swear t’God, if any o’ ye say a word…”

Soap was cackling now, slapping his thigh. “Oh, this is priceless. Rumor, yer full o’ surprises!”

Gaz’s eyes widened in amusement. “Wait, so you two…?” He gestured vaguely, looking more and more entertained by the second.

Rumor buried his face in his hands again. “It was one time. One time. At a club. I didn’t know it was him until later!”

Ghost, despite himself, let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “I’ve heard a lot of things, but this takes the cake.”

Nikolai’s voice came over the comms once more, his amusement evident. “I will admit, Rumor makes for a very obedient partner.”

Soap lost it at that, practically howling with laughter. “Nikolai, mate, ye’ve got t’give us details later.”

Rumor shot Soap a deadly glare. “Ye better not. I’ll kill ye.”

Nikolai’s voice, still teasing, was the last straw. “Maybe next time.”

Rumor slumped in his seat, wishing he could disappear into thin air. “I’m never hearin’ the end o’ this, am I?”

Soap wiped a tear from his eye, shaking his head. “Not a bloody chance, mate.”

Ghost, still smirking under his mask, gave Rumor a pat on the shoulder. “Welcome to legend status.”

Soap, still chuckling to himself, leaned back in his seat and shot the Welshman a mischievous grin. “Alright, but I gotta ask… who pitched?”

Rumor’s eyes snapped to Soap, his face immediately going red. “What?”

Ghost, who had been silently observing with faint amusement, suddenly went still, his head slowly turning toward Soap. Gaz raised a brow, clearly waiting for the answer with newfound curiosity.

Soap, fully committed now, leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself. “C’mon, Rumor. We’re all friends here. Was it you or Nik?”

Rumor glared at him, fully exasperated now. “Yer unbelievable, y’know that?”

Nikolai’s voice crackled through the headset again, smug as ever. “I think we all know the answer to that, don’t we, little mouse?”

Soap’s jaw dropped, and he doubled over in laughter, wheezing. “Oh, bloody hell, Nik was the top! I knew it!”

Rumor groaned, burying his face in his hands again. “Fuckin’ Christ…”

Ghost leaned toward Soap, muttering under his breath. “Yer gonna get yourself shot one of these days.”

Soap barely heard him through his laughter. “Worth it, Lt. So worth it.”

[researchgroupreports]

The global tilt rotor aircraft market size reached US$ 1.6 Billion in 2023. Looking forward, IMARC Group expects the market to reach US$ 6.7 Billion by 2032, exhibiting a growth rate (CAGR) of 17.4% during 2024-2032

[bullet-prooflove]

Campaign Fires: Manny Perez x Reader (Drabble)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @acesgunner95 @caffeinatedwoman @irishavengersassemble @midnightstarqueen

Manny hates campaign fires, the ferocity of them, the relentlessness. He hates the sixteen hour days, the constant back breaking exertion but most of all he hates the nights he spends alone, sequestered in a tent without you.

The two of you try and keep in contact over the weeks you’re apart but your shifts never line up. You’re in the air flying rescue and he’s down here with no phone signal, fighting a fire that’s been deemed unwinnable.

Sometimes he gets like this, a little forlorn, a little melancholy. It’s why he’s decided to camp outside tonight, underneath the stars.  He needs a change of perspective and being out here like this, it reminds him of you, of the nights you would spend out by the lake together.

It’s past midnight when he hears the sounds of rotor blades above him. It’s a chopper, a long way off in the distance, he can see the tail light flickering red. He can’t help but smile because he knows it’s you, participating in yet another water drop. There’s only a handful of pilots who have the ratings to fly at night and you’re the only one in the immediate area. He lies there, his head tilted back, watching that light for as long as possible before it disappears into the darkness.

“Goodnight mi corazón.” He whispers, placing his hand over his heart. “Stay safe.”

Love Manny? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[typosandtea]

Vertibirds. 🚁⚙️🗡️🪽

So every wastelander and his dog know that the fallout 4 vertibirds crash more than settlements need help. But why is that? Here's my 2 caps on the matter. (Or: Bethesda doesn't understand aviation very well I think)

( So uh this is way longer than I expected, I was possessed🚁☢️:] )

TLDR: Horrific conditions for aviation, the difficulties of wasteland heavy maintenance, inexperienced pilots AND mechanics, and the WORST damn instrument layout I’ve ever seen

The Vertibird is designed as a fictional tilt rotor VTOL/STOL(Vertical/Short Take Off and Landing) aircraft which makes a ton of sense in the wasteland where suitable runways are rarer than hens teeth. One of Bethesda's primary visual design influences for the vertibird I suspect is the bell boeing v-22 Osprey.

This funky creature \/

This photo is from the Wikipedia page >Here< [ID: a photo of a v22 osprey aircraft in flight as seen from below and to the right, the aircraft is a medium tilt rotor aircraft with very large propellers, the aircraft is current in vertical take off or landing with the engines pointed straight up. The landing gear is extended, the aircraft is painted in air-force grey with the faint decal “marines” and the American army star on horizontal stripes and the squadron and registration barley visible on the empennage. The cargo and forward doors are open and a soldier is hanging out the front. End ID]

Now the Osprey has a bit of a reputation among people I’ve met who’ve flown in them, I've personally been told things like "if it's not leaking hydraulic fluid, that means you're out of fluid" and "its terrifying to fly in".

My screenshot. [ID: A screenshot of a fallout 4 vertibird, seen from front left in flight over bushland. the Player is manning the minigun and Paladin Danse is a Passenger. End ID]

Looking at the Vertibirds themselves we can make a few assumptions here.

The shape of the cowling and the noise they make indicates that the engines are some form of turboprop engine, likely requiring liquid fuel akin to Avtur(Aviation turbine fuel). Confirmed by the Instruments visible in the cockpit.

The most weight efficient way to move big parts is hydraulics so, they likely have complex hydraulic systems for wing positioning / AOA(Angle Of Attack) / engine angle. Likely also for landing gear since they have retractable gear in fallout 4.

That the BoS has modified them from the original design at least partially, allowing attachment to the Prydwen, likely other modifications too.

I strongly suspect that they have an APU(Auxiliary Power Unit) in the aft fuselage / empennage somewhere, since they have a massive air intake scoop on the top fuselage, they can self start their primary engines which either requires a ridiculous amount of electricity / amps or a source of bleed air. Bleed air is the most likely candidate for self start and is reasonably common on real turbine aircraft, APUs also allows for ground power without having primary engines running. Also confirmed by the instruments in the cockpit.

All of these points are well and good and common in aviation, even modifications (ie. STOL kits, survey aircraft, agricultural mods, skiis, ect). But modern aviation has some advantages that the BoS doesn't have: access to new off the shelf parts, proper verified documentation, proper test processes & facilities, and experienced personnel.

Don't get me wrong, I think Proctor Ingram is awesome, very knowledgeable and practically a miracle worker (especially with that one terminal entry about an engine failure field recovery she pulls off!!), but one chief engineer cannot maintain an entire fleet AND the Prydwen, she comments on how things are breaking often on the ship that she is very busy! Training of new engineers takes *years* to even get to basic level! Ingram can’t train anyone she is too busy keeping everyone in the air 24/7! So who is training all of these scribes? There must be a huge amount of time teaching and supervising even simple tasks! Even at their best the BoS wouldn’t be able to hope to be near the prewar standards of training! Even Ingram or other senior scribes would not be thaaaaat experienced, 10 years is not a long time to completely learn a new aircraft and implement systems & processes of maintenance. The point here is that there are inexperienced scribes maintaining these aircraft.

WOLRDS BEST CHEIF ENGINEER ❤️ \/

My Screenshot. [ID: A screenshot of proctor Ingram from fallout 4, she is standing in the Liberty prime control area. She is smiling. She is wearing her usual modified power armour frame. Preston is visible in the background with a clipboard and pen, he is wearing woody’s outfit from toy story. End ID]

Heavy maintenance in the wasteland, especially in an active combat zone would be an absolute nightmare, are the poor scribes doing overhauls on the flight deck?? Not really possible, so the BoS must have a ground facility at the airport somewhere. Also side note where is the rest of Boston airport? There is more to an airport than a terminal and 1 runway, where are all the hangars?? Likely underwater but still, no ruins??

Back to maintenance, aircraft need a huge amount of care, way way way more than cars do. light civilian aircraft IRL need a full inspection every 100 hours of flight time, which adds up incredibly quickly! For example if you have a one hour commute twice a day that’s MR(Maintenance Release) hours reached in 50 days! You legally cannot fly out of hours. And a service for small aircraft takes about 3 personnel / 2 days and that’s without any major repairs or ADs (Airworthiness Directives) to address! $$$$! Aircraft operating in adverse conditions also need additional maintenance, and coastal areas like Boston, are considered adverse conditions since the salt air corrodes aluminum and steel like nothing else! Corrosion untreated will damage your aircraft and if left too long can destroy the structural integrity of aluminum parts. The spars of aircraft are aluminum often!

My photo. [ID: The inside of a Cessna 172 wing trailing edge is shown looking inboard at the aft root rib, which is primer green, it is backlit by torchlight, the fuselage and a orange scat hose are visible behind it, it has 3 irregular shaped holes in it, 2 are by design but the third medium sized hole in the center of the image is eaten away by corrosion. End ID]

Vertibirds, between being shot at constantly and having a complex deign with a lot of precision moving parts will need a lot of repairs; moving parts means lots of upkeep, grease and inspections! The BoS by 2287 must have some sort of manufacturing back in capital, they cannot still be using old parts from the enclave after 10 years of maintenance, that’s a lot of grease, paint and hydraulic fluid!!!

The BoS must also have a refinery of some kind because Avtur is a refined fuel with some important additives like biocide. Manufacture and storage of fuel is very important since fuel contamination will bring down an aircraft! (and has multiple times IRL! :[ ). Water, microbes, and algae are real dangers to engines, with free water being the most common. Poorly sealed tanks or improper fuel storage combined with a incomplete or missed pre-flight inspection can lead to fuel starvation, since water is heavier than fuel and tank outlets are at the bottom of the tank. If you loose an engine on a twin, may God help you.

This image is from Concordia Bioscience >Here< [ID: A photo of a sample of pale yellow Jet fuel in a clear container, the sample is contaminated with water and microbes and has separated into layers with water at the bottom, then microorganisms, and then Fuel at the top, the image is labeled as such. End ID]

Getting to the most likely crash reasons now (finally), In my opinion that is inexperienced pilots and; a horrific instrument layout.

While there must be some lancers in the BoS that have been flying for the whole 10 years that they’ve had Vertibirds, I think that is likely the exception not the rule, even if they crashed a fraction of the time that do in game that’s still A LOT of downed aircraft!

Experience is only gained in practice, and unfortunately for the BoS they are (self-declared) at war so resources are thin and safe zones are thinner. I suspect that there are a lot of very inexperienced pilots without the time for the experienced pilots to really teach.

Linking to my final point, experience on an airframe itself is also important, you want to be familiar with your aircraft, even among a group of the same model aircraft they will each have quirks, like slightly different instrument layouts, slightly different handling/feel i.e. "this one flies heavier / slower" (at least that's my experience with smaller civilian aircraft) I imagine that the apocalypse did nothing for improving manufacturing tolerances!

FINAL AND MOST DAMNING POINT:

Experience can only help lancers so much when veritibirds have such a strange instrument panel layout:

My screenshot. [ID: a screenshot of a instrument panel from a Fallout 4 vertibird. it is slanted on a approximately 30 degree angle. End ID]

A bit weird looking yeah? For reference Pilot is left seat and copilot is always right seat, this applies globally even in right hand drive countries.

lets take a closer look:

My Screenshots. [IDs: Three screenshots of the same Instrument panel as above, but zoomed in using a sniper rifle scope to get a better look. The first screen shot is the pilots side, the second the center, and the third the copilots side. End ID]

All righty! So reading from top to bottom, then left to right we have:

On the pilots side: A Rotor%RPM gauge, a VOR(Very high frequency Omni-directional Range) indicator, a DG(Directional Gyro), a HSI(Horizontal Situation Indicator), and then a huge AI(Attitude Indicator),

In the center section we have: presumably light clusters (likely master warnings & cautions, gear indicators, and other status lights), a second VOR gauge, likely magnetic compass as they are usually top centre (though I can’t see it being at all accurate with all of the steel around!), the engine instruments cluster, and the APU status / control panel at the bottom. unsure of what the 3 clusters of horizontal buttons are suppose to be other than input of some kind?

In the Engine cluster: Torque%, XMSN(transmission) oil temp / pressure dual gauge, a gas producer % RPM gauge with small integrated single percent dial (like having a seconds dial on your watch for accuracy) meaning the engines have free turbines (compressor not attached to the power turbine), a dual load / fuel psi gauge, a dual engine oil pressure and temperature gauge, fuel quantity in pounds, a turbine output temperature gauge (the hottest part of your engine), and a clock.

On the copilots side: a second Rotor%RPM dual gauge, a third VOR indicator, Airspeed in Knots and MPH, a RMI(Radio Magnetic Indicator) which uses VOR and ADF(Automatic Direction Finder) on compass, a second DG, a second HSI, and a teeny tiny altimeter right in the outboard corner.

the 4 instruments on the lower copilots panel are completely unlabeled

some things of note that are from game limitations:

most of the engine instruments don't have needles at all

the DGs and the RMI use the same background asset, resulting in the DG wrongly having 'VOR' and 'ASI' on its face, DGs are self contained air driven instruments that work on gyroscopic precession, not any outside data input.

all of the instruments with a compass face all say north despite this vertibird not quite facing north.

the AI is showing wings level despite this vertibird being crashed and on a ~30 degree angle

there are not engine controls at all not even flat assets, only flight controls.

There are a lot of instruments here and most of them are reasonably OK read individually, BUT there at least 1 key instrument missing and the layout outs emphasis on completely the wrong things:

WHERE IS THE VERTICAL SPEED INDICATOR(VSI)????? That's a pretty important gauge in a VERTICAL take off / landing aircraft!!!!!!!!!! It's one of the basic six pack!!! how was it omitted??? Speaking of the six pack why is there only one ASI and Altimeter?? and why are they tiny and ON THE COPILOTS SIDE ONLY???? the altimeter is LITERALLY the furthest instrument from the pilot in a vertibird, it should be right in front of the pilot!!! the easy to miss altimeter would make IFR(Instrument Flight Rules) flying incredibly dangerous! Also why are there four VOR based navigational instruments? VOR IS GROUND BASED NAVIGATION!!! unless the BoS has rebooted the multiple ground beacons for them to navigate from that's THREE dead instruments taking up space on the panel! the RMI is slightly more useful as ADF can tune to commercial radio frequencies, though these would need to be strong!

These poor inexperienced lancers are having to look all over the whole unnecessarily crowded cockpit for basic information that should be right in front of them, causing reaction delays and possible confusion. That delay could be the difference between whether or not they are flying home today.

-> Bethesda doesn't understand what half the instruments do and while they did a good job with most of the assets, in their quest to make it retro-future / visibly different from actual aircraft, they have completely destroyed any use of logic in the layout.

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Thanks for reading! Here’s a video of me yeeting Danse with the ‘Get out of my face mod’ as compensation haha

My Video. [ID: a video capture from fallout 4 in first person. It is night and is at oberland station facing the water treatment plant. The player is wearing power armour and the HUD is visible. The player is very close to Paladin Danse, he turns away from them and they shove him with the voice line “stay out of my way”. Danse flys a long way away while rag-dolling. The Gamer’s laughter can be heard while Danse is flying. The player follows Danse’s fall with the crosshairs. The player then walks backwards. End ID]