#tilt rotor

[humanoidhistory]

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

[spockvarietyhour]

Vertibird in Fallout episodes 1 & 2

[lonestarflight]

Bell BAT (Bell Advanced Tiltrotor) concept art. It was single-seat small military tiltrotor designed to compete in the LHX program.

Date: 1984

source, source

[supplyside]

tilt rotor

[mustbealoosewire]

by Jflaxman.

[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. 

[mohitbisresearch]

The global tilt rotor aircraft market analysis by BIS Research projects the market to have significant growth of CAGR 13.47% during the forecast period 2021-2031. North America is expected to dominate the global tilt-rotor aircraft market, with an estimated share of 47.95% in 2031. North America, including the major countries such as the U.S., is the most prominent region for the global tilt rotor aircraft market. The presence of major players and intense competition among them makes North America the most technologically advanced region.

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The global tilt rotor aircraft market is gaining widespread importance owing to the rising demand for vertical take-off and landing capabilities and increase performance compared to conventional aircraft. Moreover, the increased investments by governments in urban air mobility and the increasing importance of tilt rotor aircraft in cargo transportation are some of the key factors that may propel the market growth in the coming years.

[alex--max]

Crew Chief! 🦅

U.S. Marine Corps MV-22B Osprey, from Marine Medium Tilt Rotor Squadron 165 (VMM-165) "White Knights", flying in Los Angeles!

#usmc #usmarines #marinecorps #mv22b #vmm165 #marineaviation #vmm165whiteknights #ladyace #whiteknights #mv22 #mv22osprey #osprey #v22 #bellboeing #tiltrotor #vtol #stovl #helo #airplane #helicopter #belltextron #bellboeingmv22bosprey #wingsofgold #3rdmaw #3rdmarineaircraftwing #mag11 #crewchief #mcasmiramar #military #aviation #marinecorpsaviation #planespotter #planespotting #planeporn #ospreyaircraft #militaryaircraft #ultrahighresolution #losangeles #US-CA #milavgeek #milavlovers #milavphotography

[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.”

[lonestarflight]

Concept art of Bell-Boeing supersonic combat tilt-rotor attack aircraft, circa 1980s.

source

[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.

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[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.

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

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]

[kinardstits]

(@ AO3) post 8x05.

A raindrop falls directly onto his forehead, startling Tommy into awareness.

He hates it.

With it, comes focus, and with focus, comes pain.

Mind-numbing, breathtakingly sharp pain.

He blinks at the sky, briefly wondering if he's seeing clouds or smoke.

Probably both, he distantly muses. He can hear the crackle of flames nearby, and the groan of metal at high temperatures.

The raindrop burns as it slides down his temple and Tommy blinks, wondering if it should be doing that.

There's a groan, then a snap and something hits the ground beside him, rolling down the hill he's on.

.

It hits Tommy like a sledgehammer.

It's not raining. They're not clouds. It's smoke and a broken helicopter held by twigs above him, dripping oil and fuel as the flames creep ever closer to it.

Panic chokes him as he remembers— remembers the drone, how it rattled against the rotor, the gut-churning way it caused the chopper to tilt and drop onto the forest beneath. He remembers the jostling, the pain, the fear— He remembers thinking of Evan and how he had hidden under the blankets to try and get more sleep when the other had gotten up for his earlier shift.

Tommy didn't see him leave, just felt the press of a loud, playful kiss being smacked onto the top of his head.

This isn't how he wanted to say goodbye.

Breathing through gritted teeth, Tommy rolls his head against the dirt, trying to gauge the movement. It hurts and he's hit by a sudden wave of vertigo and nausea, which tells him he hit his head on the way down.

(And he wonders, how did he get down? He can see the seatbelt, drifting in the wind above him. It's not damaged. Did he unbuckle it, and try to get out? Fell in the process? Did it malfunction? He doesn't remember.)

Lifting a hand, he tries to grope around his chest, feeling for anything sharp or sticking out or into him. He doesn't feel anything but then again, he's not feeling much.

Tommy bites his lips to keep them from wobbling. If he's numb— No, he tells himself, letting out a forceful huff. He's not thinking about it, he's not thinking of the consequences of this crash past getting out of those woods. Not yet. He needs— no, he must get away first.

So, and taking but a second to grind his teeth through it, Tommy shoves his upper body off the ground.

The scream that rips out of him is loud and shrill and he sobs into the dirt he's now facing, heaving and coughing and wondering why, why did he have to volunteer to do an organ transport, why couldn't he have let Lucy take the fucking thing—

Guilt quickly chokes him, squeezing the anger out of him.

It isn't Lucy's fault. It's not his fault. It's no one's fault but the owner of the blasted drone, flying higher than it should ever be allowed.

The mess of metal above him groans again and Tommy shelves the mental breakdown for later, putting his arms beneath him and trying to raise his torso off the floor. When that doesn't work, he tries to crawl— inch by inch, he moves, digging his fingers into hard soil and breaking his nails on rocks and roots, and it works— until it doesn't and he collapses back onto the dirt, gagging at the nausea and pain that shot up his spine.

He tries to get his legs beneath him, to dig in his boots and push, but he might as well be trying to teleport. They don't work.

His body won't work.

It hits him with startling clarity that he's going to die.

He doesn't know if the chopper's tracker is operational, pinging his location. His radio is somewhere above him, possibly crushed to smithereens. His phone, in his locker back at Harbor.

Tommy's alone, broken, and his hope lies in someone realizing their liver didn't arrive on time.

The mangled metal above him won't hold against gravity for that long.

Dropping his head, Tommy finds himself fighting back tears.

He thought that when the day came that his luck ran out, he would just— cease to exist. Die on impact, lights out, he would never even know what it was like.

Even a gas leak would have been nice. To slip away, none the wiser...

To be in the middle of nowhere, in pain, just waiting to be crushed or taken by the flames, creeping ever closer—

He finds that the one thing he never wanted to experience was to die alone.

And fuck.

Tommy almost laughs at himself, he's so fucking pathetic, because—

He would say this was the loneliest he'd ever felt, but then he'd be lying on his deathbed.

To be alone wasn't to die by himself in the woods.

To be alone was to hide in a closet, tiny feet pressed hard against the doors to stop the bogeyman from breaking in and covering his little body in hand-shaped bruises again.

What if he didn't get up after, like Mami?

To be alone was to bounce from family member to family member, smiling because he had so many willing to open their door to him but bleeding inside because none ever thought to keep him from leaving for the next.

To be alone was to be just too far away to help the man you loved, pinned to your seat by a humvee car door, as he bled to death across from you despite your begging for someone, anyone, to stop digging Tommy out and help him instead. Being KIA looked better than a dishonorable discharge under DADT, apparently.

They denied him the same mercy.

To be alone was to be surrounded by people, to laugh and cry beside them, but knowing that in the end, none of them would be there to care.

The closest he had come to it had been at 118, but then, one day, Bobby called him into his office with a grin so big and there's an opening, I already put in a good word for you, you'd fly again like you wish you could—

And what could he do to repay that kindness, that thoughtfulness, other than say yes?

In hindsight, it was worth it.

He got into a chopper again, putting him in a position that allowed him to help years later, to meet Evan at a point in his life when he could finally be himself and not choke on the hate wrapped around his soul.

But now, here he was, minutes ticking down towards the end, and Tommy was cold.

He almost wished he had the strength to turn back around, to stare death in the face but, selfishly, he decides he shouldn't have to. Why continue to struggle? Hadn't he done enough of it in forty years? Couldn't he feel peace just once?

Unbridled, Evan's grin comes to the front of Tommy's mind and he does cry then, face twisting and tears wetting the dirt beneath his cheek.

God forbid Evan had been with him for some reason — he would rather die the slowest death known to man than to have to witness anything but joy in Evan's face, least of all the apathy of the end — but, guiltily, selfishly, he wishes he were there with him.

He wishes he could bury his nose in the curve of his neck, to inhale his cologne and commit his scent to memory once more.

To wrap his wide body around Evan's back, feeling his laughter rattle his ribcage as he complained about not being able to cook like that but still doing nothing to dislodge him.

To kiss him, one last time.

To tell him Tommy loved him.

That he's sorry that he's leaving, that the last words he had given him was a simple goodnight, because that morning all that had left his mouth was a sleepy grunt.

Tommy hopes his Captain knows enough to remember to tell Evan, that he doesn't find out when he thinks Tommy has been ignoring his texts and he's left perpetually waiting at Micelli's, abandoned on date night.

Pressing his fingertips to his lips, Tommy closes his eyes, playing every single memory he has of his boyfriend in his mind until his time runs out.

.

He's yanked back to full consciousness by noise and pain, and Tommy screams, wondering if he had ever been that much of a bastard once that the universe couldn't have let him die on impact when the chopper finally fell on him—

But then there are hands in his and blue eyes in his periphery and Tommy thinks, hey maybe the universe isn't so bad, he got to see the man he loved as he crossed over—

And all turns black.

.

.

.

When Tommy next opens his eyes, it's dark and he's in a sterile room, staring up at the ceiling fixtures.

His neck is stiff in a way he knows is in a brace, he doesn't have a pillow, and the mattress is as solid as concrete.

He still can't feel anything below the waist.

... Hell sucks.

He must make some noise because the bedside lamp turns on and, by the time he can crack his eyes open without his head killing him, Evan and Eddie are staring down at him, eyes wide and red-rimmed.

"Tommy?" Evan whispers, and it sounds so good after the oppressing silence of those woods that Tommy briefly stops seeing him anymore, blinded by the tears that rush out of him. "Tommy."

Fingers are curling around his, on both hands, but while a set is wide and calloused, the other is longer and bonier, but no less firm. "Does it hurt?" Eddie asks, rubbing a soothing circle into Tommy's wrist. "We can call the nurse—"

"M'dead?"

"No," Evan shakes his head, never taking his eyes off him. "We got you. Broke a few speeding limits and maybe a couple of laws to get to you—"

"We did drive the truck straight through some corn fields—" Eddie jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

"—But we got you." Evan finishes, leaning down to press a kiss to Tommy's knuckles. "And Tom—" he seems to struggle, bottom lip trembling. "There's no universe in which we wouldn't get there on time, ok? Not one." Another kiss. "We got you. I got you."

Tommy wonders if he had been delirious when they found him, what kind of pathetic drivel he let slip, but before he could stop it, he lets out a last selfish— "Yea?"

Evan seems to crumble a little, and Tommy nearly takes it back, but the other gathers the pieces and nods, blinking back tears as well. "Always."

"You're stuck with us," Eddie finishes, a look of understanding on his face so sharp Tommy fears that if he stares for long enough, he'll bleed out, "You've signed the contract, man. You're family."

Evan perks up. "Speaking of—"

"I got it." Eddie stands then, giving his hand one last squeeze and leaning across the bed to knock his forehead against Tommy's. It's a simple touch but it takes everything still in him not to sob at the gentleness of it all. "Everyone's waiting outside. I'll let them know you're awake." Eddie pulls back, smiling, before he leaves his field of view.

He's crying as soon as the door clicks closed, ugly broken noises escaping him as the mattress dips slightly and Evan curls his arm around his torso, pressing his lips to his temple with a ferocity that gold-seals some of the cracks within him.

Family.

He could get used to that.

(@ AO3)