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stargateficrecShow: SGA
Rec Category: Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, OMC
Pairings: None
Categories: Angst, Drama, Character
Warnings: None
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kristen999
Author's Website:
Link: Take These Wings and Learn to Fly
Why This Must Be Read:
I always love reading stories where you can tell an author has done their research, and this is a great example. The author leads us through John's flying past via a snippets of recall, all wonderfully detailed and in character.
He slips on his shades, does a walk around checking for trouble spots. His hand caresses the smooth, cool skin, sending tingling sensations down his spine. No popped rivets, or tears in the wing casings. Propellers are fine; tires filled with air.
Dale is grinning behind him, allowing him this moment. The Cessna is silver with blue trim. It may be the Buick Regal of single engine aircraft, but she's his baby for the next hour. No need to own one and be more in Dad's debt.
John crawls up the wheel mount, unscrews the cap on top of each wing to check the fuel. He detaches the tether connecting his plane to the ground and scoots inside the left door, both kneecaps smashing the dashboard. He does up the seatbelt harness, arms through, snap high, snap low, keeping it snug.
The cacophony of the flight controls stare at him, and he turns the key to "on", flipping the red switches into the up position. He pumps the primer a few times, the thing always reminding him of a pinball machine.
"Don't forget to yell clear," Dale tells him.
John pokes his head out the window. "Clear!"
He cranks the key to 'start', warming up the engine, checking the fuel mixture. She purrs real nice, and his heart skips a beat.
The craft is in a straight line with the wind, helping her get ready for liftoff. John thinks of riding his bike, steering the plane with the rudder controls by his feet, sending her to that magical fifty-five knots. He pulls back on the controls, the Cessna climbs off the ground, and sweat pools down his back.
One day he'll own a flight jacket and a real pair of aviator glasses.
The ground doesn't want to let go, and the plane shakes, breaking away from gravity's hold.
"There you go, easy does it," Dale tells him.
John pulls back more on the yoke, pushing past five hundred feet, and it's almost time to execute that climbing turn. Gently, gently. Ten, twelve, then fifteen degrees.
One thousand feet and he feels so free, so released from everything around him. The wind's at his back, and he steadies her at eighty knots.
"Keep your eye on the sky."
That's his instructor's code for use his eyes, always pay attention to visual flight rules. In other words, don't crash into any other planes.
All he does is fly a circuit, over and over again, but damn the view is breath taking.
"Master on... mags on both... carb heat hot... mixture rich... primer down and locked. Engine, oil, temp and pressure good," Dale says without taking a breath. That's the magic string of words to remember in order to fly.
John checks left to right on the dash, always making eye and fingertip contact.
His seventeenth birthday is in a week and that means he can try for his license. He has it all down pat: instruments, navigation, air safety, performance and planning.
John grips the controls tighter over the thought of flying solo, the adrenaline flooding his veins. The rush is a mix of every pleasurable sensation cascading all at once. It's better than sex.
He scans at the horizon, taking in the majestic sky before him.
This is who he is, what he always wants to be a part of.
Insufficient data. Please provide the needed information.
Every nerve feels on fire; synapses fire wildly. John gasps then his mind is plunged in further.
Rec Category: Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, OMC
Pairings: None
Categories: Angst, Drama, Character
Warnings: None
Author on LJ:
kristen999Author's Website:
Link: Take These Wings and Learn to Fly
Why This Must Be Read:
I always love reading stories where you can tell an author has done their research, and this is a great example. The author leads us through John's flying past via a snippets of recall, all wonderfully detailed and in character.
He slips on his shades, does a walk around checking for trouble spots. His hand caresses the smooth, cool skin, sending tingling sensations down his spine. No popped rivets, or tears in the wing casings. Propellers are fine; tires filled with air.
Dale is grinning behind him, allowing him this moment. The Cessna is silver with blue trim. It may be the Buick Regal of single engine aircraft, but she's his baby for the next hour. No need to own one and be more in Dad's debt.
John crawls up the wheel mount, unscrews the cap on top of each wing to check the fuel. He detaches the tether connecting his plane to the ground and scoots inside the left door, both kneecaps smashing the dashboard. He does up the seatbelt harness, arms through, snap high, snap low, keeping it snug.
The cacophony of the flight controls stare at him, and he turns the key to "on", flipping the red switches into the up position. He pumps the primer a few times, the thing always reminding him of a pinball machine.
"Don't forget to yell clear," Dale tells him.
John pokes his head out the window. "Clear!"
He cranks the key to 'start', warming up the engine, checking the fuel mixture. She purrs real nice, and his heart skips a beat.
The craft is in a straight line with the wind, helping her get ready for liftoff. John thinks of riding his bike, steering the plane with the rudder controls by his feet, sending her to that magical fifty-five knots. He pulls back on the controls, the Cessna climbs off the ground, and sweat pools down his back.
One day he'll own a flight jacket and a real pair of aviator glasses.
The ground doesn't want to let go, and the plane shakes, breaking away from gravity's hold.
"There you go, easy does it," Dale tells him.
John pulls back more on the yoke, pushing past five hundred feet, and it's almost time to execute that climbing turn. Gently, gently. Ten, twelve, then fifteen degrees.
One thousand feet and he feels so free, so released from everything around him. The wind's at his back, and he steadies her at eighty knots.
"Keep your eye on the sky."
That's his instructor's code for use his eyes, always pay attention to visual flight rules. In other words, don't crash into any other planes.
All he does is fly a circuit, over and over again, but damn the view is breath taking.
"Master on... mags on both... carb heat hot... mixture rich... primer down and locked. Engine, oil, temp and pressure good," Dale says without taking a breath. That's the magic string of words to remember in order to fly.
John checks left to right on the dash, always making eye and fingertip contact.
His seventeenth birthday is in a week and that means he can try for his license. He has it all down pat: instruments, navigation, air safety, performance and planning.
John grips the controls tighter over the thought of flying solo, the adrenaline flooding his veins. The rush is a mix of every pleasurable sensation cascading all at once. It's better than sex.
He scans at the horizon, taking in the majestic sky before him.
This is who he is, what he always wants to be a part of.
Insufficient data. Please provide the needed information.
Every nerve feels on fire; synapses fire wildly. John gasps then his mind is plunged in further.
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Date: 2013-04-23 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-23 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-23 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-23 06:44 pm (UTC)