not considered a flight risk

antigonic  asked:

omg what hot air balloon story?

here is your tl,dr conveniently at the beginning: last march i was in a hot air balloon crash with two girls named kate and some other folks in cappadocia, turkey, a incident which i inadvertently predicted was going to happen after seeing a group of japanese tourists in full body protective gear waving jovially at us while we took off in nothing more than our spring coats, and that i did not realize was happening, even during the rapid 2,000 foot drop out of the sky, until the first impact into the side of a mountain filled with sheep.

the hair is me, and irish kate is next to me, trying to get me to stop laughing long enough to climb out. 

long version: irish kate, my roommate, convinced me to go to cappadocia during our second semester living in istanbul after i had categorically refused to go during the first semester trip because i have trypophobia and like, cappadocia is fundamentally just a bunch of holes. but irish kate was like ohhhhhh and you call yourself a fan of early christian sainthood and roman resistance so finally i agreed to go

so while it is true that wherever i go weird shit happens

  • the entirety of the north pole city of tromso losing electricity for the first time in years the second night i was there in dead winter 
  • the time i accidently illegally crossed the algerian border
  • the time a mixture of margaret thatcher’s funeral procession and a anti anxiety pill almost got me fired and my visa revoked
  • the time i almost got into a car crash at a inland intersection because a giant chunk of what turned out to be humpback whale fell out the back of a university lab truck 

we can all still blame this on irish kate, because she brought the human disaster to cappadocia and put it in a hot air balloon in the first place.

now the month of the fall trip, a hot air balloon had crashed in cappadocia and killed a japanese tourist. not a lot of people knew but those who did assumed this was why i didn’t want to go, and kept trying to reassure me that crashes almost never happened (wrong) and i didn’t even have to go up if i didn’t want to (true) but nope, it was the holes, which means when i did finally show up there i was too busy dealing with controlling my gag reflex due to porous rock and examining the Dark Church (worth controlling one’s gag reflex for) to consider, like, flight risks? and also the fact that in turkey public safety is sorta a…grey area. if you want to shake the habit of reaching for a seat belt, please go live in turkey for a year. (i miss turkey so much, oh my god you guys)

but i had been living there for a while at this point so i just signed up for the sunrise balloon ride and didn’t really think anything of it. 

i did, however, remember the previous accidental death while the tourists in full body gear waved at us as we loaded into the basket, because other kate was like, why do they have that stuff? should we have that stuff? and i was like no i think they have it by request cause that person who died last fall was japanese and it probably made the news there or whatever. and then, conversationally, before everyone could be like, someone died????

  • i don’t think knee pads are going to be much help when we plunge 700 meters next to an open flame anyway

irish kate looks at me

  • wtf maria you know other kate is sort of scared of heights she didn’t give you shit about the pigeon holes
  • we aren’t going to plummet, kate  

i mean, hurried correction

  • yeah no, when we plummet
  • no sorry
  • if we plunge?  

i mean, scrambling

  • no, sorry, we won’t plunge, i mean
  • or plummet

we’re not going to crash irish kate repeated to other kate and anyone listening, and i swear to you, seconds later, very mildly, the pilot said it is windy today.

  • to this day i do not know why we crashed, or by what means, whether it was wind or something else but this can be considered nothing but an ominous statement in retrospect 

so like, i’d never been on a hot air balloon but in so far as i could tell you, the takeoff was smooth and the first thirty minutes or so were fine, we where lower to the ground then checking out those famous cappadocian dick rocks:

fun times

and then we started to ascend like, very, very high. i want to say i heard 800 meters but i really can’t recall, all i can tell you is it was very high and that we were at least 2,000 feet up at one point and had maybe lowered just a little when we started going

down

very

quickly.

and like tbh i was sort of tired from the four am wake up and hungry at this point so i was pleased that going back down wasn’t taking that long. and i guess everyone else at this point was sort of uneasy cause the pilot seemed sort of stressed out and was speaking intense turkish into his radio and we were, undeniably, begining to both plunge and plummet, but like i said i was sort of zoning out and i wasn’t facing anyone else and i just assumed that this was how it was always done? like idk i never was under the impression that hot air balloons just dainty landed on the back of a truck or something. and no one was like, screaming or anything?

rule of thumb: i try to not assume and/or notice the worst. 

all i remember from these minutes of what should have been sheer terror is watching a mountainside grow closer and beginning to make out like, movement on it and so my thought process as i sped towards possible release from this flesh vessel and assent into the next life was probably something like

  • oh, are those goats?
  • oh, a sheepherder
  • sheep then?
  • do you herd goats?
  • is “herder” still a viable vocation? 

and then the pilot says “assume crash positions” and i do remember exactly what my thought process was then which was

  • if u say so
  • wait

and then we hit the ground.

  • thafuck

which was when people started to scream, and i, ever the nervous laugher, began cackling maniacally, which irish kate said is the thing she recalls most vividly from the ordeal:

  •  everyone screaming, and the sound of my laughter in her ear. 

so: when a hot air balloon crashes on the side of a mountain on a windy day, it doesn’t just crash once and then stop. no, no. it crashes, lifts a few meters off the ground and (in so far as i could tell crouched inside the basket with my head bouncing every which way because i had not properly assumed my crash position) the balloon sort of catches wind and drags itself along, crashing a few more times up the hill, not down, until coming to a stop at an angle and, very anticlimactically, tipping over to one side.

so like, sometimes the reason someone may die in a ballooning accident isn’t actually impact, its getting thrown out of the balloon a few feet in front and then getting crushed as the balloon rears back up and comes down on them. i think we had been dragged like at least 100 feet from our original site of impact

but like i said my perception of all this was just

B O O O O M WOOSH BANG WOOSH BANG BANG BANG WOOSH BANGWOOBLE wobble thunk

after we finally come to a stop and most us are still tangled up in the basket trying to get out (because literally thank god no one fell out and got mushed because then this would be a terrible story) the pilot sort of wordlessly hands us a few bottles of somehow unbroken faux champagne from a backpack, and ambles away over a nearby hill and disappears, which later i was told was to get good reception for the gps so the rescue crew could find us but at the time my reaction to this, as like the only person who would have any idea of where we are or what to do about what just happened seemingly cut his losses and ran was 

  • in no way would this have been prevented or improved by protective gear 

and by then we dissolved into a fit of psychotic giggles, while i whine over and over why does this always happen to me, making it nearly impossible for us to think clearly enough to untangle our feet from the mess in the basket and climb out.

i had to stay in the basket for like ten minutes. 

epilogue:

the pilot didn’t come back for ages so we just sort of dazedly milled about on the rocks and drank sparkling cider??? a lot of people wondered out loud that maybe it was supposed to happen like that because no one really ever explained it to us 

but i am skeptical of that tbh. 

and then some white vans came and got us and took us back to the hotel for breakfast because it was only nine am at this point and i almost passed out looking at pigeon holes later, the end. 


Summary:  A Hook/Emma angel/demon AU. They hide in plain sight, the servants of heaven and hell. The angels and the demons, who can save your soul or damn it. They stand on opposite sides, they are the bringers of light and the agents of darkness, they are enemies in an eternal war, but what happens when an angel and a demon are inexplicably drawn to each other?

Read this chapter on ff.net or on AO3

                                             Part Eighteen

Going to court was nothing like the way it was portrayed in the movies and on TV. Glossy dramas set in hushed courtrooms full of dark wood panelling where telegenic lawyers in designer suits and perfectly styled hair gave stirring arguments to an attentive jury, spontaneous confessions on the witness stand or the sudden discovery of last-minute evidence that exonerated the tearful defendant while the room erupted into chaos and the judge banged the gavel and called fruitlessly for order, press conferences held on the courtroom steps under blindfolded statues of Justice with her scales held aloft while the guilty were punished and the innocent walked free as the music swelled and the credits rolled.

The reality was a rather ordinary office building with no tall columns or grand porticos, where bored cops chatted and drank coffee in the fluorescent-lit halls while they waited to be called into traffic court, husbands and wives hashed out divorce settlements and argued over child custody agreements in the mediation rooms and overworked, underpaid lawyers who hadn’t landed the plum jobs at white-shoe firms hustled to file endless reams of paperwork for DUIs and landlord-tenant disputes, the six-figure student loan balances they had little hope of ever paying off hanging over their heads like the sword of Damocles instead of Justice’s impartial scales.

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so come on take this chance now (make it count)

So have a little Midwife!Emma/Captain Swan/Captain Book/Book Swan?? (What’s the name for the Emma/Belle brotp, cause I am drawing a blank here friends) This is inspired by 6x09 but it’s an au and has nothing to do with the episode really except for the part where Emma helps Belle give birth. Enjoy! And let me know what you think, please!

also on ao3

I’m singing oh, you’ve got no 
You’ve got no excuses left

Emma Swan is good at what she does. Then again, it helps to have some skin in the game, helps to really know your job, and the people that you help. She knows what it’s like to be young, alone, and most importantly: pregnant. So yeah, as the head midwife at Boston’s Home for Women, she knows what she’s doing, and she sure as hell knows what her patients are going through.

Over the years at BHW Emma’s helped many women give birth. Some stories were more tragic than others, but none of them were as horrifying as Belle French’s.

Belle had come to the home in the beginning of her first trimester, running away from her abusive ass of a husband, who promised to take the baby from her, so far away that she’d never see her child again. It wasn’t just that though, apparently, he’d been verbally abusing Belle for years, treating her like a possession to control rather than his wife. Belle had always thought there was some good in him, but the moment he threatened her son, well, she just couldn’t see any way to justify his actions anymore.

Luckily for her, no matter how powerful or rich her husband claimed to be, he couldn’t reach her so long as she stayed at BHW, and Emma was happy to help.

Belle was given her own room, and the freedom to come and go as she pleased, but she mostly enjoyed reading in the small library that the home offered. She was a sweet girl, and Emma found herself looking forward to their weekly sessions, always inquiring as to which book Belle was reading next, or what names she’d been considering for her baby.

It was an odd friendship that they had, but since Emma was Belle’s midwife, they couldn’t really expand upon that friendship, leaving it to the weekly conversations during her appointments and nothing else.

So Emma guesses that’s why she never heard anything about Killian Jones. And why she got off to such a horrible start with him.

She met him, coincidentally, the day that Belle gave birth.

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When I think of what most people like, I feel an undeniable spike in bile up my pipes 
that threatens to dress the room in my uncontrolled vomit. 
When I think of what most people like, I enter a parallel world where my earthly eyes 
can’t see quite right, and I fear I might fall off the side of this shitty old planet. 
Interests are equal from tanning to collecting Nazi memorabilia. 
It’s all the same, a way to spend days. A way to forestall creeping thoughts of the grave. 
When I think of what most people like, I leave the material realm 
and float past a garden of delights that remind me I’m far from perfect myself but perfectly bitter. 
When I think of what most people like, I take journey to hell and eat food that rotted on the shelves while intestines cry out in pain and beg, “please, God, forgive me!" 
Interests are equal from war-gaming to collegiate goalkeeper. 
It’s all the same, a way to spend days. A way to forestall creeping thoughts of the grave. 
Interests are equal. It’s all person-to-person and there’s so many people. 
Blood-play, or model trains. It’s all the same. 
Time spent, is time well-spent outside the grave.

anonymous asked:

I suppose this is a prompt but also just like also maybe a headcanon; early in their relationship Chloe has a small crisis because she realises Beca is, like, 18 and she's four years younger than Chloe is and I don't know but the term "cradle-snatcher" is thrown around at some point. I don't know why but I can picture Chloe freaking out about that at some point and it makes me laugh.

“Oh my god,” Chloe whined into her pillow, falling head first onto her mattress with a slight bounce. Aubrey chuckled lightly, finishing her final dab of mascara, and in the time between, Stacie sighed.

“It’s not that bad,” she said, turning in the desk chair. “She’s 18. So what? At least she’s legal.” 

“Oh my godddd,” Chloe groaned again, and this time Stacie was the one to laugh. 

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