#It was like an unintentional Where's Waldo moment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deskofkelso · 4 years ago

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The Unintentional "Lost in Brookside” Bike Riding Adventure

It wasn’t my true intention to get lost. In fact, it never is. Yet it seems I am always unintentionally getting lost. I’ve been lost in the parking lot at the mall, I got lost in the parking garage downtown -- no, I GET lost in the downtown parking garages -- I’ve gotten lost in my own hometown on my way to my grandparent’s house. A place I’ve been a million times and can get to frontward and backward. But it always happens when I’m in my own zone, letting my mind wander, getting away from it all that I get lost. You know who I blame? I blame my mother. I always say “if you’ve met me, you’ve met Freda” because we are one in the same. There’s no denying that I am her offspring. She gets lost. In fact, my dad doesn’t trust us in the car together because he knows wherever we are going, we WILL get lost. It’s not intentional. It just happens. We get turned around. I got “turned around” on my bike ride through Brookside.

It had been a weekend. When I say “it had been a weekend,” I mean it. It had been a weekend. It had been a Monday and a Tuesday and after not really getting any good rest lately, thus not being able to be productive at work, I decided I need to get out and go exercise. Usually, I’ll go to Loose Park or walk on the trail near my sister’s house in Grandview, or even go walking on the Waldo bike trail not far from my apartment, but this time I randomly decided I wanted to get on a bike.

I was on my way to go walking at the trail in Waldo when I passed a BikeWalkKC station. I whipped my car around because, suddenly, I decided I wanted to ride a bike. First of all, when’s the last time I had ridden a bike? Why did I decide I wanted to do this now? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I went for it. Living in the moment. I’m just glad I didn’t fall. Well...not while riding the bike itself anyway. But we’ll get there.

I downloaded the RideKC app -- the instructions were easy to follow -- put in my credit card number, scanned the QR code on the bike to unlock it and I was ready to go. Off the to the races, so to speak. I was riding -- a little swervvy at first but I found my groove -- and the wind was in my face. I had Summer Walker’s new Life On Earth EP playing and I was lost in the vibe. It felt good to get some fresh air. The weather wasn’t too hot, wasn’t too humid; it was just right. What a day to be outside! No one was really out on the trail so I didn’t have to worry about social distancing and I sighed this sigh of relief. I was letting go, feeling free, getting away from it all. Then I took a turn down...I don’t know the street.

I rode my way through this beautiful neighborhood. The houses were so cute and quaint and the trees so green and the wind still in my face and Walker’s SWV is the vibe and time passes. When I hit Main Street, I clicked in and, eyes wide open, I looked left...I looked right. Turned around, I said, “wait, where am I?”

For those unfamiliar, the bike station was on 74th and Wornall. That’s the area you call Waldo. Main Street is further...north? No, south. No...I don’t know. It’s further down if you keep going straight and hook a right somewhere. It’s in Brookside, which is further...hell, you get the point.

I slowed my bike down and came to a stop so I could get off and turn around. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden a bike so I didn’t want to risk a U-turn on wheels. When I got going again I kind of just wandered around trying to find my way. I knew exactly where I was but not exactly where I was at all. I was close to work.

“Work isn’t too far from here,” I told myself. “How’d I get all the way down here?”

So I kept riding, cut a right down this street and a left down that street, not knowing exactly where I was but knowing exactly where I was.

“Wornall is this direction, so if I keep heading this way -- wait, I’m tired. Let me stop and rest.”

Turned around, and now tired, I stopped for a short rest.

“Dang, I should’ve brought water. I didn’t expect to be out this long and didn’t think I’d be riding bikes today, so I didn’t bring any because I wouldn’t have had anywhere to put it. If I had known I’d be riding bikes, I would’ve brought water and put it in the basket. Okay, let’s keep going.”

Tired and turned around I get back on the bike and FINALLY wandered my way to McGee street. “I KNOW WHERE I AM! Except now I’m seriously close to work (work is on 51st Oak and McGee is ridiculously close because it’s one of the streets I turn down when I’m driving home). How’d I get this far? I’m tired. I’m stopping to rest.”

After my short rest, I get back on the bike and head down McGee to get to Wornall. At this point, the bike station isn’t far...at least not when driving. Biking is a different story.

I got about halfway -- huffing and puffing like I’m going to blow your house down and stopped to sit down on a bench and text my best friend that I had just been on an unintentional, hour-long bike ride all because I got caught up in the vibe marveling at these super cute houses. I mean, really, they look like storybook cottages and I’ve now decided that’s where I want to purchase my house.

Also, in case you’re wondering, Life on Earth is only 5 songs so at this point I had already hit replay once and let it play through again. The album is done. I don’t have the energy to start another one.

Back at it again, I push the rest of the way through -- at least I thought. I came upon a bike station and lifted my head toward the heavens in praise. “Thank you, Jesus!”

After the struggle, tired and trying to figure out how to get my bike locked back up -- the struggle was real; I was even slightly frustrated that this seemingly nice lady was asking me how to get a bike unlocked because she made me lose my train of thought and all my balance to where I tripped over my bike and scraped my knee. Her guy tried to help me up but I didn’t want to touch him because, you know, Rona and stuff, but I was fine. I got back up and laughed it off with an “I’m embarrassed but this is funny” kind of laugh. Anyway, after all of that, I figured out that wasn’t even the station I parked my car near. Nonetheless, rather than getting the bike unlocked again, I decided to walk the rest of the way. It wasn’t far -- two blocks maybe.

As I walked, I called my mom on the way, told her all about my adventure and how I couldn’t wait to get home, drink lots of iceberg cold, refrigerated, filtered water; take my shower and go to bed. But first, I had to tell you the story all about how I had an unintentional “lost in Brookside” bike riding adventure.

Next time (and there will be a next time because, despite getting turned around, it wasn’t so bad) I will go prepared.

#adventure #bikeride #self care #storytelling #creative writing #kansas city #summertime #humor #awkward moments #yolo

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anawkwardshit · 5 years ago

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There must be a time when an End is faced. She assumed it would be long from now when she met hers, but she’s not sure if the sudden reality is a mercy or torture.

With her last chances of conjecture, she thinks of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Nature,” strangely enough. There’s nothing to it, really, no point to it beyond melancholy and, perhaps, useless musings pondered about only upon the brink of death.

But, then again, she thinks maybe it does come to her for a reason, now. Perhaps, truly, there is something in it that calls to this moment in time, as she lies silent, breathing in her last scraps of Now, the final opportunities given to her by the Beginning. The warmth underneath her has long grown sticky, no longer a thing that crafted fear in the depth of her belly, now only an irritating nuisance that robs her of her last wisps of comfort, cold though they are.

Solitude, she remembers his writings from years ago, so vividly it is strange, can not be found while one is only alone if while being so they hear a song or read a book amongst themself. Solitude can not be found with thoughts and opinions, words of another, inside the mind. Physically alone, there are still ghosts among one who holds writing or music, or any form of a man-made creation. There is a person behind that, another human mind with their own things to say, and it swims in the head of others who hear it, read it, see it—it corrupts and twists one’s own speculative thoughts, unintentional or not.

Solitude, she recalls, can only be found when one’s mind and soul is the only thing present among the force of Nature and the Universe itself. Star-gazing, he wrote, where one was alone in one’s wandering thoughts and ponderings. One is left to their own makings of the world, watching what cannot be reached. Oneself realizes how small they are, as they gaze up at the expanse of the dark, twinkling sky, when they observe the stretch of the Universe, its immenseness compared to one individual.

Her vision is blurring now, in and out at an impatient pace that fills her with growing anxiety. The pain has faded by now, only a numbness to her body and a light fog filling her head left behind in its sharp wake. She knows it’s solitude she finds herself in now, alone to stare up at the dusk sky as her life pours from her vessel, soul reaching to the unreachable as it feels to leave the earthly plane.

She’s not scared. She doesn’t hope for her End, not now, but the leaving of the Earth is not something she necessarily dreads, either. Even so, what is there to fear? Death would come in one form or another, one day, and there was no delay to it, barring time. She doesn’t think there’s much more in life for her, anyway, for more time to be of much use; she’s lived for a long time—far too long, she thinks—and her luck, and her curse, was bound to run dry eventually.

But in that solitude, as Emerson says, she’s left to her own thoughts, her own creation of the world she’s experienced up until now, up until this untimely demise of hers, an End befitted for what she is, or more so what she’s become. As a child, she’d thought there would be nothing special about her, that she’d die like anyone else, disease or age, for ordinary people don’t die heroically or dramatically, do they? Or perhaps some do, but nobody ever cares because they are ordinary, that.

She likes to think that she’s beyond ordinary anymore, even though she knows it doesn’t matter. She’ll die unknown either way—she hadn’t meant to exist from the start, yet she did, and then she didn’t, even as she felt and listened and suffered. She supposed now her nonexistence with death would reconcile her soul, or what was left of it, with the Universe and its workings—no longer would she be an abomination among Creation.

“Nature always wears the colors of the spirit.” If one were to grieve a lost soul, to struggle through everyday hardships and pain, to feel as though the world belonged without one in it, Nature would reflect it back, one’s view of the world and the Universe around them shifting to fit man’s emotion. Thus, Nature’s beauty would not always bring joy, but also melancholy and darkness; wrath and envy.

Her breast slow in its movements, she thought Nature would look bleaker in the end, fitting to reflect her leaving and useless desire to refuse, but it doesn’t. The trees in the moonlight look as ethereal as she knows she did once, dark bark in the moon’s gleam full of a strange luster, leaves like crowns and jewels on a King. Branches, some more full with foliage than others, sway in the gentle breeze that provides no kind of chill, except the one she feels creeping up her spine and into her heart (but that has nothing to do with the wind). The dark vastness above her empty head is an endless space, but the brightness of the moon spreads light into even the largest of endless voids, painting the skies with various shades of darkened blues and off whites, and, in some cases, the prettiest shades of purples and distant greens.

She thinks it might be because there’s no true regret for the present, beyond the wish to say goodbye to those she did, somehow, come to care for in her lengthy years.

Eyelids heavy and a gentle buzzing thrum echoing in the caverns of her mind, she knows sleep is inevitable. The embrace is as welcoming as it is terrifying, for even for all she is, she knows not what awaits her after she shuts her eyes and gives herself away. The mystery of it should be more clear to her, she thinks, but it’s not to be, and she can’t find it in herself to take blame for that. It’s a sign, she supposes, that like anyone else, she is not meant to know.

Last words are in order, even with no one there to witness them. Regrets of past wrongs should be expressed, sins voiced to relieve a heavy soul. And yet, she feels better to go with them. She’s promised herself no regrets, but she knows she has them somewhere deep inside, and still, she can’t be bothered to search. Her sins are a weighty pile, dark and selfish just as much as they reflect the sentiment of the road to Hell paved with good intentions. But she’s never hidden those wrongs, never felt the need to hide the darkness everyone already knew she possessed, so there’s nothing more to voice. Her soul remains heavy, but it’s always been a burdened, troublesome thing; it’s as light as it can get.

She thinks, in another life, she’d have a whole slew of last words to give, be them different or a collection for a loud monologue. But in this moment, she has nothing she truly wishes to say to the empty breadth of the Universe. There’s no need to waste final moments on frivolous words meant for nobody but herself; she already knows them all by heart.

She lets her eyes slip closed, finally, body lax against the sweep of grass beneath her cooling body, though she still breathes shallowly. Her last glimpse in life is the infinite spread of night, unfathomable and unreachable stars decorating its abyss with the luminescent moon illuminating the Universe’s masterpiece.

She finds she doesn’t regret the sight, as blood dries in her throat and beneath her tongue, a cry for all she died with, hidden sorrows and contrite lies blooming too late between her lips.

—“The Death of A Fallen Angel”

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daughters-and-winsisters · 8 years ago

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Huntress- Part 11: Remember

Sam x Daughter!Reader, takes place in S12 E11 so warning: SPOILERS

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

It had been a few days since you’d told your Dad and Uncle the truth...as much as you could bare to say. You were currently sat at the Motel, your Dad was typing away on his laptop, no doubt looking into some lore for the case they were working. Uncle Dean had gone to “get a burger”, but you weren’t stupid. He’d be gone all night no doubt. Ever since that conversation, you’d become a little more distant with your Dad. Maybe it was embarrassment, you never wanted to tell him in the first place, maybe guilt that you hadn’t told him or maybe you’d just been thinking too much.

Despite your distance, your Dad was now more determined than ever to stay close to you. You’d never been a talker and had always kept most things bottled up so to tell someone a story you kept to yourself and considered very personal was a huge step for you. You’d barely said a word to anyone since, but that was just how your body worked. You need time to recharge and build up to confrontation. A hunt would bring you back, something to keep your mind away from anything else.

You thought back to the conversation, the confused face your Dad had given you...

“Your daughter” You’d said, knowing full well it’d do nothing but increase his curiosity. “Wh-what?” Your Dad’s eyebrows knitted together, his eyes focused intently on yours. “You had two daughters.” You managed, your voice quivering.

“How...?” Your Dad was now much more hesitant to ask you anything.

Your lips trembled “Max was...” You could hardly breath.

..."Hey, Y/N, could you pass me the charger?” You broke out of your daze, unaware of how long you’d been sat there, staring at nothing. Nodding, you handed your Dad his charger, still not saying a word. “You okay, bug?” He tilted his head, you saw him do so out of the corner of your eye. Again, you nodded. But he wouldn’t take a nod for an answer. Sighing, he got up from the chair and sat down next to you on the bed. You felt a dip in the bed, but still didn’t look up.

“It’s okay if you’re not.” He softly spoke, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands hanging in between. You nodded again, lost for the correct words to say. “I know you’ve got a lot going on, Y/N. You can just stay here for the hunt.” The way he spoke made it sound like an offer and left you wondering if it was an order. Instead of nodding, you shook your head, causing him to sigh again.

“Y/N...”

“Please.” You begged “I want to. I need....something to do.” You tried to explain it, finding each word harder to say without breaking down. “You sure?” Back to nodding, you hummed a “Yeah.”

Defeated, he stood up, planting a kiss on your forehead and sitting back down at his computer. You went back into your daydream...

“You had a twin.” Your Dad said the words for you. You nodded “She was my best friend, my only family when Mum died. She was all I had...” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at anyone.

“What happened to her?” Your Dad asked, only his tone of voice was different this time. It was as though the question was optional, he understood you didn’t want to talk about it.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn’t bare to think about it, her bloodshot eyes and pale complexion, her cold hands and lifeless body. You took in a deep breath “It doesn’t matter. She’s dead.”

...You hadn’t noticed until your Dad moved back down next to you that you were crying. It was silent, tears lightly trickling down your face, your eyes blinking a lot. This time he sat much closer and didn’t say a word, enveloping you into a hug, his head resting on yours and his arms holding you close. “Hey, come on. It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He cooed, rubbing your back gently with one of his hands, the other held your head. You sobbed, finally giving in to his embrace. He stayed there, holding you and keeping you close to him, you clung on to him as though your life would fade away if you loosened your grip at all.

You’d managed to convince yourself that you were okay, you’d be able to wake up every morning and smile without waiting for your sister to come and have breakfast with you. You could walk to school with two headphones in listening purely to the song rather than only having one in with your main focus on Max as she rambled on and on about nothing. You could fall asleep on time instead of texting your twin who was only a few feet away in the other room, so close you could hear each others giggles. You could walk the dog without sharing the lead or cross the road only looking out for yourself. You could hug your Mum without Max laughing and joining in the embrace: “Room for one more?”.

You couldn’t.

Blinking your eyes awake, you felt more tired than the night before. After allowing your eyes to get used to the light you noticed there was no one else there. The curtains were still closed, but the morning light was creeping through the sides they hadn’t covered. Your Dad’s laptop was on the table by the window.

You sighed, quickly getting dressed and putting on your combats. When you went to open up the curtains a post-it-note caught your eye, it was stuck to the laptop and curling slightly at the corner: “Having breakfast with Dean...Sorry, didn’t want to wake you up. Be back soon xxx”

You managed a smile and looked out of the window, noticing Baby was still there so he can’t have gone far. For most people, this situation would be a nod and go back to bed, only you weren’t most people. You were a Winchester.

You opened up the laptop to see the page open on ‘Waldos’, it seemed to be some sort of waffle-place. You took note of the street name, grabbed your gun for extra caution and headed towards Waldo’s. It wasn’t exactly hard to miss, with a huge flashing sign and a massive waffle logo on every wall of the building, you slipped in through the front and walked up to where Dad and Uncle Dean were.

They had your backs to you, Uncle Dean was downing painkillers with coffee and your Dad was offering a disapproving look. You pulled up a stool next to Uncle Dean and smiled. Uncle Dean looked at you for a moment as though you were a stranger, his eyes were narrowed and his head tilted. “Y/N..?” Your Dad looked concerned if nothing else. At the mention of your name Uncle Dean relaxed and looked back at his waffles. “Hey...” “How did you find us?” “You had the page open on your laptop.” You shrugged. To your amazement, Dad smiled to himself, something told you that leaving the website up wasn’t completely unintentional.

“So you’re saying you really can’t remember anything?” Your Dad frowned, watching Uncle Dean inhale about fifty waffles. “Not squat.” Uncle Dean shook his head in disbelief “Why did I even leave the Motel room...?” “You wanted a burger.” You said. “Huh...figures.” “Well, I’ll text Mom to let her know I’m the emergency number...And Cas, in case he gets some more info on Kelly.” Uncle Dean frowned and mouthed “Kelly?” At you. You sighed and frowned back before saying “You know, the girl with Lucifer's bun in her oven.” “Eh?” “Lucifers love child.” Dad added, standing up from the stool.”

“Oh, right yeah.” “Okay, well I’m gonna go work the case. You and your waffles can have some alone time, come on.” Dad tited his head back to gesture for you to come with him. You rolled your eyes at your Uncle before standing to join Dad.

“Okay I’m coming.” Uncle Dean tore himself away from the plate and stood up to leave. Just then lady made her way over, she was smiling at your Uncle and took in a deep breath before saying “Hey.”. “Hey.” Uncle Dean replied, looking between her and you two “Who are you?” Her face instantly turned to rage and she slapped him there and then, turning on her heel in a huff and returning to her friends. “Damn.” You mumbled to yourself, slightly impressed. “Hell of a night.” Uncle Dean coughed.

One of the worst things about being a young hunter was the fact that you couldn’t pass as an FBI agent, so for the parts of the case where Dad and Uncle Dean were busy faking their jobs and working the case you were stuck in Baby, You got out and leant against the bonnet, whipping your phone out for something to do.

Half an hour later Dad and Uncle Dean came back, discussing something about the case no doubt. “Looks like we’re dealing with Witches.”Your Dad explained, briefly filling you in.

Once again you were greeted with a strange expression from Uncle Dean, his head tilted to the side and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?!” You asked, making your Dad turn back around to see what you were talking about. “I don’t know. kid.” Uncle Dean coughed slightly when he sad Kid.

“Kid?” You echoed, the way he said it didn’t sound right. “Where?” Uncle Dean frowned, turning slightly. “What?” “Huh?” Sighing, you got in the back, ignoring Uncle Deans confused face.

“I said I’m fine!” Uncle Dean argued, getting out of the car. “What’s my name?” You asked, standing in the way of the Motel door. “What?” “My name. Now.” “I don’t have to do this.” He decided.

“You don’t know do you..?” Your Dad looked amazed.

“Of course I do.” “Then what is it?” You raised an eyebrow. he opened and closed his mouth a few times before shaking his head “I don’t know...” “I’m only joking.” Uncle Dean laughed, but he looked incredibly confused, his mind deep in thought trying to remember what your name was. “Uncle Dean-” You started to say before he interrupted you. “Who?”

You and Dad shared a worried look.

“Dean, you forgot your own name!” Dad protested, following after his brother in the Motel room. “And Y/NS.” ”Y/N, that was it! I knew it!” You followed on behind, wondering what the hell was going on with your Uncle.

“Yeah that was weird...” He couldn’t help, but agree however.

“Look I’m fine, see? This is a coat, this is a bed. This is uh...a....uh light stick.” “A light sti-” Your Dad sighed, picking up a post-it-note and writing “LAMP” in big letters before sticking it on the “light stick”. “Lamp!” Uncle Dean cheered “So close.”

“I’m gonna call Rowena.” Dad sighed before adding “The Witch.” “Yeah...Rowena this is serious...I think he’s been hexed...he can’t remember really simple things...no....I don’t know and I’m not checking!...how do we fix it?” You watched in anticipation when your Dad put the phone down “We need to kill the Witch.” He explained, putting his jacket back on. “Come on.” He added, dragging his brother away from the TV.

“AND, our best friend’s an Angel..Whaaaaaat?!” Uncle Dean exclaimed, hitting your Dad who almost jumped out of his skin. You couldn’t help but giggle, only shutting up when Dad glared at you. Settling with a smirk, you examined the blood smears on the tree bark, runnng your fingers gently over the dried crimson.

“Sam...Y/N!” Uncle Dean called out, shining his torch back at you both. You hurried over, finding a dead body collapsed behind a fallen tree. He had whited out eyes, a river of dried blood coming from his mouth and dirt covered him all over. “Is that a dead guy?” “Yep.” You answered, shining you torch over his body for any more clues. “Cool.” “No, Dean. Not cool. Killing the Witch is supposed to be the cure. But if the Witch isn’t dead then...why aren’t you...you?” “Not cool.” He gulped.

A knock at the door made you and your Dad look up from his laptop screen. “I’ll get it.” Uncle Dean declared, heading straight for the door. “No, Dean. Wait!” Dad attempted to stop him, getting his handgun out. The door swung open to reveal the Witch you’d met back when you had to capture Lucifer.

Inviting herself in, she put her bag on your bed and turned to face you all. “Who’s this?” Uncle Dean scoffed. Rowena sighed “The spell’s progressed I see.” “Your hair...it’s all so bouncy.” Uncle Dean smiled, his hands hovering over her locks in amazement. “Why...thank you,” She turned to face you and your Dad “Do we have to fix him?”

After managing to occupy your Uncle with TV, Dad pulled Rowena off to the side. She looked at you briefly before saying “This kind of magic is very high level witchcraft. I presumed them all dead. But, perhaps not. Eventually you forget how to speak, how to swallow,how to breath..well...Dean Winchester’s going to die.” “Suck’s for that guy.” Uncle Dean chimed in. Sadly, you looked between the three of them, wanting someone to say something positive for once.

Uncle Dean went to the bathroom and your Dad instantly lost his ‘everything’s fine’ face, he sat down on the Motel bed, perching on the end. You sat next to him, not speaking. “I’ve seen my brother die...but this, watching him become not him. This might be worse.” You looked down at the floor, not sure what to say.

“We need to kill the Witches, Samuel.” Rowena declared, ignoring his comment. “Yeah, an important spell book is up for grabs and here you are. I should have known.” Dad shook his head. “True...” She hissed “But it’s nice to have a Winchester owe you one. Anyway, you’ll need me there not babysitting your brother. They’ll kill you both.” You reached into your backpack, bringing out witch-killing-bullets in a loaded gun “They can try.” Dad raised an eyebrow, heading towards the door. Only, moments before he opened it he turned back around and looked at you. “Y/N, this could be really dangerous.” You squinted skeptically at where this was going. “I’m trained for really dangerous.” You retorted, putting a jacket on. “I don’t doubt that...I just don’t want you to get hurt.” “Me neither.” “Y/N...” He frowned, not sure what else to say. Only he didn’t argue when you left the Motel with him.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” Dad looked at you with stern eyes, his hands resting on your shoulders. You sighed silently and nodded “I promise.” With a tight smile he nodded, handing you a gun and taking the lead.

With two Witches down you made your way into the main house. “Okay, stay back.” He whispered. You nodded, your eyes scanning the area.

Dad called Uncle Dean and Rowena, putting his phone is his pocket for when Rowena was able to perform the spell. You crept through the building, becoming more suspicious as the halls were empty. Eventually you found a lady, her blonde hair was curled slightly and she was carefully placing butterflies on a sort of plaque thing. Your Dad told you to stay put outside and went in, closing the door behind him.

You stood in the closed off doorway, your gun out ready for an attack. Only, not ready for the kind of attack that came. “A Baby Winchester, how quaint.” A male Witch chuckled, but you couldn’t see him. He was close, no doubt using some sort of invisibility spell, you watched the floor and saw a tiny cloud of dust as a footstep sounded. In a blind panic, you shot toward the culprit, the mirror behind didn’t smash which meant you’d hit something. You heard a cry of pain, a man with glasses and a bleeding side slowly appeared into vision. Before you could react he shot his hand out, sending you towards the wall behind. You smashed into it, feeling your arm scrape against some sort of metal, it sliced down your arm making you grunt. But, you got back up. He grabbed hold of you, his magic holding some sort of super strength as there was no way of getting out of his grip.

He kicked one of the doors down, dragging you in the room where your Dad was on the floor, his gun aimed at the Witch. As the man bled you felt his grip getting weaker- his magic was dying with him. “Y/N!” Dad called, shooting the man a glare. “Kill her.” The Witch laughed, her eyes full of nothing but hatred. “I can’t, she shot me.” He revealed his wound, his shirt dyed deep crimson around the bullet. “I thought you were invisible?!” She didn’t seem too worried about this. “That didn’t stop her...the bitch.” He tried to grip you harder, but if anything he was losing all of his strength. You waited until he was barely holding on and threw him over your back, leaning forward as you did so. He cried out when he hit the floor, his body close to death.

You looked at the Lady Witch as she held you where you were with her magic. You fell down, unable to get back up this time. Her hand closed as blackness entered your vision, knocking you out.

You woke to her walking around the corpse of the dead Witch Uncle Dean had found earlier. “...We’re going to swap his soul for yours.” The Lady finished, looking between you and Dad. She looked back to you and smiled “Or yours.” “Don’t you dare!” Dad warned through gritted teeth. “But she’s young and fit and so much stronger than some old man.” She hissed at your Dad. Instead of retaliating with some snarky comment you glared, unsure of what could make the situation any worse. “You’ll do just fine.” She laughed, walking towards you. When she knelt down in front of you a loud crash sounded, turning her attention away from the pair of you for a second. A second was enough.

Immediately you rose to your feet, kicking her to the floor and sprinting out to see if your gun was where you fell. You thought you Dad was right behind you, only he insisted on fighting the bitch. Deciding to leave him to it, you raced down the stairs in the hopes to come across some sort of effective weapon, when you turned the corner you came face to face with...Uncle Dean?

He looked at you strangely, holding up a gun fully loaded with Witch killing bullets and aimed. With only a second to react you ducked behind a chest of draws when he fired, his bullet scraping the back of your hand. You winced, hissing at the pain, but knowing he didn’t actually mean to shoot you. “I’m your niece! Don’t shoot me you bastard!” You shouted, hesitantly coming out from behind the draws.

“Oops...” Uncle Dean smiled awkwardly and you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Is the Impala outside?” You asked, looking around warily. “The what?” He frowned, having even forgotten Baby. “The car!” “Oh...yeah it is.” “Okay good,” You put your hand on his arm and guided him to the corner of the room “Stay.” “Where are you going?” The way he asked was like a five year old. Sighing, you quickly said “To get another gun. Be right back.”

After not finding any more guns in the boot, you raced back to the house. The back of your hand was soar, blood still oozing from the sides of where the bullet had torn your skin, no doubt hitting your bone. Ignoring the pain, you peered round the corner to see...no one. He’d gone. Of course he’d gone, he can’t remember anything...”Should have written a bloody post-it-note.” You mumbled to yourself, following the sound of voices.

You walked in on the Witch and Rowena having some sort of stare-off.Their heads snapped towards you, making you take a step-back. Without a gun you were ten times more cautious. Uncle Dean ran in, holding up a gun and aiming at at the Witch. Your Dad then ran in,making Uncle Dean confused as to who to shoot.

“No,” Your Dad pointed at himself “Brother” then you “Niece” then the Witch “Witch.”

Uncle Dean nodded, cocking the gun and frowning at her. She laughed “You really think that’d going to work on me?” Uncle Dean tilted his head, smirking as he held up a post-it-note which read Witch-killing bullets.

Her face dropped.

A gun shot rang out.

She fell to the floor.

Waiting with your Dad at the bottom of the stairs, you looked up when Uncle Dean and Rowena climbed down. “Did it work?” Dad asked, leaning forward expectantly. “Who’s this hippie?” Uncle Dean frowned. You gulped. Maybe Rowena hadn’t done the spell yet. Maybe it took a few minutes to start working. Maybe- A laugh tore you from your thoughts and Uncle Dean grinned, “Your faces.” He chuckled, ruffling your hair. “Not funny.”

Uncle Dean’s face then frowned and he took your hand in his “Sorry for shooting you, kid, Good thing you’ve got quick reactions.” “Yeah, no thanks to you you twat.” You smirked, tugging your hand away from his. Dad frowned, tilting his head at your wound “Come on, let’s fine a bandage.” He declared, heading out of the house.

It had been a few days since you’d told your Dad and Uncle the truth...as much as you could bare to say. You were currently sat at the Motel, your Dad was typing away on his laptop, no doubt looking into some lore for the case they were working. Uncle Dean had gone to "have a drink”, but you weren’t stupid. He’d be gone all night no doubt. Ever since that conversation, you’d become a little more quiet with them outside of hunts. Maybe it was embarrassment, you never wanted to tell him in the first place, maybe guilt that you hadn’t told him or maybe you’d just been thinking too much.

You thought back to the conversation, the confused face your Dad had given you...

“How...?” Your Dad was now much more hesitant to ask you anything.

Your lips trembled “Max was...” You could hardly breath.

“It’s okay if you’re not.” He softly spoke, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands hanging in between. You nodded again, lost for the correct words to say. “I know you’ve got a lot going on, Y/N...” The way he spoke made it sound like he had more to say, but didn’t want it to come out wrong. You nodded, making him sigh again “Y/N...”.

“I’m okay.” You tried to reassure him. “You sure?” Back to nodding, you hummed a “Yeah.”

Defeated, he stood up, planting a kiss on your forehead and sitting back down at his computer. You hadn’t had a chance to think about Max until after the hunt...You went back into your daydream...

“You had a twin.” Your Dad said the words for you. You nodded “She was my best friend, my only family when Mum died. She was all I had...” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at anyone.

“What happened to her?” Your Dad asked, only his tone of voice was different this time. It was as though the question was optional, he understood you didn’t want to talk about it.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn’t bare to think about it, her bloodshot eyes and pale complexion, her cold hands and lifeless body...If only they knew... You took in a deep breath “It doesn’t matter. She’s dead.”

You’d managed to convince yourself that you were okay, you’d be able to wake up every morning and smile without waiting for your sister to come and have breakfast with you. You could walk to school with two headphones in listening purely to the song rather than only having one in with your main focus on her as she rambled on and on about nothing. You could fall asleep on time instead of texting your twin who was only a few feet away in the other room, so close you could hear each others giggles. You could walk the dog without sharing the lead or cross the road only looking out for yourself. You could hug your Mum without Max laughing and joining in the embrace: “Room for one more?”.

You couldn’t.

Part 12

I don’t own these gifs Masterlist A/N: Aye I wrote a thing, sorry for the angst uwu. Also sorry for the unanswered questions... I love you guys, thanks for staying amazing x (Tags after cut)

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It's surprisingly hard to tell if someone's drowning, so we made you a guide

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/its-surprisingly-hard-to-tell-if-someones-drowning-so-we-made-you-a-guide/

It's surprisingly hard to tell if someone's drowning, so we made you a guide

A refreshing dip is the best way to beat the heat. But the water can be dangerous—particularly for youngsters who don’t know how to swim. For children ages 1 to 14, drowning is the second most common cause of death from unintentional injury. And for every kid who dies from drowning, five more survive but require emergency care.

One reason drowning is so deadly: It doesn’t look that bad. When movies and television shows portray someone going under, they may show the victim calling for help or splashing heavily. But in reality, there’s a good chance you wouldn’t be able to tell a drowning child from one playing in the water. So before you head to the pool this summer, familiarize yourself with drowning, and what you can do to prevent it.

The real signs of drowning

You may have seen videos like this going around Facebook, but if you haven’t, watch the following clip and see if you can spot the victim before the lifeguard does.

Kind of like playing a moving game of Where’s Waldo, isn’t it?

“People have certain expectations about what a drowning person is going to do, and people’s expectations are inaccurate,” says Francesco Pia, Ph.D., a drowning prevention researcher and educator. “They think when a person is drowning, they’ll be able to call out for help and wave their arms. People have this information formed after watching movies where they see the Hollywood rendition of a drowning person.”

In reality, drowning is rather silent. By the time a person begins to drown, they can no longer speak at all. Their mouth is sinking below the water, reappearing just long enough to gasp in a breath before going down again. As they bob up and down, they won’t thrash or wave. Instead, they will hold their arms out to the side or front trying to “paddle” back to the surface.

This process is shockingly quick—about 20 seconds for young children and 60 seconds for adolescents—meaning you have only a few moments to realize it’s happening before they sink under the water entirely.

Sometimes, drowning can occur during a momentary lapse in supervision, while a parent looks away for five minutes before realizing the child is missing. But Pia says that, in many cases, “Children are surrounded by people who are looking at them but don’t realize that the drowning is taking place. They mistakenly believe that the person is playing in the water.”

There’s a whole YouTube channel of these videos. Try watching them to familiarize yourself with the signs of struggle before you jump in the pool.

How to prevent drowning before it happens

Recognizing the signs is only half the battle. Because the process is so quick and quiet, you must keep a very close eye on children.

Most guardians probably aren’t supervising closely enough, says Pia, especially if a lifeguard is on duty. “The lifeguards have a responsibility for everyone in the pool,” he says, but “a parent can look at their child and only their child.” It’s best to think of the lifeguard as a redundant backup system, he recommends, while the person supervising the child acts as the first line of defense.

Furthermore, Pia says to stay close and attentive, particularly for younger children. “The best technique for parents to use is called ‘touch supervision’ or ‘reach supervision,’” Pia says. Whenever a child is in the water, an adult can be on the deck or in the pool, but he or she must stay within arm’s reach. They must also remain attentive. That means, Pia says, “Parents can’t be on the lounge chair on their laptops or cell phones. They don’t get a second chance—if they don’t recognize the drowning struggle and intervene, bad things start to happen right away.”

The big bad thing you want to avoid is having the victim’s heart stop. If this happens, you’ll have many more obstacles to overcome than you did a few minutes ago.

That’s why all parents should learn CPR, Pia says. CPR may not save a drowning child on its own—in some cases, it’s merely a stopgap measure to keep oxygen flowing to the brain before emergency services arrive—but it’s part of a chain of recovery that can prevent brain damage and death. If you try winging it in an emergency situation, the high stress will make resuscitation very, very difficult. Instead, spend a couple hours in a CPR class so you can practice the technique.

After you take your class, sign your kids up to take their own lessons in swimming. The American Academy of Pediatrics strongly recommends swim lessons for children over 4 years old—for tots younger than that, lessons are fine, but not mandatory—they won’t make as big of a difference as they do for older kids.

While CPR and swim lessons are important, they aren’t a panacea. If you have a pool in your backyard (or even if your neighbors do), surround it with a four-sided fence that a child can’t climb over or squeeze through. If kids play by the pool under your supervision, make sure they don’t leave toys near the water, as this might tempt them back to the pool later, when they’re on their own.

Finally, don’t get so confident that you become less vigilant about watching swimming children. Close supervision is the best way to keep them safe.

Written By Whitson Gordon

#DIY

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