The plush is a gift from Gabriel. It’s not very big, just a tiny little plush toy that’s the size of a knuckled-up fist that the teenager wins at one of those big, flashy arcade machines with the robot arm thingies. It looks frazzled and sad as he fishes it out.
But for two-year old Castiel with no friends or family to look out for him, it feels like the best gift ever. He grabs it with two impossibly small hands and hugs it to his chest. The yellow of the bee’s body may already be fading, but it’s soft against his skin. The antenna on top are droopy and Castiel smiles a big, gummy smile at how they nudge at his chin when he holds it close.
“Fank you, Gabe,” he mutters.
Gabriel looks down at him, a strange expression on his face, and then just grunts. “Yeah, kiddo,” he grumbles. “You’re welcome.” He drops a hand to the dark hair and ruffles it lightly.
Castiel leans into his touch, nuzzling against him. Gabriel snatches his hand back. His grip is both gentle and firm as he pushes the kid away, and Castiel stumbles, holding on to the bee as he tries to straighten himself.
“You gonna give your friend a name?” Gabriel asks gruffly.
Castiel bites his lower lip, considering it. “She not an it,” he protests.
“A she, eh?”
Castiel nods emphatically. “Mama like bees,” he says. “Gabe, mommy?” he peers up hopefully, small fingers rubbing the space between the bee’s antenna.
Gabriel can only swallow hard and shake his head. “She’s gone, kid,” he says. He pauses, seeing Castiel’s fallen face, and then goes down on a knee, pulling the toddler close. “She’s… this bee can be your mama now, kay?”
Dark brows scrunch up in confusion. Castiel’s eyes swing between the bee plushy in his arms and then to Gabriel and back to the bee again as he pauses.
“Bee mama?” he says.
“Yeah.” Gabriel nods. “Your mom couldn’t be here, so she sent this to ya. Well, she asked me to geddit for you,” he gestures at the arcade machine behind him, “And I did.”
Wide blue eyes glisten with tears as Castiel laughs happily. “Mama said to?” he asks shyly. “Where she?”
Gabriel points at the plushy. “In that.”
“In this?”
“Whenever you feel lonely or sad, look at this thing and imagine your mom’s voice from it, okay?”
“Kay.” Castiel kisses one antenna, and then looks up at Gabriel again. “Is Mama ghostie?”
Gabriel’s bark of laughter is bitter. “Not exactly.”
“Then how she speak in this?” he holds up the bee and inspects it carefully, as though his mother is stuck inside. He pulls at the bottom, trying to tear the middle apart, like he can find the dead remains of his mother and then sew it back together.
Gabriel hastily puts his hands over the kid’s, stopping him and shaking his head. “She’s gone, kiddo,” he whispers.
“Gone?”
“She’s a… a zombie!” Gabriel tickles the kid’s chin and Castiel's frown disappears into the sound of a bubbling giggle. “Gone, but still here!” He pats the bee’s head. “Zom-bee!”
“Zom-Bee,” Castiel says slowly. He looks down at the plushy and then kisses it again, whispering into its head. “Zom-bee.”
Gabriel sighs and pats his cheek before he gets to his feet. He holds out a hand to the kid and Castiel takes it, still clutching at the plushy with one hand as they walk back to where the rest of their foster siblings are.
“Zom-bee,” he babbles. “My zom-bee.”
A week later, Gabriel vanishes, and the only friend Castiel has for a long, long time after is his Zom-bee plushy.
I have changed my WIP’s POV from first person to third person and then back to first person...
I have also scrapped most of my original draft because of more extensive plotting. I have also blatantly copied, nearly word for word, the opening scene from that first draft into my new draft...
I am the queen of doing meaningless, time-consuming things...
hi tumblr i wrote a poem last night u can read it if u want
if sadness is darkness, and happiness is light, what's casting the shadow?
i stand in the sunlight,
warmed by its touch and surrounded by its glow.
i cast a shadow, barely there,
huddled around my feet.
i step to one side, and the shadow follows.
i take a few running strides, and the shadow holds on to my feet,
inseparable.
i stand in the dusklight,
chilled by its breath and surrounded by its veil.
i cast a shadow, long and dark,
stretching as far as i can see.
i step to one side, and the shadow leaps up.
i back away, and the shadow clings to the soles of my shoes,
inescapable.
i stand in the darkness,
crushed by its weight and surrounded by its cloak.
i cast no shadow.
there is nothing to see.
i stand in the darkness,
and i light a match.
i cast a shadow, shaky and faint,
but it falls behind me.
and ahead,
there is light.
you will always cast a shadow.
but you must keep your eyes turned toward the light.
you’re still burning in me,
flares behind my eyes,
the smoke left in my lungs,
flames flickering at the edge of my vision.
your warmth is gone, the light has died down,
and only the smolder of embers remains.
i remember when we burned bright,
a bonfire reaching up into the summer sky,
trying to touch the stars themselves,
too hot to face straight on,
too bright to turn away from.
and every breath i take without you stings,
i blink and i see the shadows dance across your face,
before the wind changes,
and the grey-white smoke hides you from my memory.
my chest feels tight, like i’m suffocating,
too slow, too painful, too real.
the heat forces me backward,
the burning heap CRACKS and collapses--
a shower of sparks flies up,
then vanishes into the dark.
(i always knew our love was playing with fire,
but i didn’t expect to get burned.)
i can't wait until "coming home" means coming back to you instead of leaving you.
i can't wait for you to be the one i am with every night.
i can't wait to hold you and know that i won't have to say goodbye in the morning.
i can't wait to wake up next to you,
every day,
and know that i am finally home.
i wish i was the kind of mess people could love,
all paint-splattered jeans and windblown hair,
ice cream melting down the cone,
crooked smiles and coffee stains and everything adorable about imperfections.
but i am a mess that gets in the way,
a mess that makes people cringe,
a mess people try to ignore and sweep under the rug so they don’t have to deal with it.
i am the unwashed laundry on the floor of the bedroom,
the crumbling cracks in the drywall,
cobwebs in the corner and dust on the shelves.
i am the closet door that lost its doorknob,
the water leaking from the ceiling,
broken toys and long-dead dreams.
i am a mess,
broken and breaking in every place,
and there is nothing endearing about falling apart.
