#sofaradaysogood

[starlightsulu]

Sulu, because he can and because Faraday won’t die: bites him.

#duocorpora #sofaradaysogood

[cruentusreus-blog]

@sofaradaysogood

“So, I get that this isn’t...y’know, anything you’re doing on purpose,” Because Faraday likes Dean. That much should be obvious, at least. Even to Sam. 

“And Dean will probably kill me if he finds out I asked, but —— is there anything? I mean, can you help him?”

#sofaradaysogood #/tosses confetti #v: undergrad emissary

[godforsakenthing-blog]

@sofaradaysogood because parents suck

The sun sets on Beltane, and everything is in chaos. 

There’s a bonfire crackling in the distance, the Impala’s front end mangled where it was slammed into a massive tree. Dean’s got broken glass in his hair, dusted across his eyelashes, dug into the meat of his palm. 

Faraday is a force beside him, fists clenched white knuckled. But he’s not a force of nature. He’s a force of Detroit steel and American ingenuity, and Dean swears he can hear the rumble of the Impala’s engine just beneath the sound of the fae’s breathing. 

The end is nigh. 

Faraday’s grandmother sweeps across the field, gnarled trees bowing in passing as she moves towards them, inhuman in pace and in sight, pale as the moon that hasn’t risen yet. 

Dean yells protect Sam! because he’s slumped in the passenger seat, blood trickling from his temple and seatbelt still in place. 

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s some frayed remnant of the obligation between them, but Faraday is gone between one blink and the next, pulling Sam from the wreckage. 

It’s all Dean needs to know. He whispers a prayer to Cas under his breath, goodbye and apology in equal measure, and he throws himself at the Queen of the Fae with everything he’s got. 

Each time he lunges at her, she bats him away like he’s something insignificant. But Dean gets back up. He snarls insults and digs in. Bleeding. Exhausted. Unstoppable. 

Why do you fight for him? Her voice is the tinkle of fine crystal, the gentlest whisper of bells against the breeze. 

Dean spits blood, and stands. Again. “Because I want to.”

He hears the magic before he sees it. Radio static, the space on the dial between one station and the next. The Fae Queen stumbles. Faraday’s eyes are headlight yellow in the growing darkness. 

She clenches a hand into a fist, and Faraday convulses. But he doesn’t scream. He doesn’t fall. There’s a conversation going on, ancient and indecipherable to his ears.

Dean doesn’t care. He’s got his shot. 

The Fae Queen is so caught up in trying to make Faraday bend to her will (literally, and metaphorically) that she doesn’t pay any attention to Dean. Why would she? He’s less than an ant to her, useless, pointless. 

Except he’s got one hell of a point, a consecrated iron dagger that he brings down into her neck with everything he’s got. She screams, and blood spurts hot against his hands. 

A flick of her wrist has him slamming into the side of the Impala, slumping. 

The Fae Queen dies with an unholy sound, and the unnatural silence around them gives way to the sounds of crickets and night birds, and even the Impala’s engine trying to tick.

That’s his baby, a fighter to the end.

Faraday’s eyes are back to normal by the time he kneels in front of Dean. But he’s sickly pale and slick with sweat, practically out on his feet. Sam’s safe. Dean’s sigh of relief is audible. 

“Look. This isn’t let or lien bullshit. I’m asking you.” He reaches up, the hand covering the slow oozing wound on his stomach curling around Faraday’s neck, staining it with his blood. “Keep an eye on them for me, will you? Cas and Sam and Stiles. They need someone to annoy ‘em. And keep them from doing something stupid.”

There’s an argument, but Dean can’t hear much of it. His ears roar with rushing blood, and his vision is darkening at the edges. 

He pulls Faraday in close, pressing closed lips to the fairy’s forehead. Dean’s never been great at goodbyes. 

“Keep the knife.”

I love you. 

#sofaradaysogood #what was that about transference again

[isaidgoodnight-blog]

@sofaradaysogood ( x )

Faraday has been an anomaly since the day he was brought into the fold. One of the few that Goody washed his hands off. He knows a time bomb when he sees one, and irony notwithstanding, the Irish boy is a few seconds from midnight. 

(Maybe he sees a bit of himself in that funhouse mirror. Too much to think about.)

Goodnight raises his glass in salute, taking a careful sip. 

“You don’t get the thrill of not getting caught when you’re dead.”

#sofaradaysogood #au: cia

[mercenarymouthpiece]

@sofaradaysogood

“A little birdy told me that you fart strawberries.”

#sofaradaysogood #do you shit glitter #do you ejaculate rainbows

[poorlikeness-blog]

@sofaradaysogood

It starts with hearing an odd call over the police radio in Minnesota. The dispatch tells them that a hispanic male was trespassing on private property. By the time the responding officer gets back on the radio, it’s to tell her that there was no sign of trespassing, and that ‘the lady of the house was hitting the sauce’ telling him about rattling windows and knives thrown across the room.

Dean waits until morning to put on the state trooper uniform and get a statement from the lady in the house.

She’s definitely drunk at 10 in the morning, but she repeats all the signs of a poltergeist. Flying knives and forks, rattling windows, pictures hurled from the wall.

(If that’s not enough, the EMF lights up like Christmas when he points it at the attic door.)

He tells her that he’s going upstairs to ‘take a look around’.

Dean barely clears the ladder before the mirror comes flying at his head. In broad daylight, he almost misses the outline of a man standing in front of the attic mirror, face contorted in rage and fists clenched at his sides.

He doesn’t miss the attic door slamming shut and the woman’s screams.

“Come on, man. Be original. You’re not even scary.” It’s the wrong thing to say, because the spirit coalesces into a fuller outline of a man, the same Hispanic man the police radio talked about. “You’re like Paranormal Activity level scary. Not even the original Poltergeist.”

The walls around him are rattling, like he’s trapped inside of a rapidly beating heart. Dust and insulation rain down on his head. Dean reaches for the gun holstered at his side just in time for a cable wire to snap free from the wall and wrap tight around his throat.

With both hands against it, he is struggling to get fingers under the wire, to pull in a breath while the ghost screams at him in Spanish.

#sofaradaysogood #v: poltergeist

[aculling]

“i fucked up, why do you not care?”

The reflection of the feeling is evident in the way she lashes Clyde’s ropings around. Or, the pinch of her brow. The purse of her mouth. Clyde rumbles nervously, alternating his back hooves, and Emma eases up, soothing him with a hand to his soft muzzle.

But the expression in her gut, that boiling-bubble, doesn’t dissipate. 

Finally, it erupts, and it’s fast like a bolt of lightning come from the heavens.

“I do care,” And she snaps it, so sharp she’s afraid her teeth would cut him wide open and send his guts sprawling. Emma chews her lip in and in and then suddenly there’s copper that isn’t coin. Her fists clench and she draws Clyde’s ropes to a tight line. He neighs, finally, tossing his head up to try and get away from the tension. She lets him, and finally turns to Faraday - to Josh. 

(She’d never call him the name right-out, knows he don’t like it but the easiest way to be bitter is to pretend she said the name out loud, and not to herself, in her head.)

“I care so much that I can’t even keep my head straight, Faraday.” She gestures, arms wide to her sides, and it’s to everything. Not anything specific. Fuck, she’s just making the movements because if she kept her arms at her side she’d feel dull, stir-crazy. “And believe me, I’m so -” The feeling she’s experiencing, that gut roil wrench, that gloomy atmosphere – she knows what it is, with such finality that she wants to holler him into the ground until he understands – “so disappointed.”

The word leaves her and it feels like the world quiets down for them. Faraday’s face twitches, and there’s a moment where she can see the waking plains trembling and changing, and then it’s gone. Whatever had crossed his face did so in a timely manner to evade watchful owl eyes.

They couldn’t duck hers out.

“But you’re human.” These words are softer, and kinder. They pave new paths to his heart with hope, quick to do so before he can brush her away with a complicated act of how something doesn’t effect him. “And what good is being mad at you when you know you’ve made the mistake? You’re allowed to do those things because something learning has to be done in the hardest ways, just as I’m allowed to feel the way I do about those things you do.” Her shoulders soften, and that disappointment lifts its head and debates itself - considers the shape of Faraday himself. And then, it slinks away to curl up in the corner of her heart, won out by a stronger affection. 

“I care. I care about what you did and how you did it, but I also care about you. I can’t change what happened nor your actions, but I can help you see that you need to learn from them.” She pauses, and brings her hands to her chest to gesture to them. “To see how they affect me. Us. Everyone. You’re not alone anymore, Faraday.” Emma’s eyes go warm and round, more suited for a doe’s. “The decisions you make don’t have to reflect that.”

#sofaradaysogood #I DOn'T KNOW WHAT HE DID #but they gave her feelings #and me too #the mystery is in not knowing #∴ IF I WAS SOMEONE ( i’d tell you ) ; answers #∴ I AM JUST A WORK OF ( fiction ) ; meme replies

[knivesnothingtoit-blog]

@sofaradaysogood from (x)

Evidently, Faraday’s obsession with explosions is not limited to those caused by dynamite. Billy rolls his eyes, and refrains from pointing out what happened the last time they brought explosions into the mix. Not to mention the fact that, were he to aim for their current enemies’ eyes, it would all be too fast to really appreciate it.

But the leader of this stupid gang is still mouthing off, and Billy is losing his patience.

“짜증나.” He mutters, and foregoes the knife for his hairpin, leaning up just long enough to throw it, fast as a rattlesnake, only to fall back beside Faraday. The man’s voice cuts off, and his gun clutters to the ground.

       “Wh——Lawrence, your eye!” It’s as good a distraction as any, and Billy is armed with a blade in each hand once again as he glances at Faraday.

“Cover me.” It’s all he says before he’s on his feet, knives flying to find a new home in two other men’s hearts.

#sofaradaysogood #THERE #i got one eye #happy?

[shcllshocked]

@lonecomanchewarrior @sofaradaysogood

#{don't mind us.} #lonecomanchewarrior #sofaradaysogood #⚜ → ˡᵒᶜᵃˡ ʷᶤᵗᶜʰ ˢᵃʸˢ ʸᵉᵉʰᵃʷ ( ooc. ) #dash commentary

[sofaradaysogood]

@lonecomanchewarrior:

@sofaradaysogood

That remark only earned Faraday a mocking and somewhat contemptuous look from Red Harvest, who briefly interrupted his moves as he worked on making new arrows. Sitting at Faraday’s feet under the porch of the saloon in Rose Creek, some time after the fateful battle against Bogue, the Comanche rolled his eyes and looked back down at his hands skillfully carving the stone that would become the arrowhead.

“What work? Gambling and cheating?” He asked, syllables rolling off his tongue as if carefully chosen and weighed out before they were actually enunciated. Ages had passed since he had last spoken English to anyone, until the night before the battle - he was a little rusty. But if he could use it to taunt Faraday (or anyone, for that matter), he was not going to hold back. Catching one string between his teeth, he kept his eyes on the arrow-in-the-making  in his left hand and used his right hand to tug at the leg of Faraday’s trousers. Then, without a word, he handed him a small handful of strings, as if silently saying ‘hold that for me’. If the cowboy was going to make him listen to him while he complained, the least he could do was to make himself useful.

“Why does everyone always assume I cheat?”

Faraday leans against one of the porch posts, and tucks his thumbs at his belt. The streets of Rose Creek are beginning to look like a real town once more -- not just some bullet-riddled street frontages. Faraday himself is starting to look more like a person, too, not just some bullet-riddled invalid pale from days spent indoors being fussed over.

“I’m good at cards. I got no need to cheat.” He glances down at Red Harvest who -- for all that they’d fought and almost died together -- is still mostly a mystery to him. “Prove it to you sometime, if y’like.” He grins.

He accepts the strings handed to him, seating himself comfortably next to the Comanche, the care in the movement evident. He’s still bandages and bullet-holes, despite his road to recovery.

“Got me on the first, though.”

He pauses. Most days, he lets his mouth run for the sake of running it; his opening comment hadn’t been much more than a string of words his brain had put together, pushed out from behind his teeth before he’d given much thought to it.

“ -- I done my fair share of work in my time. Honest work, too. Might not have been much good at it, but I did it.” He examines the strings in his hand, the work that Red Harvest’s fingers are doing. Easily, he segues from one conversation to the next. “Wouldn’t it be better making ‘em with steel?”

#lonecomanchewarrior #he's never been shot with a stone arrow doesn't realised how frickin pointy they can be #JKLASD

[starlightsulu]

the snapped line // @sofaradaysogood​

          Dawn’s always been a favoured time , air crisp , sun waking and touching skin lightly with it’s warmth --- nature , a little slow to rise , a little lazy . It’s ... soothing , so few are barely awake ; and those who are greet with gentle chirp and song .

It’s also a good time to fish .

So there he sat , in the peace and in the silence with makeshift rod and line cast . The wolf sits , watching the gentle sway as the wind catches the string and makes the bait dance in the water .

Complete concentration there , tongue sticking out slight as eyes sharp , remain focused on the gentle bob of the makeshift lure . Gold eyes glow , and the wind tells him of the water’s motions and the fish that comes to bite ---

#sofaradaysogood #v: the wolf that wanders

[cruentusreus-blog]

@sofaradaysogood from (x)

“Yeah, okay. First of all, that’s not an answer you find, that’s an answer you taste. And I’m not letting you take a bite out of mine, so get your own.”

#sofaradaysogood #v: undergrad emissary #i was gonna share my sandwich with you but if ur gonna be a bitch about it

[godforsakenthing-blog]

6

Six Words Meme: (Accepting)

Waiting for a shoe to drop. 

#sofaradaysogood #meme reply #queued replies

[isaidgoodnight-blog]

@sofaradaysogood

They’ve always been good at being in sync, him and Billy. So when Billy stands from the table and gathers up the detritus from setting those broken fingers, Goodnight is lingering in the doorway when he passes, squeezing his lover’s wrist in passing before he moves into the kitchen.

“You know, my daddy always told me that there wasn’t a problem on God’s green earth that couldn’t be solved with cobbler. Lucky for you, slick...I made cobbler last night. You like ice cream on yours?”

Faraday looks worn out, thinner than the last time he’d seen him, and long past overwhelmed. 

Goody knows a thing or two about keeping the ghosts away.

#sofaradaysogood #v: this little no man's land

[aculling]

“are they dead? did you kill them?”

Her heart’s a horse running wild, legs like wind and eyes like fire. It roars through her, thrashing its head against the walls of her rib-cage and stomping down hard on her lungs. She thinks she can’t breathe. Faraday’s voice rings in and out, louder than soft like the night. In her head, Emma can see herself reaching out for it but it always slips away. Her hands are gored. Soaked. The consistency pulls over her fingers and it’s sticky. She’s killed men before. She had to. She killed Bogue - watched him sigh his last breath in a manner that seemed almost too peaceful for the type of rotten underbelly he’d been. But this was different. This had been it’s own type of intimacy that she ain’t never shared with anyone before. 

She squeezes her fingers, and they squelch. 

They got the jump on her. Took her down with brute force and tried to pin her, but she’s quick; learned from the best of the best. Remembered everything Billy had taught her: pulled up her arm, grabbed his wrist in his surprise, brought her knee adjacent to his gut and rolled to break the contact. He had faltered, and that was his mistake. That leg brought a kick, and then she lunged, and one sink of the knife became several. The other fellow had tried to get close, too, but she’d been so hyper aware, so furious - a dog with froth around its teeth. A bear hug would subdue her, he must of thought. But she bore down, stomped his foot raw, kicked in his knee - 

Emma dug her knife into his neck and watched blood pool in his mouth until he gargled the rest of his life away when he let go.

Her face is wet. She touches the lines of where she’s gone numb and cried, and leaves new trails, red and quickly drying. Something in her hardens, and she nods. Her voice waits, and then moves, wanting to be heard. She is a new breed born from the dying previous.

“They ain’t coming back.” 

#sofaradaysogood #∴ I AM JUST A WORK OF ( fiction ) ; meme replies #∴ IF I WAS SOMEONE ( i’d tell you ) ; answers

[knivesnothingtoit-blog]

sofaradaysogood replied to your post “isaidgoodnight: “They looking alright then? Healing up nice?” The...”

faraday would be the worst employee ever billy u know this

yes he does. its a joke.

#sofaradaysogood #no we're not hiring you #(don't trust you not to keep the money anyway) #:|