#faolan crowe

[rapturerising-blog]

rusted-shut & faolancrowe. You can commission roofgoat to draw stuff here!

[rapturerising-blog]

cadence [Ferdinand/Faolan]

Summary: They don't need music to dance, not when they've harmony of their own.

“I can hum something, kitten,” Faolan says quite simply, and he catches the momentary quirk of the man’s lip upwards into a smile.

He’s circling Faolan even as he pipes up with another complaint, an ever-decreasing spiral inwards to the gravity of his dearest companion. “I can’t dance.”

“Could’ve fooled me the last time we did.”

“The floor is broken.”

“So is the rest of Rapture.”

He’s almost forgotten how tall the other man is. Hands touching now, Ferdinand looks away. “You’ll laugh.”

“Mo chuisle,” Faolan sighs close to his ear, lips a breath away from his cheek, “Ferdinand. Please.”

Ferdinand nods just once, bumping his head against Faolan’s chest wordlessly. Nothing more needs to be said, understanding of each other’s unspoken language.

With Faolan’s hand in the small of his back, they move in a one-two-three step, slowly but surely moving across the debris-strewn floor in some semblance of a waltz to the tune hummed under Faolan’s breath. If Faolan notices Ferdinand stepping all over his feet, he makes no sign of it.

Ferdinand leans his head against Faolan’s chest, and it’s almost as if it’s 1958 again, and they’re cautiously pacing circles around each other until they meet somewhere in the middle. On a deserted stage, twirling the quiet hours of the morning away to a stolen record player, when life was right and things were going his way.

A misstep and they’re back in 1959 again. He hazards a glance up to Faolan’s face, and in spite of himself, Ferdinand smiles. No matter what they’ve lost, they still have this. Maybe it’s enough, and when Faolan stops humming, they still dance on.

[rapturerising-blog]

vitals [Faolan Crowe & Isaiah Hall]

Summary: Some people never learn.

The fight itself, while unexpected, was blessedly short. But Isaiah has been trying for what feels like the better part of half an hour, not that he can tell what time it is, to get Faolan to stop doing, well, whatever it is he’s been transfixed by.

“—you know, you’d make a lovely statue, kitten,” Faolan says suddenly, completely ignoring whatever Isaiah has been trying to tell him for the last while. He looks up and smiles, showing pale teeth stark in his bloody mouth.

There are plenty more things Isaiah could say about Faolan, but the way he looks at people is downright unnerving, to say the least.

Isaiah heaves a long-suffering sigh at what he supposes is a compliment, uncrossing his arms to make a rude gesture, “Thanks, but no thanks. It was really goddamn cold last time, so over my dead body, you fuckin’ cat.”

“Arrangeable,” Faolan says with a look that Isaiah belatedly recognizes now as not very good, and the icy blast hits him square in the face.

Isaiah isn’t sure how much time passes before he comes to with a stomach-turning lurch, the queerest feeling of being smashed back into hale and hearty existence. This time, he manages to make it four feet away from the Vita-Chamber before throwing up.

A new record, actually. It’s a shame he missed Faolan’s feet, he thinks vengefully, wiping off his mouth under the other man’s mirthful stone-chip gaze.

“Did you enjoy that? You’re a fuckin’ monster, you know.”

Faolan shrugs simply, “I know.”

It’s a good thing that the monsters are on Isaiah’s side. For now.

[rapturerising-blog]

[ispentthenight-blog-blog-blog]

Along Came a Crow (Tag: Faolan)

[ispentthenight-blog-blog-blog]

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Dee set the record needle down on the spinning, black ocean.  He sipped a bit of wine, some he'd been storing away.  "Miss ya, Faolan," he said, toasting to nothing and himself as the music came forth, and taking another gulp of the red.  "Wherever you are."

[ispentthenight-blog-blog-blog]

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((Aaaaannnndd this one's for Faolan because he's a crazy motherfriender!))

*sighs* I still don't know where I'm finding these things.  They're all over the place, my apartment is packed with this racket.