incenseandturpentine

[incenseandturpentine]

Fire Escape (Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x Reader)

Sorry for disappearing--it can (and will) probably happen again. Please take a little sweet musing that I've been slowly chipping away at over the past few weeks as a gesture of love and apology. This one is for my reader-insert crowd 'n' Adam lovers because that's all I know, tbh. Sorry if that's not your jam. Maybe I'll do something else one day, maybe I won't. Don't come for me because I write these for me and the ones who get it, get it. No smut in this one, just a study of relationships, dialogue, scenes, Adam's character, etc etc etc. Also--is it Radford? Is it Stanheight? Is it Faulkner-Stanheight? Who knows? Who gives a shit?

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Pairing: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x Reader Word Count: 3k Rating: Mostly SFW. Makeouts included. No sex. You make that call. Notes: Friends to lovers. No use of Y/N. Gender-neutral reader. Slightly emotional. Let me know if I forget anything important because I don't do this often. Sorry about any fucked up formatting from posting on mobile. Included Track: The Haunted - The Failure

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“Don’t tell me you're one of those vegans, too.”

“Why do you care, Stanheight?” You retorted with a gentle smile.

“Because my ex-girlfriend was a vegan!” Adam exclaimed incredulously, emphasizing the last word with feigned disdain. “A feminist vegan punk…” he murmured, shoving the incoming envelopes from his tiny mailbox under his arm and flipping the metal door shut.

“She sounds like my kind of gal,” you laughed, flashing him that sly grin that melted his heart. “Also, why is it an issue? You asking me out on a date, Peeping Tom?”

Adam instinctively pushed his hands into the pockets of his threadbare jeans, thumbing at the hole in the lining. He had wanted to take you out for months now since he had moved in, but he couldn’t muster the balls to finally ask you. 

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His mind flicked back to those lonely nights sitting beside his open window with a cigarette in hand, hearing the faint lilt of your voice one floor up the fire escape that glistened with spider webs gently wafting in the breeze. Sometimes, you would be singing. Sometimes, speech slurring together with boisterous laughter after a bottle of wine with one of your friends and the quiet cadence of a track he always associated with you.

Even on those dragging, hungry nights waiting for his meal tickets to develop in the makeshift darkroom—faces of wealthy strangers watching over his decrepit abode with thousand yard stares—Adam could find some sort of satiation in your distant presence. As the dry-erase marker reading CALL MOM? on his refrigerator smudged and faded with time— a plea beckoning him and going unanswered—Adam found himself chasing the radiant warmth that you seemed to exude. Little did he know how much your palms sweat the first time you slipped a small flier underneath his door, inviting him to meet with a local grassroots group since you had caught him spray painting a sign in the apartment courtyard. 

He has heart, you thought to yourself. You grinned when he returned the favor, taping the time and date of a benefit show to your door a week later. You had grown to expect chugging guitar riffs muffled by your creaking floorboards when the veil between the late night and dawn was drawn back. It was an unspoken sign that Adam was chipping away at his backlog of deliverables for clients while you hunched over a cold utility knife and editorial layouts for a music magazine spread across a gouged cutting mat.

Sometimes, after a well-packed joint, Adam would sneak out of his window, silently slinking up the wrought iron steps and grabbing the edge of your landing to crouch in the corner, seemingly undetected. There was always a twinge of guilt in his gut for feeling the impulse to watch you, getting to know you in ways even you did not know, but the devil on his shoulder always stifled his better judgment. He was oblivious to the fact that you were silently aware of his presence, a small smile on the corner of your lips as you went along with his voyeuristic game. You always knew when he made his routine stops, the faint smell of tobacco momentarily drifting into your apartment window before fading when your kitchen clock’s hand struck a quarter hour later. 

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“I mean…” Adam trailed off, staring at the scuffed toes of his boots, “would you want to? I don't have much put away for anything fancy.”

He was right. When you finally heard Adam shuffling around in his apartment again, after four weeks of oppressive silence and knocking on your neighbors’ doors to see if anybody had heard even a whisper of where he had gone, he had reappeared ten pounds lighter with a broken foot and broken soul. He had thrown himself completely into new work. No longer did you smell tobacco on the fire escape or hear the familiar chords of industrial guitars beneath your pillow.

Until, one brisk October twilight, you came knocking with a pot full of curried vegetables and a pack of beer, asking him to explain everything about his abrupt absence and the bulky leg cast that he donned. Since then, you had been one of the few people he actually held closer than ten feet away, cracking that facade of ice-cold indifference.

“Don’t we usually toss a coin for who's apartment we’re eating dinner at, anyways?” You replied, taking a couple short steps down the stairs and leaning over the banister, chin perched on folded arms. 

“That’s not much of a date, though, is it?” Adam inquired, shrugging his messenger bag up on his good shoulder.

“Why not? It is if we say it is,” You said with a grin, reaching down to fluff the messy, black mop atop his head. The gesture made Adam’s heart thump aggressively in his chest, beating at its cage like a lashing tiger. 

Adam shoved a hand into the pocket of his bag, fingertips brushing the cool metal of a quarter and holding it between your gazes. You two were used to this routine; heads always meant his apartment, tails meant yours. Regardless of who was hosting, you always brought the food, since you had put more effort into exploring flavor on a tight budget instead of simply whipping together whatever bland pantry staples could fuel a vessel of flesh like Adam did. With a quick flick of his fingers, Adam sent the coin spiraling in the air, landing in his palm a moment later before he smacked it on the top of his other hand, revealing the ruling as a clairvoyant would with tea leaves.

Heads.

“Looks like you've got to clear off a table tonight, Stanheight,” You volunteered for him, fingertips tracing the worn lacquered wood of the banister. “What time?”

Adam paused, racking his brain for an idea to make tonight's plans stick out more than your usual meetups. A moment later he smiled, his ego swelling for thinking effectively on the spot. He looked up at you, eyes bright and boyish. “Come down the fire escape at 5:00. Meet on my deck.”

“I’ll bring the food, you bring the wine?”

“Oh, now you're speaking my language!” He exclaimed, huffing a laugh and starting the journey up the splintered stairs to his apartment, the ache in his ankle dulled by the distraction of his mental checklist and the churning pit in his stomach.

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Hot enamel of a heavy, worn cast-iron pot nearly burned through your cheap oven mitts as you climbed through your window and began your descent down the fire escape steps. The golden glow of a setting sun peered through pink clouds, bathing everything as far as the eye could see in a warmth that contrasted the brisk fall evening. As you rounded the corner onto Adam’s grated deck, you paused, laughing incredulously at the sight before you.

A threadbare comforter was laid out atop the cold metal, candles that were barely more than melted hunks of wax sitting atop a baking sheet in the center. Adam had taken the time to place two chipped plates and silverware next to each other, fork and knife on the wrong side laid out from a faded recollection of table etiquette. By the time you had set down the heavy pot and taken your spot on the comforter, Adam was stumbling out of his window, a large speaker in his arms taken from his stereo straining against the tether of its extension cord.

“I'm surprised you even had a romantic cell in your body,” You said as you turned to face him, watching him balance the speaker atop his window sill and pull the window down to clamp the box between its gaping maw.

“Don't get too used to it,” He replied, rotating the dial to turn up the volume of the CD he had playing in his living room. “Blink and it’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Should I consider that a red flag?” You inquired with a sly smile, knowing that the sarcasm coating every one of Adam’s words was merely a defensive shell to protect that ember of empathy.

“One of many,” He plopped down next to you, bobbing his head at the screaming guitar tones coming from the speaker as he peeked into the lid of the piping hot pot and inhaled the savory scent with a hum of approval. He was doing everything he could to hide the glances he stole of you dishing dinner onto plates in the golden sunlight, heart and gut churning in their confines. 

“Guess I'll find out in time, huh?” You teased, watching that nervous smile on his lips. He shoved a slice of tofu into his mouth to distract himself before he said anything stupid. He plucked up the two disposable plastic cups and cracked open a bottle of wine, pouring two cups and handing one to you. 

“I washed them, don't worry,” He said between bites, savoring the hot meal. “‘S good!”

You winked at him and took a long sip of wine between bites, humming the melody of the track you were familiar with and admiring his sharp features in the glow of incoming twilight. You were grateful for the moments like this, basking in the warmth of Adam’s suppressed sweetness beneath the prickling cocoon of sarcasm and vitriol.

“What made you finally ask me on a date, Stanheight?” You asked.

“What made you say yes to me?” Adam countered.

“Well,” You began, washing down a bite with another swig of wine. “At first, I chalked it up to your boyish good looks…but then, after you were gone for so long, I realized that I missed your company.”

“Hell of a company to have,” Adam shook his head, laughing over the rim of his cup and focusing his attention solely on you. His heart ached to hear your reasoning.

“You are!” You exclaimed, pointing your fork at him. “You've always been my favorite person to bring to shows, to the gallery, or to just hit the bodega when a beer and cigarette are in order.”

“Yeah?” Adam’s heart began to twist again. His chewing slowed as he focused intently on every word, each stirring up a memory that made him smile.

During his captivity, after all, memories were all he had to keep him from completely losing his grip. How you laughed as he fumbled in his canvas bag for an extra fifty cents for a pack of mint gum so he didn't smell like cigarettes at your gallery opening. How you marched him out of his apartment and down the block for falafel from a street cart that you shared at the end of a shitty week. How he always seemed to carve out a bit of extra time for you over the rest of his friends, and you for him.

“It was lonely as shit with you gone,” You mused as you looked over the wrought iron railing at the sun sinking behind brick and a kaleidoscope of glass. “I went door to door every night after work hoping someone had seen you in the neighborhood.”

Adam felt the lump in his throat sink as he looked over at you, slowly chewing, the fire escape silent save for the harsh melody of a song forgotten. His head sunk slightly, eyes wide in disbelief. Your gaze was soft, wanting nothing more than to reach out and grasp his hand with your own and pull him in for a tight embrace. 

“You went looking?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well…” He murmured, averting his gaze down to hide the heat crawling up his neck and into his face. He set his dish down and smoothed his hands nervously along the softened denim of worn-in jeans. You leaned in just a hair, encouraging him to continue. “I always joked that, had I turned up dead in some freak accident or some shit, nobody would have looked sideways at the situation, or even looked at all.”

You coughed, the surprise causing you to swallow the bite of your food too soon. You waved your hand at him as he looked back at you, sipping your wine before placing your own plate down and turning your body to face him fully. It took everything in Adam’s core to not stare at your lips, studying every soft curve of your features in the warm glow of a dying sun. You moved instinctively, reaching out and placing your hand atop his in his lap and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I wouldn’t scour every inch of this godforsaken city for you, Stanheight,” You whispered, your own stomach fighting turbulent waves as it flipped over each word. “Don’t be saying silly shit like that. Hear me?”

“Heard and reciprocated,” Adam replied with a meek smile, lacing his fingers with yours as you leaned in to rest your head on his shoulder and watch the final shimmers of sunlight paint the sky vivid hues of violet and rose. You couldn’t help but smile as you took in the smell of his cheap soap and dollar store detergent in the slight breeze. Adam tapped his fingers on the palm of your hand to the beat of the song on the stereo, absentmindedly leaning his head to rest his cheek on the crown of your head. A moment later, he paused.

“Can I kiss you?” Adam inquired softly, the question sending a jolt down your spine.

“What?” You lifted your head, cheeks flushing in the low light of the candles he had laid out before you two. Your eyes lit up and a cheeky grin flashed on your face.

“You don’t have to, I just thought I would ask…I mean, I’ve been wanting to ask you for a—” He quickly tried to brush off the question before you leaned up, pressing your soft lips against his own and cupping the curve of his jaw with a warm hand. Adam was caught slightly off guard, leaning into you and lacing his hands under the hood of your zip-up. His eyes flickered shut, heart racing as you both melted into the gentle gesture, the faint taste of spice and cigarettes on his tongue.

Your own hands slipped into soft black curls, feeling him lean back onto his elbows, refusing to break away from you. Adam smiled and let out a quiet laugh as you slid into his lap, refusing to pass up the opportunity that you had been waiting months for now in silence.

“I really thought you would never ask,” You whispered against the corner of his smile, grinning ear to ear as he craned his head up to steal small, chaste kisses of his own. Your fingertips danced down the warm skin of his neck and trailed along the weary fabric of his threadbare shirt—worn weekly since 1999, you could have guessed. His heart thrummed under your gentle touch and his own arms wrapped tight to keep you close.

“Guess I was just nervous,” He murmured into your lips, eyes heavy under his lids as they locked onto yours. “I knew I wanted to do that since I saw you spill that beer all over your shirt at the Underground.”

“Shut the fuck up!” You exclaimed, rolling your eyes at the vivid memory. You both broke into boisterous laughter, leaning your forehead against his and curling strands of his hair around your finger. “You're such an ass when you want to be.”

“Yeah,” Adam mused into the miniscule void between your parted lips, fingers curling around the soft leather of your belt and pulling your warm frame against his own. “Only sometimes when I want to get a rise out of you.”

The space between you fell silent, chaste lips melding and hesitant hands exploring soft fabric as the ring of car horns below and the strum of metal guitars filled the air. You were the first to take a step more, tracing his cheeky grin with your tongue and slipping into the warmth of his mouth. That same nervous tinge trailed slowly down the back of your spine, punctuated by the sensation of Adam’s fingers drifting absentmindedly along your frame.

“So,” You breathed as the two of you pulled away from each other for just a moment, noses touching and hands tangled. “Does this make us official?”

“Do you want it to be?” Adam inquired, eyes locked on yours to search your face for an answer. One he had been toiling around in his head for months now.

You hummed, that impish smile back on your lips.

“I'll think about it,” You whispered against him, though you already knew the answer in your mind. You both laughed breathlessly, lips colliding once more in the chilled air of that apartment fire escape.

[incenseandturpentine]

Headcanons (Adam Faulkner-Stanheight)

I've always loved reading different headcanons for characters that people come up with, some of which I agree with and others not particularly, but it's still fun. It's probably going to be a little bit until I can get an actual fic finished, so in the meantime, I wanted to share some of my personal headcanons for Adam. Maybe some people will like, others maybe not so much, but that's the fun of it!

These are all safe for work and just a form of character study and ideas in my head. ♥️

If Adam were to survive and escape the bathroom trap, with only a broken hacksaw at his side and his chain's key washed down the drain, Adam has to resort to breaking his foot with the remaining half of the toilet tank lid. Because of this, he walks with a limp and has residual pain in his ankle if he stands or walks on it for too long.

After escaping the bathroom trap, Adam finds solace in volunteering at his local animal shelter. I personally imagine a cat rescue, but I think that he has a deep care in his heart for all animals, so any will do.

I imagine Adam being very "into" 90s industrial/industrial metal, since we see certain artists like Psychopomps and Front Line Assembly on the soundtrack. I also imagine some flavors of metal, but I also think he has an affinity for 90s hip-hop mixed in there too. Particularly, with his apartment described as having protest signs plastered on the walls (and a massive "Free Huey!" campaign poster pictured in the 2004 film calling back to the movement to free Huey P. Newton of the Black Panther Party), I think he would take a liking to artists such as: Brand Nubian, KRS-One, Public Enemy, Geto Boys, etcetera. I've always said that industrial and hip-hop are "sister genres" of sorts, being both sample heavy and founded, nurtured, and grown by historically marginalized groups, so I think they go hand-in-hand and he would have a pretty expansive knowledge on both sounds!

After the bathroom trap, I can't really envision Adam going back to photographing people for money, if at all possible, since that was part of the reason he was chosen in the first place. If possible, I think he would try to find different ways to make end's meet. I do think he would stay in some realm of photography, perhaps photographing the rich music scenes' local DIY shows for magazines, artists, and selling prints at different events or maybe at local coffee shops.

I think that Adam feels a sort of drive to work towards his veterinary career after the incident. I think he gets a renewed interest in not completely throwing his life away and instead starting to slowly work towards a goal. Though it does seem like a pipe dream because of cost and academic performance, he slowly wants to work towards at least being a veterinary tech or assistant. He just wants to help and work with animals for a career, if he's ever able to.

Adam isn't stupid or listless; he is passionate about topics and subjects that he's interested in. I imagine him to be well-read (on his own time) in subjects like politics, history, and the principles and elements of art and design. He is driven in the things he cares about and hungry for knowledge underneath his apathetic exterior. I imagine him to have a pretty expansive collection of nonfiction books and gonzo surrealist and existential authors such as Burroughs, Kafka, Sartre, Hunter S. Thompson, and Rimbaud. He loves to read any and everything so long as it's "just fucking weird or interesting." He just won't bring it up unless someone close to him does first.

His apathy and anger come from the frustration with a capitalistic social system designed to hurt and disenfranchise people that aren't part of the "in" group. I think, if he learns to turn that anger into action instead of festering in it, he would be involved in some form of grassroots organizations and movements working to improve the material conditions of the people in his social scene and beyond. He's very hands-on and wants to see some form of change in his lifetime, no matter how small.

I think he is having an extremely hard time grappling with the fact that he took a life, even in a moment and act of desperation.

Big fan of illegally downloading music on his slow-ass off-white bowling ball weight desktop computer.

[incenseandturpentine]

if there's one thing i love, it's character playlists.

i made one for adam while i work on some writing things centralized around him. ♥️