21 | Arthur Morgan is my comfort character | Joel Miller defender | Hugh Jackman | RDJ | Pedro Pascal lover | rdrtwt| tlou | gtav | marvel | video games | Ps5 Gamer
Pedro Pascal has done it again. And by "it" I mean irreparably damaging my nervous system.
Sir. SIR.
First, you give us that crowd-surfing green suit moment like you’re the Messiah of thirst. And now THIS??? The rolled sleeves? The reflection showing the Pascal posterior™ like it’s a Renaissance sculpture?? The leather pants. The BED. The suit. The triple Pedro mind-melt. He’s not even real he’s a fever dream with a mustache.
Let me be perfectly clear: this is no longer a man. This is a public safety hazard wrapped in charisma and trauma-coded eye contact.
he’s crossing his arms like a disapproving boyfriend who told you not to touch the thermostat. In another, he’s in leather pants lounging on a bed like a Greek god who drinks whiskey and breaks hearts for sport. And then the triptych? TRIPLE PEDRO?? That’s not fashion editorial, that’s a summoning circle.
This Vanity Fair shoot is not just a photoshoot. It’s a spiritual reckoning. It’s an art installation titled “You Will Never Know Peace Again.” And guess what? I DON'T WANT PEACE. I WANT THAT MAN TO GLARE AT ME FROM ACROSS A ROOM UNTIL I APOLOGIZE FOR BREATHING.
All imperfections, all age's signs, all freckles, bags under his eyes, patchy beard, grey hair and wrinkle.
It's like it's all written all over his face. Everything he's endured, every loss, every defeat, every little moment he's held on to as he searched for some sort of normalcy in the midst of chaos.
He's not perfect, he's not a hero, he's not infallible.
He did wrong as much as he did right.
And that's the beauty of Joel to me.
PAIRING — Adam Frankenstein x android!FMC (visually nondescript but named)
SYNOPSIS — The mega city of Switzerland, Year 2150 — Among towers of chrome and neon, a new spark of intelligence has crawled from cerebral silicone, and Adam Frankenstein is no longer cursed to walk this Earth alone.
TAGS — 300 years post canon, Cyberpunk, afab she/her FMC, safe for POC, established relationship, ride or die, fluff, explicit sexual content, size difference, P in V, angst, hurt and comfort, temporary breakup, getting back together, blood and gore, body modifications, drug abuse, dystopian setting, copious philosophy and introspection, religious references, riding fast bikes hell yeah, eventual HAPPY END
CHAPTER [1/9] — word count 2k | next chapter -> here
A/N — Admittedly, he belongs in the coziest of settings that a writer might be able to pull from their mind, but it got me thinking… How can he ever have a happy end when his lover ultimately dies of old age and he doesn't? What will become of him after 100, 200, 300 years? And then I had an idea and ran with it 💜 Nine chapters are drafted and I'm hoping to take you on a thrill ride to the future with equal parts grit, romance and philosophy. The setting is heavily inspired by Cyberpunk 2077 but you need no knowledge of that game fo follow the fic!
Crossposted on Ao3 | Masterlist | Dividers by @strangergraphics
↓ chap 1 | -> chap 2
Save a bullet, kill yourself!
Adam's bony visage stared back at him from the cracked bathroom mirror, cast in somber, purple glow from dimmed neon tubes. Mismatched eyes lingered on the taunting sticker taped over the reflection of his trident scars.
Atoms rippling from the dulled edges of synthetic bass, the sink vibrated under his hands, spreading dampness across his bracelets. Blue sutures prickled where the chlorine-laden water touched him, killing bacteria that would find no breeding ground in him.
Behind him, a shrieking stall door opened and out lurched an individual along with the smell of urine and blood, feet dragging against discarded syringes of X-o-X-o.
Adam stepped aside, allowing the trembling someone access to the sink, vividly recalling his own pilgrimage on knees and forearms to a bile-green puddle to quench the hellish thirst that had pulsed from the six holes in his arm to the tip of his shriveled tongue. So many deaths traded for a little bit of ecstasy.
X-o-X-o wasn't the only drug that had killed him in past centuries, but it had awarded him more deaths than any other, all of them miserable, none of them merciful.
With empathy, Adam regarded the convulsing individual over the dented metal sink, sleeve rolled up to the hole-ridden crook of the elbow. Water splashed plentiful across their face, yet they managed to gulp little, neck angled as far as the rusty links of their spine implant allowed.
Humanity had grown wretched.
So wretched that it no longer even cared to recognize him as a threat.
The white patch of hair no longer marked him an assembled freak, nor did his mismatched skin void of color rouse any concerns. The predator's lens in his left eye was little more than cute compared to the glowing reds, the sets of eight, the cyclops monocles, the night vision, heat vision, ultraviolet.
Only his hulking frame and gangly limbs still towered over most, but mankind found him unorthodox at best, old-fashioned at worst, all twisted parts of him organic and strange.
Druidcore, an individual with a chrome dragon faceplate had referred to his aesthetic once.
Aye, he supposed. Why not.
Why the hell not.
His soul ached for lush forests and green life, when the filth on his coat was still soil and sweat and not industrial smog and synthetic ichor.
There was a brief, brief period in time, about a century ago, when humanity and he had been somewhat aligned. When cities swallowed most of the land and people started taking themselves apart for fun and performance. For the first time ever, he had been able to walk among them.
But what little liberating bliss he had been allowed to indulge in, its novelty had vanished rapidly with the ever incessant acceleration of progress, turning its gears deliriously onward—one wheel spinning to the sky, the other into lightless dark. Humanity, it seemed, had surpassed him, and themselves. Absurdly, he appeared too human now, with his flesh rejecting every implant, optic fiber cables winding themselves back out of his sockets, tattoo ink seeping from his ashen skin.
One day, perhaps, he'd be the very last organic relic of humanity, grafted from ancestor-parts, and mankind's electrical children would decipher their own history from his tangled DNA.
The addict had broken down weeping over the sink while Adam dried off his hands on the ancient cotton of his frazzled shirt. What little he could offer was a blink of sympathy, chest hollowed out by the roots of sorrow as he'd long understood that mankind had unlearned to even see it. A pat on the back might startle this being to death, if they could still be considered alive at all.
What was life, anyway. If this being took twenty more shots, would they still be a someone?
He ought to be less cynical.
Theo was waiting for him.
Adam tore himself away from the bathroom mirror with a grunt, pushing the filthy door open with his elbow. Music spilled against his scrunching features, burrowing deep into his eardrums. Heavy, booted footsteps entered the chrome- and poster-paneled corridor, fur and leather swinging from his shoulders. The air was putrid, drawing a pearl of sweat down the forever-cold sutures of his chest.
Couples kissed, fucked; goons trading cocaine and butterfly and Xtazzy. A maybe-someone was throwing up purple bile.
Between plastic legs and metal hooves, Adam Frankenstein was not the only fully organic being who had prevailed. Tiny paws pitter-pattered in the post-human madness of it all, stomachs hardened to recycle nutrients from chemical waste and cigarette paper.
One persistent little friend held their proud whiskers high, chopped tail following busily, until—
The chrome-capped boot of a Tazzy purposely collided with the harmless rodent, flinging its patchy body where it landed in front of Adam's feet. He turned his face, pupil flashing a sulfurous yellow.
Adam's palm slammed into the culprit's chest, shoving them into the wall with barely a fraction of his strength. Some implant buzzed under his hand, easy to crush.
"F-Fuck you, piece o' shit-fucker!"
Neon tubes crackled around his towering figure, red and purple splitting into a corona around his hair as a growl swelled in the pit of his all-organic lungs. No one stood up to fight the hulking creature in matted furs, even though guns were drawn easier than breaths. No point would be made in arguing here, but blood would be drawn. So, he released the Tazzy with a disdainful shove and turned away without a word.
Kneeling down, he offered his large, open palms to the little one who climbed aboard this boat to safety without hesitation, dazed but otherwise well. Lifting the rat towards his face, Adam let its tiny, twitching snout touch the tip of his crooked nose.
"Your name is Ozymandias, King of Kings," he whispered to it, smiling softly behind the curtain of his hair.
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and jagged city stretches far away.
Adam cradled his new friend and slipped his palm deep into the shelter of his coat pocket. In his dreams, the fabric still held onto particles of ancient soil, the scent of pine needles and sheep wool buried within the fibers, however faint, however fading. At least a few atoms must have remained. Ozymandias climbed off his palm, small body curling into the earthly refuge.
Standing up tall with a snarl, Adam strut wordlessly past the scoffing Tazzies. If Karma so wanted it, they'd crush their own bones without the corrective justice of his feet and fists.
Emerging into the main hall, the stratified techno struck him like a physical force, the dance floor doused in a cacophony of multi-layered beats, so that every model of ear implant would get their fill of it. Above, a catastrophe of flashing lasers cracked, like the lightning that had birthed him.
This place brought no pleasure to his soul, but his companion enjoyed.
At the very least, she enjoyed exploring whether this could be a thing worth enjoying; and whatever she'd settle on, Adam would enjoy it with her. Being brought into this world only two years ago, many a thing was new to her still.
Auburn crown poking past the sea of dancing bodies, Adam pushed past a chrome-skinned probably-synth with a malfunctioning motivity module.
Can't save all of them.
He slipped around a red-eyed demon sporting silver spikes in mimicry of hair, dragging a woman off and away by the blonde ringlets of her hair.
Can't save all of them…
Finally, Adam moved past a glass-eyed someone who had less than a week to live, going by the state of the necrosis crawling from the edges of their implants.
If he could save just a single one…
Theo waved at him, matching bracelets to his own sliding down the synth flesh of her forearm, halted by the fur of her jacket, mossy green like a forest clearing. Later, he'd lay his head to rest on the grasses and flowers of her electric heart.
"I missed you!" Theo shouted over the hellish soundscape and caught his floating hands that were already drifting towards her. For every minute that they couldn't touch, he suffered. Adam's eyes closed as she firmly clutched his hands, pressing her smaller body against his chest.
His freakish proportions didn't belong here. Still, he moved with her, most of his awkward dancing constrained to his head and shoulders, swaying left, right, under his companion's cheerful guidance. At the very least, his broad frame created space for her on the seething dance floor.
Theo's hands slid to his waist under his coat, along his stomach, trailing up the shredded ribbons of his shirt, palms flattening against the broadness of his chest. He held her close, long fingers curling one by one into the little divots of her lower back, up her spine under her shirts, her silky skin sweat-free and supple.
Those ignited kiss-me-eyes made it almost worth it to endure the ringing thunder of this deafening cesspool. Snapping her torso to his own with a drowned growl, Adam leaned down to her parting lips, kissing her once, twice, before flexing one arm around her middle and scooping her off her feet.
"I see it in your eyes," Theo yelled at him over the bass and cupped the gaunt bones of his cheeks in her slitted palms. "Shall we leave?"
Of course, she knew how little her love enjoyed this havoc.
"It is alright," Adam rumbled in her ear, grip tightening. This was a much nicer dance. If he closed his eyes and held her like this…
"Please, let's leave. I'm tired, my feet hurt, I'm hungry."
His laughter purred against her stomach as he carved his way out of the crowd, creating a corridor for the three of them with his left arm until music faded into traffic.
Outside, the air was hardly better, just a cooler shade of putrid. Adam set Theo on her feet, taking lungfuls of smog. At least one could glimpse the dark blue curve of the firmament between billboards and starscrapers, but the Milky Way's dotted band had been stolen by the neon haze. Whole generations might rise and fall without ever seeing it once.
Should aliens ever look this way, they'd find this aching globe alight with depravity.
"Careful, please," Adam softly warned, tugging the swinging length of his coat out of the way when Theo pressed herself against his side. "I found a little one."
"Ohhh!"
"I want to set him free."
Even weeds struggled to break past the ultra-dense asphalt. Still, Adam was determined to find at least a somewhat suitable spot. Theo was no longer tired, nor did her feet hurt, and the couple advanced hand in stitched hand into the urban canyons, past throngs of club goers and car parks and brain shops, streets narrowing into alleys where the only fresh air came from the racing metro above, sweeping tumultuous wind into murky concrete chasms. 120s' Music spilled from a seedy bistro a few houses away and two hookers on break traded cigarettes, paying no mind to the synth and the zombie.
This alley was as good as it was going to get.
Adam crouched down among discarded beer cans, gently reaching into his pocket to find the rat's body curled up and warm, whiskers twitching as he slid his palm around the furred creature. Once revealed to the electric streetlights, he drew the tip of one long finger across its frail bones and deemed the little one unharmed.
"Go," he cooed, smiling to the smart kindred. "Be wary of human feet. They will hurt you." Theo squeezed his shoulder.
Ozymandias blinked up at the soulful marbles of Adam's eyes with black, shiny beads before confidently darting away—up into the cozy sleeve of this kind being's coat.
-> CHAPTER 2
If you enjoyed the read, please share your thoughts with me in the comments!!! <33 I will openly stand by my praise kink and say that comments are the most exhilarating and motivating thing ever when posting a multi-chapter fic that's still in the making. And also — I'd love to hear about your theories, your favorite parts, anything that comes to mind 💜
Feel free to check out my other creature x FMC fic, "These Scars Long Have Yearned" 🦌
If you'd like to be added to a tag list for the following eight chapters of this fic, please let me know! <3
