Mar 26
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New York Isn't Weird Enough (PG1)
This is to celebrate 1,000 followers on Twitter!!! I held a poll about what people wanted, and a multi-page Domesticated Ford comic won by a HUGE margin. I thought I'd have more time to finish some, but I only have this page done right now. I'll post more as they're finished!!
(Unnecessary worldbuilding: the creature in the first three panels is called a telepole! Every one of them is linked to the others, and they can be used to travel across the wasteland by stepping through their mouths like a gate. Ford and Pyronica came from the throne room! Traveling by telepole can be dangerous for the unexperienced, as they receive nutrients by teleporting creatures into a shared "stomach" that's actually a large, acidic lake. It breaks down prey and sends their nutrients back to the telepoles linked to it.)
Project G1 : Prologue, Reborn
This is an ongoing Series Overview: Set in the universe of Creepypasta, 'reborn' is the prologue to a multiple x Fr fic. With hints of sci-fi, I'm sure you'll enjoy it ⊹₊⟡⋆ Tw: Mentions of medical operations, toxic mentalities. Words: 767
A/N: I have a backlog of eight chapters, so make sure to stick around if you liked this <3
The rusted door to the old laboratory slammed open; a flurry of paperwork that previously littered the floor took to the air in response. Boots, mud stricken and wet, stomped their way inside before coming to an abrupt stop. Drenched from head to toe, the man pulled a deep breath from the air and willed himself to continue down the stairway before him.
“Not long now, just a little further.” He labored.
His muscles strained; they cried for the body cast haphazardly over his shoulder to be put down— but the scientist persisted.
The longer that girl remained in his arms, the less chance she had of living.
He shifted her weight; the body rolled further over his shoulder while a lifeless hand graced his back in a limp sway.
“You can do this, Christian. This is everything we worked for. This is your only chance,” he panted aloud.
The metal door clicked shut behind him.
The sound, like a starter gun, triggered a race against every instinct he had.
He launched himself down the looming staircase.
Each step was as agonisingly painful as the last, a sharp grunt tearing from his throat with every movement.
Seven dim lights blurred at the edges of his vision as he descended, his resolve forcing him onwards, his mind buzzing—thrumming— growing more feverish by the second.
Soon enough the secondary door came into view. With a crash, it swung open wide to reveal the dingy laboratory Christian called home.
He rushed inside, then grimaced at the sight—
home was a mess.
Previous false promises of cleaning echoed in the scientist's mind as he laid the girl gently on an operating table, reaching to grab a nearby IV stand.
“This is no place for an operation. Why now? Why do you come to me at a time like this?”
The man whispered to the girl, casting a glance to the cluttered table on his left.
A look of repulsion followed.
The ordering of instrument trays, pushed off as tomorrow’s task time and time again, left him with only one alternative: the desk. This realisation was met with a low grunt, and after reaching over the mess to grab a bag of sodium chloride from the shelf behind, he secured it to the stand.
Christian paused, searched the girl for a vein, then secured an IV. Then with a staggered breath, he commenced the routine which he had practiced in preparation so many times before.
The man scurried about the lab and collected any vial, instrument and sterile material he could get his hands on— then set them under one arm, rushing towards the filing cabinet. With one quick tug, it flew open. Yet he didn’t need to sort through each file; the paper he needed rested haphazardly atop the rest from frequent— incessant— revisions.
He grasped it in his shaky hands.
With a dry swallow the man returned to the workbench, his eyes leering over the mess with a disgusted scowl. He then turned towards the girl, debating something for a moment, before placing the items shoved under each arm on the end of her operating table. Letting out a harsh grunt, he shuffled their placing, making sure to keep it far away from the red liquid pooling at the stump of her missing arm. It would be a compromise of sanitary regulations to rest them there, but It was better than the alternative; the revolting workspace in front of him.
He needed to fix his desk quickly.
Turning back towards the bench, the sight before him made his skin crawl; dull eyes danced over each cigarette butt dropping cancerous ash, each coffee cup teeming with life, each rotting take-out box dissolving and crumpling into piles. He felt the disgust in himself rise, and in a mere moment each revolting object came crashing to the ground, sporadically scattered across the lab like a disgusting art piece.
In their place lay a lone sanitary sheet and a promise to be better.
Ash crinkled and grated underneath the plastic as each instrument was then meticulously placed upon it. Meanwhile, the maddening static that had been simmering within his mind slowly began to settle.
Christian shuddered.
This was the beginning.
He turned to the girl, glancing over the papers laid on the operating table then reached out a hand, tentatively taking them in his grasp.
He intended to begin, to make a start, beat this ever fading time limit.
But he couldn’t concentrate. Because moral quandaries begged at the verge of his psyche.
Christian looked over to the girl, her breathing growing shallower by the second.
“If I had not found you, you would be dead already.”
He muttered, extending a trembling finger to tuck (h/c) strands away from her eyes. His babblings continued relentlessly in an attempt to convince his inner self that what he was doing was ethical.
That he wasn’t a monster.
“The medics wouldn’t have gotten to you in time.”
They may not have, but Christian never bothered to call.
His voice hitched. His grip hardened. The static returned with a vengeance.
“You have to understand, I tried, I tried to find another. I wanted consent. But it was met with disdain, inquiries. I was— I was on the verge of giving in.”
He swallowed, before clearing his throat.
“... until I found you, against that tree. You must be here for a reason. You’re saving me—no, you want to save me. From what? You’ll never know. But right now, I have to trust that you came here for something.” He stepped back and took a deep breath before posing a question.
“Even if you did not, even if you were here by… coincidence. You know this is your only option, correct?”
It was almost as if he expected an answer in return. Yet the man was met with a dull silence— other than the shallow breathing of the girl laying still on the gurney.
Christian’s heart beat in his chest.
The white noise lessened once more, and he nodded his head softly as if responding to a hidden answer.
“Then it’s decided.”
Newly satisfied, the man glanced down at the research paper’s title.
The title glared back, causing his heart to ricochet out of his chest in excitement.
-Project: G1
Author, CW.
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Link to chapter 1 !
Thanks for reading! <3 𓆏 Comments/reblogs appreciated! 𓆏
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Jarrod the 1st last show pt 1 2025
The last show that Jarrod the 1st had done, he attempted to dominate La Muerta Azul, only for it to end with him being bucked in the chest. Portfolio: https://swordnscalescomics.myportfolio.com/ Discord: https://discord.gg/TQUA26Naj8
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