#brain barf

NINJAGO

NINJAGO

AAAAAAAAAAAA

---𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚⋆.࿔*୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ written work on inward cruelty --a lyric essay, diary entry, fuzzy thought⋆˚࿔.☘︎ ݁˖

I am a writer.

I called myself that, because all you need to be a writer is to grab your words and hand and exert them into the universe.

I write poorly, and slowly, and passionately, and swiftly, and precisely—all in an indistinguishable blur.

Or a pony reference but ya know I repeat myself.

Ya know what's weird, person reading this post. I appreciate minimalism but what CD makes just isn't that. Its what's on CW in the 2010s, its such a weird stylistic choice I get shes from the cultural equivalent of the Canadian midwest and not even the fun part where mfs are just hicks who look like they belong in Letterkenny

"Hey I made this sci-fi universe thats so far in the future earth is lost and hyperdrives are common, I have a whole timeline!"

"Ooooh woooowweee, things are crazy!"

"Yeah and everyone dresses like the writers of those fake inspirational quotes that were a plague on online around the invention of facebook"

"plus 4, Uno."

"you bitch!"

the humans are gathered in a circle on the ground with colorful cards. one of them notices him.

"oh hey Bob, wanna join us? we're playing Uno."

Bob shakes his head and backs out of the room carefully.

♤♡♧◇

part2

“You’ve got to stop doing this to me kiddo…” he said as he held his son’s still hand.

Too often lately he feels like he’s been in this exact situation, worrying himself sick over Donnie and his “adventures”. First with that “Shredder” beast when he had agreed to help his unknowing brothers with their battle and again several months later when the beast had come back. Each time was agonizing but somehow this was the worst.

He understood why Donnie was doing these things and he was proud of his little boy but he was just that.

His little boy.

His little boy that was now laying before him with the longest list of injuries yet. What he wouldn’t do to go back to bandaging skinned knees and paper cuts instead of oozing wounds on his poor shell.

Running his hand over Donnie’s knuckles he looks up as Kendra and Jason sit on Donnie’s other side. His daughter’s face is painted in a deep scowl, one he knows is just a mask to push back her tears, as tightly clenched fists rest on her lap. His other son is much more somber, anxiety and concern clearly displayed on his face for all to see, matching the one his mother could be seen wearing, yet seeing as he could do nothing about it he had no choice but to sit and wait for something to happen. They had been like this since they were all reunited after that invasion, both coping with the latest turn of events in their own ways.

Donnie had been in and out of consciousness for days now, partially due to all the drugs he was currently on but also because of the injuries themselves that he had sustained.

And to think, Donnie had actually gotten off somewhat easy compared to his twin. Even so, they were still worried about the possibility of brain damage— and didn’t that thought alone terrify him. Whatever diagnosis they did received would likely change their lives drastically.

It wasn’t fair.

One thing was for sure however. When all four of these kids are on the road to recovery you better believe they will be having a talk about everything.