#sorry its traditional i lost my stylus:(

[moshieee]

And here I thought I could avoid falling into the TADC fandom fully if I didn't make an oc... Meet taffy y'all, a slinky dog who just wants to go to bed tbh

Now excuse me while I figure out how to draw these characters...

[brightoakgame]

Author's Marginalia - 4

This year is edging closer and closer to ending, and simultaneously toward the beginning of the new. It feels like there has been something lost in Western culture; back when the winters spanned longer, darker, lit with candles or the shadowed flickering of gaslight, so did our stories trend more to shadowed tales and huddling together for warmth. A Christmas Carol is a ghost story not because it is a seasonal outlier: rather, it was shaped from the coal smoke choked skies of Victorian England, caught between the dreadful and furious progress of industry, and the haunted trappings of ancient tradition.

December is a liminal space, neither here nor there, an end that anticipates a beginning. No wonder, then, how easy it is to feel set adrift.

(content warning: grief and depression)

I, too, have occupied a liminal space these last few months, attempting to push through some of the most severe burnout and depression I've experienced in decades. It has been slinking in the corners of my mind since midsummer, sometimes only glimpsed in the periphery of my vision, sometimes flaring out abruptly and swallowing all thought and reason with its ferocious, ever-hungry maw, so that I too become part of that echoing, dark--nothing. Sometimes it feels like I am inhabiting my own world as a ghost: I go to raise my stylus or address my keyboard, and my hand seems to pass through it entirely. I drift from room to room. I converse without any substance. I am a poltergeist that opens the cupboards and doors and goes through the motions, and yet my efforts at normalcy only seem to disturb the other inhabitants of my life. People turn to speak to me: I am not there. My partner complained recently about the bourbon-soaked phantom that wore my skin the night before, expounding on their very genuine desire to be carted off by the fae and eaten. He was unamused: the tipsy phantom had been in deathly earnest. I reminded him patiently that he knew who I was when he married me, and laughed it off.

The fae did not respond to my summons, which I am grateful and sorry for by turns.

December intrigues me more and more as I grow older, because I see December as a month of both storytelling and death in equal measures. I do not place more weight on tragedies than I do on comedies (if anything, I find comedy much more challenging!), but as desperate as I am for connection in art, death and grief are irresistible as mysteries and great unifiers.

Each breath comes with an inhale, and then exhale; every life will at some point encounter death. And grief, in my experience, loves to tell stories--the things that came Before, the things I maybe did not know, the embellishments given to quite ordinary things, crystalline now as past, exquisite and multi-faceted with loving truths and illuminating falsehoods.

I began writing Bright Oak in 2017: a very different time, feels like, though not so long past in the bigger picture. Between then and now, I've known many deaths and Deaths, rebirths and (quite literal) births, losses and gains. Friendships have washed upon my shores and receded again, as friendships seem wont to do, reshaping my perceptions, sometimes gently, sometimes not, and often leaving treasure in their wake. People are at heart truly, painfully lovely animals, I think.

I write because I want to understand better than I do; I write beloved friends and well-intentioned enemies, and they spirit me away to a world beyond, someplace where the water and air carry our meaning further and with more clarity, but with voices never too loud, never too harsh. I can hear them all. I know them better than I know myself; they know me better than I know myself. And they, too, will eventually fall to ebb tide, and wash back out into the vast sea of a world of things I do not properly understand. But I get to treasure them for that little time, and now I wish to share them with others before they go, like a collection of beautiful shells and pearls wrought from all I fear and all I do not understand.

Death visits us all, and so many, many times. I do not have to dig to know that I start the vast majority of my stories with accidents: I can pinpoint the day I felt my childhood ended, with the loss of a dear friend in a car wreck. The end of one chapter, when things were more heedless, but safe; the beginning of another, when things were dangerous, but a little wiser. There have been many, many chapters since. We are each of us anthologies, to a one; our tree rings show the times of plenty and the times of drought, the fires and the trauma, the slow recovery, the growing-over of scars, the knots and flaws and fine-grained beauty.

My favorite cemetery in town is a public park (and I admit, if this doesn't out me as a former goth kid, I don't know what would). One of my very earliest memories in life is of going to a playground with my mother on a bright weekend morning, trying to bring the sky ever closer while playing on the swing set, and making a new friend in the process. They asked if I knew what ghosts were: I did not, and they explained succinctly that ghosts were dead people that now chased living people, and did I want to play ghosts with them, since there were gravestones right over there-- a clear harbinger of ghosts being present?

I did not enjoy the game; I did not like being chased by ghosts in a rough and tumble round of monster tag. My mother, perhaps to calm me, pulled me aside and proceeded to read to me the poetic epitaphs of the last century headstones that bookended the playground, telling me how much she and my grandmother appreciated these final words set in stone: sometimes rote, sometimes religious, sometimes romantic, sometimes cryptic (pun fully intended).

It often recurred as a setting in dreams during my teens and early twenties. It wasn't until far later, when I moved back to my hometown, that I realized that this was a place that existed in reality, and was not merely a mishmash invention of dreams. After all, what cemetery has monkeybars and a swing set?

It's an old burial ground (at least, by Southern California standards); the graves outlasted the people still around to tend them, and sometime in the last century, it fell into extreme disrepair, and eventually was closed off to the public. Further, it was entirely bulldozed over when miscreants regularly gathered there for the purpose of vandalism and unrecorded mayhem, and after some hullabaloo over the matter, a handful of the old gravestones (belonging, of course, to the more prominent of the permanent denizens) were collected and lined up tidily in the corner of the green space, like a forgotten backstop, craggy granite guardians of the nearby playground.

I love this place, filled as it is with towering old trees, screaming children running amok (and quite possibly playing ghost-tag), people laying out obliviously to sunbathe, or picnicking blithely over the many-hundreds of dead some feet below the surface. It is such a poetic space to me, because try as we may to circumscribe death to a remote and out of the way corner, divorced and isolated from all things Life, it strikes me that death is the very foundation of all life as it proceeds. Death is in the day's end, the unfinished arguments, the words left unsaid, the little losses, the griefs we carry that we are not the person we were, and have not become the person we meant to be. Grief is the bittersweet knowledge that once I was one of those shrieking children, and once I sat on the periphery of the park, oblivious and sipping a coffee, and then I learned its story, and now I am able to tell it--and someday, someday I shall likely forget it, and tell it no more.

We are all the fickle authors of our own stories, and we all know the death that comes with the ending of one chapter, the bittersweet grief of letting it go and beginning anew. I dearly hope December treats every one of you with kindness; that the stories you tell, and those which you tell yourselves, bring warmth and comfort. Even ghost stories are not all bad--particularly when we can all huddle together around the bonfire, peeking at the stars as they show between plumes of smoke.

In this time of intense personal darkness, I am looking through the smoke to those stars. I am grateful for those who huddle at my side, imaginary and otherwise. And I look forward to the beginnings which I know to be just there, over the horizon.

B.

[valiantly-onward]

The Serpentine War Ch. 9

Sorry this chapter took so long, but finals are now OVER. Merry Christmas all!

Chapter 9: Dearest Misako

Misako was waiting for Wu at the monastery.

She was there often these days. After completing her scholarship in Ninjago City, she was in the midst of a collegiate gap year that really was just another way to say adventures. Her heart ached for restless travels, always had, but the war threatened to end her “research”.

She stood in the monastery doorway, her arms folded over a brown button-up. Wu scaled the steps quickly - it would be unwise to procrastinate. He knew why she was there.

“Misako,” he said.

“You got my message. Thank the First Spinjitzu Master.” She unfolded her arms. “I heard Jamanakai Village is lost.”

“News travels fast.”

“Only if your old professor lives there.” Misako stepped toward him, her breath wafting in the cold air. A brown braid swept over her shoulder. “I want to help.”

Wu stepped away and strode through the monastery doors. “Go home, Misako. It’s not safe for you here.”

Walking away didn’t help - Misako knew how to follow. “Isn’t this why Garmadon taught me Spinjitzu?.”

Wu hid his grimace, as he always did when she mentioned Garmadon. They could pretend that everything was fine between them, until Garmadon came back into the picture. Then this thing hovering hidden in the air became visible. Garmadon flirted with Misako so shamelessly that his feelings were plain, but for Wu, it was different.

And teaching her Spinjitzu...that had been forbidden by their father before his death. Give no one that power until the time of the Green Ninja. Yet Garmadon had gone against their father’s wishes and taught Misako. It was things like that that got under Wu’s skin.

Misako was still waiting. Wu turned with a sigh. Setting his staff on the inside of his shoulder, he took her hands. “Misako. You’re not a soldier, nor a Master. Your skills are needed elsewhere.”

Her brow creased behind her glasses, but Wu could tell she understood. Unlike Garmadon, she was willing to listen.

“Fine,” she said. “But I want to remain here at the monastery.” When Wu began to protest, she added, “There’s nowhere safer in Ninjago. Even if the Serpentine knows this place exists, they have no idea how to find it. You have a radio?”

“Monasteries are supposed to be places of peace, separate from the world -”

“So you have one.”

Wu nodded reluctantly.

That seemed to settle the discussion. He released Misako’s hands. She used them to roll down her sleeves against the cold. “So what will you do now?”

“I’m here to deliver a message from the monastery.” Wu took his staff again. “I’ve received word from the Alliance. There may be a chance to end this war without bloodshed.”

“How?”

“I will speak with General Arcturus,” he replied. “I’m going to Ouroboros.”

~~~

“I thought General Arcturus was in Jamanakai Village,” said the young Master of Fire.

“He was.” Wu dismissed his dragon and started down the road, Ray trailing close behind. “But he returned to Ouroboros last week. It isn’t just the army he leads. He also has a tribe to rule. That’s why there are seven Anacondrai generals.”

“Seven is overkill,” Ray said decidedly.

“Not when we are at war, my young friend. Where is Lorin?”

Ray pointed at the largest brown house on the street. Wu stepped up and opened the door to shouting.

“...those snakes out of my house, Lorin!”

There was Lorin, around the corner of the hall. He was raising his hands placatingly to a village man in dusty attire. Both men turned to Wu as he entered.

“Master Wu,” Lorin said, lowering his hands.

“I would love to assist you in your predicament.” Wu gestured to the two of them with his staff, then continued, “But I need to leave immediately. Lorin, would you be willing to sacrifice your Master of Fire for a few days?”

“Of course,” Lorin replied, even as he looked puzzled. “Is this about -” “Yes.” Wu turned to Ray, who stood impatiently behind him. “Prepare to leave. Meet me outside in twenty minutes.”

Ray nodded. As he left, Wu glanced back at Lorin.

Lorin frowned under his beard. “Master Wu? You alright?” Wu realized he’d been staring into space for a long moment. He shook his head slightly, as if it could kill the terrible worry dancing inside him. “Yes. Pardon, but - do you have a stylus and paper I could borrow?”

A few minutes later, Lorin left Wu alone in an upstairs room, a blank paper spread before him on an old desk. Wu didn’t know how long he sat there, the stylus in hand. Ink dripped onto the page.

He couldn’t do this. Such a thing would mean he was giving up, and he wasn’t. But Wu was under no illusions that he was invincible, no matter how long he’d walked the lands of Ninjago. He was difficult to kill, but not impossible, and if anyone could do it, it would be General Arcturus. And if this mission went wrong…

Not for the first time, he wished Garmadon was coming with him.

He set the stylus to paper. Oh, he was a truly a coward off the page. He would face Underworlds of evils, but not this.

But he couldn’t bear it if she never knew.

Dearest Misako, he wrote. If we do not meet again, there is something I wish to tell you...

As soon as Wu finished, he folded the letter and headed out to meet Ray. Those of the Alliance not on sentry duty gathered round to see them off. Ray was ready as requested. As the Master of Fire, there was a good chance Ray’s presence would sway the Serpentine. They respected power. And by their own tradition, few things were more powerful than fire.

Ray climbed on the dragon’s back. Someone else approached, running, blue robes flapping around her waist. It was Maya.

“I’m coming too,” she called.

“Maya,” Wu said longsufferingly.

She was already at the dragon’s side. “If Ray’s going, I’m going.”

They had a short staring match. Ray looked increasingly uncomfortable.

So stubborn. After Morro, Wu had sent all his students off - all except Maya, who refused to leave. So naturally talented, so headstrong. Just like Morro, in fact.

The fewer in their party, the better. But if something went wrong - well, it wouldn’t hurt to have another Master. Though part of Wu balked at bringing two Masters beneath their true potentials, he finally conceded, “Very well.”

Maya triumphantly climbed up. Wu reached down to hand Lorin the letter. “Will you see this delivered to my monastery?”

“Of course.” Lorin took it and clasped Wu’s hand. “Safe travels, my friend.”

Wu nodded. “With luck, you will not have to defend this place much longer. I will move as quickly as I can.”

Lorin backed away. The great golden dragon raised its wings. Wu guided it into the sky.

@greenygreenland

[trashyswitch]

Appreciating the Classics

[Jameson Jackson listens to some classic 1900’s music, and Chase joins him! While dancing, JJ discovers a cute, little secret.]

Jameson Jackson eagerly grabbed his gramophone (A.K.A Record Player, according to Marvin) and placed it on the table. He grabbed a big black disc, placed it in with the needle through the middle hole, and placed the stylus onto the record. Pretty soon, the music started playing, and the brass intro to You Make Me Feel So Young

JJ started lip-syncing the lyrics as he danced around the room. His feet turned into jazz-type steps, as his arms moved around in a smooth motion.

🎶And every tiiiiime I see you grin,

I'm such a happy...in-dividual!🎶 JJ lip-synced.

As he danced around, he grew more and more distracted by the song, and the joy it gave him! He was so distracted, he didn’t realize that his friend, Chase Brody, had stopped throwing Teabags so he can watch the dapper boy. Chase smiled as he leaned his shoulder against the door, and watched. At the most perfect time possible, JJ noticed the one person audience.

🎶You and I are just like a couple of tots-🎶

JJ took a few dance steps towards the guy, and held out his hand. Chase smiled and took it.

🎶Running across the meadow.🎶

JJ and Chase moved to the middle of the room. JJ bowed, and watched as Chase did the same. Then, they got into the proper beginning position.

🎶Picking up lots of forget-me-nots.🎶

JJ and Chase started waltzing around the room, with a jazzy twist added to their steps. Chase was fairly new to this style of dance, and his red face showed it. But Chase knew JJ was very good at this, and trusted he would lead the way for him.

🎶And even when I'm old and gray

I'm gonna feel the way I do today

Cause you make me feel so young.🎶

JJ lifted his hand in the air, and started moving Chase in a couple traditional spins. Chase chuckled as he spun. He rarely did this! And when he did, it was so much fun. They went back to their original position.

🎶You make me feel so young

You make me feel so spring has sprung

And every time I see you grin

I'm such a happy individual 🎶

As they danced together, JJ couldn’t help but lip sync the lyrics. Chase really enjoyed that, because he was used to his hands doing the speaking, rather than his lips. his lips were never used for anything other than keeping food in his mouth.

🎶The moment that you speak

I wanna go play hide-and-seek

I wanna go and bounce the moon

Just like a toy balloon.🎶

JJ started spinning Chase again. Chase went wide-eyed! These spins were a lot faster than the last time! JJ watched him spin, and grabbed his hand at the moment they faced each other once again. JJ started smiling wider and silently laughing at Chase, who was dizzy and struggling to keep his balance. He pushed a bit of hair back in its place, and let go of him so he could sign.

‘You okay?’ JJ asked. Chase nodded back.

“I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to go so fast.” Chase replied. JJ laughed silently as he guided Chase back into the rhythm of the song.

🎶You make me feel so young

You make me feel there are songs to be sung

And bells to be rung

And a wonderful fling to be flung🎶

Chase and JJ moved around across the room, before spinning Chase (a lot slower than the last one) one more time. Then, JJ led Chase into a final dip.

“You’re so good at thi-Aah!” Chase said, before interrupting himself with an instinctive yell. JJ’s face changed from content, to puzzled in an instant. He pulled chase up to his feet, and let go.

‘What happened?’ JJ asked. Chase’s face turned red at that question.

“Nothing.” He quickly replied. Too quickly. JJ decided to try the move again.

“What-“ Chase started, before trailing off. JJ took Chase’s hands, spun him around once, and dipped him.

“I don’t-Wah! Careful!” Chase yelled, as his arms flailed a little bit. Thinking his positioning was causing it, JJ looked at his hands. Both hands were holding him up in the right position: around the sides tightly. JJ lifted him back up.

‘I don’t understand. Was it the way my hands were?’ JJ asked.

Chase didn’t know how to answer. “Uh...kinda?” Was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

‘My hands were in the right position. So unless you’re sensitive there, it shouldn’t have caused a problem.’ JJ signed to him.

“Shit...he knows!” Chase thought. He bit his lower lip as he thought of what else to do. He was trying as best he could, to hide his ticklish body from his duet partner. But the more he tried, the closer he got to the realization.

‘Do you happen to be ticklish on your sides?’ JJ asked.

There it was: the dreaded question, but worded differently. Chase hung his head as he hid his blush. His blush appeared as soon as at the sign for ‘ticklish’ was done. The sign for the word was embarassing. It involved wiggling fingers in the air, which would drive anybody insane, really.

Chase looked at JJ, who had an evergrowing smile on his face. Chase made a break for it. As JJ chased Chase (haha! Chased Chase.), he did the sign for ‘tickle’ over and over again. At one point, they flew past Dr. Schneeplestein, who had been writing on a clipboard in the entrance of his bedroom door. Very soon, JJ caught up to Chase, and tackled him onto the carpet floor.

“Wait! Bro! let’s talk about this like the civil men we are!” Chase offered. JJ thought about it for a moment, before holding his hand out. In a sudden gust of smoke, a big feather appeared in the boy’s hand. JJ gave a cheeky little smirk, before wiggling the feather against Chase’s sides.

“Wahahahait! Nahahahat fahahahair!” Chase yelled as he squirmed below him. JJ was surprised! How did he manage to keep this a secret for so long? Being this ticklish, it would’ve been hard to hide.

Next, he moved the feather to the left side.

“JJ! WAHAIT! Hahahahaha! Nohohoho!” Chase said through his laughter. Damn it all! Why did he have to be this ticklish?!

Up next, was the neck. Wiggling his feather, JJ realized that tickles to the neck caused high-pitched giggles to slip out. Soon, JJ got bored of the feather, and threw it away. Then, he attacked his sides with full, wiggly fingers.

“NAHAHAHAHOHOHOHO! JAHAHAHAY! STAHAHAP!” Chase exploded with laughter. JJ let go and jumped backwards, due to the explosion of laughter jumpscaring him. This gave Chase a chance to get revenge.

“MY TURN!” Chase yelled, before tickling JJ in the sides. Chase watched as JJ’s eyes went wide, and a wobbly, toothy grin appeared on his face. As soon as JJ’s teeth opened up, Chase heard quick exhales leave Jj’s body. Chase couldn’t hear any laughter, but he could feel JJ’s body start shaking with laughter. Even though he was distracted with forced laughter, he still tried to communicate with him.

‘Stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ Chase signed as he laughed.

“Oh, cut the bullshit. You’re not sorry one bit.” Chase teased.

Next, Chase tried the ribs. He watched JJ’s back curl up, and his eyes widen. Before long, JJ’s squirming was worse than before, and his signing grew frantic and shaky.

‘Not there! I’m too ticklish!’ JJ signed through his squirming.

“Aww! Is wittle Jay Jay tickwish? Citchy citchy citchy gooo!” Chase teased. He used to use this teasing tactic on his kids, before they left. Now, this worked just as well! The more he teased him, the more red JJ’s face became.

“Hmm...what about those pits of yours?” Chase asked outloud. JJ quickly sat up with wide eyes, and continuously signed the word ‘no’ over and over again.

‘Chase! No!’ JJ begged.

“Um...Chase! YES!” Chase replied, before attacking his buddy’s armpits. JJ’s arms came clamping down. His mouth was wide open, and his whole body was moving left and right. It was an adorable sight to see.

And then suddenly: A snort was heard and a hush went over the 2-person crowd. By now, JJ’s hand was covering his mouth, and Chase was staring at him in awe. 5 seconds later, Chase completly lost it. He came crumbling down into a puddle of hysteria. He was laughing so hard for almost 10 minutes straight! Meanwhile, JJ was recovering from his torture, and attempting to hide his big blush on his face. Soon, Chase managed to calm himself down enough to stop his aching ribs.

“That was...the best noise I have ever heard from you! Ever!” Chase yelled, before dogging his right hand into JJ’s armpit again. Another snort rang through the room, followed by another laughing fit. After Chase calmed down, he tickled JJ one final time, to get one last snort out of him.

It was then, that JJ struck again. But this time, he tried tickling Chase’s neck with his finger, rather than his feather. Suddenly, another sound filled the room! It wasn’t a snort, but a big, high-pitched squeal! JJ smiled as he continued tickling his friend’s neck.

“EEEEEEEP! NOHOHOHO! STAHAHAHAHAP IT! AHAHAHAHA!” Chase screamed. JJ was having the time of his life! He was tickling his friend to bits, and laughing along with him!

Soon enough, this tickle war turned into a snort vs squeal war. Which one was cuter? Snorts? Or squeals? Near the end, both of them were WAAAYY too tired to figure it out.