#partial palisade

[lizzybeanbutt]

Happy Secret Samol! My giftee was @smallpolar-bear who requested some blue channel crew post ep 29 so I landed on the group reading some Strand Forum Posts™ about the stellar combuster mission at the central hangout spot!

(wips gif under the cut)

Notes: -This was intended to be the final page of a comic buut it was a little ambitious for me so I pivoted to one illustration

-This was my most extensive use of clip studios 3D system for blockout! It helped so much

-That sofa pit was quickly blocked out in blender and imported to get the angle right

-Using the 3D character models were fiddly but again super helpful and I may slide it into my usual workflow

-I was flying basically near refless (ie varying levels of sketches) for these characters, aha

[ahcoffeebeans2]

palisade 38 spoilers

snapshots

[rozecrest]

vital palisade question that i don’t think has ever been answered: what is the cooking scene on blue channel like

[planet4546b]

i love austin walker tm characters cause every fucking time i see one i go absolutely wild within about 20 seconds of meeting them. Partial palisade. Lies down

[telomirage]

"I feel like the term 'morning standup' divided the room in half really fast" - friends at the table: palisade without context

[tropes-and-tales]

With Teeth

(Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

CW:  Talk of drug use; vaguely smuttish (kissing, groping, biting), but nothing explicit. 18+ only just to be safe.

Word Count: 3062

AN:  This was originally requested from a prompt list ("i won’t bite. unless you’re into that sort of thing") by @outlawedmando!

Major Crimes isn’t the only division of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department to host illicit parties.  Many of the divisions have their own deals with their own vibes that fit the unique character of the division in question.

Major Crimes, lorded over by Big Nick, is almost a cliché with the booze, women, and drugs.

The Gang Squad is led by a man much like Big Nick, so it’s no surprise that they do it up similarly, only bigger, with more women and harder drugs.

Cold Case Division’s modus operandi is to go out to the desert with big guns and lots of beer and blow shit up.

No one really knows what Parking Enforcement and Services does, but there are jokes about it.  Some say lean into the relative lameness, say they unwind with a knitting circle, or scrapbooking evenings when they listen to New Age music.  Others say they go fully feral, that they have a fight club in an abandoned warehouse where they beat each to near-death.

In terms of the group with the panache, though, the honor belongs to the Fugitive Apprehension Team.  Maybe it’s the nature of their role—always hunting, always on edge and in the front lines of dangerous work.  Something makes their unwinding efforts an ultra-chill affair, a complete decompression and sloughing-off of the stress.

The Fugitive Squad is a tight-knit group—arguably tighter than Major Crimes, though the two often overlap.  Major Crimes cracks a case, needs someone hauled in?  Big Nick drops a call, and it’s like setting a pack of well-trained wolves on the busy streets and dusty roads of Los Angeles County.

On big cases, sometimes the Fugitive Squad invites Major Crimes to their parties and vice versa.  Usually Major Crimes attends the Fugitive events, since the Fugitive folks don’t quite care for Big Nick groping hired girls while the fug of cigar smoke hangs over some hotel room.

-----

What does a Fugitive party entail?

Borracho is never clear on who exactly plans them.  If it’s a situation where the team takes turns, or if there’s one mastermind behind the events.  It’s always at the same place:  a low, sprawling mid-century place in the Pacific Palisades, owned by one of the members of the squad who came from old family money. 

There’s a pool and beyond it, the ocean.  There’s low, cool lighting that swaths everyone in blue shadows.  There’s ambient music—a low, steady pulsing beat that seems to sync everyone’s heart rate to the same rhythm.  The food is always elegant, an elaborate sushi bar one night, tapas another time.  There’s alcohol, plenty of it, but no one ever seems to overdo it to a sloppy degree because everything is so damned chill.

Drugs?  Big Nick is partial to coke and often brings enough to the Major Crimes events to get loaded, but the Fugitive parties are purely for the psychedelic shit.  Weed, obviously.  Mushrooms.  Molly.  Nothing that will get people worked up:  only stuff to calm and maybe take the user to another galaxy while they celebrate another night on the right side of the dirt.

Honestly, Borracho kinda prefers the thing the Fugitive folks have going on. A big joint case has just wrapped up, and he finds himself with an invite along with the rest of his team. 

Which means he gets to see you in a more social setting.

At work, you’re all business.  Mostly silent, the way Borracho is mostly silent.  You let your commanding officer do all the talking the way Big Nick does all the talking, and like Borracho, you stand nearby and look and listen.

Early on, you caught Borracho studying you.  It had made your mouth twist in a small smile, and you had winked at him, but it was a lone instance of your personality shining through during work hours.

Off-duty?  Fuck, you drive him insane.

It’s not entirely the sort of insanity that comes from flirting and sexual tension.  At these parties, you’re someone else completely.  Totally at ease, which means you feel comfortable enough to be yourself, to untether your mouth from your brain, and Borracho never knows what the fuck you’ll say to him.  If you’ll drop something banal about the Dodgers’ pitching depth, or if you’ll stare at him, unblinking, and ask if he thinks life as he knows it is just a simulation.  Because both has happened in the past at these parties, and both were before you even touched a drug.

Tonight, though, he’s late to show up.  The party is in full swing, the low bass audible from the street when he parks his truck.  He makes his way inside, sees the crush of people dancing in the living room, sees the cluster of people in the dining room where the food and drinks and drugs are laid out.  Borracho sees Henderson, tips a nod in his direction, but he keeps walking through the place.

He always seeks you out at these things.  He always swears he’ll play it cool, but his resolve always melts away the moment he hits the door.

Borracho finds you in the den—a separate space that usually has a movie projected on the far wall while people sprawl out and trip and sometimes get cozy in the dark room while some old black-and-white movie plays out in the background.

Tonight, you’re settled on the deep leather couch at one end.  Another guy is at the other end of the couch, his wide eyes fixed on where “The Third Man” plays against the far wall.  There’s a couple curled up on a separate easy chair, murmuring together, making out, and it charges the room with an undercurrent of sexual energy that feels…promising.

It takes you a beat to notice him leaning in the doorway.  You’re watching the movie too, and it’s only in a scene break that you glance over and see him.

“Borracho!” you call out.  “Finally made it!”

“Never like to arrive too early.”

“Smart, smart.  Gives you an air of mystery.”

You smile and continue.  “C’mon in.  Take a seat, settle in.  We’re following Joseph Cotton here around post-war Vienna.”  You lift a hand and gesture at the wall.

Borracho tilts his head at the couch where you sit.  “No room.”

You turn and look at the guy on the other end of the couch.  When Borracho looks closer, he sees it’s one of your coworkers in the Fugitive Squad.  He watches as you reach over and swat at him, tell him to move over and make some room.  When he does, you turn back to Borracho and pat the middle cushion invitingly.

“C’mon, handsome.  I won’t bite.”  He cocks an eyebrow at the handsome moniker, but you add, “unless you’re into that sort of thing,” and he realizes that you’re throwing him for a loop like you always do—only this time, you’re flirting with him, not interrogating him about what reality really is.

You drive him fucking insane.

It’s not entirely the sort of insanity that comes from flirting and sexual tension, but it’s a big part of it.  At work, it’s the way you move around, the economical way you move when you’re on the hunt.  If the Fugitive Squad is a pack of wolves, you’re their panther:  more of a big cat padding on quiet paws, ears pitched forward, slinking after prey. 

At parties, it’s this:  always keeping him guessing, keeping him back on his heels, making him feel like a teenaged boy again straining for just a moment with you.  The anticipation of it, the frustration when it never materializes, the eagerness for the next invite to the next party. 

He makes his way into the room and sits down beside you.  You reach over to the little table beside the couch and snag a small tray with party favors on it.  You present it to Borracho with a flourish.

“Want to partake?” you ask.

He squints at the offerings.  There’s edibles, a cigarette case of pre-rolls, and some unidentified pills with tiny smiley faces printed on them.  He points at them.

“What are those?”

“Designer shit,” you reply.  “Boss has a buddy in Twentynine Palms who makes these small-batch, artisanal drugs.”

Borracho snorts.  “Hipster shit.”

“Like a macaron shop in a swiftly gentrifying neighborhood.”

“What’s it do?”

You click your tongue as you think.  “Little bit of everything, I’d say.  Relaxes you like pot, but kinda gives you the euphoria of molly.  Also offers the barest bit of trippiness, in case you want to peer behind the veil between realities.”

“Haven’t peered behind the veil lately.”

“Treat yourself, Borracho.”

He plucks one pill from the tray and considers it.  “You take one already?”

You answer by taking another pill from the tray, then setting the tray aside.  You turn to face him, stick out your tongue, and lay the pill on it.  The whole time you hold his gaze, and he holds yours.

A second later, you close your mouth and swallow.  “Yes,” you tell him with a smile.  “I’ve taken one already.”

You drive him fucking insane.  How could he not want you?

-----

Whatever this designer pill is, it’s the sort to creep up slowly on a user. 

Borracho relaxes by degrees.  Feels himself melting into the couch by degrees, like his bones are softening, his muscles are lengthening.  The light from the projector takes on an ethereal glow, and at some point, he blinks and realizes, shit, I’m feeling it now.

He turns his head, heavy against the back of the couch, and sees you.  You sense his gaze on you, and you turn your head to face him too.

“How you feeling?” you ask.

“Good.”  It comes out rough, a dry-throated croak, and you laugh at him, which makes him smile. 

“Good.”

“You?”

“Good.”

“That’s…good,” he replies, and it makes you laugh again, makes him laugh too, and he realizes how much he’s feeling it after all.  How effortless it feels to sit beside you right now.  He glances up at the movie and sees that it has changed entirely – to some grimy-looking ‘80’s crime drama with a synth soundtrack.  The couple who had been making out in the chair have disappeared, and when Borracho turns his head to the other side of him, he sees the third wheel has left too.

How long have the two of you been alone?

Time seems to stretch and distort.  He watches the movie, a car chase scene, then blinks and it’s rolling credits.  Another blink and it’s another movie, a low budget sci-fi with lots of lasers.  He sits on the couch, his legs sprawled wide, and his knee presses against yours.

Blink, and his leg nearest you now is pressed against yours, thigh to thigh, and the heat he can feel coming from you seems to have a shimmering quality when he looks down at where you touch.

Blink, and he’s watching the movie again.  There’s an alien in bad makeup, more lasers, a jazzy stream of music that seems to come from somewhere else.

“I am,” he blurts out.  He rolls his head again, peers over at you, waits for you to turn and look at him.  When you do, you look confused.

“Huh?”

“I am.  From earlier.”

You snort, then laugh.  “I am so lost right now.”

Blink, and he feels the smile that creeps across his face.  “What you said earlier.  You asked if I was into it.  I am.”

“Into what?”

Blink, and he swallows.  Feels the heat of your thigh pressed against his.  “You said you wouldn’t bite—”

“—Unless you’re into that.”  You pick up the thread and remember.  The smile you offer has a feral edge, unless he’s imagining it, which is very likely.  Maybe none of this is happening at all:  maybe he’s passed out and drooling on the couch while you’re sober and elsewhere, cornering people and trying to discuss string theory.

“You like biting, Borracho?” you ask, and your voice is low, a near whisper.  Like you’re sharing secrets, so he whispers back.

“Depends on who’s doing the biting.”

“Hmmm.” 

Blink, and you’re moving towards him, that same cat-like fluidity you have at work.  He never takes his eyes from you, never blinks, and you don’t either.  He watches as you straddle him, settle on his lap.  His hands find your waist, then slides them down and back to grasp your ass.  Your hands reach up and cup his face, low on his jaw, and you smile down at him.

You’re backlit by the projected wall of the movie.  He opens his mouth to say something nice, to tell you how fucking gorgeous you look, but you lean down as you tilt his head and…he thinks you’re going to kiss him, but you brush your lips over his cheekbone until your mouth is right by his ear.

“You want me to bite you?” you whisper, and your warm breath fanning over him makes him shudder, a delicious frisson of trembling through the core of him.  He wants to say something slick in return, but he only manages to grunt an affirmative.

Blink, and you lean against him.  He can feel your tits pressed against him, can feel the flex of your body as you bend your head.  Another blink, and he feels your mouth on him, your soft lips, then your tongue as you taste him—the spot right where his neck meets his shoulder.

Then he feels your teeth on him, a slow and steady sink of your teeth in his skin, and you take him right to the edge of pain and maybe a half step beyond, but no further.  His hands grip your ass harder, spasm against the soft curve of you, and he jerks you closer to him because he’s growing hard underneath you—faster than he usually does, and maybe part of it is the drug, but part of it is definitely you.

Your mouth on him, the heady weight of you on him, your hands gripping his face and holding him steady. 

You draw your teeth out of him, and you soothe where you’ve marked him with your tongue.  You run the tip of your tongue over his dimpled flesh, then kiss him there.

Blink, though, and Borracho finds you climbing off him, and he pushes a disappointed exhale through his pursed lips.  You didn’t even kiss his mouth, and he turns to where you settle back on the couch.  You catch his pout and offer him an apologetic smile.

“You know we can’t do more,” you offer as explanation. 

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his jeans too tight.  “I think we could.”

Another smile that turns into a laugh.  You reach out a hand and lay it on his arm, jostle him playfully.  “We could.  But we shouldn’t.  We’re both pretty fucked up.”

“You’ve never fooled around while stoned?”  His voice has a whining edge to it that he doesn’t like, but you keep your hand on him, keep grinning at him, and that’s something, he guesses.

“I have,” you admit.  “But within boundaries established whilst sober.  I might get sloppy at these parties, but I keep my sloppiness contained within certain limits.”

He can’t help but smile back at you despite the twinge of disappointment in his gut.  “You need a lesson from Big Nick.”

At that, you release his arm, fling your head back against the couch and blow out a heavy breath.  “God, that asshole.”

“He kinda is, right?”

“He has a sort of all-encompassing sloppiness that I can’t support, Borracho.”  You turn your head, smile again.  “Tempting though you may be.”

He sighs but smiles back at you.  “You know you drive me fucking crazy, right?”

“Yeah?”  Your eyes widen—you look genuinely surprised.

“Yeah.”

“You gonna be shitty with me now?”

He shakes his head.  He’s never been the type of man to get a bug up his ass about a woman not putting out.  He’s never gotten angry at dates that led to nothing, or dates who changed their mind.  That’s life, and he’s always thought of men who got shitty about women not putting out as childish assholes.

Besides, he’s gotten plenty.  He knows what it feels like to have you on top of him, how it feels to have your tits pressed against him.  He knows what your mouth feels like and will bear the mark of your teeth for at least a week until the bruise fades.  He knows that your ass feels amazing under his big hands.

“If you ever want to establish boundaries while sober…” he starts, then trails off, and it makes you laugh again.  It’s probably the drugs, but he’s made you smile more, laugh more in this one evening than he has in all the time since he’s known you.

“Don’t open that door if you don’t want me walking through it, Borracho,” you warn.

Maybe he’s sobering up a bit, because he manages to both think of a slick line and deliver it. 

“You’re Fugitive Squad, baby.  You can kick down my door anytime you want.”

It’s the coup de grace of the moment:  you throw your head back and laugh, deep belly laughs that come from deep inside you.  You throw out a hand and brace yourself against his shoulder, and he chuckles along with you.

“Duly noted,” you finally manage to say once you calm.  “I’ll hit you up sometime.”

Borracho nods.  “You should.”

Then, because he’s still loose from the drugs, still feeling pretty damned good, still wanting to show that he’s not going to be shitty about you clambering off him, he lifts his arm in invitation.

“C’mon,” he says.  “At least curl up with me here.  I need someone to ground me so I don’t drift off to Saturn.”

You don’t even hesitate to move closer and tuck yourself under his arm and against his side, and that’s how you both fall asleep within the hour, and how you both wake up just before dawn—both dry-mouthed and cranky, but not so cranky that you don’t sheepishly exchange numbers.

And Borracho might think you’re just being nice, but you call him that evening, stone-sober, eager to kick in his door at his earliest convenience.

[ninthprime]

in response to yesterday's polycule conversation i would like to present this chart on what i personally believe is going on with the blue channel and various adjacent characters. i am not taking questions at this time (actually i am probably). thank you @violentandmagnificent for suggestions. full id under the read more

[ID: the image depicts a relationship chart with various palisade characters. in the top left corner a color chart indicates red is "definitely romantic", green is "maybe??" and gray is "platonic but important to the dynamic here."

brnine is at the center of the largest block of characters. brnine has a green arrow pointing to lattice labeled "oh you're a nobel haha please like me." lattice has a gray arrow pointing back labeled "random person they met once." brnine and gucci share a red line labeled "most toxic primary and satellite relationship in known history." jesset and brnine share a red line labeled "mostly just friends who support each other but you can tell sometimes there is tension here." jesset and gucci share a gray arrow labeled "Rivals." brnine and asepsis share a gray line labeled "uhhhhhh." brnine has a green arrow pointing to thisbe labeled "thisbe look i'm a cool and good person now haha can we be besties haha." thisbe has a gray arrow pointing back labeled "Brnine is like everyone else." brnine has a red line shared with "Wolf who is not appearing in this season."

gur also shares a red line with "Wolf who is not appearing in this season." they share a green line with brnine labeled "we barely know each other but we almost dated the same person who died so our entire perceptions of each other are inherently fraught." gur shares a green line with figure labeled "hey is it normal for a divine to give you a ghost and for that ghost to immediately seem very invested and insist you're friends." figure shares a green line with thisbe labeled "they're like a plant to her (positive(??))." figure also shares a green line with partial palisade labeled "undead history pals." figure has a red arrow pointing to phrygian labeled "wow phrygian you're so cool i wish i was more like you" with a blushing face. phrygian has a green arrow pointed back at figure labeled "thanks figure you're my friend! (too war weary to think on this further)."

off of the main block of characters, mustard has a green line shared with the divine, arbitrage labeled "[REDACTED]." cor'rina and misericorde are on the next line with a red line labeled "Alise Breka's Among Sharks." misericorde shares a green line with routine labeled "apparently this could happen." routine shares a gray line with midnite labeled "constantly updating her on the miseri situation via text." midnite has a red line connecting her to "various women offscreen." on another line, cori has a green line connecting her to kriminel labeled "#normal #girl #friends." cori then has a red line connecting her to elle labeled "what if we were both blood powered mech pilots and i blamed you for my father's death and also we kissed." under them, a final red line connects kalar to his husband. in the top right corner is a box labeled "'Just Hanging Out' Box." hunting and saffron are in this box.]

[whencyclopedia]

The motte and bailey castle was an early form of medieval fortification especially popular with the Normans in northern France and Britain during the 11th century CE. A single tower was built on (or partially within) the motte or earth mound while a courtyard area or bailey at the base was protected by a wooden palisade and an encircling outer ditch. Relatively quick to build, the height of the mound made the tower difficult to attack while the wall offered a place of refuge from opportunist raiders. For these reasons, the motte and bailey castle was especially useful in freshly conquered territories where the native population was still hostile to their new overlords. As stone resisted fire better than wood and defensive designs improved, castles evolved into more permanent structures with stone circuit walls and towers enclosing a more impressive inner stone tower or keep (donjon).

[arohawke]

the tablefriends once again try to reclaim a contested term and Keith fires someone for the second time this week

KEITH (as Phrygian): [whispering] What- what was that?

ALI (as Brnine): Hm?

KEITH (as Phrygian): [whispering with more emphasis] What was that?

ALI (as Brnine): What Mourning just said or?

KEITH (as Phrygian): [whispering] No, the building.

ALI (as Brnine): Oh, oh, oh… Uhm, it uhm- I think that it- uhm, you’ve heard of the afflictions, right?

KEITH (as Phrygian): [whispering] Yes. They have minions

ALI (as Brnine): [crosstalk] I think it was- Yeah…

[Sylvi laughs in the background]

AUSTIN (as Jesset City): Is that what we’re calling them, minions?

KEITH (as Phrygian): [whispering] We’re calling them minions.

AUSTIN (as Jesset City): They’re minions

DRE: [an even quieter whisper in a minion voice] Banana~

ALI (as Brnine): Yeah

[through whisper-laughter at Dre] Shut the fuck up! [in a louder voice] We’re reclaiming it!

KEITH: [laughing] You’re fired, Dre’s fired.

[Austin and Ali laugh loudly]

AUSTIN: Dre is not fired.

KEITH: I was given permission to fire-

AUSTIN: [crosstalk] This was the- no, no, yeah. [laughs] Keith is the Stargrave, of Palisade with the power to fire one person.

DRE: [crosstalk] You know what, partially fair.

AUSTIN: Uh… If we’re gonna reclaim “minion” we can’t do banana jokes, okay?

DRE: [crosstalk] You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

AUSTIN: [crosstalk] That’s not reclaiming it.

DRE: I’ll do better.

SYLVI: This fucking respectability politics bullshit [Austin and Ali start laughing loudly]

ALI: [laughs] I mean, are we reclaiming it or are we being like “we’re minion heads now” cause I-

AUSTIN: [crosstalk, loudly] We’re not minionheads! [Dre laughs loudly]

ALI: If we’re not minionheads-

KEITH: I think that we should be able to reclaim minions and also steal the IP at the same time.

[Austin laughs loudly]

ALI: Okay, shush, shush-

AUSTIN: [crosstalk] That is the Millennium- right, “burn thrones.” Yeah.

ALI: Sure, okay, okay.

AUSTIN: Our minions now.

ALI: Okay, okay, yeah.

AUSTIN: [laughs loudly] Janine in the chat says Bri-nana

[Loud and prolonged laughter from Keith and Dre]

ALI: [quietly] Two thumbs up.

[theinstagrahame]

This is the post where I show off the stuff I've gotten in the last month-ish. And it's been another good one!

(I mean it's always a good one, I have excellent taste)

Coffee and Chaos: I'm tickled by the concept of a coffeeshop AU, and I know that this game isn't explicitly for that. But it's also not *not* for that. Comes in a like conference-style folder, with all the bits you need to play tucked into the sides, which is also a great presentation that I felt deserved a shout-out!

Far Horizons Guide to Cults: I'm friendly with some Far Horizons folks, but wanted this book because it's awesome. A book containing notes and pre-made cults that have goals and drives beyond just "Be A Cult". I am intrigued by the occult, and I hope this gives me more nuance.

Neurocity: Picked this up on vibes alone, but I'm hearing more and more rad things about the creator. It's dystopic, a little cyberpunk, and the book is dripping with style. Can't wait to dig deeper.

You're In Space and Everything's Fucked: Station and Struggler's Guides: The title alone sold me, but I like what Dinoberry Press puts out in general. This is a solo survival space horror game with a cool respawn mechanic. I also splurged on the fancy version because the covers are very cool.

Dead Belt: The pleather folio for this honestly is what sold me, but the game itself is really cool. Salvage ships by laying out cards, exploring, and managing your air and tool resources. Try not to die. I haven't really succeeded at that last part yet...

Exquisite Corpse in the Maggot's Keep: Technically, this isn't a TTRPG, but it's go so many TTRPG folks in it that it might as well be. It's a choosable path adventure written by a variety of people in (if I remember the pitch) exquisite corpse style.

Best Left Buried: Throne of Avarice and In Calamity's Wake: As we already know, I'm a SoulMuppet fan (as in, I've written for their other big series, Orbital Blues). The main book, Throne of Avarice, was written by a creator whose work I've been trying to get more of. I haven't read Best Left Buried as fully as a game, but I am really excited by the excuse to dig in.

Between Clouds: I like air islands and big monsters and found family. Partially, I grabbed this because a friend got really excited about it, and it seemed like it could be fun to run a campaign with them, but I'm also curious about the Year Zero Engine, and glad to see people using it.

Kitchen Knightmares: Grabbed this as an add-on for the You're In Space crowdfund, but I'm glad I got it because it's loosely inspired by This Discord Has Ghosts In It, and that game rules. I might be able to pitch this to my friend group, who enjoyed Discord Has Ghosts.

In a Mirror Brightly/Handbaskets: First off, plug for the RTFM podcast, because it's very good. This two-games-in-one book is created by the two hosts of that show, who are great designers and seem really lovely. But, two wildly different vibes in a single volume is a great idea.

You Meet in a Tavern, You Die in a Dungeon: I've been following the creator for this since some of my earliest days in the RPG scene, so I was happy to help make this a reality. Feels very tropey, and I mean that in the best way possible.

In Other Waters: Tidebreak: Honestly, I have barely scratched the surface of In Other Waters, the PC game this is based on. But this is a Mothership solo hack that returns to that world, and it had me curious based on that pitch alone.

Aaand because I'm a doofus who forgot to include it, here's one more book! PLUS A guest appearance from my new desk mat.

Teeth: Been into Forged in the Dark lately, and as much as I enjoy Monster of the Week, the pitch for this seemed like it was more my speed. You're monster hunters, trying to keep the occult under wraps, while keeping secrets of your own. Plus, horror comedy!

The mat is the cover art from Friends at the Table's current season, Palisade. It's an Armor Astir campaign following up on some of the characters from their Partizan series.

[eclecticopposition]

which of ur fics would you recommend to someone who hasn't read any yet? (Partially asking from the thing you rb'd partially cause I just wanna know)

a great question! a lot of our stuff is unfinished, and most of our onboarding has actually just been us infodumping in a group chat for several hours straight. why that keeps working, we don't know.

(does kalrin's playlist count? maybe the answer is we sit in a voice call together and listen to that while cal and i explain at length what each song represents. a very normal way to spend two hours.)

fic writer asks

we'll go on the record as saying that Wire Guy is our best fic. but if you don't want to commit to 74000 words and counting, you could always check out six sunday! it's got bite sized samples of both palisade and original content, so it's a solid place to start.

(alternatively, if fic compilations aren't your thing, you can check out our sangfielle fic Asbestine Infelidel. it's cute, it's pretty self-contained, and it's got a weird priest!)

we made a piece for @jupitermoths' birthday called Merry Go, Merry Gone. it's pretty good! if you don't know connor and nora, you should change that. we'd say that it has a lot in common with wire guy, if fewer microaggressions. it's full of unreality and fun atmospheric descriptions and yes, we promise the mixed tenses are on purpose.

as for other onboarding spots, standalone pieces, or perhaps some stuff involving OCs.... watch this space. :}

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, Illinois • The Black Hawk War, or, How to Demolish an Entire Civilization and Still Feel Good About Yourself in the Morning, or, We Apologize for the Inconvenience but You're Going to Have to Leave Now, or, 'I Have Fought the Big Knives and Will Continue to Fight Them Until They Are Off Our Lands!' • Come On! Feel the Illinoise! (Part I: The World's Columbian Exposition — Part II: Carl Sandburg Visits Me in a Dream) • John Wayne Gacy, Jr. • Jacksonville (free) • A short reprise for Mary Todd, who went insane, but for very good reasons • Decatur, or, Round of Applause for Your Stepmother! • One Last 'Whoo-Hoo!' for the Pullman • Chicago • Casimir Pulaski Day • To the Workers of the Rock River Valley Region, I have an idea concerning your predicament • The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts • Prairie Fire That Wanders About • A conjunction of drones simulating the way in which Sufjan Stevens has an existential crisis in the Great Godfrey Maze • The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out to Get Us! • They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back from the Dead!! Ahhhh! • Let's hear that string part again, because I don't think they heard it all the way out in Bushnell • In This Temple as in the Hearts of Man for Whom He Saved the Earth" • The Seer's Tower • The Tallest Man, the Broadest Shoulders (Part I: The Great Frontier — Part II: Come to Me Only with Playthings Now) • Riffs and Variations on a Single Note for Jelly Roll, Earl Hines, Louis Armstrong, Baby Dodds, and the King of Swing, to name a few • Out of Egypt, into the Great Laugh of Mankind, and I shake the dirt from my sandals as I run

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[leahsfiction]

palisade 48

had to pause the episode on them processing the regret, creative-decision-wise, live on air about forgetting to fold in partial palisade's storyline

[planet4546b]

gotta say that theres something wonderfully cathartic to me about the stomach turning dread of the way palisade is twisting tms legacy and history. like yes get in there. rip it up

[telomirage]

"what do they call HORSE in palisade?"

"duck"

YES

[swallowtailed]

palisade and mythology… the paint shop constructing prophecies after the rapid evening, violet cove studying the garbled remains of crystal palace, and the crown of glass as wayward faction--three different interpretations of the same story… places named out of arthuriana, calling on that particular tradition of righteousness… the entire planet haunted by the mirage (and the season twilight mirage), and haunting itself in the form of partial palisade…