It's messy and imperfect and stiff but I finally made cover art for my tabletop RPG setting that communicates visually what the setting is really about while showing off a wide selection of the monsters.
I'll probably use it just the physical prints of the shorter and more affordable "player's guide."
(It's also based loosely on the Digimon Intro)
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Jenny Everywhere Day 2025 is coming on August 13th! Get your art ready!
That's right! Jenny Everywhere Day is one month away!
What's Jenny Everywhere Day, you ask? Many things! An art challenge… a lovingly-tended collection… a yearly celebration of the world's premier open-source character and her supporting cast.
Jenny Everywhere has infinite faces spanning infinite worlds. She belongs to no one, and to everyone.
And Jenny Everywhere Day is the day artists and writers from across the Internet gather to share new artwork and stories featuring our favourite open-source character. Everything and everyone is welcome, whether it's a sketch or a novel, whether you're a beginner or a professional. You can even submit multiple entries!
If you want to get involved, email your contributions by August 13th, 2025 to jennyeverywhereday (at) gmail.com!
If there's any issue, you can also send your submissions directly to the event manager, Aristide Twain — I'm at @aristidetwain on Tumblr and on Discord, and I can even be found on Bluesky and ComicFury. Also don't hesitate to get in touch if you have any questions — or if you want to join the official Jenny Everywhere Discord server!
The event is totally free, but if you want to help keep our partner site the Jenny Everywhere Wiki online, donations are always welcome here.
Thanks to Jenny for holding up the sign for me, and to Radvengence (author of an ongoing Jenny webcomic) for sketching her up at remarkably short notice!
Happy Pride from the Cheshire House! (No, it's not pride month anymore, but when most of your writers are queer every month is pride month). The heatwave almost cooked us, but we pulled through, and now we return with three wonderful new stories for you: the long-awaited second part of Lagrange Point, a new The Interstellar Sleuth story, and a very fishy adventure from a newcomer...
Plum Pudding created this amazing cover.
Disparate Minds returns with the second half of Lagrange Point in this haunting finale from series creator Plum Pudding. Edited by Ostara Gale @wyrdvora and Aristide Twain @aristidetwain. The message follows: There have been casualties. There are the pages, crumpled in June’s pocket. There is the light at the edge of the field, there are the riders, and the killer is walking. There are letters on his knuckle fingers, the television breathes. When the night is gone, everything will have changed. Or perhaps nothing will have…
Plum Pudding is back with another banger; this lovely drawing is hers too!
The Mystery of the House at the End of the World is the latest entry in the Interstellar Sleuth series. Written by Molly Warton and edited by Plum Pudding, Theta Mandel @theangelshavethephonebox, and Aristide Twain, this is a story about dealing with death. When Lotto's friend Gogan passes away unexpectedly, he suspects foul play, and begins an investigation that tears through the lives of all who knew her.
This absolutely swimming artwork was drawn, once again, by the multitalented Pudding made of Plum!
Elliott Parmelee makes his Cheshire debut with a splash! Introducing a new limited series, 'Fish Detective'; find out more on our website. The first installment, Fish Detective, edited by Ostara Gale and Aristide Twain, is a tale as old as time: a fish who is also a detective is drawn into murky waters as he swims towards justice for a dame whose baby was stolen by a notorious mobster. Fishing for information quickly lands him in a tangled net of crime; is this northern pike finally out of his depth?
You can find us at CheshireHouseStories on Instagram, as well as TheCheshireHouse on Bluesky.
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Auteur: the Final Word, a new anthology from Arcbeatle Press which follows the titular bastard skeleton alien as he causes chaos through tim
Over a dozen incredible writers and artists have come together to bring us Auteur: the Final Word, a new anthology from Arcbeatle Press which follows the titular bastard skeleton alien as he causes chaos through time, space, and the thin walls of the reality he believes to be his personal play-mat.
While Auteur is featured elsewhere in the worlds of Doctor Who, this anthology can serve as a standalone read for those open to embracing so many strange and complex tales with little prior knowledge. Auteur is a wonderfully tasty character whose powers to shape reality are misused to suit his personal agenda. He wreaks havoc on the poor protagonists of each story, all of whom will capture your heart and mind and hold you close as you witness their journeys and attempts to outwit Auteur.
This is Auteur’s story, and everyone else is just living in it. At the very least , it’s our role to witness it.
My full review for Auteur: The Final Word is out NOW! If you have questions about how beginner-friendly this anthology is, what the stories it contains are about, or otherwise what I thought about this sprawling epic, give it a read.
In 2018, @rassilon-imprimatur's story in The Book of the Enemy introduced Faction Paradox readers to Auteur, a skeletal Archon with the uncanny power to literally rewrite reality — and metafictional delusions of grandeur to match. Ever since then, the Mad God of Writing's popped up hither and thither at Arcbeatle Press, but never quite as the headline feature.
Now, at long last, the official newcomer-friendly Volume One of his very own series is ready to invade your shelves, complete with fourteen exclusive interior illustrations, a crossword, and more surprises than you can count! Whether you're a long-time FP-head or coming fresh to the Auteurverse, I genuinely can't wait for more people to discover this thing…
Out now, in both digital and physical formats!
Auteur is a visionary, a genius, a god. The Author of All Creation. So he has claimed for centuries, and many believe him — who else could rewrite reality with one flick of a quill?
But the Cosmos has changed since he’s been away, and it keeps on changing. Old rules are broken, and new powers rise. What wonders and horrors might Auteur create, in his quixotic quest to get the final word? And what will he destroy?
From a Spire of Shadows to the direst diner on Earth, discover the truth beneath the lies in a dozen unforgettable stories from L. Alves, Erika de Atayde, Jayce Black, Nate Bumber, Galadriel Coffeen, Jamie H. Cowan, Thomas Keyton, Newton Locheye, James T. Mulholland, Louis Peacock, Plum Pudding, Aristide Twain, Molly Warton, and James Wylder.
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I’m very intrigued by Our Strange and Wonderful Memories!
Well, I saw that Our Strange and Wonderful House has it's fifteenth anniversary of being started this year, and seeing as it's CC and sort of fits with the vibes of some of the things I want to do with Shifter Chronicles I thought I might make my own little homage/sequel playing of the fact that the House is dead and gone and abandoned, and lives on in sort of memories. Here, have a little extract:
That made no sense, she thought, but sense had little sway in this place, only incense and other burning. She knelt down in the mud besides the tarn, feeling it mould around her knees and wet them, and splashed the brisk cold water into her face. She thought then to drink it, and it was like liquid fire in her throat. She drank again, water flowing out of her cupped and paling hands. Perhaps she could be purified this way, and all the rust and the evil would wash out of her like dust. No, it was too cloying; not even the primordial liquid of the Tarn could wash it away. She remembered, then, the Fountain of Life, and walked between the piles of blackened stones until she came to an opening where the intensity of the stones fell off a little and gave way to an ivy-coated courtyard, with tiles that once would have formed an elaborate Roman mosaic now too faded to show any colour but a dull beige-grey and a cracked fountain standing like a great queen of ice with a gash in her leg so that you could see the blood dripping bright crimson through the petrified blue veils of her dress. Once nymphs had run, dancing and naked as newborn babes, between the tiles and up its walls, nyads clustering in the stonework of the fountain and gossiping with the sloshing water, but no water was here now, and no water-nymphs. She traced her hands over the ivy-covered surface and felt the gnarls of the ancient greying marble faintly in her cold hands, like voices from a long way away that dug into one’s skull. She felt nothing except a deep sadness and an emptiness like the sounding of a horn. The silence seemed to reverberate through the arching ivy-clad ruins.
Rise and Fall is a Cupids (or really, a Century Smith and Briar) story which can’t be released until I’ve finished at least 3 other stories. I’ve written some of it nonetheless. It’s an arc-climax sort of story which will feature quite a few characters. Here’s an excerpt consisting of the current opening paragraphs of the story, which also work pretty well as a general teaser:
Once upon a time, there was a great empire.
Simple words. The charming words of a bedtime story, passed down to curious children by those who remember it as a dim fragment of their fading youth.
Once upon a time, there was a great empire, and it brought peace to the many worlds.
Simple words. The words of the nostalgic and the optimistic, repeated with a twinkling eye on library steps in the setting suns of a million cities.
Once upon a time, there was a great empire, and it brought peace to the many worlds, and protected them from the forces of chaos and destruction which lurk at the edges of all things.
Simple words. The words of the believers and the politicians, making speeches on stumps and street corners to audiences both sceptical and intrigued.
Once upon a time, there was a great empire. And it fell.
Simple words. Words which elide so much. Words which conceal nothing, for those who care enough to understand.
Once upon a time, there was a great empire.
Simple words. Horrible words. The most dangerous words in the world.
RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it.
Now, I don't have a single WIP folder; all my WIPs are spread around across various computers, folders, accounts, and word processors, so I'm going to define a "file in my WIP folder" as "a file which contains some sort of story at least partially written by me that's not yet completed which I have a nonzero chance of continuing to write", which is possibly casting the net a bit wide considering I've got to ping a person for every WIP, but ah well.
The titles:
The Exciting Magic Island
More Tales of the Magic Island
Auteur thing | Molly Warton and Louis Peacock
Soliloquy of the Water Rat
Untitled document? Untitled document YOUR MUM more like
Untitled document
Colonel-028's Grand Day Out
The Third Jenny Everywhere Collaborative Novella
Untitled document
The Dragon Hunters
Untitled document
On Perception's Edge
Shattered Glass
Auteur | The Four-Year Empire/The Puppet Show
Untitled document
7 - Sleep
8 - Tears Shall Drown the Wind
Our Strange and Wonderful Memories
Invisible People
Wogglebug thing
Untitled 3
Untitled 3
Untitled 1
... Yeah, no, I'm not tagging that many people. Uh... @cousin-quartz-of-house-paradox @thienvaldram @deathchrist2000 @heimeldat @elohdee-tumble and that'll do.
Thanks for the tag! I'm very intrigued as to Heartbeat Begins &c....
This will be my next Cupids story if all goes well! It continues the ongoing arcs of several characters and introduces some new ones, and will hopefully take some semblance of shape within the next several months. Here’s an excerpt:
This had been a mining-world, or a mined-world, claimed by roving capitalist space-barons and tunneled to its core by their robot thralls. The robots had rebelled, eventually, and cast off their rulers, but they had not abandoned the mining-system, merely taken to running it themselves. Perhaps there was something depressing about that, Thrice thought; but then, one had a natural desire to live up to what they were supposed to be. They understood that.
The metal brought up from the mines which dotted this planet was sold only to other mines producing different metals; used to construct and repair their own robot workers, so that they might continue about their own metal-mining operations. Thrice crested a particularly high mound of dust and laid their eyes upon the great pit, its inner walls lined with machinery and suspended working-platforms all the way down to where they vanished into deep darkness. This was the copper mine, and they wished that it reminded them of their past.
Just beyond the far lip of the pit sat the dark form of the massive construction factory beneath the thin soot-darkened sky, its mechanisms churning, smoke pouring in waves from its many bristling chimneys. New robot workers were streaming forth by the second, looking from here like tiny shining ants as they set about their work. The kinship of the production batch. Something Thrice knew they would never know. For all their striving, they would never have that.
It wasn’t fair.
Thrice passed workers on all sides as they headed for the tent which they were seeking. They were simple, these robots, not stylised or polished. Built for functionality and with the least parts necessary, given the constraint on resources. Their wires were exposed and their movements halting, their limbs buzzing and clicking as they maneuvered into place, their optical sensors little more than cameras mounted in conical reflectors. Thrice nodded as they passed, privately glad that they did not look like that anymore.
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The only WIP on the current list that isn’t for Cupids, although I’m not sure what it is for or whether I’ll ever finish it. It’s about a photography student making a trip across the country, and doesn’t have enough of a plot yet. Have a fairly long excerpt since it may never otherwise see the light of day:
Out among the sinuous suburban streets, she followed desultory sidewalks which seemed to cling shyly to the yellowed edges of lawns, curving inwards or collapsing with a deferential air where necessary to allow the untrammelled main road to barrel past. She kicked pebbles into elevated storm drains and stepped over streaks of tar painted artlessly across what must once have been cracks in the gray pavement, and noted the places where the tar had faded to form permanent scars, stretchmarks; nothing in the world, probably, was truly so rigid as asphalt pretended to be. She felt the compelling pot-lid rattle of maintenance covers as she walked across them, and reflected for a moment that although this place and places like it served only as a membrane for incubating the layer of the world which she held to be unsatisfactory, it was not itself a part of that layer.
York had not, once, she supposed, been wilderness, for the word suggested notions of blank canvases and unmarked pages, and also suggested overgrowth and infestation, and words like ‘untouched’ and ‘unclaimed’. In fact it had been neither - had belonged to other people, and now instead was a parking lot. This was not unique to York, nor a particular insult upon it; it was Valerie’s considered opinion, having seen much of it, that the whole of the country (and very probably the whole of the world) was a parking lot first and foremost, and a fairly undifferentiated one at that.
It was not that cars were the primary issue. In fact the issue probably predated cars. It was Benjamin Franklin, she thought, who had said that the planet must be cleared of woods if it was to be made appealing; probably the idea predated him, and certainly he predated cars. In fact he had said it very casually, she seemed to recall - it had not been the main thrust of his idea, which had been, she was sure, appallingly racist in its primary content. Her issue was not even an ecological one, about the destruction of nature, not primarily. The point was that parking lots, and vast grey suburban neighborhoods, and whatever manifestations of this scoured-clean ideal predated them, did not mean anything, which in Valerie’s mind was the cardinal sin and represented all that was wrong in the world.
There was something of a graveyard, perhaps, in a particularly large suburban neighborhood, she reflected as she walked. Those clean flat fields or rolling hills, as far as the eye could see, dotted with little structures. Something could be said, she thought, about the desire to parcel oneself up and leave a last remnant on the world, and that perhaps it was creeping ever earlier down the line of a life, so that one had to have a last memorial set up in some form before they were even twenty if they wanted to feel that they’d made any mark; but Valerie was ever keenly aware in the back of her mind of the fact that she had only studied photography and then only for two years, and that all of these notions had already occurred to other people who knew what to make of them, and even if they hadn’t she did not quite know what to make of them. And it was, at any rate, tangential to her main issue still.
The world, anyway, Valerie thought, tended towards gray flatness; in fact perfect gray flatness would be the final apotheosis of the world if left unchecked. This was no modern problem but the general arc of history, she felt, recurring across aeons; although now, she had to admit, it did seem that things were closer than they had ever been before to that climactic point.
RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it.
The titles:
Heartbeat Begins, First Pulse, Second Pulse, Third Pulse, Fourth Pulse, Fifth Pulse, Last Pulse, No Pulse (all chapters of a single story with no overall title yet)