fan art

by Bill Tiepelman

Midnight Marionette

In the deepest, weirdest corners of the shadowed city, there existed a puppet. But not just any puppet—this was Marv, the Midnight Marionette, and he was unlike anything you’d find on Sesame Street or your childhood puppet shows. Picture a mix between a fuzzy creature with a weirdly expressive face, clad in dark, intricate robes, and an offbeat sense of humor that was as twisted as the threads holding him together. Marv wasn’t your typical “come to life at midnight” puppet; he had opinions. And, boy, did he let you know about them. For one thing, Marv didn’t have strings. He called that “old-school nonsense.” “Who the hell needs strings these days? It’s the 21st century,” Marv would grumble to himself, pacing around his dingy apartment filled with mismatched furniture and questionable decor. His hooded robe—crafted from shadows and what looked like a mix of cobwebs and fabric pilfered from the dumpster—billowed behind him like he was some kind of dark wizard... if dark wizards smelled vaguely of mothballs and stale pizza. But at midnight, when most creatures of the night were prowling the streets or doing things too inappropriate to describe, Marv came alive in his true element. And if you thought the witching hour was eerie, you hadn’t experienced it with Marv. The Midnight Rant “You know what pisses me off?” Marv muttered as he shuffled across his tiny apartment, peering out the cracked window at the flickering streetlights below. “People. People piss me off. They’re out there, living their lives, getting lattes, walking their dogs, doing their 9-to-5 jobs like they’ve got it all figured out. And here I am—a freakin’ puppet—stuck in this rickety place, wondering how to order takeout without being mistaken for a Halloween decoration.” He threw his fuzzy hands in the air, dramatically flailing as he plopped onto his old, sagging couch, the springs creaking in protest. “I mean, who the hell thought it was a good idea to bring me to life, huh? ‘Let’s give this puppet sentience,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ they said. Fun! HA! Like anyone asked me if I wanted to be a midnight freak show in some forgotten back alley apartment.” Marv’s ranting was a nightly occurrence. Sure, most folks—if they’d ever seen him—would’ve been either terrified or completely confused by the sight of a marionette with no strings walking around like he owned the place. But this was his life now. A half-immortal puppet with too much time on his hands and a crass sense of humor that would make a sailor blush. His one saving grace? The one thing that kept him from completely losing it? The one thing that made the endless nights somewhat bearable? Pizza. The Pizza Problem “Where’s my goddamn pizza?” Marv barked, pacing in front of the door. He had ordered it hours ago, or maybe it was just twenty minutes—time didn’t exactly work the same when you were a puppet brought to life by some questionable form of magic. Either way, Marv was hangry. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Marv’s orange nose twitched in anticipation, his oversized eyes widening as he opened the door with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated raccoon. Standing there was the delivery guy, holding Marv’s beloved pizza, with an expression that suggested he was seriously questioning his life choices. “Uh... one large pepperoni with extra cheese?” the guy asked, trying to keep his cool despite the fact he was delivering to what looked like a Muppet version of the Grim Reaper. “FINALLY!” Marv exclaimed, snatching the pizza box out of the guy’s hands with the speed of someone who hadn’t eaten since 1983. “You have no idea what it’s like waiting for this. The suffering. The torment. Do you realize I don’t eat during the day? Because I can’t freakin’ move until midnight? You’d think being a night-dwelling marionette would come with some perks, but noooooo.” The delivery guy blinked, his brain clearly trying to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. “Uh... that’ll be $18.50.” Marv stared at him for a second, then let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Right, right. Hold on.” He rummaged through his robe, pulling out a crumpled $20 bill that had clearly seen better days. “Keep the change, kid. You’re gonna need it after witnessing this level of existential horror.” The guy took the money, handed Marv the pizza, and shuffled away as fast as he could, leaving Marv standing in his doorway with a smug grin on his fuzzy face. Pizza and Contemplation Marv plopped down in front of his ancient, barely functioning TV, flipping through the channels until he landed on a rerun of some late-night infomercial. It didn’t matter. His focus was on the pizza. Glorious, greasy pizza. “Ahh, the one constant in this absurd reality,” Marv said, opening the box and inhaling deeply. “Cheese, sauce, crust... you’ve never let me down.” He stuffed a slice into his oversized mouth, chewing with a satisfied grunt. “If only life were as simple as pizza. No worries, no magic, no strings attached—literally. Just... pizza.” Marv’s reflection on life, as deep as it could go, didn’t last long. He was more interested in how much pizza he could cram into his mouth before the sun came up and he turned back into an inanimate object. The Visitor Just as he was finishing his second slice, there was another knock at the door. Marv groaned, hauling himself up with all the enthusiasm of a puppet who’d eaten too much cheese. “What now?” he muttered, dragging his fuzzy feet across the floor. Opening the door, Marv found a shadowy figure standing on his doorstep, shrouded in an air of mystery and danger. The figure’s dark robes fluttered slightly in the midnight breeze, and their face was hidden beneath a hood. They looked like they were about to deliver some cryptic message from beyond the veil of reality. Marv blinked his oversized eyes. “Look, if you’re here for some kind of ancient prophecy or mystical quest, you’re out of luck. I just ate a pizza, and there’s no way I’m leaving this apartment for the next eight hours.” The figure stepped forward, their voice low and menacing. “You... are Marv, the Midnight Marionette?” Marv sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me. What, you want an autograph? A magic lesson? I’m off the clock right now, pal.” The figure paused, clearly taken aback by Marv’s less-than-enthusiastic reception. “I... I have come to summon you for a great and terrible mission. A mission that will—” “Nah, not tonight,” Marv interrupted, scratching his fuzzy chin. “Too full. Come back, I don’t know, next midnight? Maybe send a carrier pigeon or something. I’ll pencil you in.” The shadowy figure, clearly confused by Marv’s lack of urgency, stood in stunned silence for a moment before slowly backing away. “Uh... very well. I’ll... return at a later time.” Marv waved lazily. “Yeah, yeah, you do that. Don’t forget to knock. Doorbell’s busted.” Another Night in the Life With the dramatic visitor thoroughly dismissed, Marv closed the door and shuffled back to his pizza, flopping onto the couch with a contented sigh. “Ah, another night, another ridiculous encounter,” he muttered, reaching for another slice. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll deal with whatever dark prophecy is brewing, or maybe I’ll just order another pizza.” He glanced at the flickering TV, his mouth full of pizza as he contemplated his existence—or, more accurately, his existence after pizza. “Eh,” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, “I’ll save the world later. Right now, it’s just me and this pizza, baby.” And with that, Marv—crass, quirky, and unapologetically fuzzy—settled in for another midnight, content to let the world figure itself out. After all, the universe could wait. The pizza, however, could not.    If Marv’s offbeat, crass humor and midnight adventures have left you laughing, you can bring a little of his quirky charm into your home with a range of fun, unique products. For those who enjoy crafting, the Midnight Marionette Cross Stitch Pattern lets you stitch Marv’s eccentric personality into a vibrant work of art. You can also cozy up with Marv’s whimsical energy by grabbing a Throw Pillow or wrapping yourself in the warmth of the Fleece Blanket, perfect for late-night pizza binges and existential rants. Decorate your space with the Midnight Marionette Tapestry or grab a bold Poster to bring a touch of Marv’s signature style to your walls. Whether you're stitching, decorating, or just looking for a bit of late-night mischief, these products will remind you that sometimes, even the oddest characters bring the most laughter to your life.

by Bill Tiepelman

Gotham's Firebreathing Hero

Gotham's Firebreathing Hero: A Bat-Dragon with Issues Everyone thinks being a hero is all about dramatic rooftop poses, cool gadgets, and maybe a bit of saving the city. Sure, I do all that. But try doing it as a dragon, with wings that don’t fit in phone booths (do they even have those anymore?) and claws that rip through your own costume like it’s made of tissue paper. Oh, and breathing fire? Not as cool as it sounds. The Day It All Went to Hell Let’s rewind to my latest "mission." A gang of thieves decided to knock over a Gotham jewelry store. Pretty standard Tuesday night. I perched on a building opposite, overlooking the whole thing, preparing for my big entrance. “Time to look cool,” I muttered to myself, puffing out my chest and making sure my bat emblem was perfectly visible. You’d think being part dragon means naturally intimidating. Yeah, no. Gotta strike a pose. Look menacing. But with wings? It’s hard not to look like a flying squirrel having a bad day. I swooped down from the rooftop—wings spread, cape flapping—and landed on the sidewalk with a thud. My claws left scratches all over the pavement, which, by the way, the city is so going to charge me for. Gotham’s insurance rates suck. I marched into the store like the badass dragon I am, only to step on a "WET FLOOR" sign. “Seriously?” I grumbled as my talons skidded. The employees stared, jaws dropped, and one of the robbers? He straight-up dropped his gun and burst out laughing. “This dragon guy's gotta be kidding.” “Yeah, laugh it up, smartass,” I said, baring my teeth, though it came out more like a hissy cough because, you know, fire-breathing doesn’t always work on command. “You’re about to have a very bad day.” One of the robbers raised a gun, and out of sheer habit, I puffed out my chest to blow a stream of fire—except I accidentally aimed at a rack of expensive jewelry. The store instantly became a bonfire, and I had to hear the jewelry store owner screeching about how “THE SAPPHIRES! YOU BURNED THE SAPPHIRES!!” “Well, maybe don’t leave your flammable gemstones out for dragons to torch.” Fire-Breathing... Issues Look, no one tells you how awkward it is to manage fire when you're trying to be a hero. Think it’s easy? Try managing some villain while also mentally calculating how much damage your last fire blast caused. By the time I grabbed the thieves and tied them up with some wire—ignoring the fact that I knocked over three display cases and set off five smoke alarms—the place looked like someone hosted a barbecue in the middle of a Tiffany’s. As I dragged the gang of idiots out the door, I couldn’t help but smirk at my “work.” “Another successful rescue by Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero.” The cops showed up just in time to look at the carnage and scowl at me. Again. “You’re paying for the damages, Bat-Dragon.” “Sure thing, Officer. Just send the bill to my offshore dragon hoard.” No sense of humor. Seriously. A Hero Complex? Maybe. Yeah, I have what people call a “hero complex.” But it’s Gotham. Someone’s gotta stop the thieves and muggers, right? Even if I do occasionally fry the merchandise... or melt a sidewalk. Or two. Okay, maybe three. But heroes aren’t perfect, especially when they have to deal with wings and flames coming out of their nostrils. The problem with wings? Every time I land, I destroy something. Concrete, cars, the occasional trash can that happens to be in my way—oops. Try dealing with a cape that gets tangled in your tail or trying to squeeze into tight alleyways while making sure you don't knock over a building. So yes, I occasionally set the wrong thing on fire. It happens. But let me ask you—how do you expect me to concentrate on capturing villains and making sure I don't roast your precious storefronts? Honestly, isn’t it better to have a bat-themed dragon hero who's a little rough around the edges than none at all? You’re welcome, Gotham. And let’s talk about the villains. I’m telling you, these guys are ridiculous. Last week, I had to deal with a guy calling himself the "Jewel Jaguar." I mean, come on—what is it with these Gotham criminals and their obsession with cat-themed monikers? The worst part? I ended up torching his getaway car by accident and set off the sprinkler system in three different buildings trying to "correct" it. I swear, half of Gotham's property damage is on me. Hero Hotline: Unfiltered You think being a hero is all about glory? Let me enlighten you. Crime-fighting: It’s 80% waiting for something to happen and 20% accidentally destroying public property. Utility belt: Do you know how hard it is to fit my wings into a costume that comes with a utility belt? There’s a reason why most dragons don’t wear pants. Public image: Every time I land to "save the day," it’s a 50/50 chance whether the citizens are going to thank me or sue me. Mostly sue me. So yes, I have some fire-breathing "issues." But hey, if Gotham needs someone to scare the crap out of criminals (and, occasionally, bystanders), I’m your dragon. A bit of collateral damage here and there? All part of the job. But don’t worry—I always leave a good impression. Well, mostly in the form of claw marks and scorch marks, but still. Always a Hero At the end of the day, I get the job done—sometimes with extra smoke, occasionally with singed capes, and yeah, okay, a burnt storefront or two. But when you see a fire-breathing bat-dragon flying above Gotham, you know the city's under *some* kind of protection. Just ignore the smoldering bits. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find some fireproof replacement tights. Again. Want more dragon-fueled chaos? Let us know in the comments below. Just try not to trip over any "Wet Floor" signs.    Get Your Own Piece of Gotham's Firebreathing Hero While I might be busy saving Gotham (and occasionally burning it), you can take a little piece of this fiery dragon-hero home with you. Whether you’re into puzzles, tapestries, or just need something to dry off with after a heroic day, we’ve got you covered! Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero Puzzle – Piece together this epic dragon in all his fiery glory. Perfect for when you need a break from fighting crime (or setting things on fire). Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero Tapestry – Transform your walls with the ultimate heroic decor. It’s like having me guard your living room. Just don’t hang it near the candles. Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero Bath Towel – Dry off in style with a towel featuring your favorite bat-dragon. No promises it’s flame-resistant. Gotham’s Firebreathing Hero Poster – Hang this bad boy up and feel the power of the dragon. Warning: may inspire spontaneous rooftop posing. Get yours today, and remember—if you can't fight crime like a dragon, at least you can decorate like one!

by Bill Tiepelman

Street Chic Fairy in Pink Kicks

Street Chic Fairy in Pink Kicks: A Tale of Misadventures and Magical Mishaps Once upon a time, in a world where fairy dust and fashion collided, there was a fairy named Bellatrix. Yeah, that’s right—Bellatrix, because "Tinkerbell" was so last century, and let’s be real, she wasn’t going to be stuck with a name that sounded like it belonged on a sugar-rushed toddler’s coloring book. Bellatrix wasn’t your typical dainty fairy flitting around, granting wishes, and helping lost children find their way home. No, she was the kind of fairy who wore lace garters and floral sneakers because why the hell not? Wings with floral beads and pearls? Sure, she had those too, but only because they paired perfectly with her custom street-style kicks. She lived in the heart of the Enchanted Forest—though "heart" might be stretching it. It was more like the cheap side of town, where the unicorns had mange and the trolls held a weekly garage sale of stolen goods. But hey, rent was low, and at least the WiFi worked (sometimes). Bellatrix wasn’t interested in fancy palaces or enchanted castles. She had priorities: Instagram-worthy wings, designer sneakers, and her ever-growing collection of sarcasm, which she wielded like a wand made of pure disdain. On one particularly chaotic morning, Bellatrix woke up to the delightful sound of her magic alarm clock. Which is to say, her spell had gone horribly wrong again, and instead of a soft chime, it was the sound of enchanted toads croaking insults at her. One particularly rude toad, named Greg (because every magical disaster has to have a name), croaked something about her needing to “get up and do something useful for once.” “Yeah, yeah, Greg. I’ll get right on that,” Bellatrix muttered, tossing a pillow in his general direction. Greg croaked louder. Bellatrix knew she was going to have to deal with that pest eventually, but for now, she had more important matters to attend to—like trying to figure out which overpriced tea blend would make her less homicidal this morning. After throwing on her usual I’m not really trying look (which took about an hour to achieve, obviously), she strapped on her floral kicks. These sneakers were special, not just because they were adorable, but because they had the enchantment of comfort. Magic sneakers that never gave you blisters? She could fight dragons in these, or at least survive the long line at the local fairy market where overpriced lavender honey was sold to gullible pixies. Now, Bellatrix wasn’t one for doing “good deeds” or spreading “joy.” That was for those basic fairies who hadn’t updated their looks since the medieval ages. She was more into being slightly annoying and occasionally screwing with people who annoyed her first. Today’s mission, however, was forced upon her by the Fairy Guild. Apparently, she was on probation again for “reckless misuse of fairy dust” after that incident at last week’s enchanted rave. Look, how was she supposed to know that mixing glow-in-the-dark pixie dust with Red Bull would create a spontaneous portal to the Goblin King’s realm? In her defense, the music was fire that night, and the goblins needed to loosen up anyway. As part of her probation, she had to complete one “act of kindness” (barf) in order to get her fairy wings fully reinstated. And yes, technically, she still had wings. They were just operating at half-magic, which meant she couldn’t fly for more than two seconds without face-planting into a bush. And let’s be real, there’s nothing magical about a face full of foliage. So, Bellatrix begrudgingly set off to find some poor soul to “help.” Her definition of help, though, was a little different from the typical fairy guidebook. She wasn’t about to be out here granting wishes and teaching valuable life lessons. Please. She was more likely to give someone a half-assed magical suggestion, and then enjoy the chaos that followed. Her first stop was at the Enchanted Coffee Cart, where she spotted a forlorn-looking human sitting on a nearby stump, staring at a broken-down bicycle. A perfect target. “Need a hand?” Bellatrix asked, in her most insincere voice, while sipping a latte that cost more than most people’s rent. The human looked up, hopeful. “Oh, wow, a fairy! Can you fix my bike? I’m really late for—” “Sure thing,” Bellatrix interrupted, already bored. “But, full disclosure, I haven’t really been paying attention in fairy mechanic school, so, you know, no promises.” Before the human could object, she snapped her fingers, and—poof—the bike transformed. Sort of. Instead of a normal, functional bike, it was now a giant, glittering hamster wheel. The human stared, speechless. “Well, there you go,” Bellatrix said, trying to stifle a laugh. “Technically, it’ll get you where you need to go. You just might need to run a little. Think of it as cardio.” The human, realizing that arguing with a fairy was pointless, sighed and climbed into the wheel. Bellatrix waved them off, smirking to herself as the human awkwardly rolled away. Satisfied with her “good deed,” Bellatrix fluttered her half-functional wings and decided that was enough heroism for the day. She still had half a latte to finish and a solid hour of scrolling through enchanted social media. The fairies on her feed were all still posting about the same boring stuff—rainbows, moonbeams, blah, blah, blah. But Bellatrix knew that when it came down to it, no one was doing street chic like her. And, in her floral kicks, she was always one step ahead of the fairy fashion curve—even if she was also one sarcastic comment away from being banned from the Fairy Guild. Again. Because at the end of the day, being a fairy wasn’t about spreading joy or helping people. It was about looking fabulous while doing the bare minimum—and making sure your sarcasm was as sharp as your winged eyeliner. And thus, Bellatrix, the street chic fairy in her pink kicks, continued her reign of fashionable indifference, leaving a trail of glitter, rolled eyes, and mildly inconvenienced humans in her wake.     If you’ve ever wanted to bring a little bit of Bellatrix’s sarcasm-fueled, street-chic style into your own life, you’re in luck! The iconic "Street Chic Fairy in Pink Kicks" is now available on a range of products, perfect for adding a touch of whimsy (and a little attitude) to your space or daily accessories. Adorn your walls with the enchanting Street Chic Fairy Tapestry, bringing Bellatrix's unique charm to any room. Send some magic to your friends with a greeting card that perfectly captures her fashionable defiance. Or grab a playful sticker to decorate your laptop, water bottle, or whatever else needs a little fairy flair. So, whether you’re looking for a bit of magical decor or a way to add some whimsical edge to your style, Bellatrix has you covered—no fairy dust required.

by Bill Tiepelman

The Plush Poet's Perilous Plight

In a peculiar corner of the metropolis, where the streetlights flickered like the last breaths of fireflies, there lived an enigmatic bear known to the eclectic few as The Plush Poet. Clad in a garb that would make a chessboard jealous and with eyes like sapphires salvaged from the deep, the Plush Poet was both a conundrum and a legend. Each night, under the dim glow of a rebellious streetlamp, the poet would recite verses that twisted reality—a reality that the bear felt was far too mundane for its taste. The verses spoke of worlds draped in velvet shadows and creatures that wore their oddities like crowns. Listeners would gather, their faces half-hidden by the darkness, drinking in the peculiar poetry that spilled from the plush maw. One such evening, as the moon played hide and seek with the clouds, the Plush Poet announced a peculiar plight. "Friends and fiends," it began, its voice a growl wrapped in velvet, "I find myself in a conundrum most dire. My muse, a phantom who dances on the edge of my dreams, has gone silent." The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath that stirred the night's air. "Without her, my world has turned as dull as dishwater, and my verses as flat as the earth once was thought to be." The crowd murmured, their shadows swaying with concern. One could not simply procure a muse from the market, especially not for a poet whose words could turn night into day and vice versa. "Fear not!" declared a voice from the back, a figure stepping forward, the lamplight catching the glint of oversized spectacles. "I am Doctor Hoots, connoisseur of the curious and collector of oddities. I believe I have just what you need." As Doctor Hoots approached, the Plush Poet peered skeptically through the dark. What oddity could possibly replace the whisperings of a spectral muse? The Oddity of Doctor Hoots Doctor Hoots, with a flourish that would make a magician envious, produced a curious object from within the folds of his coat. It was a pocket watch, its surface as black as a starless night, yet it twinkled with a light that seemed to be trapped within. “This,” he announced, “is the Chrono-Quirk, a timepiece that ticks to the tock of otherworldly whispers. It’s said to echo the thoughts of muses long silent.” The Plush Poet, intrigued and desperate, took the Chrono-Quirk in its paw, feeling the cold metal warm to its touch. The crowd leaned in, their breaths held in a taut string of anticipation. The poet wound the watch and held it to its ear. Tick, tock, tick, tock—it went, and with each tick, a word, a whisper, a verse began to bloom in the Poet’s mind. With newfound vigor, the Plush Poet began to weave a tapestry of words so vivid that the night itself seemed to brighten with an eerie glow. Shadows danced, the wind carried the scent of ink and parchment, and the crowd found themselves entranced, swept into a narrative that transcended the bounds of their concrete jungle. But there was a quirk to the Chrono-Quirk, as with all things that Doctor Hoots bestowed. With each verse it inspired, the timepiece also twisted time just a tad. Hours slipped into minutes, and minutes stretched into hours. The city around them began to warp, buildings bending with the cadence of the verses, and the night lingered longer than it had any right to. The Plush Poet, now a puppet to the pocket watch, spun tales until the sun peeked above the horizon, reluctant yet curious. The crowd dispersed, their minds a merry mess of metaphors and madness, leaving behind a bear, a watch, and a night that would forever be etched in the annals of the unusual. Dark it may have been, but devoid of humor? Never. For in the world of the Plush Poet, even the darkest night was but a backdrop for the quirky and the quaint. And Doctor Hoots? He watched from afar, a silhouette against the creeping dawn, a smile beneath his spectacles. Another oddity delivered, another night made unforgettable.     Curated Collection: The Plush Poet's Persona Immerse yourself in the storied tapestry of The Plush Poet's Persona collection, where each item weaves its own piece of the narrative into your life. Stickers Adorn the everyday with a sprinkle of storytelling with our The Plush Poet's Persona Stickers. These durable, vinyl stickers capture the essence of our enigmatic poet bear, bringing a piece of its whimsical world to your personal items. Make your belongings a canvas for this character's charming tale. Poster Let your walls speak volumes with the captivating The Plush Poet's Persona Poster. This isn't just a poster; it's a window into a whimsical world, with the poet bear's insightful gaze inviting you into its rich backstory. Its presence is a statement, its story a conversation starter. Throw Pillow Infuse comfort with character using the The Plush Poet's Persona Throw Pillow. Nestle into a cozy corner with this plush companion and let your imagination unfurl along with its fabled verses. It's not just a cushion; it's a cuddle with a story. Tote Bag Carry your essentials alongside a story with the versatile The Plush Poet's Persona Tote Bag. Strong, spacious, and spirited, it's perfect for those who carry not just items but tales and dreams on their shoulders. Tapestry Transform any room into a narrative nook with the enchanting The Plush Poet's Persona Tapestry. Drape your space in the plush poet's fabled fabric, and let its tale unfold across your walls, crafting a backdrop that's as intriguing as it is inviting.

by Bill Tiepelman

A Symphony of Stars in the Labyrinth of Love

In the vast canvas of the cosmos, where the whispers of ancient nebulae echo through space and time, the garden of spiraling astral patterns witnessed a love story written in the stars. Here, two spectral beings, crafted from the very essence of the universe, found their souls entangled in an eternal embrace. The spectral lady, draped in a gown spun from the very fabric of dreams and cosmic dust, bore the Milky Way in her flowing tresses. Her eyes held the fathomless depth of black holes, yet twinkled with the vibrant energy of distant supernovae. Beside her, stood her counterpart, a figure sculpted from the void's eternal night. His attire was as dark as the space between stars, but within his chest beat a heart radiant enough to rival the sun's fiery core. As their fingers intertwined, mimicking the celestial dance of binary stars bound by each other's gravity, their union sent ripples cascading through the very fabric of space-time. The heart he offered was not of flesh, but a pulsating red star, a beacon of the fervor that blazed within him. Surrounded by the labyrinthine garden of cosmic swirls, their path reflected the complex journey that destiny had charted for them. They had glided through asteroid belts, spun gracefully past planets, and savored the silence of witnessing the birth of new worlds, each shared moment solidifying a bond as old as time itself. Amidst the cosmic garden's serpentine swirls, their shared glance transcended time, a look that spoke of eons passed and yet to come. The orchestral hum of the stars built to a crescendo around them, an opus of light and sound, celebrating their union as a force of serene constancy in the universe's symphony. The heart he tendered to her, aglow with stellar fire, was not just an emblem of affection but the very core of his being—a red giant of a star, pulsing with the fierce ardor that fueled their immortal love. Around them, the cosmic maze unfurled its pathways, each turn a tale of the serendipitous voyage that had woven their fates as one. Through cosmic dust clouds and nebulas, they had twirled and turned, their spirits syncopated with the rhythm of the cosmos. In the labyrinth's nucleus, time seemed to bow to their bond, yielding to the gravity of their connection. Here, beneath the gaze of a billion stars, their spirits melded, casting forth a luminance that promised to outshine even the darkest realms of space. This moment, amidst the infinite expanse of creation, was a testament to their transcendent love—a love not tethered by corporeal forms but elevated by the very particles that wove the tapestry of existence. In this confluence of time, matter, and emotion, they stood as more than mere lovers; they were the living embodiment of the universe's boundless creativity, the pulsating heart of existence itself.     As the tale of the spectral sweethearts unfolds, their love story resonates through the cosmos, inspiring a collection that captures the essence of their celestial journey. For those captivated by the romance of the stars, the Symphony of Stars in the Labyrinth of Love Cross Stitch Pattern allows you to weave their tale into the fabric of your daily life. Adorn your personal space with the enchanting visuals that celebrate their union with our exclusive range of products. The Symphony of Stars Stickers bring a touch of cosmic beauty to your surroundings, perfect for customizing your favorite spaces and belongings. For those who appreciate the fine arts, the Symphony of Stars Tapestry, Throw Pillow, Duvet Cover, and Tote Bag offer a tactile and visual representation of the narrative's essence. Each piece invites the admirer to delve into the depths of the story, to experience a love as timeless and expansive as the universe itself. Explore this curated collection and let the story of eternal love, set amongst the constellations, imbue your life with its otherworldly charm.

by Bill Tiepelman

Mystic Duck: Guardian of the Spiral Vortex

In a dimension woven from the threads of countless galaxies, a vortex of vibrant hues and swirling patterns danced in endless motion. This was the Spiral Vortex, a cosmic blender where stars and planets were as common as grains of sand on the beach. And guarding this celestial carousel was an unconventional sentinel - a duck, or rather, the "Mystic Duck," as he was known by the astral denizens. Mystic Duck was no ordinary fowl; his feathers shimmered with the essence of nebulas, and his eyes held the wisdom of the cosmos. With a crown of starlight upon his head and a bill as golden as the sun, he was a sight to behold. But what truly set him apart was his sharp tongue and a wit as quick as a supernova. "Ah, the burden of brilliance," he quacked sarcastically, observing a fledgling star struggling to ignite. "Shine bright or fade out, starlet - the universe waits for no one." With a flick of his vibrant tail, the star erupted into a brilliant display of light, as if spurred on by his biting encouragement. The Mystic Duck’s role was an ancient one, though few could recall its origin. Some whispered that he was the first to emerge from the primordial cosmic egg, while others speculated he was the universe’s practical joke on the sober council of celestial beings. Whatever the case, he had embraced his role with gusto and a side of snark. One ordinary aeon, as he glided along the currents of space-time, he came upon a peculiar sight - a black hole wearing a party hat. "Now, that's a fashion statement," he mused, circling the gravitational anomaly. "I am the Vortex of Silence, the devourer of—" began the black hole in a voice that rumbled through the cosmos. "Yeah, yeah, I know who you are," interrupted the Mystic Duck, rolling his eyes. "But the party hat? Really, what's the occasion?" The black hole hesitated, a wave of uncertainty crossing its event horizon. "It's... my birthday." Mystic Duck burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the vacuum. "Well, happy birthday, Vortex! Make a wish before you suck in more unsuspecting asteroids." As Mystic Duck continued his patrol, a distress signal beeped from the nebulae network. A young planet had lost its orbit and was careening towards the Spiral Vortex, panic-stricken. Mystic Duck swooped in, flapping his majestic wings, which glittered with cosmic dust. "Hold on tight, little one. I've got you," he quipped as he deftly steered the planet back to a safe orbit with a nudge of his bill. "There, back in the groove. No need to go off the rails." The planet, overwhelmed with gratitude, thanked him profusely. "Don't mention it, kiddo. Just doing my thing. Remember, an orbit a day keeps the chaos at bay," he said with a wink. As the Spiral Vortex turned and galaxies twirled in balletic synchrony, Mystic Duck knew his adventures were far from over. With a smirk and a tail feather that cut through the cosmic winds, he prepared for the next anomaly that would undoubtedly require his unique blend of sarcasm and celestial guardianship.     The Spiral Vortex pulsed like the heartbeat of the universe, a reminder that even in the vast silence of space, there was rhythm and life. And for Mystic Duck, life meant an endless cavalcade of absurdities to mock and crises to navigate with his uniquely droll heroism. A comet zoomed past, leaving a trail of ice and stardust. "Hey, Mystic Duck! Race you to the edge of the galaxy!" it called out, eager for a bit of fun amidst the cosmic monotony. Mystic Duck shook his head. "Kid, I'm so fast, I could beat you in a nap. But sure, why not? Let’s stretch these old wings," he replied, stretching out his feathers which sparkled with the light of a thousand suns. They set off, the comet with its icy tail and Mystic Duck with a blaze of color. They darted through asteroid fields, skimmed over gas giants, and surfed solar flares. In the end, the comet conceded, awestruck by Mystic Duck's effortless speed. "Wow, you really are the fastest!" the comet exclaimed, its voice a mix of disappointment and admiration. Mystic Duck chuckled. "Don't sweat it, sparkler. You've got a few millennia to catch up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to save a cluster of nebulas from getting all tangled up." He arrived just in time to see a group of nebulas twirling dangerously close to each other, their gaseous tendrils threatening to knot. "Alright, you overgrown space clouds, let's keep things orderly," Mystic Duck quipped as he dived into the fray. With precise movements, he redirected their paths, untangling the cosmic mess. "There. You'd think after a billion years, you’d learn to keep to yourselves." Just as he was about to take his leave, an anomaly caught his eye. A rift in the fabric of space-time, a cosmic tear that even the Mystic Duck had never seen before. It was fraying the edges of reality, causing the stars to flicker like a faulty lightbulb. "Well, that's not supposed to happen," Mystic Duck muttered to himself, approaching the rift with a blend of curiosity and caution. "Let's see if a bit of sarcastic encouragement will fix you up." He cleared his throat and addressed the rift, "Hey, you – yes, you, the universe's latest blunder. You’re about as useful as a knitted bathing suit. Close up, will you?" To his surprise, the rift shimmered, reacting to his voice. It began to stitch itself together, responding to his snide remarks with a silent appreciation for the sarcasm. Mystic Duck watched in amazement as the last of the rift sealed shut. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle. Sarcasm does have power beyond making me incredibly charming." With the vortex safe once more, Mystic Duck took a moment to bask in the glow of his accomplishment. But his respite was short-lived as a new call for help echoed through the stars. He sighed, a smirk tugging at his beak. "A guardian's work is never done. Onward to the next cosmic conundrum!" And with a flap of his wings, Mystic Duck set off towards the unknown, ready to face it with his signature blend of sarcasm and unexpected valor. After all, he was the Mystic Duck: Guardian of the Spiral Vortex, the sardonic sentinel watching over the vast, ridiculous theater of the cosmos.     After his latest adventure, Mystic Duck glided through the cosmos, his feathers leaving a kaleidoscope trail behind him. "Another day, another anomaly," he quipped, a self-satisfied grin on his bill. "If only the beings of the universe could see me now, they'd surely hang my poster on their nebulous walls." Indeed, a poster capturing the vibrant visage of the Mystic Duck in all his glory would make for a cosmic conversation piece. For those who wish to embrace the guardian's stellar charm, a Mystic Duck Poster is available, perfect for any space aficionado's collection. As he made his way to the next celestial event, Mystic Duck couldn't help but notice the drabness of a passing asteroid. "Dress it up a bit, will you?" he called out. "You could use a splash of color, maybe something with a bit of my panache." Indeed, for those looking to add some flair to their own space, the Mystic Duck Throw Pillow and the Mystic Duck Fleece Blanket offered a touch of celestial whimsy to any home décor. Finally, after a long day's work, the Mystic Duck looked forward to unwinding. "Perhaps a nice, long soak in a quasar pool," he mused. "And of course, no bath would be complete without the proper towel." With a chuckle, he imagined the beings across the universe drying off with the Mystic Duck Bath Towel, bringing a touch of his adventure to their daily routine.