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Lost in a World Too Big

by Bill Tiepelman

Lost in a World Too Big

The first thing Fizzlebop noticed upon hatching was that the world was entirely too loud, too bright, and too full of things that did not immediately cater to his needs. A terrible injustice, really. He blinked his enormous blue eyes, stretching his stubby wings with an exasperated sigh. The nest was empty. His siblings had hatched before him, leaving behind only cracked eggshells and a lingering warmth. How typical. They never waited for him. "Ugh," he muttered, dragging his tiny tail across the soft moss. "Abandoned at birth. Tragic." Fizzlebop attempted to stand, only to topple forward, his little claws scrabbling against the ground. "Oh yes, very majestic. Future ruler of the skies, right here," he grumbled, rolling onto his back. "Might as well leave me here to perish." The sky above him was a swirl of pastels, stars twinkling like they had something to be smug about. "Don't just sit there looking all mysterious," he huffed at them. "Help me!" The stars, as expected, did not assist. With a great effort, he managed to sit upright, his wings flaring dramatically for balance. He squinted into the distance, where flickering firelight suggested the rest of his nestmates were already feasting with their mother. "Of course they started without me," he muttered. "Because why wouldn't they?" Then, just to test if life was truly out to get him, Fizzlebop attempted to take a single confident step forward. His foot met a particularly devious rock, and he promptly face-planted. "Oh, I see how it is," he growled, flopping onto his side. "Fine. I'll just stay here. Alone. Forever. Probably get eaten by something big and toothy." Something rustled nearby. Fizzlebop froze. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head—only to come face to face with a fox. A very hungry-looking fox. The fox tilted its head, clearly confused by the sight of a baby dragon glaring up at it with an expression of profound irritation. Fizzlebop narrowed his eyes. "Listen here, overgrown rodent," he said, voice full of bratty confidence. "I am a dragon. A creature of legend. A force of nature." He puffed up his chest. "I will breathe fire upon you." Silence. The fox remained unimpressed. Fizzlebop inhaled deeply, ready to unleash his terrifying flame… and promptly sneezed. A pathetic little spark fizzled into the air. The fox blinked. Fizzlebop blinked. Then, with a sigh, he flopped onto his back and groaned. "Fine. Just eat me and get it over with." Instead of attacking, the fox sniffed him once, let out an unimpressed huff, and trotted away. "Yeah, that's right," Fizzlebop called after it. "Run, coward!" He lay there for a moment longer before muttering, "I didn't want to be eaten anyway." Then, grumbling to himself, he got back onto his feet and stomped toward the firelight, ready to make a dramatic entrance and demand his rightful place at the feast. Because if he was going to suffer in this unfair world, the least he could do was make everyone else suffer with him.     Fizzlebop marched—well, wobbled—toward the glow of the firelight, muttering under his breath about betrayal, neglect, and the sheer injustice of being the last to hatch. His tiny claws crunched against the frost-covered ground, his tail flicking dramatically with each exaggerated step. “Oh yes, just leave the baby behind,” he grumbled. “Forget about poor, defenseless Fizzlebop. Not like I could have been eaten or anything.” He paused and shuddered. “By a fox. A fox, of all things.” The campfire flickered ahead, surrounded by his siblings, who were rolling around in a pile of meat scraps like the uncultured beasts they were. Their mother, a great silver dragon with molten gold eyes, lay nearby, preening her wings, looking—for lack of a better word—smug. Fizzlebop narrowed his eyes. They had noticed his absence. They just hadn’t cared. Well. That would not stand. He inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of injustice and rage within his tiny frame, and let out a battle cry: “HOW DARE YOU.” The entire nest froze. His siblings blinked at him, meat dangling from their stupid little jaws. His mother arched an elegant brow. Fizzlebop stomped forward. “Do you have ANY idea what I have been through?” he demanded, wings flaring. “Do you know the STRUGGLES I have faced?” Silence. Fizzlebop did not care. He was going to tell them anyway. “First of all, I was abandoned,” he declared. “Cast out, left to suffer, forced to hatch in solitude like some tragic hero in a forgotten legend.” He placed a claw against his chest, looking to the heavens. “And then! As if that weren’t bad enough—” His mother exhaled loudly through her nose. “Fizzlebop, you hatched twenty minutes late.” Fizzlebop gasped. “Twenty minutes? Oh, I see. So I should just be grateful that my own family left me to perish in the cruel, unfeeling wilds?!” His mother stared at him. His siblings stared at him. One of them, a chubby dragon named Soot, licked his eyeball. Fizzlebop groaned. “You absolute buffoons.” He marched straight to the pile of meat, sat his tiny, frostbitten rear down, and grabbed the largest scrap he could find. “You’re all terrible, and I hate you,” he declared before stuffing his face. His mother sighed and stretched her wings. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Fizzlebop waved a dismissive claw. “Yes, yes, I’m adorable, I’m a delight, I’m a gift to this family.” He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “But also, you should all suffer for your crimes.” His mother huffed a plume of smoke, which he chose to interpret as deep shame and regret. His belly now full, Fizzlebop curled into the warm pile of his siblings, who accepted his presence with the kind of easygoing obliviousness only dragons (and very stupid people) could manage. And as he drifted off to sleep, his mother’s tail curling around them for warmth, Fizzlebop allowed himself a tiny, satisfied smirk. For all his righteous suffering… being part of a family wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Probably.     Take Fizzlebop Home! Love Fizzlebop’s adorable mischief? Bring this tiny dragon into your life with stunning prints and merchandise! Whether you want to add some whimsical charm to your home or carry a piece of dragon-sized attitude with you, we’ve got you covered: 🖼️ Acrylic Prints – For a sleek, high-gloss way to showcase Fizzlebop’s expressive pout. 🎭 Tapestries – Transform any space into a fantasy realm with a larger-than-life baby dragon. 👜 Tote Bags – Carry your essentials in style, and let everyone know you're as dramatic as Fizzlebop. 💌 Greeting Cards – Send a message with maximum sarcasm and cuteness. Get yours now and let Fizzlebop bring his bratty charm into your world! 🔥🐉

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Neon Hatchling of the Deepwoods

by Bill Tiepelman

Neon Hatchling of the Deepwoods

The Deepwoods wasn’t the kind of place you wandered into by accident. Thick fog clung to ancient trees, the air hummed with the whispers of unseen creatures, and anyone foolish enough to enter often stumbled back out with missing socks or memories—or both. Yet, here stood Gary, socks firmly intact but entirely unsure how he got there. “Right,” Gary muttered, adjusting his satchel. He wasn’t an adventurer, despite the suspiciously adventurous trench coat he wore. He was an accountant. A mediocre one at that. Yet for reasons he couldn’t explain, Gary had woken up that morning with a very specific goal in mind: find the Neon Hatchling. He didn’t know what a Neon Hatchling was, why he needed one, or why his coffee had tasted like regret earlier that day, but the urge was undeniable. So here he was, trudging through mossy undergrowth, fending off the occasional glowing moth the size of a dinner plate, and questioning his life choices. The First Clue Gary’s first breakthrough came when he tripped over a gnome. “Watch it!” the gnome barked, rubbing its pointy hat, which now bore a dent in the shape of Gary’s shoe. The gnome was no taller than a fire hydrant, but its scowl could curdle milk. “Sorry!” Gary stammered. “I didn’t see you there. Uh... any chance you’ve seen a Neon Hatchling?” The gnome squinted at him. “What’s it worth to ya?” Gary rifled through his satchel. “I’ve got... a slightly melted granola bar?” The gnome snatched it greedily. “Fine. Follow the glowing ferns until you hear the sound of giggling. If you survive that, you might find your precious Hatchling.” “Giggling?” Gary asked, but the gnome was already halfway up a tree, cackling like a maniac. The Giggling Problem The glowing ferns were easy enough to find—they looked like someone had spilled neon paint across the forest floor. The giggling, however, was less charming. It wasn’t the warm, bubbly kind of giggling you’d hear at a comedy club. No, this was the “I know your browser history” kind of giggling, and it was coming from everywhere at once. “This is fine,” Gary said to no one in particular, clutching his satchel like a lifeline. He inched forward, trying to ignore the giggles, which now sounded suspiciously like they were mocking his haircut. “You’re just hearing things. That’s all. Deepwoods acoustics. Totally normal.” Then a voice, sharp and sweet, cut through the giggles. “Oh, relax. You’re not going to die... probably.” Gary froze. “Who’s there?” From the shadows stepped a woman dressed in iridescent robes that shimmered like oil on water. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, and she carried a staff topped with what appeared to be a glowing marshmallow. “Name’s Zyla. You’re here for the Neon Hatchling, aren’t you?” Gary nodded, mostly because words had failed him. He wasn’t sure if it was her aura of power or the fact that she smelled faintly of freshly baked cookies. Either way, he wasn’t about to argue. Meeting the Hatchling Zyla led him deeper into the forest, past bioluminescent ponds and a tree that tried to sell Gary a timeshare. Finally, they reached a clearing bathed in soft, glowing light. At its center sat the Neon Hatchling. It was... adorable. About the size of a small dog, the dragonet’s scales shimmered with every color of the rainbow, its wings glowed faintly, and its wide eyes sparkled with curiosity. It let out a tiny chirp, which Gary’s brain immediately translated as, “Hi! Will you be my best friend forever?” Gary’s heart melted. “This is it? This is the Neon Hatchling?” Zyla smirked. “What were you expecting, a fire-breathing monster?” “Honestly? Yes.” Gary crouched down to get a better look at the creature. The Hatchling tilted its head, then pounced on his satchel, rummaging through it with surprising dexterity. “Hey!” Gary protested as the Hatchling triumphantly pulled out a bag of cheese puffs. “That’s my lunch!” The dragonet ignored him, tearing into the bag with gusto. Zyla laughed. “Congratulations. You’ve been chosen by the Neon Hatchling.” “Chosen for what?” Gary asked warily, watching as the dragonet began juggling cheese puffs with its tail. Zyla’s expression turned serious. “The Hatchling is a creature of immense power. It will bring you great fortune... or great chaos. Possibly both. It depends on how much caffeine you’ve had.” The Catch Before Gary could process this, a deafening roar shook the clearing. From the shadows emerged a massive dragon, its scales dark as midnight and its eyes glowing like twin suns. “Ah,” Zyla said, taking a step back. “I forgot to mention the mother.” “What do you mean, the mother?!” Gary yelped as the larger dragon fixed its gaze on him. The Neon Hatchling chirped innocently, clutching its stolen cheese puffs. The mother dragon roared again, and Gary did the only sensible thing: he ran. The End...? Somehow, against all odds, Gary survived. He wasn’t sure how he managed it—there had been a lot of screaming, some questionable tree climbing, and a brief stint where he pretended to be a rock. But when he finally stumbled out of the Deepwoods, the Neon Hatchling was perched on his shoulder, snacking on the last of his cheese puffs. “This is fine,” Gary muttered, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. As he trudged back toward civilization, the Hatchling chirped happily, its tail flicking in time with his steps. Gary sighed. He still didn’t know why he’d been compelled to find the Hatchling, but one thing was clear: life was about to get a lot more interesting.     Bring the Magic Home! The adventure doesn’t have to end here. Add a touch of Deepwoods whimsy to your space with products featuring the Neon Hatchling: Tapestry: Neon Hatchling of the Deepwoods Canvas Print: Neon Hatchling of the Deepwoods Puzzle: Neon Hatchling of the Deepwoods Fleece Blanket: Neon Hatchling of the Deepwoods Bring this magical moment to life and keep the charm of the Deepwoods alive in your home!

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Azure Eyes of the Celestial Dragon

by Bill Tiepelman

Azure Eyes of the Celestial Dragon

In a galaxy not too far away, on a planet called Luminaris—a place that looked like an interstellar disco ball on acid—there hatched a peculiar baby dragon. His name? Glitterwing the Fourth. Not because there were three dragons before him (there weren’t), but because his mother, Queen Frostmaw the Shimmering, had a flair for drama and thought numbers made things sound royal. Glitterwing, however, had other opinions. He liked his nickname better: Steve. Steve's Grand Entrance Steve’s birth wasn’t exactly a serene, mystical moment. He cracked out of his egg with all the grace of a squirrel on caffeine, flailing his tiny limbs, his metallic scales catching the light like a disco ball having an existential crisis. His first words weren’t poetic, either. They were something along the lines of, “Ugh, this light is awful, and what is that smell?!” From the moment he hatched, Steve had one glaringly unique feature: his impossibly large, strikingly blue eyes. While most dragon hatchlings looked like a mix between a kitten and a medieval weapon, Steve looked like a giant plush toy with an attitude problem. He immediately became the center of attention in the dragon kingdom, which, as you can imagine, annoyed him to no end. “Can we all stop gawking like I’m the last pastry at the buffet? I’m just a dragon, not a fireworks display.” Destined for Greatness? Nah, Just Hungry. The elders of the dragon council, a group of ancient reptiles who spent most of their time arguing about whose hoard was shinier, declared that Steve was destined for greatness. “His scales glitter like the stars, and his eyes pierce the soul!” they proclaimed. Steve, however, had other plans. “Cool story, Grandpa, but does greatness come with snacks? Because I’m starving.” Steve quickly developed a reputation for his biting wit and his insatiable appetite. While most dragons his age were practicing fire breathing, Steve was perfecting the art of sarcastic commentary. “Oh, look, another fire-breathing competition. How original. Why don’t we try something new, like, I don’t know, competitive napping?” The Misadventures Begin Steve’s snarky attitude didn’t exactly make him popular with his peers. One particularly jealous dragonling, Blaze, challenged him to a duel. “Prepare to meet your doom, Glitterwing!” Blaze roared. Steve didn’t even flinch. “Okay, but can we schedule this after lunch? I have priorities.” When the duel finally happened, Steve won—not with strength, but by making Blaze laugh so hard he fell over and rolled into a pile of mud. “See? Humor is the real weapon,” Steve said, polishing his claws nonchalantly. Despite his reluctance, Steve’s fame grew. Adventurers from distant lands came to see the "Celestial Dragon" with the sapphire eyes. Steve found this both flattering and exhausting. “Great, another group of humans pointing sticks at me and calling them ‘weapons.’ Can someone at least bring me a sandwich this time?” The Day Steve Saved the Kingdom (Accidentally) Steve’s most famous misadventure occurred when a rival kingdom sent a group of knights to steal the dragons' treasures. While the other dragons were busy preparing for battle, Steve was busy eating his weight in moonberries. The knights stormed into the dragon cave, only to find Steve lounging on a pile of gold. “Oh, look, more tin cans. What do you guys want? Directions to the nearest McDragon’s?” The knights, thinking Steve’s enormous eyes and shimmering scales were some sort of godly warning, panicked. One knight screamed, “It’s the divine dragon of doom!” and fled. The others followed, tripping over each other in their haste. Steve blinked, confused. “Wait, that worked? Huh. Maybe I am destined for greatness. Or maybe they just didn’t want to deal with a dragon who looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.” The Legend Lives On These days, Steve spends his time napping on his hoard (which mostly consists of shiny rocks and discarded armor) and coming up with increasingly sarcastic remarks for nosy adventurers. He’s still the talk of the kingdom, much to his annoyance. “I’m not a hero,” he insists. “I’m just a dragon who happens to look fabulous.” But deep down, Steve enjoys the attention—just a little. After all, who wouldn’t want to be a glittering icon with piercing azure eyes and a knack for making knights wet their pants?     Bring Steve Home: Celestial Dragon-Inspired Products Can't get enough of Steve's snarky charm and shimmering brilliance? Now, you can bring a piece of his celestial magic into your own home with these exclusive products: Dragon Tapestry: Adorn your walls with Steve’s radiant glory, perfect for transforming any room into a mystical lair. Canvas Print: A high-quality art piece showcasing Steve’s celestial aura, ideal for dragon lovers and fantasy enthusiasts. Throw Pillow: Cozy up with Steve’s enchanting presence, a whimsical addition to your living space. Dragon Puzzle: Piece together Steve’s mesmerizing features with this fun and challenging puzzle, perfect for quiet evenings or dragon-loving gatherings. Embrace the magic of the celestial dragon and let Steve’s legacy light up your life—one sparkling scale at a time.

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