unusual friends

by Bill Tiepelman

Sunlit Shenanigans

There are fae who tend gardens. There are fae who weave dreams. And then there’s Fennella Bramblebite—whose main contributions to the Seelie realm are chaotic giggling fits, midair moonings, and an alarming number of forest-wide “misunderstandings” that always, mysteriously, involve flaming fruit and nudity. Fennella, with her wild braid-forest of red hair and a nose as freckled as a speckled toadstool, was not your average sylvan enchantress. While most fae flitted about with dewdrop tiaras and flowery poetry, Fennella spent her mornings teaching mushrooms to curse and her afternoons impersonating royalty in stolen acorn hats. Which is exactly how she came to adopt a dragon. “Adopt” may be too generous a word. Technically, she’d accidentally lured him out of his egg with a sausage roll, mistaken him for a very aggressive garden lizard, and then named him Sizzlethump before he even had the chance to incinerate her left eyebrow. He was small—about the size of a corgi with wings—and always smelled faintly of smoke and cinnamon. His scales shimmered with flickers of ember and sunset, and his favorite pastimes included torching laundry lines and pretending to be a neck scarf. But today… today was special. Fennella had planned a picnic. Not just any picnic, mind you, but a nude sunbathing-and-honeycake extravaganza in the Grove of Slightly Disreputable Nymphs. She had even invited the squirrel militia—though they still hadn’t forgiven her for the “cursed nuts incident of spring.” “Now behave,” she hissed at Sizzlethump as she unrolled the enchanted gingham cloth that hissed when touched by ants. “No flaming the butter. No eating the spoons. And for the love of moonbeams, do not pretend the elderberry wine is bathwater again.” The dragon, in response, licked her ear, snorted a smoke ring in the shape of a rude gesture, and settled across her shoulder like a smug, fire-breathing mink. They were five bites into the honeycakes (and three questionable licks into something that might have been a toad pie) when Fennella felt it—a presence. Something looming. Watching. Judging. It was Ainsleif. “Oh gnatballs,” she muttered, eyes narrowing. Ainsleif of the Mosscloaks. The Most Uptight of the Forest Stewards. His hair was combed. His wings were folded correctly. He looked like the inside of a rulebook. And worst of all, he had paperwork. Rolled parchment. In triplicate. “Fennella Bramblebite,” he intoned, as if invoking an ancient curse. “You are hereby summoned to appear before the Council of Leaf and Spore on charges of spontaneous combustion, suspicious pastry distribution, and inappropriate use of glimmerweed in public spaces.” Fennella stood, arms akimbo, wearing only a necklace made of candy thorns and a questionable grin. Sizzlethump burped something that made a nearby fern catch fire. “Is that today?” she asked innocently. “Oopsie blossom.” And thus, with a flap of wings and the smell of smoldering scones, the fairy and her dragon friend were off to stand trial… for crimes they almost definitely committed, possibly while tipsy, and absolutely without regrets. Fennella arrived at the Council of Leaf and Spore the same way she did everything in life: fashionably late, dubiously clothed, and covered in confectioner’s sugar. The great mushroom hall—a sacred, ancient seat of forest governance—stood in utter silence as she crash-landed through the upper window, having been flung by a catapult built entirely from discarded spiderwebs, cattail reeds, and the shattered dreams of serious people. “NAILED IT!” she hollered, still upside down, legs tangled in a vine chandelier. “Do I get extra points for entrance flair or just the concussion?” The crowd of fae elders and woodland officials didn’t even blink. They’d seen worse. Once, a brownie attorney combusted just from sitting in the same seat Fennella now wiggled into. But today… today they were bracing themselves for a verbal hurricane with dragon side-effects. Sizzlethump waddled in behind her, dragging a suitcase that had burst open somewhere in flight, leaving a breadcrumb trail of burnt marshmallows, dragon socks, two left shoes, and something that might have been an enchanted fart in a jar (still bubbling ominously). High Elder Thistledown—a weepy-eyed creature shaped vaguely like a sentient celery stalk—sighed deeply, his leafy robes rustling with despair. “Fennella,” he said gravely, “this is your seventeenth appearance before the council in three moon cycles.” “Eighteen,” she corrected brightly. “You forgot the time I was sleep-haunting a bakery. That one hardly counts—I was unconscious and horny for strudel.” “Your crimes,” continued Thistledown, ignoring her, “include, but are not limited to: weaponizing bee song, unlicensed dream vending, impersonating a tree for sexual gain, and summoning a phantasmal raccoon in the shape of your ex-boyfriend.” “He started it,” she muttered. “Said my feet smelled like goblin tears.” Sizzlethump, now perched on the ceremonial scroll pedestal, belched a flame that turned the parchment to crisps, then sneezed on a nearby gavel, melting it into a very decorative puddle. “AND,” Thistledown said, voice rising, “allowing your dragon to exhale a message across the sky that said, quote: ‘LICK MY GLITTERS, COUNCIL NERDS.’” Fennella snorted. “That was supposed to say ‘LOVE AND LOLLIPOPS.’ He’s still learning calligraphy.”     Enter: The Prosecutor. To the surprise of everyone (and the dismay of some), the prosecutor was Gnimbel Fungusfist, a gnome so small he needed a soapbox to be seen above the podium—and so bitter he’d once banned music in a five-mile radius after hearing a harp he didn’t like. “The defendant,” Gnimbel rasped, eyes narrowed beneath tiny spectacles, “has repeatedly violated Article 27 of the Mischief Ordinance. She has no respect for magical regulation, personal space, or basic hygiene. I present as evidence... this underwear.” He held up a suspiciously scorched pair of bloomers with a daisy stitched on the butt. Fennella clapped. “My missing Tuesday pair! You glorious little fungus! I’ve missed you!” The courtroom gasped. One dryad fainted. An owl barrister choked on his gavel. But Fennella wasn’t done. “I move to countersue the entire council,” she declared, climbing on the table, “for crimes against fashion, joy, and possessing the tightest fairy holes known to civilization.” “You mean loopholes?” Thistledown asked, eyes wide with horror. “I do not,” she replied solemnly. At that moment, Sizzlethump unleashed a sneezing fit so powerful he scorched the banners, singed the warden’s beard, and accidentally set loose the captive whispers held in the Evidence Urn. Dozens of scandalous secrets began fluttering through the air like invisible bats, shrieking things like “Thistledown fakes his leaf shine!” and “Gnimbel uses toe extensions!” The courtroom dissolved into chaos. Fairies shrieked. Gremlins brawled. Someone summoned a squid. It was not clear why. And in the midst of it all, Fennella and her dragon grinned at each other like two pyromaniacs who’d just discovered a fresh box of matches. They bolted for the exit, laughter trailing behind them like smoke. But before leaving, Fennella turned, dramatically flinging a pouch of cinnamon glitter over her shoulder. “See you next equinox, nerdlings!” she cackled. “Don’t forget to moisturize your roots!” With that, the pair shot into the sky, Sizzlethump belching little heart-shaped fireballs while Fennella shrieked with delight and a lack of underpants. They didn’t know where they were going. But chaos, snacks, and probably another misdemeanor awaited. Three hours after being chased from the Council in a cloud of weaponized gossip and molted scroll ash, Fennella and Sizzlethump found themselves in a cave made entirely of jellybeans and regret. “This,” she said, peering around with hands on hips and nose twitching, “was not the portal I was aiming for.” The jellybean cave groaned ominously. From the ceiling dripped slow, thick droplets of butterscotch sap. A mushroom nearby whistled the theme to a soap opera. Something in the corner burped in iambic pentameter. “Ten out of ten. Would trespass again,” she whispered, and gave Sizzlethump a piece of peppermint bark she’d smuggled in her bra. They wandered for what felt like hours through the sticky surrealist sugar hellscape, dodging licorice spiders and sentient mints, before finally emerging into the moonstruck valley of Glimmerloch—a place so magical that unicorns came there to get high and forget their responsibilities. “You know,” Fennella murmured as she flopped onto a grassy knoll, Sizzlethump curling up beside her, “I think they’ll be after us for a while this time.” The dragon gave a tiny snort, eyes half-closed, and let out a rumble that vibrated the moss beneath them. It sounded like “worth it.”     The Council, however, was not so easily done. Three days later, Fennella’s hiding place was discovered—not by a battalion of armored pixies or an elite tracker warg, but by Bartholomew. Bartholomew was a faerie rat. And not a noble rat or a rat of legend. No, this was the type of rat who sold his mother for a half-stale biscuit and who wore a monocle made from a bent bottlecap. “Council wants ya,” he wheezed, waddling through a carpet of forget-me-nots like a walrus through whipped cream. “Big deal. They’re talkin’ banishment. Like, full-fling outta the Queendom.” Fennella blinked. “They wouldn’t. I’m a cornerstone of the cultural ecosystem. I once singlehandedly rebooted winter solstice fashion with edible earmuffs.” Bartholomew scratched himself with a twig and said, “Yeah, but yer dragon melted the Moon Buns’ fertility altar. You kinda toasted a sacred womb rock.” “Okay, in our defense,” she said slowly, “Sizzlethump thought it was a spicy egg.” Sizzlethump, overhearing, offered a hiccup of remorse that smelled strongly of roasted thyme and mild guilt. His wings drooped. Fennella ruffled his horn. “Don’t let them guilt you, nugget. You’re the best mistake I’ve ever kidnapped.” Bartholomew wheezed. “There’s a loophole. But it’s dumb. Really dumb.” Fennella lit up like a torchbug on espresso. “My favorite kind of plan. Hit me.” “You do the Trial of Shenanigan’s Bluff,” he muttered. “It’s... sort of a performance thing? Public trial by satire. If you can entertain the spirits of the Elder Mischief, they’ll pardon you. If you fail, they trap your soul in a punch bowl.” “Been there,” she said brightly. “I survived it and came out with a new eyebrow and a boyfriend.” “The punch bowl?” “No, the trial.”     And so it was set. The Trial of Shenanigan’s Bluff took place at midnight under a sky so full of stars it looked like a bejeweled bedsheet shaken by a drunk deity. The audience consisted of dryads, disgruntled town gnomes, one spectral hedgehog, three flamingos in drag, and the entire squirrel militia—still wearing tiny helmets and carrying grudge nuts. The Elders of Mischief appeared, rising from mists made of giggles and fermented tea. They were ancient prankster spirits, their bodies swirled from smoke and old rumors, their eyes glinting like jack-o’-lanterns full of dirty jokes. “We are here to judge,” they thundered in unison. “Amuse us, or perish in the bowl of eternal mediocrity.” Fennella stepped forward, wings flared, dress covered in potion-stained ribbons and gumdrop armor. “Oh beloved prankpappies,” she began, “you want a show? I’ll give you a bloody cabaret.” And she did. She reenacted the Great Glimmerpants Explosion of ’86 using only interpretive dance and marmots. She recited scandalous haikus about High Elder Thistledown’s love life. She got a nymph to fake faint, a squirrel to fake propose, and Sizzlethump to perform a fire-breathing tap dance on stilts while wearing tiny lederhosen. By the time it ended, the audience was weeping from laughter, the Elders were floating upside down from glee, and the punch bowl was full of wine instead of souls. “You,” the lead spirit gasped, trying not to laugh-snort, “are absolutely unfit for banishment.” “Thank you,” Fennella said, curtsying so deeply her skirt revealed a birthmark shaped like a rude fairy. “Instead,” the spirit continued, “we appoint you as our new Emissary of Wild Mischief. You will spread absurdity, ignite joy, and keep the Realm weird.” Fennella gasped. “You want me... to make everything worse... professionally?” “Yes.” “AND I GET TO KEEP THE DRAGON?” “Yes!” She screamed. Sizzlethump belched glitter flames. The squirrel militia passed out from overstimulation.     Epilogue Fennella Bramblebite is now a semi-official agent of gleeful chaos. Her crimes are now considered “cultural enrichment.” Her dragon has his own fan club. And her name is whispered in reverent awe by pranksters, tricksters, and midnight troublemakers in every corner of the Fae Queendom. Sometimes, when the moon is right and the air smells faintly of burnt toast and sarcasm, you can see her fly by—hair streaming behind her, dragon clinging to her shoulder, both of them laughing like fools who know that mischief is sacred and friendship is the weirdest kind of magic.     Want to bring a little wild mischief into your world? You can own a piece of “Sunlit Shenanigans” and keep the chaos close at hand—or at least on your wall, your tote, or even your cozy nap blanket. Whether you’re a fae of impeccable taste or a dragon hoarder of fine things, this whimsical artwork is now available in a variety of forms: Wood Print – Rustic charm for your mischief sanctuary Framed Print – For those who prefer their chaos elegantly contained Tote Bag – Carry your dragon snacks and questionable potions in style Fleece Blanket – For warm snuggles after a long day of magical misdemeanors Spiral Notebook – Jot down your best pranks and potion recipes Click, claim, and channel your inner Bramblebite—no Council approval required.

by Bill Tiepelman

Sassy Shroom Shenanigans

Tongue Wars and the Forest Code of Sass In the deepest thicket of the Glibbergrove, where mushrooms grew big enough to get parking tickets and squirrels wore monocles unironically, there perched a gnome with absolutely no chill. His name? Grimbold Butterbuttons. His vibe? Absolute chaos in wool socks. Grimbold wasn't your average gnome. While the others busied themselves polishing snail shells or whittling toothbrushes from elder twigs, Grimbold had an entire *reputation* for being the forest’s number one instigator. He made faces at butterflies. He photobombed the Council of Owls. Once, he’d even replaced the Queen Badger’s royal tea with flat root beer just to watch her snort. So naturally, it made perfect sense that Grimbold had a pet dragon. A tiny pet dragon. One that barely came up to his belt buckle but acted like she ruled the canopy. Her name was Zilch, short for Zilcharia Flameyfangs the Third, but no one called her that unless they wanted to get singed eyebrows. That morning, the two of them were doing what they did best—being complete little shits. "Bet you can't hold that face for longer than me," Grimbold snorted, sticking out his tongue like a drunken goose and widening his eyes so far they looked like boiled turnips. Zilch, wings flaring, narrowed her gold-slitted eyes. "I INVENTED this face," she rasped, then mimicked him with such perfect deranged accuracy that even the birds stopped mid-tweet. The two locked in a battle of absurdity atop a giant red-capped mushroom—their usual morning perch-slash-stage. Tongues out. Eyes bugged. Nostrils flaring like melodramatic llamas. It was a face-off of epic immaturity, and they were both thriving. "You’re creasing your eyebrows wrong!" Zilch barked. "You’re blinking too much, cheater!" Grimbold fired back. A fat beetle waddled by with a judgmental glance, muttering, "Honestly, I preferred the mime duel last week." But they didn’t care. These two lived for this kind of nonsense. Where others saw an ancient, mysterious forest full of magic and mystery, they saw a playground. A sass-ground, if you will. And so began their day of shenanigans, with their sacred forest motto etched in mushroom spores and glitter glue: “Mock first. Ask questions never.” Only they didn’t realize that today’s game of tongue wars would unlock an accidental spell, open an interdimensional portal, and quite possibly awaken a mushroom warlord who’d once been banned for excessive pettiness. But hey—that’s a problem for later. The Portal of Pfft and the Rise of Lord Sporesnort Grimbold Butterbuttons’ tongue was still proudly extended when it happened. A *wet* sound split the air, somewhere between a cosmic zipper and a squirrel flatulating through a didgeridoo. Zilch’s pupils dilated to the size of acorns. “Grim,” she croaked, “did you just... open a thing?” The gnome didn’t answer. Mostly because his face was frozen mid-snarl, one eye twitching and tongue still glued to his chin like a sweaty stamp. Behind them, the mushroom shivered. Not metaphorically. Like, the actual mushroom. It quivered with a noise that sounded like giggling algae. And from its spore-speckled surface, a jagged tear opened in the air, like reality had been cut with blunt safety scissors. From within, a purple light pulsed like an angry disco ball. "...Oh," said Grimbold finally, blinking. "Oopsie-tootsie." Zilch smacked her forehead with a tiny claw. "You broke space again! That’s the third time this week! Do you even read the warnings in the moss tomes?" "No one reads the moss tomes," Grimbold said, shrugging. "They smell like foot soup." With a moist belch of spores and questionable glitter, something began to emerge from the portal. First came a cloud of lavender steam, then a large floppy hat. Then—very slowly—a pair of glowing green eyes, slitted like a grumpy cat that hadn’t had its brunch pâté. “I AM THE MIGHTY LORD SPORESNORT,” boomed a voice that somehow smelled like truffle oil and unwashed gym socks. “HE WHO WAS BANISHED FOR EXCESSIVE PETTINESS. HE WHO ONCE CURSED AN ENTIRE KINGDOM WITH ITCHY NIPPLES OVER A GRAMMAR MISTAKE.” Zilch gave Grimbold the longest side-eye in the history of side-eyes. "Did you just summon the ancient fungal sass-demon of legend?" "To be fair," Grimbold muttered, "I was aiming for a fart with echo." Out stepped Lord Sporesnort in full regalia—moss robes, mycelium boots, and a walking staff shaped like a passive-aggressive spatula. His beard was made entirely of mold. And not the cool, forest-sorcerer kind. The fuzzy fridge kind. He radiated judgment and lingering disappointment. "BEHOLD MY REVENGE!" Sporesnort roared. "I SHALL COVER THIS FOREST IN SPORE-MODED MISCHIEF. ALL SHALL BE IRRITATED BY THE SLIGHTEST INCONVENIENCES!" With a dramatic swirl, he cast his first spell: “Itchicus Everlasting!” Suddenly, a thousand woodland creatures began scratching themselves uncontrollably. Squirrels tumbled from branches in mid-itch. A badger ran by shrieking about chafing. Even the bees looked uncomfortable. "Okay, no. This won’t do," said Zilch, cracking her knuckles with tiny thunderclaps. "This is our forest. We annoy the locals. You don’t get to roll in with your ancient mushroom face and out-sass us." "Hear hear!" shouted Grimbold, standing proudly with one foot on a suspicious mushroom that squelched like an angry pudding. "We may be chaotic, bratty, and tragically underqualified for any real leadership, but this is our turf, you decomposing jockstrap." Lord Sporesnort laughed—an echoing wheeze that smelled of old salad. “Very well, tiny fools. Then I challenge you... to the TRIAL OF THE TRIPLE-TIERED TONGUE!” A hush fell across the glade. Somewhere, a duck dropped its sandwich. "Uh, is that a real thing?" Zilch whispered. "It is now," Sporesnort grinned, raising three slimy mushroom caps into the air. "You must perform the ultimate display of synchronized facial sass—a three-round tongue duel. Lose, and I take over Glibbergrove. Win, and I shall return to the Sporeshade Realms to wallow in my own tragic flamboyance." "You're on," said Grimbold, his face twitching with a growing smirk. "But if we win, you also have to admit that your cloak makes your butt look wide." "I—FINE," Sporesnort spat, turning slightly to cover his rear fungus flare. And thus the stage was set. Creatures gathered. Leaves rustled with gossip. A beetle vendor set up a stand selling roasted aphids on sticks and “I ♥ Sporesnort” foam fingers. Even the wind paused to see what the hell was about to happen. Grimbold and Zilch, side by side on their mushroom stage, cracked their necks, stretched their cheeks, and waggled their tongues. A hush fell. Sporesnort’s fungal beard trembled in anticipation. "Let the tongue games begin!" shouted a squirrel with a referee whistle. The Final Tongue-Off and the Scandal of the Sassy Underwear The crowd leaned in. A snail fell off its mushroom seat in suspense. Somewhere in the distance, a fungus chime rang out one somber, reverberating note. The *Trial of the Triple-Tiered Tongue* had officially begun. Round One was a classic: The Eyeball Stretch & Tongue Combo. Lord Sporesnort made the first move, his eyes bugging out like a pair of grapefruit on springs as he whipped out his tongue with such velocity it created a mild sonic pop. The crowd gasped. A field mouse fainted. “BEHOLD!” he roared, his voice echoing through the mushroom caps. “THIS IS THE ANCIENT FORM KNOWN AS ‘GORGON’S SURPRISE’!” Zilch narrowed her eyes. “That’s just ‘Monday Morning Face’ in dragon preschool.” She casually blew a tiny flame to toast a passing marshmallow on a stick, then locked eyes with Grimbold. They nodded. The duo launched into their countermove: synchronized bug-eyes, nostril flares, and tongues waggling side to side like possessed metronomes. It was elegant. It was chaotic. A raccoon dropped its pipe and screamed, “SWEET GRUBS, I’VE SEEN THE TRUTH!” “ROUND ONE: TIED,” announced the squirrel referee, his whistle now glowing from sheer stress.     Round Two: The Sass Spiral For this, the goal was to layer expressions with insult-level flair. Bonus points for eyebrow choreography. Lord Sporesnort twisted his fungal lips into a smug, upturned frown and performed what could only be described as a sassy interpretive dance using only his eyebrows. He finished by flipping his cloak, revealing fungus-embroidered briefs with the words “BITTER BUT CUTE” stitched across the rear in glowing mycelium thread. The crowd lost their collective minds. The beetle vendor passed out. A hedgehog screamed and launched into a bush. “I call that,” Sporesnort said smugly, “the Sporeshake 9000.” Grimbold stepped forward slowly. Too slowly. Suspense dripped off him like condensation off a cold goblet of forest grog. Then he struck. He wiggled his ears. He furrowed one brow. His tongue spiraled into a perfect helix, and he puffed out his cheeks until he looked like an emotionally unstable turnip. Then, with a slow, dramatic flourish, he turned around and revealed a patch sewn into the seat of his corduroy trousers. It read, in shimmering gold thread: “YOU JUST GOT GNOMED.” The forest exploded. Not literally, but close enough. Owls fainted. Mushrooms combusted from joy. A badger couple started a slow chant. “Gnome’d! Gnome’d! Gnome’d!” Zilch, not to be outdone, reared back and made the universal hand-and-claw gesture for *“Your fungus ain’t funky, babe.”* Her tail flicked with weaponized sass. The moment was perfect. "ROUND TWO: ADVANTAGE — GNOME & DRAGON!" the referee squeaked, tears running down his cheeks as he blew the whistle like it was possessed.     Final Round: Wildcard Mayhem Sporesnort snarled, spores puffing from his ears. “Fine. No more cute. No more coy. I invoke... the SACRED MUSHUNDERWEAR TECHNIQUE!” He ripped open his robes to reveal undergarments enchanted with wriggling fungal runes and vines that wove his sass into the very fabric of the universe. “This,” he bellowed, “is FUNGIFLEX™ — powered by enchanted stretch and interdimensional attitude.” The forest fell into a hush of pure, horrified admiration. Grimbold simply looked at Zilch and smirked. “We break reality now?” “Break it so hard it apologizes,” she growled. The gnome clambered atop the dragon’s back. Zilch flared her wings, eyes burning gold. Together they launched into the air with a mighty WHEEEEEEE and a burst of glitter confetti summoned from a leftover prank spell. As they twirled through the sky, they performed their final move: a dual loop-de-loop followed by simultaneous tongue-wagging, face-contorting, and butt-shaking. From Grimbold’s trousers, a secret pocket opened, revealing a banner that read, in flashing enchanted letters: “GNOME SWEAT DON’T QUIT.” They landed with a thump, Zilch belching sparkles. The crowd was in chaos. Tears. Screaming. An impromptu interpretive dance broke out. The forest was on the brink of a vibe collapse. “FINE!” Sporesnort yelled, voice cracking. “YOU WIN! I’LL GO! BUT YOU... YOU SHALL RUE THIS DAY. I’LL BE BACK. WITH MORE UNDERWEAR.” He swirled into his own portal of shame and unresolved mushroom trauma, leaving behind only the faint scent of garlic and regret. Zilch and Grimbold collapsed atop their favorite mushroom. The glade shimmered under the setting sun. Birds chirped again. The badger couple kissed. Someone started roasting victory marshmallows. "Well," said Grimbold, licking his thumb and smearing moss off his cheek. "That was... probably the third weirdest Tuesday we’ve had." "Easily," Zilch agreed, biting into a celebratory beetle snack. "Next time we prank a warlord, can we avoid the fungal lingerie?" "No promises." And so, with tongues dry and reputations elevated to mythical status, the gnome and the dragon resumed their sacred morning ritual: laughing at absolutely everything and being gloriously, unapologetically weird together. The end. Probably.     Want to bring the sass home? Whether you're a certified mischief-maker or just deeply appreciate the sacred art of tongue-based warfare, you can now take a piece of Grimbold and Zilch’s legendary moment into your own lair. Frame the chaos with a gallery-quality print, wrap yourself in their ridiculousness with this fleece blanket, or go full forest-chic with a wood print that'll make even Lord Sporesnort jealous. Send cheeky greetings with a whimsical card, or slap some mushroom-powered attitude onto your stuff with this top-tier Sassy Shroom Shenanigans sticker. Because let’s be honest—your life could use more dragons and fewer boring walls.

by Bill Tiepelman

My Dragon Bestie

How to Accidentally Befriend a Fire Hazard Everyone knows toddlers have a knack for chaos. Sticky fingers, permanent marker tattoos on the dog, mysterious stains that science has yet to classify — it’s all part of their magic. But no one warned Ellie and Mark that their son Max, age two and a half and already proficient in diplomacy by fruit snack barter, would bring home a dragon. “It’s probably a lizard,” Mark had muttered when Max toddled in from the backyard cradling something green and suspiciously scaly. “A big, weird-eyed lizard. Like, emotionally unstable gecko weird.” But lizards, as a rule, do not belch smoke rings the size of frisbees when they burp. Nor do they respond to the name “Snuggleflame,” which Max insisted upon with the determined fury of a child who’s missed his nap. And certainly no lizard has ever attempted to toast a grilled cheese with its nostrils. The dragon — because that’s what it undeniably was — stood about knee-high with chunky feet, chubby cheeks, and the sort of wings that looked decorative until they weren’t. Its expression was equal parts devilish and delighted, like it knew a thousand secrets and none of them involved nap time. Max and Snuggleflame became inseparable within hours. They shared snacks (Max’s), secrets (mostly babbled gibberish), and bath time (a questionable decision). At night, the dragon curled around Max’s toddler bed like a living plush toy, radiating warmth and purring like a chainsaw on Xanax. Of course, Ellie and Mark tried to be rational about it. “It’s probably a metaphor,” Ellie suggested, sipping wine and watching their child cuddle a creature capable of combustion. “Like an emotional support hallucination. Freud would have loved this.” “Freud didn’t live in a ranch house with flammable drapes,” Mark replied, ducking as Snuggleflame sneezed a puff of glittery soot toward the ceiling fan. They called Animal Control. Animal Control politely suggested Animal Exorcism. They called the pediatrician. The pediatrician offered a therapist. The therapist asked if the dragon was billing under Max’s name or as a dependent. So they gave up. Because the dragon wasn’t going anywhere. And to be honest, after Snuggleflame roasted the neighbor’s leaf pile into the most efficient compost bin the HOA had ever seen, things got easier. Even the dog had stopped hiding in the washing machine. Mostly. But then, just as life started to feel bizarrely normal — Max drawing crayon murals of "Dragonopolis", Ellie fireproofing the furniture, Mark learning to say “Don't flame that” like it was a regular household rule — something changed. Snuggleflame’s eyes got wider. His wings got stretchier. And one morning, with a sound somewhere between a kazoo and a wind tunnel, he looked at Max, belched out a compass, and said — in perfect toddler-accented English — “We has to go home now.” Max blinked. “You mean my room?” The dragon grinned, fanged and wild. “Nope. Dragonland.” Ellie dropped her coffee mug. Mark cursed so hard the baby monitor censored him. Max? He simply smiled, eyes shining with the unshakable faith of a child whose best friend just turned into a mythical Uber. And that, dear reader, is how a suburban family accidentally agreed to a magical relocation clause… led by a dragon and a preschooler in Velcro shoes. To be continued in Part Two: “The TSA Does Not Approve of Dragons” The TSA Does Not Approve of Dragons Ellie hadn’t flown since Max was born. She remembered airports as stressful, overpriced food courts with occasional opportunities to be strip-searched by someone named Doug. But nothing — and I mean nothing — prepares you for trying to check a fire-breathing emotional support lizard through security. “Is that… an animal?” the TSA agent asked, in the same tone one might use for discovering a ferret operating a forklift. Her badge read “Karen B.” and her emotional aura screamed “no nonsense, no dragons, not today.” “He’s more of a plus-one,” Ellie said. “He breathes fire, but he doesn’t vape, if that helps.” Snuggleflame, for his part, was wearing Max’s old hoodie and a pair of aviator sunglasses. It did not help. He also carried a satchel with snacks, three crayons, a plastic tiara, and a glowing orb that had started whispering in Latin sometime around the baggage check. “He’s house-trained,” Max chimed in, proudly. “He only toasts things on purpose now.” Mark, who had been silently calculating how many times they could be banned from federal airspace before it counted as a felony, handed over the dragon’s ‘passport.’ It was a laminated construction paper booklet titled OFFISHUL DRAGON ID with a crayon drawing of Snuggleflame smiling next to a stick figure family and the helpful note: I AINT MEAN. Somehow, whether by charm, chaos, or sheer clerical burnout, they got through. There were compromises. Snuggleflame had to ride in cargo. The orb was confiscated by a guy who swore it tried to "reveal his destiny." Max cried for ten minutes until Snuggleflame sent smoke signals through the air vents spelling “I OK.” They landed in Iceland. “Why Iceland?” Mark asked for the fifth time, rubbing his temples with the slow desperation of a man whose toddler had commandeered an ancient being and a boarding gate. “Because it’s the place where the veil between worlds is thinnest,” Ellie replied, reading from a brochure she found in the airport titled Dragons, Gnomes, and You: A Practical Guide to Fae-Proofing Your Backyard. “Also,” Max piped up, “Snuggleflame said the portal smells like marshmallows here.” That, apparently, was that. They checked into a small hostel in a village so picturesque it made Hallmark movies feel insecure. The townspeople were polite in the way that implied they’d seen weirder. No one even blinked when Snuggleflame roasted a whole salmon with a hiccup or when Max used a stick to draw magical glyphs in the frost. The dragon led them into the wilderness at dawn. The terrain was a rugged postcard of mossy hills, icy streams, and a sky that looked like a Nordic mood ring. They hiked for hours — Max carried by turns on Mark’s shoulders or floating slightly above ground courtesy of Snuggleflame’s "hover hugs." Finally, they reached it: a clearing with a stone arch carved with symbols that pulsed faintly. A ring of mushrooms marked the threshold. The air buzzed with a scent that was part cinnamon toast, part ozone, and part “you’re about to make a decision that rewires your life forever.” Snuggleflame turned solemn. “Once we go through… you might never come back. Not the same way. You sure, little buddy?” Max, without hesitation, said, “Only if Mommy and Daddy come too.” Ellie and Mark looked at each other. She shrugged. “You know what? Normal was overrated.” “My office just assigned me to a committee about optimizing spreadsheet color-coding. Let’s roll,” Mark said. With a deep, echoing whoosh, Snuggleflame reared up and breathed a ribbon of blue fire into the arch. The stones glowed. The mushrooms danced. The veil between worlds sighed like an overworked barista and opened. The family stepped through together, hand in claw in hand. They landed in Dragonland. Not a metaphor. Not a theme park. A place where the skies shimmered like soap bubbles on steroids and the trees had opinions. Everything sparkled — aggressively so. It was like Lisa Frank had binge-watched Game of Thrones while microdosing peyote and then built a kingdom. The inhabitants greeted Max as though he were royalty. Turns out, he kind of was. Through a series of absolutely legitimate dream-based contracts, prophecy pancakes, and interpretive dance rituals, Max had been appointed "The Snuggle-Chosen." A hero foretold to bring emotional maturity and sticker-based communication to an otherwise flame-obsessed society. Snuggleflame became a full-sized dragon within days. He was magnificent — sleek, winged, capable of lifting minivans, and still perfectly willing to let Max ride on his back wearing nothing but dinosaur pajamas and a bike helmet. Ellie opened a fireproof preschool. Mark started a podcast called "Corporate Survival for the Newly Magical." They built a cottage next to a talking creek that offered life advice in the form of passive-aggressive haikus. Things were weird. They were also perfect. And no one — not a single soul — ever said, “You’re being childish,” because in Dragonland, the childish ran the place. To be continued in Part Three: “Civic Responsibility and the Ethical Use of Dragon Farts” Civic Responsibility and the Ethical Use of Dragon Farts Life in Dragonland was never boring. In fact, it was never even quiet. Between Snuggleflame’s daily aerial dance routines (featuring synchronized spark sneezes) and the enchanted jellybean geyser behind the house, “peaceful” was something they left behind at the airport. Still, the family had settled into something resembling a routine. Max, now the de facto ambassador of Human-Toddler Relations, spent his mornings finger-painting treaties and leading compassion exercises for the dragon hatchlings. His leadership style could best be described as “chaotic benevolence with juice breaks.” Ellie ran a successful daycare for magical creatures with behavioral issues. The tagline: “We Hug First, Ask Questions Later.” She had mastered the art of calming down a tantruming gnome with a glow stick and learned exactly how many glitter-bombs it took to distract a tantrum-prone unicorn with boundary issues (three and a half). Mark, meanwhile, had been elected to the Dragonland Council under the “reluctantly competent human” clause. His campaign platform included phrases like “Let’s stop setting fire to the mail” and “Fiscal responsibility: it’s not just for wizards.” Against all odds, it worked. He now chaired the Committee on Ethical Flame Use, where he spent most of his time writing policy to prevent dragons from using their farts as tactical weather devices. “We had a drought last month,” Mark muttered at the kitchen table one morning, scribbling on a parchment. “And instead of summoning rain, Glork farted a cloud the size of Cleveland into existence. It snowed pickles, Ellie. For twelve hours.” “They were delicious, though,” Max chirped, chewing one casually like it was a normal Tuesday. Then came The Incident. One sunny morning, Max and Snuggleflame were doing their usual stunt flights over the Glitter Dunes when Max accidentally dropped his lunch — a peanut butter sandwich enchanted with a happiness charm. The sandwich fell directly onto the ceremonial altar of the Grumblebeards, a cranky race of lava goblins with sensitive noses and no sense of humor. They declared war. On whom, exactly, was unclear — the child, the sandwich, the very concept of joy — but war was declared nonetheless. The Dragonland Council convened an emergency summit. Mark put on his “serious” robe (which featured fewer bedazzled stars than the casual one), Ellie brought her crisis glitter, and Max… brought Snuggleflame. “We’ll negotiate,” said Mark. “We’ll dazzle them,” said Ellie. “We’ll weaponize cuteness,” said Max, his eyes practically sparkling with tactical whimsy. And so they did. After three hours of increasingly confusing diplomacy, several emotional monologues about peanut allergies, and a full toddler-led puppet show reenacting “How Sandwiches Are Made With Love,” the Grumblebeards agreed to a ceasefire… if Snuggleflame could fart a cloud shaped like their ancestral totem: a slightly melting lava cat named Shlorp. Snuggleflame, after three helpings of spicy moonberries and a dramatic tail stretch, delivered. The resulting cloud was magnificent. It purred. It glowed. It made fart sounds in four-part harmony. The Grumblebeards wept openly and handed over a peace contract written in crayon. Dragonland was saved. Max was promoted to Supreme Hugmaster of the Inter-Mythical Council. Ellie received the Glitterheart Medal for Emotional Conflict Resolution. Mark was finally allowed to install smoke detectors without being called a “buzzkill.” Years passed. Max grew. So did Snuggleflame — who now sported a monocle, a saddle, and an unshakeable fondness for dad jokes. They became living legends, flying between dimensions, solving magical disputes, spreading laughter, and occasionally dropping enchanted sandwiches onto unsuspecting picnic-goers. But every year, on the anniversary of The Incident, they returned home to that very same stone arch in Iceland. They’d share stories, toast marshmallows on Snuggleflame’s backdraft, and watch the skies together, wondering who else might need a little more magic… or a cuddle-powered ceasefire. And for anyone who asks if it really happened — the dragons, the portals, the diplomacy powered by hugs — Max has just one answer: “You ever seen a toddler lie about a dragon bestie with that much confidence? Didn’t think so.” The End. (Or maybe just the beginning.)     Take a Piece of Dragonland Home 🐉 If “My Dragon Bestie” made your inner child do a little happy dance (or snort-laugh into your coffee), you can bring that magical mischief into your real world! Whether you want to cozy up with a fleece blanket that’s as warm as Snuggleflame’s belly, or add some whimsical fire-breathing flair to your space with a metal print or framed wall art, we’ve got you covered. Send a smile (and maybe a giggle-snort) with a greeting card, or go big and bold with a storytelling centerpiece like our vibrant tapestry. Every item features the high-detail, whimsical world of “My Dragon Bestie” — a perfect way to bring fantasy, fun, and fireproof friendship into your home or to share with the dragon-lover in your life.

by Bill Tiepelman

The Elf and the Dragon's Meeting

Deep in the Enchanted Forest, where the toadstools were as large as wagon wheels and just as sturdy, an elf named Lila stumbled into a peculiar predicament. At only two hundred years old—a mere adolescent by elven standards—Lila was tasked with gathering herbs for the village apothecary. Of course, she'd immediately gotten distracted by the sight of an enormous glowing mushroom and decided it would make the perfect spot for a nap. Who could blame her? Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden streams, and the forest smelled like fresh moss and adventure. Naturally, her basket of herbs was still empty. As she climbed the mushroom like a drunk squirrel—there were no stairs, after all—she muttered, “Why doesn’t anyone ever build steps for these oversized fungi? If we can enchant pots to stir themselves, we can install a railing or two!” Huffing and puffing, she finally reached the top and sprawled out across the mushroom's cap, arms spread wide. She closed her eyes, reveling in the forest's hum of life. And then she heard it. A raspy, gravelly voice said, “Excuse me, this is my mushroom.” Lila sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. Standing before her was a small dragon. Well, "small" was relative—it was about the size of a large dog, but with shimmering blue-green scales, wings that looked like they’d been stolen from a stained-glass window, and an expression that could only be described as unimpressed. “Your mushroom?” Lila asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Since when do dragons care about mushrooms?” “Since always,” the dragon said, puffing out its chest. “This mushroom is mine. I’ve been guarding it for weeks. Do you know how many squirrels try to pee on it daily? It’s a full-time job!” Lila stifled a laugh but failed miserably. “A dragon. Guarding a mushroom. What’s next? A goblin knitting scarves?” “Laugh all you want, elf,” the dragon snapped, its sapphire eyes narrowing. “This is no ordinary mushroom. It’s a Toadstool of Luminescence. Extremely rare. Extremely magical. And it doesn’t appreciate your sweaty elf butt all over it.” “Oh, forgive me, your Mushroom Majesty,” Lila said, standing up and mock-bowing. “I had no idea I was sitting on the throne of fungal greatness. Please, go ahead and—what do you even do with it? Eat it? Wear it? Propose marriage to it?” The dragon sighed, pinching the bridge of its snout with its claw, as if trying to ward off an impending headache. “Clearly, you’re too immature to understand the finer points of mycology.” “Clearly,” Lila replied with a smirk. “So, what happens now? Do we duel for the mushroom? I’m warning you—I’ve been in at least two tavern brawls, and I only lost one of them because someone threw a barstool at my face.” The dragon tilted its head, genuinely intrigued. “You’re... quite odd for an elf. Most of your kind would have apologized by now. Or tried to sell me herbal tea.” “I’m not most elves,” Lila said with a grin. “And you’re not most dragons. Most of them would’ve eaten me by now, not given me a lecture on mushroom conservation.” They stared at each other for a moment, the tension hanging in the air like an overripe peach. Then the dragon snorted. Not a fiery snort—more of a laughing one. “You’re funny,” it admitted grudgingly. “Annoying, but funny.” “Thanks,” Lila said. “So, what’s your name, oh mighty fungus protector?” “Torvik,” the dragon said, straightening up. “And yours, oh sweaty elf invader?” “Lila. Nice to meet you, Torvik. So, what does a dragon do for fun around here? Besides yelling at squirrels?” Torvik grinned, showing off a set of teeth that could probably shred steel. “Well, there is one thing. You’re good at climbing mushrooms, yes?” “I’m basically an expert now,” Lila said, gesturing grandly at the mushroom they were perched on. “Excellent. Because the next mushroom over has been taken over by a particularly nasty family of raccoons, and they’ve been stealing my food stash. Think you can help me scare them off?” Lila’s face lit up. “Oh, I thought you’d never ask. But fair warning—I’m terrible at being intimidating. I once tried to shoo a possum out of my garden and ended up giving it my lunch.” “Perfect,” Torvik said, his wings flaring dramatically. “This is going to be hilarious.” And so, the elf and the dragon set off on their first adventure together. There was laughter, chaos, and yes, a raccoon uprising that would go down in forest history as “The Great Mushroom Skirmish.” But that’s a tale for another time. For now, suffice it to say that Lila and Torvik found in each other something they hadn’t expected: a friend who appreciated the absurdity of life as much as they did. And maybe, just maybe, the Toadstool of Luminescence really was magical. Because if a snarky dragon and a sassy elf could share a mushroom without killing each other, anything was possible.     For those captivated by the whimsical charm of “The Elf and the Dragon’s Meeting,” you can bring this enchanting tale to life in your own space. From the radiant glow of the Toadstool of Luminescence to the playful banter of Lila and Torvik, these moments are now available as stunning art products: Tapestries: Transform any wall into a magical forest scene. Canvas Prints: Perfect for showcasing the intricate details of the dragon and the glowing forest. Puzzles: Piece together the magic and relive the story, one detail at a time. Stickers: Add a touch of whimsy to your daily life with these delightful designs. Whether you’re an adventurer at heart or simply a fan of the fantastical, these products allow you to carry a piece of the Enchanted Forest into your world. Explore more at our shop and let the magic inspire you.

by Bill Tiepelman

Guardian of the Fractal Grove

The Dragon Queen's Gambit The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden light through the fractal branches of the mystical grove. It wasn’t the kind of place you stumbled upon by accident—not unless you were spectacularly lost, like Elara had been when she first arrived five years ago. Now, she wasn’t lost anymore. No, she was queen. Well, self-appointed queen. But queen nonetheless. “Your Majesty, you’ve got a bit of dragon slobber on your jacket,” said a deep, rumbling voice beside her. Elara turned to face the source of the remark, raising an eyebrow at Azuryn, her loyal dragon companion. His sapphire-scaled snout glistened suspiciously in the sunset. “Slobber? Az, please. It’s called ‘divine dragon dew,’ and it’s the latest trend in royal accessories. Get with it,” Elara retorted, flicking the edge of her denim jacket with exaggerated flair. “Honestly, you’d think I’d taught you nothing about high fashion.” Azuryn huffed, a plume of smoke curling from his nostrils. “High fashion? You’re wearing a lace corset and a jacket you ‘borrowed’ from a tavern bouncer.” “First of all,” Elara said, holding up a manicured finger, “that bouncer was asking for it when he said I didn’t look ‘regal.’ Second, this jacket has character. And third…” She paused, smirking. “If you keep talking, I’ll add ‘bedazzling your tail’ to my to-do list.” Azuryn growled low, but there was a twinkle in his amber eyes. “Fine. I yield to your superior judgment, oh illustrious Dragon Queen.” The Price of Power Elara folded her arms and leaned against the spiraling bark of the nearest tree. It wasn’t easy being the Dragon Queen, especially when the title came with no actual political power, and the locals still thought she was “just some girl who wandered in with a dragon.” Sure, she had magic now—thanks to the fractal grove’s odd, glowing fruit—but magic didn’t pay taxes. And the villagers didn’t seem impressed by her ability to summon firestorms when her pantry was empty. “I don’t think the council’s going to take us seriously, Az,” she muttered. “They’re still holding that grudge over the, uh… ‘scorched chicken incident.’” “You mean when you set their ceremonial feast on fire because they called me a ‘winged lizard’?” Azuryn said, his tone somewhere between amused and exasperated. “To be fair, it was an impressive blaze.” Elara grinned. “Thank you. I thought so too.” She kicked a loose pebble, sending it skittering across the grove. “But yeah, diplomacy’s not exactly my thing. I need a new approach. Something that says ‘benevolent queen’ but also ‘don’t mess with me or my dragon will roast your cabbages.’” The Unexpected Visitor Before Azuryn could reply, the air in the grove shimmered, and a figure emerged from the trees. He was tall, dressed in dark robes that seemed to absorb the sunlight, with a smirk that rivaled Elara’s in sheer audacity. “Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Dragon Queen,” the man said, his voice smooth as silk. “I’ve heard tales of your… exploits. Scorched chickens, bedazzled tavern bouncers, and all.” Elara tilted her head, scrutinizing him. “Let me guess—mysterious stranger with a cryptic warning, or just here to stare at my dragon? Either way, you’d better make it quick. I’ve got royal things to do.” The man chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. “My name is Drenic, and I represent the Council of Shadows. We’ve been watching you, Elara.” “Creepy,” she said flatly. “Get to the point, Drenny.” Drenic’s smirk faltered. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself, but power like yours is dangerous. If you can’t prove yourself worthy of it, the council will take it—and your dragon—by force.” Elara felt a spark of heat flare in her chest. “First of all, Azuryn isn’t ‘mine.’ He’s my partner. Second, you can tell your shadowy council buddies that if they want a fight, they can come get one. I’ve been dying to try out my new fire whip spell.” “Indeed,” Drenic said, his gaze shifting to Azuryn. “But can your partner protect you from us? We shall see.” With that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving only the faint scent of burnt ozone. The Queen’s Gambit Azuryn growled, his scales shimmering brighter. “Elara, this is serious. The Council of Shadows isn’t a joke. They’re dangerous.” “Dangerous?” Elara snorted. “Az, we live in a grove that grows glowing fractals and magic apples. I’ve had to fight off enchanted raccoons twice this week. Dangerous is just my Monday.” Still, she couldn’t shake the unease Drenic’s words left behind. She’d worked too hard to carve out her place here—to prove she was more than some lost girl. If the Council wanted a fight, they’d get one. But it wouldn’t be on their terms. “We’ll show them, Az,” she said, fire dancing in her eyes. “We’re not just surviving anymore. We’re thriving. And if anyone tries to take that away…” She snapped her fingers, conjuring a small flame that hovered above her palm. “Well, let’s just say I hope they like their chicken extra crispy.” Azuryn rumbled approvingly. “That’s my queen.” As the last rays of sunlight bathed the grove, Elara stood tall, her dragon at her side, ready to face whatever shadows dared to challenge her reign. Because she wasn’t just a queen. She was the Dragon Queen. And she always played to win.     Bring the Magic Home The enchanting world of the Dragon Queen is now within your reach! Immerse yourself in the mesmerizing beauty of Guardian of the Fractal Grove with these stunning products, perfect for adding a touch of magic to your life or gifting to fellow fantasy enthusiasts: Tapestries – Transform your space with the vibrant, fractal-inspired beauty of this art piece in a high-quality, lightweight tapestry. Canvas Prints – Own a timeless masterpiece to display on your walls, bringing the Dragon Queen and Azuryn into your home. Puzzles – Dive into the intricate details of this magical artwork piece by piece for a fun and engaging experience. Duvet Covers – Let the magic inspire your dreams with luxurious bedding adorned with the captivating image of the Dragon Queen and her loyal companion. Explore these and more at Unfocussed's Shop and bring a touch of enchantment into your everyday life.

by Bill Tiepelman

Golden Scales and Giggling Tales

The fire crackled in the hearth, its light casting flickering shadows across the cavernous library. Deep within the ancient stone walls of the Elarion Keep, amidst shelves groaning under the weight of countless tomes, sat Lena, a girl of ten summers with eyes too wise for her years. Her golden curls seemed to catch and hold the firelight, framing her face as she stared intently at the tiny creature nestled in her lap. The dragonlet, no larger than a housecat, shimmered with a brilliance that rivaled the finest gold coins in her father’s treasury. Its scales reflected the warm hues of the flames, and its delicate wings, translucent as gossamer, trembled faintly as it breathed. The creature chirped softly, its voice a high, melodic trill that sent shivers of delight through Lena. She stroked the dragon’s back gently, marveling at the warm, smooth texture of its scales. The Beginning of Magic Two weeks earlier, Lena had discovered the egg. Hidden in the hollow of an ancient oak deep in the Forbidden Woods, it had pulsed with an otherworldly light. Despite the tales of dangers lurking in the forest, Lena had been unable to resist its call. The moment her fingers brushed its surface, she felt a connection she couldn’t explain. She had wrapped it in her cloak and carried it home, knowing instinctively that her life was about to change forever. When the egg hatched under the glow of a full moon, Lena had gasped in wonder as the tiny dragon emerged, stretching its damp wings. It had looked at her with eyes of molten gold, and in that moment, an unbreakable bond had been formed. The dragonlet, which she named Auriel, seemed to understand her every thought, and she found she could understand its strange, melodic chirps. A World in Flux Lena’s world had been one of structure and expectation. As the daughter of Lord Vareth, she was destined for a life of political alliances and strategic marriages. Yet with Auriel in her life, the confines of her predetermined path began to crumble. The dragonlet was more than a companion; it was a spark of rebellion, a symbol of a world beyond duty and decorum. But magic, as her mother often reminded her, was a dangerous thing. It drew the curious, the covetous, and the cruel. Already, Lena had noticed changes in the keep. Servants whispered in corners, their eyes darting to her when they thought she wasn’t looking. Her father’s advisors had grown more vigilant, their gazes lingering on her when she passed. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone tried to take Auriel from her. The Storm Breaks The night the soldiers came, Lena was ready. She had hidden Auriel in a satchel lined with soft wool and slung it over her shoulder. The dragonlet’s faint chirps were muffled, but she could feel its fear through their bond. She slipped through the shadows of the keep, her heart pounding as she evaded the guards who scoured the halls. The betrayal had been swift and inevitable; her father, desperate to maintain his fragile alliances, had agreed to hand her over to the Order of Sanctis, a faction that sought to control all magical creatures. As she fled into the woods, the sounds of pursuit echoed behind her. Auriel, sensing her distress, began to hum, a low, resonant melody that seemed to vibrate in her chest. The trees around her shimmered faintly, their leaves catching an unearthly glow. A memory surfaced, one of her nursemaid’s tales about the ancient bond between dragons and the natural world. Perhaps, Lena thought, Auriel’s magic could save them. A Fierce Awakening Stopping in a moonlit clearing, Lena placed the satchel gently on the ground and opened it. Auriel crawled out, its wings stretching wide as it chirped urgently. The dragonlet’s scales began to glow, brighter and brighter, until the clearing was bathed in golden light. Lena felt a surge of power, an overwhelming sense of unity with the world around her. The pursuing soldiers burst into the clearing, but stopped short, their eyes widening in fear and awe. Auriel rose into the air, its wings beating steadily. A deep, resonant roar filled the clearing, and the soldiers fell to their knees, shielding their eyes from the dragon’s radiance. Lena stood tall, her fear melting away as she realized the truth: Auriel wasn’t just a companion; it was her protector, her partner, and her destiny. Together, they were more powerful than she had ever imagined. A New Beginning When the light faded, the soldiers were gone, retreating into the darkness. Lena gathered Auriel in her arms, her heart swelling with gratitude and determination. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: she would never return to the life she had left behind. With Auriel by her side, she would carve a new future, one built not on duty and expectation, but on courage and freedom. As she stepped into the shadows of the Forbidden Woods, the dragonlet chirped softly, its golden eyes gleaming with trust. Lena smiled, her golden curls catching the moonlight, and together they disappeared into the night, their story just beginning.     Explore More: This magical artwork, titled "Golden Scales and Giggling Tales," is now part of our Image Archive. Prints, downloads, and licensing options are available for those captivated by the enchanting bond between child and dragon. Let this piece add a touch of wonder to your collection!

by Bill Tiepelman

Blossoms of Friendship in the Dragon's Meadow

In a hidden valley where the air shimmered with the golden hues of perpetual spring, there lived a dragon unlike any other. Pyrelle, as he was called, was not the fearsome kind of dragon that haunted the stories of old. Instead, his scales were adorned with blossoms, and his deep, amber eyes held a warmth that calmed even the wildest hearts. The villagers at the edge of the valley revered him as a protector, though few had ever seen him up close. Fewer still had ever dared to approach him. That was, until Lily stumbled into his meadow. An Unlikely Meeting Lily was a spirited child of seven, with curls as wild as the dandelions that swayed in the meadows surrounding her small village. She had an uncanny knack for wandering into places she wasn’t supposed to go, her pockets always stuffed with petals and rocks she deemed “special.” Her latest adventure had taken her farther than she intended, her tiny boots crunching through fields of vibrant pink and purple blooms that seemed to whisper in the breeze. And then, she saw him. Pyrelle lay stretched out beneath a tree that sparkled with crystalline blossoms, his massive body curled protectively around its roots. His scales shimmered with an iridescent glow, each one seemingly etched with delicate floral patterns. His eyes opened as Lily froze mid-step, a single flower clasped tightly in her tiny hand. “You’re… you’re real,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. The dragon tilted his head, an amused rumble vibrating in his throat. “And you are quite bold for someone so small,” he replied, his voice deep but gentle, like the murmur of a distant storm. A Blossoming Friendship Lily’s initial fear melted as quickly as it had come. She took a hesitant step forward, then another, her eyes wide with wonder. “You’re beautiful,” she said, her words tumbling out with the innocent sincerity only a child could muster. “Do you like flowers? I found this one by the stream. It’s my favorite.” To her surprise, Pyrelle lowered his head, his enormous nostrils flaring as he sniffed the tiny bloom in her hand. “A purple petunia,” he mused. “Rare in these parts. You have a good eye.” Her face lit up with a smile so radiant it rivaled the sun. “You know flowers?” “I’ve lived among them for centuries,” Pyrelle said, his voice tinged with quiet pride. “They keep me company when the world outside grows too loud.” From that day on, Lily became a regular visitor to Pyrelle’s meadow. The villagers, though uneasy at first, soon realized the dragon meant her no harm. In fact, her presence seemed to soften him even more. Together, Lily and Pyrelle explored the valley’s hidden corners, discovering flowers that only bloomed in moonlight, streams that sparkled like liquid silver, and trees that hummed softly when touched. The Guardian’s Lesson One day, as they sat by a pond filled with lilies so white they seemed to glow, Lily asked, “Why do you stay here, Pyrelle? Don’t you get lonely?” The dragon sighed, his breath rippling the pond’s surface. “I have seen the outside world, Lily. Its noise, its chaos. It is a place where people fear what they don’t understand. Here, I am safe. Here, I am at peace.” Lily frowned, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it between her fingers. “But maybe if they knew you, they wouldn’t be afraid.” Pyrelle chuckled softly. “Perhaps. But fear is a stubborn thing, little one. It takes more than a dragon’s beauty to undo it.” She looked up at him, her eyes shining with determination. “I’m not afraid. And if I’m not, maybe others won’t be either.” Shared Laughter Their conversation was interrupted by the loud croak of a toad that had leapt onto Pyrelle’s tail. Lily burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the meadow. “Even the toads aren’t scared of you!” she said between giggles. Pyrelle turned his head to inspect the small creature, who seemed entirely unbothered by the towering dragon. “Perhaps they have better sense than people,” he said, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. A Bond Forever Over time, Lily’s visits began to change not only Pyrelle but also the villagers. They saw the way she returned from the valley, her hands filled with flowers and her stories brimming with joy. Slowly, curiosity replaced fear, and one by one, they ventured into the meadow—not to confront the dragon, but to thank him for watching over them. Pyrelle, though still wary, allowed their approach. He even began to enjoy the company, especially when the children joined Lily in her adventures. Together, they turned his meadow into a sanctuary of laughter, learning, and love. The Heart of the Meadow Years later, long after Lily had grown, she returned to the valley with her own child, a little girl with the same wild curls and wonder-filled eyes. Pyrelle was there, as she knew he would be, his scales as radiant as ever. He greeted her with a soft rumble, his gaze warm with recognition. “Welcome home, Lily,” he said. And as her daughter ran to meet the great dragon, laughing as Lily once had, the meadow bloomed brighter than ever, a testament to the enduring power of friendship and the beauty of understanding the unknown.    Bring "Blossoms of Friendship in the Dragon's Meadow" Into Your World Celebrate the heartwarming story of Pyrelle and Lily with these beautifully crafted products. Each piece captures the magic and charm of their friendship, perfect for those who cherish stories of connection and wonder: Cross-Stitch Pattern – Immerse yourself in the magic with this intricate design, perfect for stitchers who love combining storytelling and art. Tapestry – Transform your space with this vibrant and enchanting fabric piece, showcasing the beauty of the meadow and its unique bond. Throw Pillow – Add a cozy and magical touch to your home with this beautifully designed pillow, perfect for any room. Puzzle – Piece together the warmth and beauty of Pyrelle and Lily’s story with this delightful and engaging puzzle.

by Bill Tiepelman

Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon

Deep in the heart of the Widdershins Woods, where even the bravest adventurers dared not tread (mostly because the gnomes had lousy hygiene), lived a bearded gnome named Grimble Stumbletoe. Grimble was infamous for two things: his crass sense of humor and his inexplicably loyal companion, a pint-sized dragon named Sizzle. Together, they were the stuff of tavern tales, mostly told by those who’d had one too many and enjoyed a good laugh at Grimble's questionable antics. The Introduction of Sizzle Now, Sizzle wasn’t your average dragon. He was barely the size of a large cat and looked more like someone had stuck wings on a grumpy lizard. When Grimble first found him, curled up under a toadstool in the early hours of the morning, the gnome’s first words were, “Well, aren’t you an ugly little bugger?” To which Sizzle responded by promptly setting his beard on fire. “Ah, he’s got spirit,” Grimble cackled as he smothered the flames with a slap of his grubby hand. “I like ya already, you little menace.” And thus began the start of a beautiful, if somewhat volatile, friendship. Grimble’s Daily Routines (Or Lack Thereof) Each morning, Grimble would saunter out of his hollowed-out tree, scratch his beard, and take a deep, satisfied breath of the forest air. “Ah, smell that, Sizzle! Smells like freedom. And possibly a dead raccoon.” He’d then look down at Sizzle, who would nod with a solemn understanding, as if to say, “I too, smell the raccoon, Grimble.” For breakfast, Grimble favored a diet of mushrooms, stale bread, and whatever he could scrounge from the woodland creatures, who were less than willing to share. “Oi, squirrel, that’s mine!” he’d yell, occasionally hurling a pebble at a furry thief. Sizzle, meanwhile, would practice his fire-spitting skills, toasting bugs and once nearly incinerating Grimble’s hat. “Careful there, you fire-breathing gecko!” Grimble would say, shaking his finger. “You char my favorite hat again, and it’s roasted squirrel for dinner.” Encounters in the Forest One fine afternoon, as they strolled through a particularly dense patch of undergrowth, they encountered a lost adventurer—a young man in shiny armor, looking as fresh as a daisy and about as clueless as one, too. “Excuse me, sir,” the young man stammered, “have you seen the path to the Great Elven Temple?” Grimble eyed him with a wry grin, then leaned in close, a bit too close for comfort. “Elven Temple? Oh sure, it’s right over that hill. Just mind the goblin nests, the troll dung, and the occasional trap set by yours truly.” He winked. “Might take a while, though. So, unless you fancy an evening spent picking rocks out of yer backside, I’d suggest you turn around.” “I-I’ll keep that in mind,” the adventurer replied, pale and visibly unnerved as he backed away. Once he was out of earshot, Grimble chuckled, “Bloody do-gooders. Always thinkin’ they’re about to save the world or some such nonsense.” Sizzle let out a growl that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Evening Shenanigans As dusk fell, Grimble and Sizzle would set up camp. Grimble, who prided himself on being “one with nature” (mostly because he was too lazy to build a proper shelter), would lie back on a patch of moss and settle in for the night, regaling Sizzle with tales of his “glorious past.” “I once held off an entire pack of wolves with nothing but a pointy stick!” he boasted, making grand gestures. “Mind you, they were about as big as yer average rabbit, but wolves is wolves, right?” Sizzle, unimpressed, would snort a little puff of flame. He had a habit of turning his head as if rolling his eyes, which only encouraged Grimble to embellish further. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. And anyway, you’re no saint, ya little fire-bellied troublemaker. Remember last week when you burnt down old Miss Frumpel’s toadstool cottage?” Sizzle looked away, feigning innocence, while Grimble chuckled. “Aye, she deserved it though, always waggin’ her finger at me, tellin’ me to ‘watch my language.’ If I wanted a lecture, I’d talk to the damn owls!” Grimble’s “Heroic” Deeds One night, a commotion arose from the nearby grove. There was shouting, the clash of metal, and the unmistakable thud of something heavy crashing into a tree. “Adventure calls, Sizzle!” Grimble whispered with an overly dramatic flair, pulling his rusted dagger from his belt. “Let’s see if there’s a few coins to be made out of this mess.” They slunk through the underbrush until they found the source: a band of goblins arguing over a pile of glittering loot. “Oi!” Grimble yelled, striding out from the bushes. “Didn’t yer mothers teach ya not to make such a racket?” The goblins froze, staring at the odd pair. Grimble’s unimpressive stature and Sizzle’s miniature size made for a ridiculous sight, but Grimble was undeterred. “Now, I’ll be takin’ that shiny stuff there, and if ya make it easy, I won’t set my dragon on ya. He’s a vicious beast, see?” At that, Sizzle let out a tiny roar, barely a squeak, which only made Grimble snicker. The goblins, however, weren’t amused. With a series of hisses and snarls, they lunged. The Grand Battle (Sort Of) It was pure chaos. Goblins shrieked, Sizzle spat tiny spurts of flame, and Grimble dodged like a drunken acrobat, yelling insults at anyone who came near. “You call that a swing, you sorry excuse for a potato!” he bellowed, ducking under a goblin’s club. “My gran fights better than you, and she’s been dead three decades!” In the end, Sizzle managed to ignite a few well-placed bushes, which startled the goblins into fleeing. Grimble, panting and looking far more triumphant than he had any right to, picked up a shiny coin and spat on it to polish it. “Aye, well fought, Sizzle,” he said with a nod. “They’ll be singin’ tales of this day for sure. ‘Grimble the Bold and his Mighty Dragon,’ they’ll call it!” Sizzle tilted his head, clearly skeptical, but Grimble ignored him, pocketing a handful of the goblins’ abandoned loot with a gleeful grin. The Journey Continues The next morning, Grimble and Sizzle set off once more, as they always did, with no particular destination in mind. “So, Sizzle,” Grimble mused, “what d’you reckon we’ll find today? Perhaps a damsel in distress? Or maybe some rich fool wanderin’ through the woods, just beggin’ to lose his purse?” Sizzle gave him a sideways glance, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils as if to say, “Or maybe you’ll just get us into more trouble.” Grimble chuckled, ruffling the little dragon’s scales. “Ah, trouble’s what keeps life interestin’, eh?” With a skip and a swagger, he strolled off into the forest, the laughter of a grumpy old gnome and the tiny roars of his loyal dragon echoing through the woods. And so they wandered on, the crassest, funniest, most mismatched duo in all of Widdershins Woods, much to the terror—and amusement—of everyone they met.    Bring Grimble and Sizzle Home If Grimble's antics and Sizzle's fiery spirit brought a smile to your face, why not bring a piece of their adventure home? This delightfully mischievous duo is available on a range of high-quality products that will add a dash of whimsical charm to any space. Check out these Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon products, perfect for fantasy lovers and humor enthusiasts alike: Jigsaw Puzzle - Get lost in Grimble’s world piece by piece. Tapestry - Transform your wall into the heart of Widdershins Woods with this vibrant tapestry. Canvas Print - Perfect for any room that could use a bit of fantasy flair. Throw Pillow - Cozy up with Grimble and Sizzle’s hilarious companionship. Whether you’re a fan of gnomish humor or just love the idea of a dragon the size of a cat, these products let you bring a little bit of Widdershins Woods into your everyday life. Because, after all, who couldn't use a bit more magic and mischief?

by Bill Tiepelman

Resting in the Light of Legends

In a realm where mythical creatures still roamed (but had long since given up the urge to terrorize villages), there was an odd couple that had become the talk of the skies: Ember, a fiery phoenix with feathers as bright as a thousand sunsets, and Ash, a young dragon who still hadn’t quite mastered the art of flying straight—or fire-breathing, for that matter. Ember had found Ash on a cool autumn evening, tangled up in a very unfortunate situation involving a tree, a rather judgmental squirrel, and his own wings. The phoenix had sighed, wondering how a dragon of all creatures had managed to wrap himself up like a Christmas gift, before carefully disentangling him. “Thanks,” Ash mumbled, once his limbs were free, his silvery scales glinting in the setting sun. “I was just, uh, testing a new trick.” “Right. And how’s that working out for you?” Ember’s voice was dry, but the twinkle in her eyes showed more amusement than judgment. “Still perfecting it,” Ash replied with what he hoped was dignity. It was not. From that moment on, their bond was sealed—mostly because Ash seemed to find himself in various other predicaments that required rescuing. And Ember, ever the patient guardian, always came to his aid. She wasn’t quite sure if she was more babysitter than friend, but there was something endearing about the young dragon’s enthusiasm, even when it was misplaced. Their dynamic was, in a word, hilarious. Ember, ancient and wise, had seen centuries of chaos and was a firm believer in taking things easy. "I didn’t survive this long just to get my feathers singed by some overgrown lizard," she’d say, ruffling her wings dramatically. Meanwhile, Ash was constantly brimming with youthful energy and an insatiable curiosity that often got him into trouble. One evening, as they rested under the glowing autumn sky, the leaves swirling around them in fiery hues, Ash nestled into the warmth of Ember's wing. The meadow was calm, a perfect contrast to the usual chaos of their days. Ember’s feathers radiated a soft glow, keeping them warm as the evening air began to cool. “You know,” Ash began, his voice sleepy but thoughtful, “I’ve always wondered… Why don’t you ever burn out?” Ember chuckled softly. “Oh, I do. That’s kind of my thing. I burst into flames every few hundred years and rise from my own ashes. You know, the whole rebirth deal.” “That sounds exhausting,” Ash said, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. “I can barely get through one day without tripping over my own tail.” “You’ll get the hang of it,” Ember reassured him, though she couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. “Or maybe not. You might be one of those ‘learn by repeatedly failing’ types.” Ash snorted, a tiny wisp of smoke puffing out of his nostrils. “I am not. I just like to experiment.” “With gravity?” “Very funny.” They both fell silent for a moment, watching as the last of the daylight began to fade, leaving the meadow bathed in twilight. It was these quiet moments that Ember cherished. Despite Ash’s tendency to be a walking disaster, there was something soothing about their companionship—an unspoken understanding that neither of them was quite like the rest of their kind. “You know,” Ash said after a long pause, “I think we make a pretty good team.” “Is that what you call it?” Ember’s beak curved into a smile. “I call it ‘me keeping you from lighting yourself on fire.’” “Well, yeah, that too. But still,” Ash murmured, closing his eyes as sleep began to pull him under. “I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” Ember felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire in her veins. It was rare to find such an earnest soul—someone who didn’t care about her age or the legends surrounding her. To Ash, she wasn’t some mystical bird of flame. She was just Ember, his slightly sarcastic, always-reliable partner in crime. “Get some sleep, little dragon,” she whispered, her wing curling protectively around him. “Tomorrow’s another day, and I’m sure you’ll find some new way to defy the laws of physics.” But even as she said it, there was a fondness in her voice that she couldn’t quite hide. They might not have been the most conventional pair, but in a world where legends often stood alone, they had found something more valuable than fire or flight: each other. And as the stars began to twinkle overhead, casting their light on the peaceful scene below, one thing was clear—friendship, much like fire, had a way of warming even the coldest of nights.     Bring the Magic of "Resting in the Light of Legends" into Your Home Inspired by the warm bond between Ember and Ash, this stunning scene can now become a part of your everyday life. Whether you’re looking for a cozy addition to your living space or a unique piece to showcase your love for mythical creatures, we’ve got you covered with these exclusive products: Resting in the Light of Legends Tapestry – Bring the warmth of this legendary bond to your walls with this beautifully crafted tapestry, perfect for adding a touch of fantasy to any room. Resting in the Light of Legends Throw Pillow – Curl up with comfort and style with this decorative throw pillow featuring the vibrant artwork of Ember and Ash. A perfect accent for your couch or favorite reading chair. Resting in the Light of Legends Fleece Blanket – Snuggle up in the warmth of a fleece blanket adorned with the beautiful image of these mythical companions. It’s soft, cozy, and ideal for a chilly autumn night. Resting in the Light of Legends Tote Bag – Carry a piece of fantasy wherever you go with this practical and stylish tote bag, showcasing the heartwarming scene of Ember and Ash resting in their legendary bond. Explore these and more unique fantasy-themed products at Unfocussed Shop to bring a touch of magic into your everyday life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Fall’s Fiery Duo: Phoenix and Dragon in Autumn Water

It was a perfect autumn day in the enchanted forest—the kind where the trees shed their golden leaves, squirrels planned their tiny revolutions, and somewhere, a centaur was probably wondering if he could pull off skinny jeans. In the middle of all this, a young phoenix named Blaze was making a ruckus, splashing around in the forest pond like it was his personal birdbath. Blaze wasn’t alone. His partner in crime, a baby dragon named Scorch, was right there with him. Scorch, despite having the scales of a dragon, was terrified of fire—ironic, considering he lived with a walking bonfire like Blaze. But today, it wasn’t fire he had to worry about. No, today was all about causing as much watery chaos as possible. “Last one to splash the biggest leaf has to clean the other’s nest for a month!” Blaze shouted, his fiery wings sending water droplets and a couple of startled frogs flying in all directions. Scorch puffed up his tiny chest. “I don’t even have a nest, you overgrown feather duster! And good luck beating me—I’m part water dragon!” he bragged, which was technically true. He had a cousin who swam once. The same cousin also peed in the pond, but no one talked about that. The Splash Showdown Blaze eyed the giant maple leaf floating nearby. His beak curled into a grin. “Prepare to be dethroned, lizard breath!” With a screech, Blaze flapped his wings with all his might, launching himself into the air. A blur of fiery feathers shot toward the leaf, his wings glowing against the autumn sky. The leaf, in all its golden glory, was about to be obliterated by the splash of the century. Except… Blaze didn’t account for the fact that wet feathers are slippery. Mid-flight, his wings gave out, and the phoenix plummeted. He hit the water with an epic belly-flop that sent ripples across the pond, a wave of water shooting up and drenching Scorch from snout to tail. Blaze emerged, sputtering, his feathers plastered to his body like a soggy chicken. “Nice one, Blaze! Maybe next time aim for the water instead of trying to fly through it!” Scorch roared with laughter, his wings flapping in delight. Blaze shot him a glare, but with his drenched appearance, it wasn’t exactly intimidating. Scorch's Big Moment Feeling cocky, Scorch decided to show Blaze how it’s done. He flapped his wings and paddled toward the floating maple leaf. “Watch and learn, Blaze. This is how a real dragon does it!” He smirked as he prepared to unleash a tidal wave with his own splash. He pumped his tiny wings, took a deep breath, and dove. What he didn’t realize was that there was a rather sizeable fish in the pond—one that had taken a particular interest in Scorch’s wiggling tail. Just as Scorch was about to dive, the fish chomped down on his tail with an audible snap. The baby dragon yelped, his dive turning into a flailing mess of wings, tail, and water. He spun in circles, trying to shake off the fish, his attempts only managing to launch him into a spectacular, but very undignified, belly-flop of his own. Blaze burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the forest. “Well, well! Looks like you’ve got your own problems to deal with now, Scales McFlop!” Chaos Ensues The fish, perhaps thinking this was all a game, continued to chase Scorch, nibbling at his tail every time he tried to take flight. Scorch screeched and flailed, sending sprays of water everywhere. By now, the pond had become a battlefield of flailing limbs, fire-colored feathers, and the occasional fiery sneeze from Blaze, who was too busy laughing to care about getting wet again. At one point, a pair of ducks—clearly annoyed by the ruckus—decided they’d had enough and waddled over to investigate. They honked indignantly, but when Blaze turned to sneeze and accidentally lit one of the ducks’ tails on fire, they quickly decided that retreat was the better option. The Aftermath Eventually, the fish got bored, Scorch managed to paddle away to safety, and Blaze, still soaked, was wheezing from laughing too hard. They both floated in the water, surrounded by the drifting leaves of autumn, their chaotic energy finally subdued for the moment. “That was… actually pretty fun,” Scorch admitted, still shaking water from his scales. “But next time, we leave the fish out of it.” “Deal,” Blaze agreed, smoothing down his soggy feathers. “And maybe next time, you can actually manage to splash a leaf without getting eaten by a fish.” Scorch rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, featherbrain.” He paused and grinned. “But at least I didn’t almost set a duck on fire.” Blaze froze. “Wait… where’s the duck?” They both looked to the shore where the ducks had fled. In the distance, a faint trail of smoke could be seen disappearing into the forest. “Let’s, uh… let’s just pretend we didn’t see that,” Blaze suggested. Scorch nodded. “Agreed.” And with that, the fiery duo floated there, enjoying the crisp autumn air and deciding that maybe next time, they’d pick a pond without such feisty fish—or flammable wildlife.     Bring the Magic of Blaze and Scorch to Your Home! If you laughed along with Blaze and Scorch’s chaotic splash in the autumn pond, why not bring some of that magical mischief into your own life? Check out these delightful products featuring the duo from "Fall's Fiery Duo": Tapestry – Transform your space with a stunning tapestry of Blaze and Scorch, perfect for adding a touch of autumn magic to any room. Fleece Blanket – Snuggle up with a cozy blanket featuring your favorite fiery duo. Whether you’re enjoying a book or planning your next splash, Blaze and Scorch will keep you warm. Jigsaw Puzzle – Piece together the autumn adventure with this vibrant puzzle, capturing Blaze and Scorch’s playful moment in the enchanted pond. Tote Bag – Take Blaze and Scorch with you wherever you go with this colorful tote bag. Whether you’re heading to the library or off on an adventure, they’ll be right by your side. Don’t miss your chance to bring home a little piece of Blaze and Scorch’s magical world. Perfect for gifts, decor, or just indulging your love for all things whimsical and fiery!

by Bill Tiepelman

Embers of Friendship

In a mystical forest where every leaf seemed to be on fire—not metaphorically, but literally—an unusual pair floated in the shallow waters of a glowing river: a baby phoenix named Fluff, and a tiny dragon named Sizzle. And no, this wasn’t some grand, legendary meeting between two majestic creatures destined to save the world. Nope. These two could barely save themselves from a sneeze. "Why do we even hang out here?" Sizzle asked, his stubby claws swirling the water around them. "The river’s basically lava, the trees are exploding with fire leaves every ten seconds, and I swear that squirrel tried to set my tail on fire earlier. I don’t think we're safe!" Fluff puffed up his already ridiculously fluffy feathers and looked at his dragon friend with a calm, unbothered expression. "Relax, Sizzle. The squirrel just thought your tail was a marshmallow. That’s a compliment." "Right," Sizzle said with an eye roll, swatting away a falling ember with his wing. "Because being mistaken for a snack is totally how I imagined my life going." Fluff squawked with laughter, sending a puff of tiny flames up into the air. "At least you’re not perpetually one sneeze away from spontaneous combustion!" Sizzle nodded, still not convinced. "Speaking of which, remember last week when you tried to sneeze quietly, but instead you set a whole tree on fire? Then that deer looked at us like we were the worst things to happen to nature since pollution." "It was one sneeze!" Fluff defended, throwing his wings up in mock indignation. "And I can't help it if I’m made of fire. It’s a design flaw." The two floated in silence for a moment, watching as a few more flaming leaves drifted from the autumn canopy above and sizzled in the lava-like water. There was an occasional bubbling sound as the water burped up a few embers, which was, as Sizzle liked to put it, "disgustingly unsettling." “So, what now?" Sizzle asked, clearly bored of swimming in a river that doubled as a safety hazard. “I thought we could maybe... I dunno, find a village, scare some humans, you know, the usual?” Fluff offered casually, flapping his wings so he floated a little higher above the water. “Scare some humans? You? You look like a giant ball of yarn caught fire. What’re you going to do, cuddle them to death?” Sizzle shot back, grinning. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’m a very intimidating presence!” Fluff said, puffing out his chest (which made him look even more like a fluffy orange dandelion). “Watch this.” Without warning, Fluff gave a powerful flap of his wings, launching himself out of the water and into the air. He soared up—well, more like he awkwardly wobbled upwards like a drunken pigeon—and perched on a low branch, his wings burning with fiery feathers. He looked down at Sizzle with a smug grin. “That was… something,” Sizzle said, snorting out a small puff of smoke. “But maybe next time, try to look less like you’re being chased by invisible bees.” Fluff sighed dramatically and flopped down onto the branch, causing a small fire to start on the leaves around him. “You know what? Forget scaring humans. Let’s just take over a hot springs or something. We can relax, roast some marshmallows. Maybe I can figure out how to not sneeze fire for once.” Sizzle’s eyes lit up at the mention of marshmallows. “Now that is the best idea you’ve had all day.” Just then, a single ember floated down and landed on Sizzle’s tail, igniting it like a tiny sparkler. He stared at it for a second, then sighed. “But first, let me put my butt out.” As the phoenix and dragon made their way down the glowing river, leaving behind a trail of smoking footprints, one thing was clear: they may have been made of fire, but their friendship burned brighter than any flame in the forest. Even if they occasionally set things on fire... unintentionally.     Sizzle's Backstory Born into a proud lineage of fearsome dragons, Sizzle was, well... the family disappointment. While his ancestors could breathe firestorms that could scorch entire villages, Sizzle could barely manage a puff of smoke that smelled suspiciously like burnt toast. To make matters worse, his siblings were all soaring through the skies, spitting fireballs like seasoned warriors. And then there was Sizzle—afraid of heights and forever stuck on the ground, where the only thing he could successfully roast was his own tail. From the moment he hatched, it was clear Sizzle was destined for something... different. His egg didn’t crack with a mighty boom, but more of a polite “pop” followed by a weak sparkle. The dragon midwife even asked, “Is this egg defective, or are we just going for subtle?” Despite this, Sizzle’s parents were hopeful. After all, every dragon goes through awkward phases, right? Wrong. Sizzle’s awkward phase seemed to be permanent. By the time Sizzle was three, it became clear that traditional dragon activities were not in his cards. Flight lessons? He’d spend more time flapping around in circles than actually gaining any altitude. Fire-breathing practice? He sneezed once and accidentally roasted his own snack. Twice. Let’s not even talk about the time he tried to roar—it was more of a squeak. His parents took to explaining him as “a work in progress,” while Sizzle secretly wished he could just master the art of not embarrassing himself in front of the village squirrels. But what Sizzle lacked in brute force, he made up for with a sharp wit, a knack for sarcasm, and the strange ability to befriend creatures no dragon had business talking to. That’s how he met Fluff, the baby phoenix. While other dragons would’ve tried to eat a phoenix on sight, Sizzle just figured, “Hey, another walking fire hazard. Maybe we’ll get along.” And they did—kind of like two flame-retardant peas in a lava-filled pod. Sizzle might not have been the fire-breathing terror his family wanted, but he’d long since accepted that his talents lay elsewhere. Like being the only dragon who could make a phoenix laugh so hard it nearly sneezed itself into a fireball. Now, instead of burning down villages, Sizzle spends his days setting things on fire purely by accident, which, surprisingly, has its own charm. After all, not every dragon can say they’ve been invited to roast marshmallows by a phoenix. Sure, it’s not the most “dragon-y” thing, but Sizzle figures, if you can’t beat the fire, you might as well have fun with it.   Fluff's Backstory Fluff wasn't your typical phoenix. While most phoenixes were born in dramatic bursts of flame, emerging from their ashes like feathered gods of fire, Fluff's birth was more of a... poof. There was a small spark, a half-hearted crackle, and then, out came Fluff—looking less like a fearsome firebird and more like a fluffy chick that got caught in a toaster. Instead of commanding the skies with blazing power, Fluff looked like he should be chasing breadcrumbs at a picnic. As a baby phoenix, Fluff had all the fiery potential of his ancestors, except for one tiny problem—he couldn’t control it. Every sneeze, hiccup, or even a slight twitch of his wings resulted in something spontaneously combusting. Once, he sneezed so hard he accidentally set the sky on fire for a whole afternoon. That wasn’t even the worst of it. At one point, Fluff tried to take a nap in a tree, and, well… let’s just say that tree is now a permanent pile of ash. Forest creatures quickly learned that hanging out with Fluff was a bit of a gamble. Despite his fiery mishaps, Fluff had an annoyingly positive attitude. “It’s all part of the process!” he would chirp after unintentionally torching an innocent flower bed. His family wasn’t so sure. Phoenixes were supposed to be majestic creatures of rebirth and flame, but Fluff? Fluff was like a walking fire hazard with wings. His parents, who were on their fifth reincarnation by this point, just kept giving him awkward smiles and murmuring, “He’ll grow into it… won’t he?” But as time went on, it became clear that Fluff was never going to be the serious, majestic phoenix they’d hoped for. Instead, he was the kind of bird who found joy in starting accidental fires and saw every flaming disaster as an opportunity to make new friends. That’s how he met Sizzle, the little dragon who was just as clumsy with fire as he was. The two bonded over their shared inability to not set things on fire. While other creatures avoided them like the plague, Fluff and Sizzle saw each other as the perfect partners in crime—or, at the very least, in minor forest fire incidents. Now, Fluff spends his days fluttering around, accidentally setting fire to things and making the most of his not-so-majestic phoenix life. Sure, he’s not the intimidating, fiery phoenix of legend, but who needs all that pressure? Fluff’s philosophy is simple: if you’re going to accidentally set the world on fire, you might as well enjoy the warmth.    Love the quirky and fiery friendship of Fluff and Sizzle? Now you can bring their hilarious antics and heartwarming bond into your own space! Whether you’re looking to challenge yourself with a puzzle that captures their magical moment, send some laughter with a personalized greeting card, or elevate your décor with a stunning canvas print, we've got you covered. You can even stick a little bit of their charm anywhere with a sticker! Whichever way you choose, these products are the perfect way to bring the whimsical and fiery spirit of this duo into your life.