About Us

The first time you lock eyes with a reptile, it’s unforgettable.
That ancient, calm gaze—wild, distant—like it’s looking at you from another world.

From Game Art to Living Worlds
The Story Behind FORLITTLEGUYS—Under the Scales

Back in 2019, I was working as a game illustrator, spending my days painting giant dragons, ruined cities, and heavily detailed armor sets.

I’d been in the industry for seven years. Everything I made was designed for impact — bigger, cooler, louder. Every shape had to “sell.” Every texture had to look polished enough for marketing art.

And honestly, I started feeling less like an artist and more like a very expensive rendering machine.

The shift happened because of my leopard gecko, Tea.

One night, I was trying to decorate her enclosure and kept running into the same problem: everything on the market looked fake. Glossy plastic caves. Bright artificial vines. Cheap-looking “rock” hides that felt more like children’s toys than real environments.

Tea didn’t care, of course. Every night she’d poke her little head out from a crooked ceramic cave and quietly sit there while I worked late into the night.

So one evening, instead of opening ZBrush, I picked up a block of clay.

I sculpted a small hide for her by hand — rough fingerprints still visible on the surface, uneven edges, a cave entrance shaped almost like worn bone.

When I placed it into her tank, she crawled inside, turned around three times, and fell asleep.

That moment changed everything.

I’d spent years designing fantasy worlds for games, but none of them were ever truly lived in. This tiny handmade cave was the first thing I created that actually mattered to a living creature.

And somehow, that meant more to me than any dragon I’d ever painted.

Around that same time, I started spending more time with our company’s financial director. On paper, we came from completely different worlds. I lived inside concept art, creatures, and sculpting software. He lived inside spreadsheets, budgets, and operations.

But outside of work, we connected almost instantly.

We were both reptile keepers. Both obsessed with beautiful objects, unusual textures, architecture, films, and handmade craftsmanship. We’d spend hours talking about enclosure design, materials, lighting, and why most reptile decor felt so lifeless and mass-produced.

The funny part was how naturally everything clicked between us.

While I obsessed over sculpting strange fantasy hides and experimenting with materials, he immediately saw how the brand could actually survive in the real world. He understood manufacturing costs, logistics, supply chains, pricing, and long-term operations — all the things I constantly ignored while chasing ideas.

Very quickly, it stopped feeling like casual conversation and started feeling like the beginning of something real.

So we made a decision.

We would build it together.

I would focus on design, sculpting, production, and creative direction.
He would handle operations, business strategy, and finance.

For the first time, it felt like the creative side and the practical side weren’t fighting each other anymore.

They were finally on the same team.

Learning Materials the Hard Way

At first, this was just a personal hobby.

During the day, I still worked in games. At night, I became obsessed with reptile-safe materials.

I tested everything — clay, resin, plaster, aquarium cement, homemade molds. And I learned very quickly that reptile decor isn’t just about aesthetics.

It has to be safe. No toxic sealants. No harmful fumes in heat or humidity.

It has to be durable enough for claws, weight, moisture, and constant use.

And texture matters more than people realize. Real stone has character. Erosion. Imperfection. Tiny flaws that make it feel alive.

Eventually, I settled on a mix of sandstone textures, low-fire clay, food-safe resin, and aquarium-safe materials. Every prototype was tested repeatedly — by my own hands, by Tea’s claws, and through proper material safety checks.

Because for me, safety isn’t optional. It’s the baseline.

Why I Chose 3D Printing

As my designs became more ambitious, traditional manufacturing stopped making sense.

I wasn’t making generic rock caves anymore.

I was designing ruined cathedrals, skeletal structures, gothic arches, biomechanical tunnels, dragon skulls, strange fantasy pieces full of asymmetry and tiny details.

Factories hated it.

Too weird. Too detailed. Too hard to mold.

But I came from the game industry. 3D modeling already was my language.

That’s when I realized something:

Why force handmade imagination into mass-production limitations?

So I fully embraced 3D printing.

For me, it wasn’t just a production method — it was freedom.

Now I can sculpt exactly what I imagine: impossible overhangs, intricate textures, hollow internal tunnels, tiny architectural details that traditional molds simply can’t reproduce.

And honestly, I don’t want my work to look mass-produced.

Tea loved that original crooked little cave because it felt real. Not perfect. Not symmetrical. Not factory smooth.

Real.

So why should every reptile enclosure accessory look exactly the same?

I don’t think they should.

I Make Weird Things — On Purpose

I make horror-inspired hides with skeletal hands reaching through the substrate.

I make gothic basking platforms with cathedral arches and sharp silhouettes.

I make cyberpunk ruins with glowing AI skulls and industrial ventilation tunnels.

I make dark fantasy pieces covered in horns, vines, gargoyles, and weathered stone textures.

And sometimes I make soft, cute pastel pieces too — cloud hides, pearl-edged water dishes, dessert-inspired decor that looks like it belongs in a fairy tale.

One side is bones and moonlight. The other is sugar and softness.

To us, those things aren’t opposites.

Because “special” isn’t a style. It’s a mindset.

It means refusing to make the same thing everyone else is making.

In 2022, both of us walked away from stable careers and officially started FORLITTLEGUYS together.

A lot of people thought we were out of our minds.

Maybe they were right.

But we still have that first little cave Tea used to sleep in.

At one reptile expo, someone picked it up after hearing the story behind it. She got emotional and told us she wanted something like that for her own bearded dragon — something personal, something meaningful, something she could keep forever.

That’s when we realized this brand was never really about decor.

It’s about connection.

That’s why the brand is called FORLITTLEGUYS.

Because underneath the scales, there’s warmth. Underneath the scenery, there’s story. And underneath all our work is the part of ourselves we stopped trying to hide just to fit into what art — or business — was “supposed” to be.

Every piece we make is one of those unfinished fantasy worlds that used to exist only on a screen — except now they’re real.

They have texture. Weight. Imperfections.

And most importantly, they become home to a living creature.

They may be strange. They may be niche. They may never appeal to everyone.

But if Tea were still here, we know exactly what she’d do:

She’d crawl inside, turn around three times, and settle in like she belonged there all along.

Welcome to FORLITTLEGUYS.

A world of fantasy, horror, softness, ruins, creatures, and things that actually feel real.

Company name: Cherrycom Worldwide SLVAT number: B01965813
Company address:3 Resurrection Street, Getafe 28，Madrid, 28091, Spain.
(this is not a returning address)
Company name:Hong Kong Chopstick Bay Co., Limited.

the website is “jointly operated” by Cherrycom Worldwide SL and Hong Kong Chopstick Bay Co., Limited