r-o-o-k-i-e

Boob Fairies of Cleavendale: A History of Havoc, Hilarity, and Heaving Chests In a realm overflowing with enchantment and eccentricity, it takes a very special breed of Fae to stand out. And yet, among the Cone’s chaotic pantheon of tricksters, nymphs, and seasonal weirdos, the Boob Fairies have managed to lift themselves head and shoulders, well, mostly shoulders—above the rest. Bold, bust-obsessed, and blissfully unaware of modern concepts like "body mod consent," these titillating terrors flit through Cleavendale on shimmering wings, leaving a trail of enchantments that range from inconvenient perkiness to life-altering jigglement. Their magic is potent, their morals are flexible, and their puns are inevitable. Citizens have long learned to dread the telltale signs: tight corsets creaking under sudden pressure, startled shrieks followed by gasped apologies, and of course, the plaintive strains of tavern laments like “The Boob Fairy Wouldn’t Let Me Be” or the all-too-relatable “The Boob Fairy Became Obsessed With Me.” While most attribute their origins to a hidden Fairy Dimension ruled by unknown royalty, a few names have made their mark on mortal lore. There’s Balconette, the chaotic ringleader with delusions of subtlety. Tremble-Touch Trixibelle, whose sensitivity curses once brought a whole bathhouse to its knees. Hooterella, who famously squared off against a minor goddess over cleavage jurisdiction. And of course, the ever-inventive Tinkerbust, whose jiggle-loop hexes and bounce traps once made an entire convent bounce like festival jelly. Whether you thank them for the mammaries or curse their very names, one thing is certain: when the air tingles, when the fabric strains, when people start making absolute boobs of themselves… A Boob Fairy is near. And Boob Fairy Week? Oh, it’s coming. Strap in, if your straps can hold.