edgy fairy fashion

by Bill Tiepelman

Velvet Torque: The Rebel Fairy

The Midnight Kickstart It was quarter past midnight when the ground trembled under the neon-stained clouds of Feyridge. Somewhere between the scent of lavender oil and motor grease, a rumble echoed through the twisting alleys of the Clockwork Quarter. And at its center—revving the engine of a skull-studded motorcycle that glowed like it had secrets—was her. Velvet Torque. No one called her by her birth name anymore, mostly because nobody remembered it. She’d long since traded faerie dust and lullabies for horsepower and brass knuckles wrapped in satin. Her wings? Six-foot blades of iridescent artistry, sharper than half the swords in the Royal Guard’s arsenal. Her bunny ears? Absolutely real. A remnant of an ill-advised love affair with a shape-shifting rabbit prince. Don’t ask. Seriously—don’t. Tonight was not about exes or regrets. Tonight was about payback. She zipped up her corset, tucked a tiny dagger into her garter, and took one last pull on a glitter-infused cigarillo that smelled like cotton candy and vengeance. “Let’s ride, bitches,” she whispered to her bike, which hummed in response like a good familiar should. Her motorcycle, SugarSkull, wasn’t just sentient—it was gossipy. And petty. But it was loyal, and that was enough. Velvet’s mission? Crash the Grand Mechanist’s annual Gala of Gears and expose his not-so-little secret: he’d been siphoning magic from the Fae Forest to fuel his precious automaton army. Not cool. Also? He’d banned cupcakes from the city under some obscure ‘combustible icing’ ordinance. That was the final straw. With a booted foot in glitter-laced leather, she kicked SugarSkull into gear. Fire belched from the twin exhaust pipes shaped like fanged cherubs. The bike roared like a thunder god with a hangover as Velvet launched herself down the cobbled roads, wings flaring behind her like stained-glass war banners. As she tore past the bakeries and brothels of Gear Alley, patrons raised their glasses. “Go get him, Velvet!” someone shouted. Another yelled, “You still owe me ten gold for that tequila-fueled llama bet!” She winked. “Put it on my tab, darling.” Halfway through the city, a mechanical pigeon dive-bombed her with a royal summons. She swatted it mid-air. “Nice try, Tinker King,” she growled. “But I RSVP’d with a chainsaw.” By the time she reached the copper drawbridge to the palace gates, the guards had already pissed themselves. One of them dropped his halberd and fled. The other started reciting his resignation letter in haiku. Velvet revved her bike, licked a candy skull lollipop, and pulled out a compact mirror that doubled as a fireball grenade launcher. “You boys might wanna duck.” The Gala was about to get interesting… The Gala Gets Gutted The palace courtyard was glittering with mechanical peacocks and clockwork flamingos, all preening under the golden glow of suspended aether-lanterns. Guests in gear-studded gowns and velvet waistcoats sipped shimmering cocktails and exchanged pleasantries like this was just another Tuesday in the realm of the obscenely rich. That is, until SugarSkull launched itself through the ballroom’s stained-glass skylight like an angry comet driven by sass and spite. Velvet landed in the middle of a chocolate fondue fountain and immediately lit a firework cigar, sending rainbow sparks into a chandelier made entirely of enchanted hummingbirds. “Ladies, lords, and what-the-fork-ever that is,” she announced, pointing to a guest with three monocles and a nose-ring the size of a wagon wheel, “your gala has officially been canceled.” The crowd gasped. One duchess fainted. A goblin threw his shrimp cocktail at her. Velvet caught it mid-air, licked it, and tossed it over her shoulder. “Tastes like colonialism,” she muttered. The Grand Mechanist, a tower of steam-powered smugness in a top hat rigged with its own weather system, stepped forward with an oily sneer. “Ah, the infamous Velvet Torque,” he drawled. “To what do we owe this delightfully disruptive honor? Another petty vendetta, perhaps?” “Petty?” she scoffed. “You banned cupcakes, Barnaby.” “That’s Lord Barnaby—” “Nope,” Velvet snapped, pulling a scroll from her cleavage and unfolding it with theatrical flair. “By royal decree of Queen Shyla the Slightly Unhinged, and by order of the Underground Order of Sugar-Infused Justice, I am hereby authorized to deliver a magical audit, a sugar strike, and a vibe check.” Gasps again. Somewhere, a monocle popped dramatically. Velvet smirked. Lord Barnaby’s automaton guards surged forward—towering brass monsters with drills for hands and no sense of humor. Velvet cracked her knuckles. “Darling,” she purred to her reflection in a butter-slicked serving tray, “try not to completely demolish the architecture.” What followed was chaos married to choreography. Velvet spun through the ballroom like a disco banshee. Her wings sliced through gears and gearsmen alike, shedding glitter like weaponized confetti. She rode SugarSkull straight up a support beam, launched into the air, and hurled a molotov teacup right into Barnaby’s smug little weather hat, setting off a mini thunderstorm above his powdered wig. “That’s for the forest,” she hissed. “And that’s for banning sprinkles, you greasy goblin.” Within minutes, the gala had become a war zone of melted cheese wheels, collapsing candelabras, and confused nobles trying to crawl out of their own hoop skirts. Velvet landed beside a demolished hors d'oeuvres table, grabbed a stuffed mushroom, and stuffed it in her mouth while launching a smoke bomb shaped like a corsage. She strolled casually through the haze, collecting enchanted gears and whispering sweet threats to trembling guests. “Tell your friends. The Fey don’t forget. And we don’t forgive unsalted scones.” By the time Velvet reached the throne room, Lord Barnaby was hiding behind a statue of his mother. “You’ll never make it out!” he barked. “I’ll activate the failsafe! I’ll—” She held up a crystal cupcake. “This? This is the failsafe.” With a bite, the enchantment detonated—disabling every piece of machinery in the palace, turning the Mechanist’s army into a pile of sad scrap metal. Velvet sauntered up to him, her heels clicking like a countdown. “Now, say it,” she demanded. He gulped. “...Cupcakes are...magic.” “Damn right,” she grinned. “Now get out of my kingdom, Barnaby. And take your kale cookies with you.” With the palace now a glorious mess of frosting and revolution, Velvet mounted SugarSkull once more. The courtyard had filled with rebels, bakers, and winged misfits ready to take back their sugar-soaked city. Someone handed her a martini. Someone else handed her a puppy. She accepted both. “Where to next, boss?” SugarSkull asked, its dashboard lighting up like a rave. “Wherever the patriarchy still thinks pink can’t punch,” Velvet purred, revving the engine. “Let’s paint the world with glitter and gasoline.” With a trail of magic fire and the scent of spiced cupcakes behind her, Velvet Torque rode into legend, laughter echoing across the clouds. She was wild. She was whimsical. She was the moment. And damn, did she look good doing it.     💫 Bring Velvet Torque Home If this wild ride through steampunk mischief, magical rebellion, and unapologetic glam spoke to your inner troublemaker, we’ve got just the thing. “Velvet Torque: The Rebel Fairy” is available now as a selection of stunning, high-quality art products that bring her sass and sparkle right into your space: 🖼️ Wood Print – The perfect statement piece for any rebel's lair. 🧵 Tapestry – Bring bold, whimsical energy to your walls. 🛋️ Throw Pillow – Add a pop of power (and pink) to your space. 🧩 Puzzle – Piece together every bit of magic and mischief. 💌 Greeting Card – Send rebellious fairy vibes with flair. Power. Glitter. Wings. Now available in your living room.

by Bill Tiepelman

Street Chic Fairy in Pink Kicks

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