I do believe in fairies, I do, I do

A Babies at the Border compilation story by shouldbecleaning

Beachcomberlc : Beta Editor

IpsitaC77: Pre-reader

Isabella Darling: Banner Maker

I watch with pride as my man, the father of my child, takes the stage after being announced as the recipient of this year's Award for Service to the Cancer Awareness Society. Hearing the standard giggles that accompany the first sight of him, I know he has started across the stage, but I can't see for myself. He is a gorgeous man and I wonder every day what sort of star configuration led to having him in my life and how I get to be so lucky to have his love. Me, lonely little Bella Swan, the shy bookworm, girlfriend to a handsome, tattooed bike-riding hunk.

I'm stuck at the back of the room with the guys, and they all tower over me. When my Edward gets to the lectern, I'll muscle my way to the front for a better view. I know he's wearing his red wings tonight. He has several pair; I know because I've made them all for him. The sight of a very, very fit man with leather straps across his chest is usually the first thing that catches your eye. It brings to mind leather boys at pride parades and dominatrices. Until you see the fairy wings floating just above his shoulders.

My man wears wings, and I think it's hot. I still to this day can't believe he's mine. Once your eye has taken in the wings, the tutu is an afterthought. Because after the straps and the wings, you're drawn to the tattoos. A thick tribal on one shoulder, a sugar skull on the other. A few child-like drawings over his heart and a blur of green and brown across his ribs. When you get up close, the green and brown become a forest scene with wee folk peeking in and out of trees, logs and the ground. I've spent a lot of time getting to know each and every creature on his skin. I've kissed them all as well.

What you might not see is that his whole back is covered in wee folk, his signature designs. They are so beautiful, each one an artist's painting on his skin. He started getting them just after we met. Each is special and we have a story for them, born of late night pillow-talk and tequila ramblings. Under the tutu, which is multicoloured and represents every cancer cause he runs for, Edward wear bike shorts. Tight black bike shorts. Very tight black bike shorts. His thick, powerful thighs and tight calves are tattoo-free. As is his washboard stomach. My man. He's so cautious about each tattoo he puts on his body. The placement and the reason have to be perfect.

I'm glad he didn't just fill his skin with flash. I have news for him after the awards and accolades are over, once I've finished showing him just how proud I am of him with my body and soul. Because when I tell him we're having another baby, he's going to start planning his next tattoo. I manage to move the hulking men out of my way and can finally see him. He has the acrylic trophy in his hand and is reading the dedication, while blushing. He's still humble even after all these awards and all the notice he gets. He clears his throat and scans the room. I know he's looking for me. Most of the time he'll have me edit or listen to his speech over and over until I could give it myself with my eyes closed, but this time he didn't ask. I have no idea what he is going to say. I raise my hand and catch his eye. He gives me a wink and starts his speech.

"I'd like to thank the Cancer Awareness Society for this award. It comes with a long speech, so get comfortable. I'm going to apologize in advance for any colourful language. No offence intended, but sometimes the curses just slip out.

In and around 1917, two young girls, cousins Frances and Elsie, managed to hoodwink many illustrious people, including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The two girls borrowed a camera from Elsie's father and spent the afternoon playing with it. Later, when the pictures were developed, they showed the two young girls surrounded by and interacting with fairies. It was a small story that grew into a phenomena, The Cottingley Fairies. Photography was still so new and much was unknown about the technology, but certainly two young ladies wouldn't be able or smart enough to fake such as thing. Two grainy, black and white pictures; one of the younger girl gazing off in the distance as fairies dance in front of her, the other of the older girl watching a fairy on a branch just inches from her nose. It was the first-ever photographic proof of the existence of fairy folk. The pictures opened the possibility that we could prove all nature of creatures were real and maybe use their magic for ourselves. And the girls were the only ones the fairies would reveal themselves to out of fear. Under pressure from believers and skeptics alike, the girls created three more pictures before they stopped. The hoax helped fuel artists, songsters, and writers galore. It wasn't until the 1980s that the girls, now old women, admitted to what they'd done and how they had fooled so many people.

Even to this day, the images are powerful and ethereal. I've always been a skeptic and a disbeliever in the supernatural; however, because of one very special night, I have to tell you, to quote JM Barry, "I do believe in fairies". I do. I really, really do believe in the magic of fairies. To this day, fairies make up a big part of my life and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I guess that, before all this happened, my biggest influence had been my little sister. She has always been fascinated with the supernatural and she was forever asking me to draw pictures for her. Alice demanded I draw selkies, brownies, imps, sprites, and every other manner of supernatural creature. If she asked me to, I'd draw it for her. I know, it seems like an odd thing for a teen boy to do, but I dote on my sister. I've always doted on her. She is a lot younger than I am and she's special to me. She was born early and had a really hard time in the beginning. Before she was born, the cord wrapped around her right arm just above the elbow and cut it off in utero. Don't get me wrong, having only one hand hasn't been too detrimental for her. She can type faster than I can, has a great job, a loving boyfriend and a very full life. In her own words, she just can't clap very well. And she can't draw.

I got the artistic ability in the family and it led me here, dressed up like the fairies I love tattooing. But before this, I was working as a bike courier in the evenings while doing my internship at Mac Ink. I had taken art classes, graphic design courses, digital design classes, and small business start-up courses at the local college. Basically, I took every course I thought would help me become a tattoo artist before even approaching a tattoo shop for an internship. It took a lot of convincing to get Big Mac, Mr. Emmett McCarty, to take me on and once he did, he worked me hard. Slowly, I built up my portfolio and client base. Mac hates mornings, so he always made me open the shop when there is less traffic and fewer appointments.

I had to make my own portfolio and client list and thanks to the years of drawing pretty little fairies and such for my sister, I did. But, I didn't start out that way, with the pretty supernatural tattoos. I'd do the occasional one here and there, with every other kind of tattoo out there until I found my focus. I gained a reputation with twenty-something ladies for my intricate designs and pretty pictures. I didn't give a rat's ass about the gossip; just 'cause I draw fairies, doesn't make me one. I tried to use my looks and natural manly charm to get my clients to recommend me to their friends and get my name out there. I'm not above begging for attention. Also, being well-muscled from bike couriering doesn't hurt.

It didn't take too long before I got my license and was able to buy a spot in Big Mac's shop. I dabbled in Traditional, Japanese, Tribal and New School styles of tattooing. I can do them all just fine, but now Watercolour wee folk are pretty much all I do and all I'm known for. There was a night that brought me to it; a long night and a magical encounter.

I was working an evening shift running packages around town, three o'clock to ten o'clock, or whenever the last drop was scheduled. It was a humid summer night, I was tired, hot and ready for a cold beer and bed when I stumbled across her.

A real-life fairy.

The most beautiful creature I had ever seen.

I was stopped at a red light; I had just dropped off my last package and I was having a drink of water when I heard crying. I looked down the alley and there, sitting with her back to a huge dumpster was a girl dressed in a fairy costume. She had a ring of flowers in her hair and a short dress, but no shoes. She also had these great big wings coming out of her back. She was sitting hunched over with her hands covering her eyes and sobbing.

I was torn.

On one hand, I was raised to help out; especially women, not in a sexist way, but to be nice. I'm slightly afraid of women and their innate strength. My mother and sister are testaments to that strength. On the other hand, going down a dark alley to help someone is occasionally listed as a cause of death and I didn't want to get mugged or beaten. But my nice side won out, and I got off my bike and walked it down the alley to the girl.

I stood in front of her with the bike between us, just in case, and asked her if she was injured. A very muffled 'No' came from the girl. I then asked if she was hurt. Then, I swear, in slow motion she lowered her hands and raised her face to look at me. A choir of friggin' angels sang when I looked into her eyes. They were the biggest eyes I had ever seen on a real person. Almost as big as those creepy-assed dolls from the toy store. Mind you, her eyes could have been huge because she was approached in a dark alley by a heavily tattooed stranger with a bike. Who knows, but she looked at me and gave me a watery smile.

"I'm fine." She said before she wiped at her eyes. She stood up slowly. She kept glancing behind herself to make sure her wings didn't get damaged. I could see by the moonlight that they were shades of purple, darker at the tips with streaks of yellow and black as the wings neared their anchoring point. The ring of flowers in her hair were pansies in shades of pink and purple.

"If you're fine, why are you crying in an alley against a filthy dumpster, Pansy?"

She looked at me and started crying again. She mumbled out a story of being hired to entertain at a party, and when she got there the whole situation was horrible. The guys who hired her thought she would be a male stripper. They ordered the wrong kind of fairy. In their embarrassment, and due to the copious amounts of liquor they had already consumed, they kicked her out before she could grab her shoes and purse. She was afraid to go back to get them. And she needed the money. She was just starting out as a children's party performer and didn't have many bookings. She felt really stupid and ashamed for not even thinking ahead or doing better client screening.

I was pissed. This gorgeous creature didn't deserve to be treated like that. I grabbed her hand and asked her where the party was being held. She pointed up to the condos that took up the last few floors of the office tower behind us. I locked my bike up outside and stormed into the building. The security guard eyed me in my bike shorts and sleeveless tee, covered in tatts, tugging a crumpled fairy behind me and looking livid. He pointed to the elevator bank and said fourteenth floor. I looked back at the girl and she nodded.

The wait for the elevator was tense. The fairy kept sniffing and I really wished I had a bandana or handkerchief or something for her to blow her nose with. She just looked and sounded so sad. Her dress was exquisite, a perfect representation of the pansy flower fairy costume from the drawings. The bright, brilliant yellow in the middle of her chest drew most of my attention, not just for the lush colour but for its proximity to her very pretty breasts. I wanted to draw her and then tattoo her on some fresh skin, preferably hers. Her upper shoulder would be perfect.

Once we got in the elevator and pressed the button for the floor, I took off my shirt and stepped towards her. She looked even more panicked until I gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with the hem. I ran a finger under her eyes to remove the mascara marks and handed her the soiled shirt to blow her nose. She gave me another watery smile. I took the shirt from her and stuffed it into my bag. I felt a bit bad for her; I had to be ripe after a long day of biking. However, she didn't make any comment so I guess my manly scent didn't bother her that much. I noticed her cutting her eyes at me from time to time, hoping she liked what she saw.

My anger returned when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. I could hear the sound of the party and I stomped to the offending condo. I battered the door with my fist and waited for it to open. The cute little fairy stood behind me. I heard someone come to the door and I crossed my arms over my bare chest, flexing. Some asshole at this party messed with the wrong fairy.

'Ooohhhh...what do we have here? Sugar, you are just perfect. Paul...your stripper is finally here,' the pudgy, sweaty drunk twit who answered the door trilled.

Not waiting for Paul to come to the door, I put one hand on drunk twit's chest and pushed him to the side. I reached the other hand behind me and felt tingles up and down my arm as the little fairy wove her fingers through mine. I felt a great urge to turn around and kiss her, but this was not the time or place. I tugged the fairy girl into the main room.

The raucous crowd was quickly silenced when we appeared. Someone in the background said 'Oh, shit.'

Yeah buddy; oh, shit was right.

"Which one of you is Paul?" I asked, trying to keep the growl out of my voice.

A fancy-suited businessman stepped forward. He looked like a bank manager, the type to never get his hands dirty or fully get his rocks off.

"I'm Paul. Let me guess, you're not my sexy stripper, are you? Pity. You her pimp?" He tried to look imposing, but failed. I could smell the booze on him.

"No, I'm just a guy who treats women better than you, Pauly. Now, give her her money, her shoes and her bag before I get really angry."

"Why should I? She's not what I ordered. It's not my fault she advertised on a gay male escort page. She can grab her shoes and bag, but I'm not paying her for anything. She's so not the pansy fairy I wanted for my birthday. Now, you beefcake, I'd pay big bucks for you." He leered at my chest and bike shorts.

I stalked over to him, leaving my little fairy behind me. I got right up close to him, chest to chest. In a deadly quiet voice, I gave him some home truths that made all the blood leave his face. Once I was finished, he whipped out his wallet and handed me the money he owed the fairy.

"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, miss. All my best wishes on your new business venture. If you need a reference, I'd be happy to provide one, as would everyone here."

"Thank you," the little fairy whispered, and we grabbed her stuff and left. As we waited for the elevator, she, suddenly and without warning, reached up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. She laughed at the look of shock on my face and said two words that melted my heart and made me hers forever.

"My hero."

I pushed my bike all the way back to her place with her on the seat. We stayed up all night talking, sitting on the steps of her building. I moved into her apartment a week later. My family loves her more than me sometimes. Her dad has become accustomed to my presence, although he wasn't pleased for the longest time. Because of her, I started doing more watercolour tattoos of fairies and other creatures, helping to build my reputation and client base to the point that I have become one of the more sought-after tattoo artists in the city.

To pay back some of my good fortune, I started tattooing domestic violence survivors and cancer patients, free of charge, three afternoons a week. Covering scars is hard work, but so rewarding.

The cancer patients I met and helped led me to the running and the rest, I guess, is history. That's what led me to this stage and to this award. I thank you, but I really don't deserve it. Everyone on my team equally deserves this acclaim. Guys, I'd like all of you to stand for the next part of this speech. I'd like to address the other cause that is very near and dear to my heart.

Bullying. The kind of bullying that comes with being different. Bullying due to scars, or baldness or the way you dress.

My little pansy fairy, the love of my existence, the light of my life, my girl Bella, gave me the best present a man could ever have. A child. She gave birth to our son four-and-a-half years ago. Charlie is the world to me, and I am so proud to be his hero. Just after he was born, Bella and I started running to get into baby-wrangling shape. A jog around the block, and a client wanting a full chest tattoo to cover mastectomy scars turned into a 5k Race for the Cure and then a 10k, a half-marathon, and then we were both running full marathons with Charlie in a running stroller. On a dare to raise more money, I ran a race in a pink and teal tutu. I raised a lot of money and I got the guys at the shop involved. We created a team. Every race we can, we run in multi-coloured tutus. Have a look around at the guys standing. These are manly men, rough and strong. They have the courage and pride to be seen in public in purple tulle. Some people may laugh behind our backs, but really, we don't give a crap.

Charlie likes to wear my tutus. He says they make him feel beautiful and strong. That's the same reason he gives for wanting to wear only Spiderman underwear, too. He's my boy, I love him, and he can wear whatever he damn well pleases. Most people look at him and smile, realizing he is a free and independent thinker. But there are some who take umbrage with my boy wearing a tutu. No one has ever approached us directly, just shook their heads and rolled their eyes.

Until last week.

Last week, some guy at the park where we always take Charlie had the temerity to not only approach my family, but to berate Bella for 'making him dress like a girl'. He yelled at her, embarrassed my son and made Charlie doubt himself. Why? Because the guy himself was uncomfortable and felt the need to lash out. Bella told me about it as she waited for the police officer she called when the man started yelling. He left before the cops got there, but they said they'd keep an eye out. But, Bella got it all on her phone. She'd been taking pictures of Charlie as he climbed in his favourite tutu. She didn't get the guy's face, just recorded his rant.

Needless to say, I was a lot more than angry. Mac and I closed the shop the next day and went to the park with Bella and Charlie. With us were half the running club and a few members of Mac's motorcycle group, all of us manly men in tutus. We stood in a line and waited for the guy to show up. And show up, he did. He marched over to me and got into my face. He tried to intimidate me just like he tried with Bella the day before. It didn't work and he got an education on the right to self-determination and personal esthetic. I watched Bella as she gave him a lecture worthy of a professor emerita using huge complicated words punctuated with death glares and derisive noises. She was glorious. I didn't have to say a word. We all stood there watching her as she let loose on this guy.

To his credit, he took it and didn't react. I think one of the reasons why was his young daughter standing behind him in her own tutu and his wife with her arms crossed on her chest off to the side. The nod she gave Bella I took to understand as a 'Go Girl' kind of solidarity thing. The guy apologized halfheartedly. Guys like that, the closed-minded intolerant types, they don't change their positions easily. It takes a long time to change someone like that. Bella, Charlie, my guys and me are just the first steps for that dude. But, I don't think he'll be spouting his ass off at strangers in the park anymore.

That brings me back to today and the honour you, the Cancer Awareness Society are giving me. I'll gladly accept this fundraising achievement award on behalf of myself, Mac Ink, and everyone on my running team. We will continue our efforts to raise the funds necessary for cancer research with the goal of finding a cure. But there is a reward that would be greater to my heart, an achievement much more important that I'm hoping all of you will help me with today.

I want my girl, my Bella, my beautiful pansy fairy to agree to become my wife. I need you all to encourage her to say yes. Come on, let's get her on stage.

Bella, you are my light, my reason for everything I do in life, from making sure the toilet seat is down to investing twenty percent of every client payment for our future. I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, side-by-side and hand-in-hand. I want our son to see us together and know the right way to treat your partner. I want the world to know that I am yours, and yours alone. Please do me the honour and the pleasure of becoming my wife?"

AN: I am proud to have been a small part of this charitable compilation. Over $13 000 was raised across several fandoms and many different countries. My thanks to the organizers, the artists and writers as well as everyone who donated to this cause.

Thanks to J.M. Barry for the title, as stolen from his play, Peter Pan.