Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

A/N: Written for cottoncandy_bingo, round two - fairytale. Positutely - spelled that way purposefully.

Pawnee might not be the ideal setting for fairy tales, Leslie conceded, but some days, it sure felt like she was starring in her very own fairy tale, set right here in Pawnee, Indiana.

She was a princess; Ben, Prince Charming.

The parks of Pawnee were her Elysian Fields, and those who worked for the Parks and Recreation department were the loyal, royal subjects of the Grand Land of Pawnee. She knew that her fairy tale could use a little fancier titling, but this fairy tale was a work in progress, not yet perfected.

There would be time for ironing out the minor details – such giving places cool names– later. For now, though, Leslie was going to pretend. Pretend that everything in Pawnee was absolutely, positutely perfect, and that her life here, in spite of the threat of budget cuts looming overhead, like dark, stormy clouds, was ideal.

Her best friend, Ann, was a lady in waiting, and oft times damsel in distress. Chris, ever cheerful and ready at a moment's notice, was her knight in shining armor when she needed rescuing.

Tom, Leslie's erstwhile adviser, was ever ready to dispense invaluable, albeit sometimes shady, advice. He was also an invaluable fashion consultant – always impeccably dressed, he knew his stuff.

Andy, the hapless court jester, and April his perfect foil, with her street savvy and brainy smarts, were her chief entertainers.

Ron, though he'd never admit it, and would hate to hear it, was like a father to her – the king of the kingdom that was Parks and Recreation, looking out for her, protecting the vassals from the Evil Queens and Kings (the Tammy Swansons, Joan Callamezzos, and Perd Hapleys of the world) who would prey upon them, setting fire to their personal lives, and flaying them in the press. He parried their battle-words with witty quips, dispensed in a dry deadpan.

Donna, a forthright adviser with a tongue that could crack like a whip, often said things that Leslie didn't want to hear, but needed to, and she was a paragon of sexual prowess who exuded confidence from every pore of her body.

And then there was Jerry, whose name was really Gene, or Garry, or maybe it was Jim?

Leslie wasn't sure exactly how he fit into her fairy tale. Though Jerry was the butt of many a good joke – some which caused her to laugh aloud whenever they were brought forth to memory – he wasn't quite court jester material.

Courtesan?

No, wait…that was definitely not the role that Jerry would play in a Pawnee-centered fairy tale.

An artisan, yeah, that was it. Like one of those fancy sandwiches, because he was an artist.

Artisan…artist. It was a pun.

Jerry was a pun.

Satisfied with her kingdom assignments, Leslie gave Bill Dexhart – the villain in the current story-line of her fairy tale – a bright smile, nodded, and kept her real thoughts to herself.

Pawnee was, in Leslie's rose-colored glasses, ideal, and Parks and Recreation was her own special kingdom. A kingdom where she didn't reign supreme, yet, she served proudly – head held high, chest out, and with a can-do attitude.

Princesses could be every bit as heroic as princes, after all, and this was one dragon she was going to slay, eventually.

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