Community is going to sixth season! Time to Celebrate with Comment Ficathon
Hi, I'm the new maintainer Indirrr01. You can call me Indi. In celebration on the announcement of season 6, I pronounce a comment ficathon. Write down your prompt and story on the comments of this post. Congratulations everyone!
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Until she flies in through the window, with a cape flapping gently around her in the mid-autumn breeze, she'll let him take her away into the noir-nights, taming the darkness he spins with smiles.
Take up arms, lace masks on tight and keep his heart safe until someone better arrives.
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Waiting for him, he'll don the armour of the rougue-ish smirk that he'd like to believe, shower her with the praise she'd never think she'd need. Not much, just a "your hair looks nice" or "that dress matches your eyes" or similar words that don't make much sense roll onto his tongue regardless and fit the character he's moulded just for her.
And sometimes just wash the butter-noodle bowl so it doesn't start to mould before she finds it.
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Waiting for her, she'll sit and clap and smile as he orchestrates the masterpeices. Play the princess in shadow-puppet and rule queenly over the fort they uphold.
Her muse-ly dutites aren't any hardship, his heroine is a role she's perfectly fit to play.
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And if he takes his time to whisk princess Annie off and away, the castle's he'll build for her will have to suffice, with blankets and pillows and stuffed toys keeping guard.
Fairytales are an extensive medium and one he starts to enjoy - the Empire owes Camelot about $30,000, though whole-plot references could and would have improved the pain of the prequel blasphemy. When they curl up together for warmth when the winter rolls in and the thermostat rebels in a policeman's absence, he whispers them like lullabies until she sighs into dreams.
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And if she takes her time in pulling Abed into her intergalactic adventures, the ones he was obviously made for, she'll have to do, playing the vigilante who governs him with rules outside those he's come to known (even if it's just the legends of the vacuum cleaner that can tame the wild dust bunnies that burrow into their stronghold).
And when their characters steal a kiss beneath the flames of a Molotov ambush, there's no sweeping music, but a perfect crystal memory of showers in painted rain.
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And supposing, just supposing, that he never comes, for the princess sleeping now in his arms, (What a shame.) at least it can be said that love would always lie down beside her.
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And supposing, just supposing, that she never swoops in for the agent with his head in her lap (and wouldn't that be so awful?), there will always be the truth.
He could be loved. And would be. Until -
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