Short little onesie I came up with last night. Flynn would have a rather hard time labeling Punzi, no? :D It would be like trying to catch a butterfly in a jar without a lid. ;) I know it's really short, but I couldn't make it much longer without repeating myself.
My inspiration came from two sources. The smaller one would be the song "Something That I Want" by Grace Potter, which I can't stop listening to. :D The second and larger source would be the works of Awesumlishus, whose stories have a really amazing poetic flow to them. I love the way they are written, so I wanted to try my hand at his style. After reading this, go check out his stories. They are so worth the read. :D
Disclaimer: I don't own Tangled. *sob* But I do own a supercute Rapunzel plushie, a Rapunzel Barbie, an eentsy-beentsy plastic Pascal, the mannequin (you know, the one Rapunzel hides behind after she knocks out Flynn), and an extremely dangerous frying pan.
Reviews are appreciated – as always, tell me how to improve!
(BTW this is my newer updated version- hope you enjoy!)
O*O*O
He tries to define her, tries to place her in one of two standard categories he's divided all women into: tomboy or pansy. When she grips that frying pan behind her head, her eyes crinkled with stubborn and brash defiance, she seems to belong to category one, but not two seconds later she falters and melts into a sweet, naïve maiden with pixie eyes and full, pouty lips, a perfect fit in category two. But both acts only last for a few minutes, and then she unfurls her wings and darts away before he can fully absorb who she is.
He's completely unprepared for her, this girl with the seventy feet of hair. He's used to being admired, being gazed at with newfound affection. This girl not only looks him straight in the face, she seems to dislike what she sees, too. She is completely oblivious to his Smolder and charming am-I-handsome-or-what smile, and she merely scoffs at his escape attempts. This girl? She's not like the rest. She's not even different. She completely crosses that border and spirals off into a category all her own.
She asks the strangest questions. Who teaches the birds to fly? Where does wind come from? What makes the flowers bloom? He lacks all the answers, but she doesn't seem annoyed. Instead her eyes grow round with wonder, as though this makes the world so much more mystical and wonderful than before. She is mesmerized by the sight of dewdrops glistening on leaves. She could spend hours watching a ladybug scuttle through a forest of grass. She flings her arms wide and twirls as if she's the only one on earth, her skirts billowing out from her legs and her hair undulating about her like a golden banner. The more he tries to figure out who she is, the more mesmerized he becomes.
He tries to pin her down, catch her in a jar the way you would a firefly, but she's everywhere at once, and he doesn't know how to corner her long enough to trap her. Every time he thinks he's caught her, she merely flutters away, leaving him confused and bewildered. Everything about her is confusing. She's never climbed a tree before, but she scampers nimbly to the top of an oak with feline grace. She's seen the sky plenty of times, but she can't seem to stop gazing upward. She's lived in an isolated tower her whole life, yet she seems to know more about him than he does himself. Those wide emerald eyes of hers see things that he can't; she feels things he's never experienced; she knows when he's feeling uncertain and when he's trying to conceal a smile.
To him, she is a butterfly with too-long wings. Those wings trail faithfully her but are unyielding when it comes to taking flight. They tie her down to the earth, forcing her to stumble along with the fragile stability of a butterfly whose wings have not yet dried, only she will never fly, he knows that for sure.
She is elusive. She is everywhere. She is not connected. She is a blooming flower. She is a sparkling stone among a pile of dull rocks, the gold in "golden". Her seventy feet of hair cascades down her back like a waterfall made of sunlight and creates a river wherever she goes. She is nothing like the other women he's met; she is nothing like anybody he's met.
In the end, he can only find one word that defines her: her name. Rapunzel.
O*O*O
The end!
Does this even count as a story? I mean, it's more like a drabble, except it's not a hundred words. Oh well... :[
Anyway, lately it seems like I have an anti-writer's block – new ideas keep popping up (like daisies!). Oddly enough, they're all ideas for Tangled stories. It's weird, 'cause I've never had this much inspiration for any other movie or show I've ever watched. I mean, most Disney movies give you that "complete" feeling at the end, so there's not much room for fanfiction. But Tangled? Bursting with ideas! Awesomeness!
Okay, well, I've gotta split. If you're gonna fave this, please review too, and I'd love to hear your constructive criticism. :)
Peace, love, and Pascals,
Silverbells