𝔤𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔪 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔴 ｡*★

Jim is affixed with a gaze steeped in the utmost severity, Rapunzel’s slender arms folded across her chest to further punctuate the expression chiseled upon her countenance.

❝ Haven’t you ever had a dream? ❞

if your dream is to meet an artsy blonde with a pet chameleon who’s experiencing freedom / following her dreams for the first time, you’re in luck! this is an independent rp blog for rapunzel from disney’s tangled (2010), based primarily in a modern verse ( yet willing to write in canon verse, too ), portrayed by raph! please ↺ or ♡ if you’re interested, and perhaps grant me a follow!

@lifebegun

Dinner adjourned, Jim made his excuses ( potential inhaling of organic matter not conceded ) and estranged himself to the grandeur of “the patio” in the rear of the house. Salmon and crab lingering on his tongue, he strode the length, amused himself with watching the mist of his breath, and picked and chucked several polished pebbles into the pond while cogitating his circumstances and the scene in which they’d culminated with Rapunzel’s father, Frederic.

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Although Rapunzel had never presumed herself an administrator of like events, once the notion to entreat Jim to dinner with her parents embedded itself within her consciousness, it was impossible to subvert. Her lack of general knowledge as to what might prove acceptable at the current stage of their as-of-yet undefined relationship might lead an outsider to assume the gathering was a subtle push forward. However, to her, the equation was a simple one: Jim and her parents were the most important people in her life; thus, would it not be all the better should they make one another’s acquaintance?

The query was to be riposted in the negative, to Rapunzel’s utter dismay. Perhaps the evening had begun well enough, if not a tad delicate ( the combined facts that Jim was to enter a situation previously unknown to him, and that she had never before brought a friend home, had lead her to expect as much ). She had planned as far in advance as she might, such as petitioning her mother that they might not proffer themselves as too formal, and believed it would otherwise run smoothly. 

Rapunzel’s initial inkling that things were diverting towards the awry began when they sat down to dinner, as her mother set to task familiarizing herself with Jim while her father remained taciturn. A reserved man by general principle, she anticipated he might join the conversation in time with the alike manner he had always addressed her — kind and considerate. Alas, as soon as he opened his mouth, her expectations were dashed, if not taken aback all together.

Quiet comments faltering under Rapunzel’s breath meant to defend Jim’s character, or otherwise impress upon Frederic his admirable qualities, were lost in the steely clash. Slender feet retreated from her shoes beneath the table, her attentions shifted to the sensation of the parquet flooring under her skin. 

After Jim had excused himself for air, she engaged Frederic in a questioning of his motivations, which were followed by the explanation she might have predicted yet refused to be placated by. Slipping on her flats once more, Rapunzel followed Jim’s trail, her footsteps far too loud to her own ears with each supposed crescendo. Did he hate her? Was he under the impression that she had devised the meeting with the forethought that these events would occur? Rapunzel could only lament her own naivety.

When she arrived at the patio, even Jim’s witticism failed to provoke the smile it habitually would have. “It’s not — I didn’t think — I’m sorry.” Blinking in an attempt to dissipate the tears beading on her lashes, the product of an intermingling of stress and guilt, the backs of her fingers removed the excess. “He’s not like that, I didn’t know he’d interrogate you that way. This was supposed to go so differently. Like, you’d talk and get to know each other, and it’d be weird because it’s my parents, but not this weird.”

@lifebegun​

As the students bowed their necks in concentration, Jim slouched in his seat with his ankle on his knee and fixed his gaze to a point in the room. – The silence in which these two hours would be spent was as close a relative to solitude as he’d achieve, yet it lent little in the way of commiseration as each minute seemed eternal. Distance of mind, partition, he’d thought, would subvert them. After what he felt had been several, Jim raised his phone only to see that his effort had been in vain. It was a mere half-past eight. He dropped his head back and groaned.

Despite indulgence of caffeine and the forces of compulsion ( the limits of extenuation per semester ), Jim’s bones felt like the unsettled frame of a house and were in full cry for the warmth and refuge of his bed. Gratefully, the curriculum did not oblige him to conversation. Howbeit, his spirit could not and would not be prevailed upon before the hour of ten. Premature labor for anything beyond civility would have a consequence of the opposite.

Whapping the butt of his pencil against his tablet, Jim was content to forgo practice in favor of scourging himself for a decision counseled by the want of virtue. In the midst of this, he took another, more indignant gander of the heads in the room. His gaze eventually centered itself on a young woman, the likes of whom he couldn’t account for, sitting frontmost in the mixture in unhindered view of the model. – Save for the Romantic accent of a long, honey blonde braid, there was nothing in her raiment or countenance, no discrepancy or condemnation, none of the usual idiosyncrasies that could reconcile his curiosity. All he had was the possibility she had exchanged courses. 

Self-assurance had much stronger government than imminence. His sensibilities often conspired in preventing his being daunted by certain dangers, such as his appraisal being realized and considered discriminating. Studying a science that discarded the cosmetics of scruple and encouraged liberty seemed to him to make the intrusion less incorrigible. Affectation of modesty, in redressing the nakedness of his stare, would be fraudulent to himself. So when she felt his presence and acted upon her senses, he did not.

Due to the reality that all prior knowledge of classroom behaviors had been garnered from the likes of television shows and films depicting the hapless exploits of high school students, Rapunzel had entered the lecture hall encumbered with an air of the resolute. Selecting a seat in close proximity to that of the professor, she arranged her books with the utmost care alongside her seat. However unlikely it was that close attention would paid to such organizational prowess, she chose to heed the anxieties prickling the back of her mind in spite of the concession. To her dismay, Rapunzel soon discovered that the room filled from the farthest side of the circle inwards — contrary to her previously held belief that a nearness to the teacher would be deemed desirable. 

While a majority of places were eventually taken, even those close to her, she found her mind prone to wandering as the teacher’s speech droned on. The lecture had begun to derail into personal anecdote, relying less on information or exercises. Pencil in hand, Rapunzel drew the charcoal tip along the page of her paper, coloring it with light sketches as opposed to notes. It was a short while after that she became intrinsically aware of eyes watching her, perhaps containing judgement concerning her lack of attention. A rosy flush rising along her cheekbones akin to a child caught up past bedtime, she glanced upwards.

Instead of the acumen she had been prepared to witness, Rapunzel caught the affected gaze of her peer. A blink of surprise punctuated her countenance. Was there something on her face? No,  — her hair! Rapunzel reached for her braid, lithe fingers searching for a misplaced leaf or twisted set of locks, yet located none. Tilting her head in quiet questioning, she deigned to react in kind: propping her chin in her hand, she maintained the stare between blue and green, even as the blush surfacing on her skin traveled to the tips of her ears. 

Instinctively, Rapunzel’s head lifted ( the gaze focused on the sketchbook perched precariously in her lap jarred from its prior task as an expression akin to quiet questioning was overtaken ). Loneliness was a sensation with which she was well-acquainted, yet the notion of Jim bearing it without relief in the twilight hours sent her heart seizing for a moment in her chest. “I understand. Music’s so palpable — you can almost feel it in the room with you like a friend.” The slender fingers her charcoal pencil was using as a rest abandoned it, left to roll along the inclined plane of paper. “Maybe that’s why it feels closer when you’re alone.” Scooting nearer to where he sat atop the bed, Rapunzel leaned against his shoulder to watch as he worked with the parchment in his hands. As an artist, she was apt to pay close inspection to hands in general, and Jim was blessed with decidedly nice ones. Not to be distracted by them, her brows drew closer together, observations doing little to aid her in determination of what he might be creating. It didn’t appear like any origami Rapunzel had ever witnessed.